Rekindling Love (British Billionaires Series) (18 page)

Rupert was skulking Broadway till reaching his home in the landmark Flatiron building – a residence to blow the mind of anyone lucky enough to visit what was essentially an office building. There was talk of a hotel opening in the next ten years, but with billions behind the family name, Rupert had secured three floors of the building. One and a half were for the lawyers, one half provided a spacious residence for his sister, the top floor was for his sole residence. It wasn't common knowledge that the Locke-Smythes had received planning permission from the local council to renovate it into residential premises and it was safer that way.

Striding past reception, he went straight to the lift and smacked the button to take him to Imogen's flat. He rang the doorbell, but there was no answer. Knocking sharply, there was no sign of his sister. Angry, he punched the wall by the door hard.

Where the hell is my sister when I need her, he fumed. Aren't I always there for her? Why, when I desperately need her, is she unavailable? It was as if a black hand was gripping and squeezing his heart. The physical discomfort was unbearable. Lonely, he wanted someone to talk to. He wanted Susie. Discussing emotive issues with her tended to turn him into a beta male, as opposed to the alpha male he considered himself. Kicking and punching the solid wall, but all he achieved was to scuff the paint, stub his toe and bloody his knuckles.

He was of a mind to call Imogen to lambast her when common sense prevailed. The truth was his sister never needed him. The situation was the reverse. Just because she spent hours in his flat it didn't mean he was supporting her, it was her way of making the sparse apartment a home to him. It was someone regular and routinely in his life. It was a love to cradle the damaged six-year-old from the 1980s.

He sank to the floor by the door, rubbing his eyes to stop any tears. Not since the death of Lucas and Leith had he cried. He remained stoic at the funeral. He remembered wondering if his parents blamed him for their death. He remembered wondering if his parents would rather it had been the twins spared and him taken in their place. Those were questions he never dared ask. Then came Imogen. She knew nothing. She loved him for him. He treasured it, but he was losing her. He was losing her to an ugly NFL player that had a heart of gold and a personality to match it. She was lucky to land him. If someone disrespected him she'd leap to his defense. She wouldn't sit back to watch any one hurt another human being. People were limited on how to improve their looks. One couldn't blame birth for a wonky nose or a propensity to carry weight. Imogen had always the good sense to know that. He learned the lesson a very hard way and there was no way he could change it.Standing, he texted his sister to tell her he loved her and to handle Hank's heart with care. Sending that text lightened his heart.

Susan glided into her flat on a cloud of love. Grinning from ear to ear, she was unable to be somber. To keep herself busy she packed her overnight bag. Flinging an array of dresses, shoes, casual clothes and whatever else she could squeeze into the tiny suitcase, she snarled at the ring-tone of her cell phone interrupting her.

Picking it up, she saw Dylan's name. The fear was like a shadow. Confessing to him that her relationship with Rupert was shifting would not be well-received. It would also be hard to explain why she was having doubts in respect of Rupert's alleged evilness.

“
Hey Dylan”, she greeted with forced joviality.

“
Hey yourself. Any news or updates for me since last night?”

Susan felt as though she were in quicksand where Dylan was concerned. She was trying to be as honest as she could, but revealing her feelings on Rupert to him was ill-advised.

“
As a matter of fact there is. Not only are we meeting tomorrow after work for a 'talk,' but I need an overnight bag.”

“
He's taking you somewhere?” Dylan's voice was frosty and detached.

“
Looks that way. It means he's serious about talking in private,” said Susan, hoping to encourage Dylan to see Rupert was genuine in intent.

“
Do you think it's wise?” he asked, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.

“
If anything is going to secure him into loving me, it's going to be time alone in a romantic location.”

“
Susan-Marie you wouldn't do anything as foolish as falling for him would you? You are safe and strong enough for this? You remember what he did? You know the women you've seen him with in the three weeks you've been here?”

“
Yes Dylan,” said Susan, through gritted teeth.

She knew he meant well, but his concern was suffocating. The Locke-Smythe harem was not what she wanted to be reminded of. In fairness, the Locke-Smythe harem was exactly what she needed to be reminded of. It brought her down from cloud nine. Rupert could be out with one of his girls as she was packing. This weekend could well be to groom her to take up permanent residency in his worn black book.

“
I'm glad you called,” her voice softened. “I hated hearing that, but a best friend won't lie to spare your feelings. I was pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind. You know how charismatic Rupert is. He's hard to resist. I wasn't the only girl whose heart he broke at high school.”

Hearing her talk about Rupert pricked Dylan's heart. It was as if she did have strong feelings for him. He talked himself down from his increasing irritation. Probably he was over sensitive because he had feelings for Susan-Marie himself, that she was oblivious to.

“
No, but you were the only one he chose to make a joke of.”

“
You don't have to worry about me forgetting that.”

There was an awkward pause.

“
Can I ask you question?” blurted Susan.

She couldn't bear falling out with anyone. Dylan and she had always been friends. Awkwardness and hostility didn't suit the nature of their friendship. He was a rock to her. She appreciated that and tried to reciprocate, but Dylan was a remarkably detached person. Far more than Rupert. Dignified, socially apt and always exercising social grace and effortless conversational etiquette, Rupert was likable and easy to reach. He was friendly and warm while maintaining his British reserve. It was why women gravitated towards him. The fact that he should be on the cover of GQ didn't harm him either.

For all his attractiveness, Dylan was an outsider. Loyal to the end, even at high school he'd been on the outskirts. He was a loner. Neither popular nor unpopular. Blessed with strong values and a sense of duty, he didn't relate well to people. As old as their friendship was, he'd never disclose anything relating to him, his personal life, or his problems. It made it difficult to bond or communicate openly without each conversation feeling like Susan was treading on eggshells.

“
Sure.”

“
Do you think it's possible for a person to change? On the inside, I mean. The nature of them,” she specified.

“
I believe one can learn to manage behavior, but I don't think that changes one's inherent nature. As for Rupert Locke-Smythe, if you're asking if I think he's changed, I'd say no. He's not the type of man that can differentiate between what is acceptable and unacceptable behavior.”

“
People grow up though,” she rebutted.

“
Some do. Some don't. Many women would say men remain as boys throughout life.”

She could hear in his voice, he was smiling on the end of the line.

“
I guess you're right.”

“
This isn’t about Rupert Locke-Smythe, remember Susan-Marie. This is about you.”

“
And if it's not best for me? If I feel it's wrong now?”

“
I told you I'd never push you in a direction that wasn't safe. If you feel it's wrong don't do it. Don't go. Spend the weekend with me.”

He knew the answer, but remained hopeful.

“
I'll go,” she whispered.

A brief goodbye had her hanging up the phone.

I'll go because I want to, she thought, not because it'll make Rupert love me.

Susan was anxious speed-walking to the gym Saturday morning, her suitcase rattling on the sidewalk. They'd kissed last night. She'd jerked him because she wanted him to kiss her. He'd obliged. It continued. Had he done that because he wanted to, because it was polite, or because he was reliving the same relationship they had fifteen years ago?

Nicely dressed, even in gym clothes, he was already on the treadmill when she entered the cardiovascular room. Bobbing astride the treadmill, he bent forward to kiss her forehead as a hello. The kiss eased the tension.

“
You're setting a pace there,” she observed.

“
Working off my sexual frustration,” he said, flashing his pearly white teeth.

“
Idiot.”

“
You'll be knackered before you get to rehearsals by hitting the gym at this ungodly hour.”

“
I'll have a big breakfast at the juice bar.”

“
I'll treat you,” said Rupert.

“
No. I'll treat you seeing as you made the effort. I know you like a lie-in on the weekends.”

“
I like a lie-in whenever I can get one!”

The breakfast went as smoothly as the workout. The only noticeable difference, which the ever-sensitive Susan detected, was that Rupert's chair was next to hers at the table, not across from her as it normally was. He put
his spoon down after wolfing yogurt and fresh fruit, disgusted there was no greasy full English breakfast on offer, his hand rested on her forearm. The perfunctory kiss on the side of her cheek to bid her farewell was one he'd give to any woman. It didn't dampen her spirits.

Walking out stage-door at 7 p.m., she saw the black limousine and smiled. He was laying it on thick tonight. Stopping the chauffeur from opening the door, Rupert insisted he be the one to exercise his gallantry. He was a vision of male perfection. His boots had a brown appearance, not dissimilar to snake skin or crocodile leather. His faded blue jeans hung low. Wearing a gingham shirt with navy, gray, and olive running through it, he had a plain shiny blue tie on. A tan, ill-fitting cardigan and tweed flat cap somehow made him appear as though he were headed for the red carpet, not for a night out with a high school sweetheart.

“We ran late. I couldn't change,” were the words out of her mouth as she saw him.

“You look beautiful and I mean that,” he said, forcing her into a verbal position where she couldn't dismiss the compliment.

“You actually sound as though you mean it.”

“Where are we off to?”

“Dinner of course,” he said, slinging an arm around her shoulder.

The physical closeness of him was too much to bear. Susan wanted to laugh, cry, sleep, snuggle, and kiss in his arms. She opted for resting.

Finding herself at JFK airport, she realized he'd put a lot of thought into this evening.

“You really are taking us to neutral territory.”

“Yes I am.”

“Are we going to France?”

“Sadly, not that extravagant. You're opening on Monday night. I don't want to deprive Broadway of its brightest star for
Rekindling Love
.”

“Where then?” she asked, shaking her head at what money could buy.

The limousine was cruising along the tarmac in a restricted zone, reserved for motor vehicles. It drew up next to a small airplane. Unlike the nearby planes sharing the hangar, the entire machine was painted blue with two stripes of yellow running around it. It would've looked sporty and speedy had it not been for the different crests painted either side of the tail.

“Ever flown in one of these before?” he asked.

“No. Commercial flights only. This is chartered?”

“It is.”

“When do we leave?”

“Pretty much as soon as you're on board.”

“Will there be a pilot and air hostess?”

“It wouldn't get far without a pilot, would it?”

She laughed at the stupidity of her question and at Rupert being unable to disguise his sarcasm, despite being on charm offense.

“You'll have to forgive my blatant stupidity. I've been thrown in that the deep end.”

“Get on board, Susie.”

Stepping onto the small aircraft she noticed the leather chairs only accommodated four people. The interior reminded her of a car.

“You going to sit up front?” asked Rupert, offering a seat in the cockpit.

“Where are you sitting?”

“In the cockpit. I'm flying.”

Susan's eyes nearly dropped out of her head.

“Are you joking?”

“No. A man has his hobbies.”

“I never had you down as a comic collector or building famous monuments of matchsticks,” said Susan dryly, “but then I absolutely never had you down as a flying enthusiast.”

“Better I pilot this bad-boy, than drive you to a nearby field with a pair of binoculars so we can plane spot all night.”

“Too true. How long have you had your license?”

“Since I was twenty-one.”

“Wow. No wonder you didn't pursue musical theater.”

Rupert opened his mouth and shut it.

“It's so pretty outside, tell me about the colors.” said Susie changing subjects.

“Fortune dealt the family a lucky hand. Both Locke and Smythe have blue and yellow as the colors of the crest. I have the Locke and Smythe crests painted separately on each side of the tail. The Locke's are birds of prey, the Smythes are lions. Family history isn't my strong point.”

“I am quite literally putting my life in your hands, Rupert.”

“I know. And you're in capable hands.”

“I guess I'm the air hostess then.”

“I guess you are, but the flight shouldn't be long. We have a tail wind to speed us up. I certainly can't drink and fly. You can service yourself if need be,” he threw his head towards the cabin to let Susan know there was a fridge in the cabin stocked with alcohol and soft drinks.

She wasn't interested in leaving his side. Susan had never been one to drink alone and her appetite would be ruined if she ventured out to find a snack.

Giving her a headset, where she could hear him talking to air control, she discovered if she spoke into the microphone Rupert could hear her. Panic gripped her as the small one engine plane left the runaway. Having leveled the vehicle, Rupert turned to her.

“Shouldn't you be keeping your eyes peeled for air traffic?”

“Susie this isn't rush hour on Broadway. I'm quite capable of keeping my eye out for any oncoming dangers. Besides planes are notorious for being safer to travel in than cars. The number of accidents in the air doesn't even compare to those on the roads.”

“Only because there's more cars than aircrafts.”

“I never considered that. You've pierced my statistical argument.”

“You focus on what you're meant to be doing.”

They flew for an hour in silence.

“Susie are you going to ignore me for the entire flight? We've got three and a half hours left. At the moment it's heavy going and doesn't bode well for a proper chat later.”

“Perhaps I'm resting my tongue, because we've got so much to discuss,” she shouted to hear herself over the pressure in the cabin.

Rupert's hand flew to his ear and he ripped off the headset. Blue eyes blazing, he was looking at her as if she'd committed a criminal offense.

“What?” she shouted, her arms expressing the nature of her bewilderment.

He put a finger to his lips to hush her and replace the headset.

“You don't need to scream in the headset. It's got a microphone. Speak normally. I think you might have burst my eardrum.”

“I told you I've never flown a chartered flight. How was I supposed to know? Besides, darling, you know how relevant projection is for theatrical artistes.”

Rupert guffawed at her “luvvie” tone.

“Apart from being a pilot, are there any other hidden talents you have?”

“I'm a pretty mean sailor,” he boasted.

“Seriously?”

“Absolutely. I have a yacht, but she's moored at the Hamptons now till late spring or early summer. Depends on the weather.”

Oh, to own a yacht and airplane, she thought. To be in a financial position to indulge those kind of hobbies must be wonderful. Biting her lip, she thought of her collection of musicals through the eras she had on DVD. Her mammoth CD collection. They tended to pale in comparison to a yacht and private jet.

“Anything else? Is it all sports?”

“I do love my sports. Outside of work, they probably are my main source of relaxation.”

“Now that you've dismissed the love-sick puppies trailing after you.”

“They were a sweet distraction.”

Susan forcibly slung a fist in his arm. He mocked pain.

“Careful, you might make me lose control,” he said, lifting his hands from the control yoke.

“Hands on. I don't want to be to blame for a fatal crash,” she said.

The words “fatal crash” echoed through the cabin. A silence descended. Mortified to have said something so close to the bone, Susan had no escape – other than leaving the cockpit.

“It's okay,” she heard through her headset. “You are allowed to mention crashes in my presence.”

“I didn't think. It was insensitive.”

“I don't want you having to think about what you say in my company. It was years ago and apart from you, no one else knows. I don't start bleating when people mention car crashes in general conversation. If you can be yourself it makes it a hell of a lot easier for me to be myself,” he said genially.