The House on Sunset Lake (12 page)

‘Needed saving!’ scoffed Connor. ‘Is that how you’re justifying it to yourself when you’re trying to sleep at night? You leave Savannah under a cloud. You come back and rub salt into the wound after everything that happened. Sylvia Wyatt
died
in that house, Jim, and you write to Jennifer asking for permission to turn it into a pleasure palace. If that’s not the most fucking immoral and insensitive thing I have heard in the property business, I don’t know what is.’

Jim felt angered that Connor had taken the moral high ground. He felt sure that men like Connor didn’t get to be as rich or successful as he had without making some ruthless decisions. The truth was, though, he knew the other man had a point.

‘I know you’re here in the city now, Johnson, I know you’ve even seen Jen once or twice.’ Connor put his glass of champagne down on a table and looked Jim directly in the eye. ‘But if you mention that house to her, if you mention the family name in any of the marketing material, if you bring her anywhere near that place, involve her in any way, then I will do everything I can in my power to make things difficult in Savannah. Do you understand?’

‘You don’t need to threaten me, Connor,’ said Jim coolly. ‘I’ve only ever had Jen’s best interests at heart.’

‘Really? You’ve got no idea what Jennifer’s best interests are,’ Connor said coldly. ‘You did your best to sabotage our relationship, pit Jennifer against her family. And when she fell apart after what happened, where were you to pick up the pieces?’

I was sent away, thought Jim, clenching his hand into a fist.

Just go back to England, Jim. If you are truly my friend, you should do what is right for all of us and not contact me again.

Connor shook his head, glaring at Jim. Then, with a snort of disgust, he turned and stalked back towards the house.

‘Shit,’ whispered Jim under his breath. He felt the same way he used to after trying to lock horns with his father as a young man: like he’d just been run over.

He looked around for Sarah, but she was locked in conversation with a supermodel. He didn’t feel she would welcome an interruption, not when she was probably trying to secure an interview or a story for Whizzfeed.

He picked up the glass of champagne that Connor had left behind and knocked the dregs down his throat. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and left the pool area through a side gate that led to the beach, letting the party noise fade behind him.

The light had fallen out of the sky and the horizon was streaked peach and violet. As he got closer to the water, he could hear the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

A sobering thought hit him. No matter what he felt about Connor – and right from the start he had never liked him – there was no denying that he loved Jennifer. And for that, he felt like a cuckoo in the nest just being here.

He kicked at a stone with his toe, then bent to pick it up. Flat and round, it felt good in his hand. Whipping his arm sideways, he threw the pebble, spinning it with his index finger, watching with satisfaction as it hopped once, twice . . . four . . . no, five times across the water before disappearing with a plop.

‘You tried to teach me to do that, do you remember?’ said a voice behind him.

He turned around and saw Jennifer standing there, holding a glass.

‘I never could get it, though, could I?’

Jim took a step towards her. The sea roared on to the beach and sucked a raft of pebbles out to its depths

‘What are you doing out here?’ he said finally.

‘Coming to bring you in.’

‘Don’t be daft, I’m just getting some air.’

‘So how rude was Connor to you?’ she asked, searching around for words.

He frowned.

‘You were talking. Heatedly . . .’

‘We were just chatting.’ He shrugged.

‘That’s what Connor said.’ She looked at him dubiously. ‘But I know him better than that.’

Jennifer’s soft face smiled at him. He remembered the first time they had been alone together, in the dark, by the water, the first night he had gone to Casa D’Or. He’d been dazzled by her. She was pretty – beautiful, even – but in the short time he had been at that supper party, he’d guessed at her many beguiling layers. Jennifer Wyatt was at once the lost girl, the rich girl, the tomboy and the swan. She had spent her whole life doing what other people had told her, and yet with a quiet sense of will she was determined to strike out on her own.

‘He doesn’t think I should be developing Casa D’Or,’ said Jim, knowing he couldn’t hide things from her. ‘Is that what you think?’

‘It’s too late to object now.’ She smiled slowly. ‘I got an email from Marion. She said they’re already recruiting for staff to start at Thanksgiving.’

‘It was never my intention to hurt you, Jen.’

‘I know that. I always have. Despite everything, I love Casa D’Or. I don’t want it to become a mausoleum, and I know you’ll breathe life back into the place. I think it deserves that.’

‘Well, I’m sorry,’ he replied.

‘I’m sorry too. Connor . . . he’s going through some things at the moment.’

He knew it was his opportunity to bring it up.

‘Work?’

She puffed out her cheeks, then looked away.

‘Nothing. Just his latest condo development is more complicated than he thought.’

Jim nodded. It was the big risk in any development project: the time it took and how long you could afford to keep going. Buildings had a way of throwing you endless curveballs: foundations built on unseen mining work, attics that had become home to protected creatures that couldn’t be moved. Ancient masonry, subsidence, termites – there were hundreds of variables that could hold up a build, and that was before you got to the legal problems of ownership, planning consent and any number of local protests that could bubble up. It was always about how soon you could deliver. The longer it took, the more it cost.

‘How complicated?’

She didn’t speak.

‘Jen, tell me. I might be able to help.’

‘He’d like that.’ She smiled grimly. ‘Besides, I’m sure he’ll work it out.’

He took a step towards her.

‘Jen, I know people. I might be able to point him towards someone, maybe pull in a favour.’

‘No,’ she said, shaking her head.

‘Too proud?’

‘Not me. Connor.’

‘Besides, I’d be the last person he’d take help from, right?’

‘Your words, not mine,’ she smiled.

She looked at him for a long moment, then threw back the last of her drink.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s get back to the party.’

Jim shook his head. ‘I think it’d be better if Sarah and I pushed off.’

‘Pushed off? You’ve both had a drink, it’s two hours back to the city. You’re staying over as planned, and that’s the last I’ll hear of it. If you leave, it will only make things more awkward. Besides, I don’t go to the trouble of matchmaking if I can’t enjoy watching the results.’

Jim grinned awkwardly.

‘How’s it going?’ she said after a moment. Her words came out quite stiffly, but Jim tried not to read too much into it.

‘With Sarah? She’s nice. You were right.’

‘Only nice?’

He wasn’t sure if she was teasing him. He didn’t smile back.

‘She’s fun,’ he said finally, deciding that sounded the best balance of being complimentary and yet non-committal. Besides, it was entirely honest.

‘Oh yes?’

‘A gentleman never tells,’ he said, holding up his hands.

‘You’re no fun.’ She grinned slowly, swinging her arms by her sides.

‘Let’s just say I can’t decide if the age gap keeps me young or makes me feel very old,’ he said, finally letting his guard down. ‘I told her the first gig I’d ever been to was the Nelson Mandela tribute at Wembley. She said she was there too; the only difference was she was
in utero
.’

In his line of vision he could see Sarah walking towards them, coltish legs in tailored shorts striding across the sand. He felt guilty about the quip he had just made, and turned his attention back to Jennifer.

‘I like her. Thank you,’ he said as his girlfriend got closer. ‘I forgot how lonely New York can be. So it’s good to have someone around. And I always knew you had impeccable taste in everything.’

‘I wondered where you’d got to,’ said Sarah, her eyes darting between Jim and Jennifer. ‘Is everything OK?’

‘Connor was just being Connor,’ said Jennifer.

She diplomatically stepped back and let Sarah stand between them. The younger woman’s broad smile was a little tighter than usual. As she took her spot, she folded her arms protectively across her chest.

‘I was just stopping Jim from fleeing, because you two are staying here tonight. Best room in the house, although if there’s any more bad behaviour from Connor, we’ll be in separate bedrooms.’

Sarah’s look of fear softened to something more reassured, and Jim took her hand.

‘Now come on,’ said Jennifer. ‘Cooper has been telling me all about a zingy new property hot spot you put him on to, and I want in.’

Jim laughed and followed her back across the sand.

Chapter Fifteen

Gently Jim lifted Sarah’s arm and slid out of bed, tiptoeing across the floor to the bathroom. Closing the door, he ran water into his hands and splashed it on his face. He looked rough, his complexion pallid.

The rest of the evening had actually been surprisingly fun. Once he’d loosened up, Cooper had shown he had a nice line in anecdotes about the celebrities who dined in the Japanese restaurant he owned downtown. Jim had also found himself in demand as a dance partner once the cheesy disco began on the terrace – one of the pampered wives declaring, ‘It’s like dancing with Mr Darcy.’ Clearly one handsome Englishman was as good as any other after a few appletinis, but at least it allowed Jim to relax a little. He was still angry about his confrontation with Connor by the swimming pool; in the sober light of day, and taking his own guilt out of the equation, he knew that Connor had been spoiling for a fight for the past twenty years and was using the Omari development of Casa D’Or as a rod to beat him with. And with good reason. After all, as far as he was concerned, Jim had tried to pinch his girlfriend off him. Jim and Jennifer had fallen in love, but Connor was never going to see it like that.

Stretching, Jim left the en suite and returned to the bedroom. Sarah had rolled over and kicked off the sheet in her semi-slumber and now lay temptingly naked. Part of him wanted to slide back in next to her and wake her up, but he knew where that would lead. Last night he had avoided sex by blaming his reluctance on the heavy consumption of alcohol; this morning there would be no excuses, but he felt uncomfortable about doing anything so intimate in Jennifer’s house, even if they were in a distant wing.

He stepped outside, squinting at the brightness. Nothing better for a hangover than a blinding flash of sun. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the glare and he leaned on the rail, taking in the view. It was even more impressive from the second floor. From here you could see the whole sweep of the beach, and apart from a small group of gulls picking at the sand, it was deserted. Then he saw movement in the water; not quite deserted, then. Someone was on a paddleboard, heading back towards the beach.

Jim watched as the figure paddled closer, turning from a silhouette to a man in a wetsuit to a recognisable person. It was Connor; there was no mistaking his height. Plus who else would be out on a private beach at six in the morning?

As quietly as he could, he scooped up his jeans and a T-shirt from his overnight bag, put them on, and headed for the door. For himself, Jim would rather never speak to the man again, but for Jennifer’s sake he knew he had to try to make peace with Connor – and there was never going to be a better time than now, when he was on his own.

He padded barefoot downstairs. A few wrong turns and he was out on the terrace, walking down the decking ramp to the beach just as Connor was carrying his board up from the sea.

‘How was it?’ he called.

Connor looked at him, then glanced towards the house. He saw he had no option but to reply.

‘Water’s still pretty cool this time of year. But it’s OK. Quiet.’ He propped the board against the walkway’s rail and unzipped his suit. ‘What are you doing up so early?’

‘Couldn’t sleep, I guess.’

Neither of them said anything for a few moments.

‘Look, I wanted to reiterate what I said last night. About Jen and Casa D’Or.’

Connor shrugged. ‘Sure. Do what you’ve gotta do. Just know that Jennifer’s a good person, she’d never make you feel bad, and that shit with the house . . . it’s upset her, that’s all. Stirred up things she’d rather forget. We’d all rather forget.’

‘I understand. And I’m sorry.’

Connor let out a long breath, glancing at Jim.

‘And I should apologise too. Shouldn’t have gone so crazy at you,’ he said begrudgingly. ‘You know what parties are like. Stressful.’

Jim was surprised to hear any sort of apology.

‘Jen said the condo development is all a bit high-maintenance at the moment.’

‘Did she?’ Connor said disapprovingly.

‘I tell you, I’ve been there a dozen times. Japanese knotweed almost brought one development we were working on to its knees.’

Connor looked at him for a moment, as if he were weighing things up.

‘It’s just a liquidity thing. I need to do a bit of refinancing. It will be fine.’

‘Will it?’ He wanted to push him for an answer. He knew men like Connor would sooner be admitted to the asylum than own up to failure or weakness, but Connor’s fortunes affected Jennifer’s life too. He remembered his own teenage years. When royalties from his father’s book had dried up, the estate agents came round to value the house, and he was pulled out of his fee-paying school to go to the comprehensive down the road.

‘What is your point, Jim?’

‘No point,’ he replied. ‘I’m just wondering if there is anything I can do to help.’

Connor gave a loud sarcastic bellow. ‘Ha. I bet you’re loving this. First buying Casa D’Or, and now you’re offering to open the Omari contacts book.’

‘I wouldn’t wish cash-flow problems on any developer,’ Jim said honestly.

‘Right.’

‘What is it you need?’

A look of anger crossed Connor’s face. Jim sensed he had overstepped the mark. The great Connor Gilbert didn’t need to go cap in hand to some hotel employee.

‘Try a few dozen more billionaires in Manhattan within the next eighteen months.’

‘How many have you sold?’

‘Some,’ he said cautiously.

‘But not enough,’ said Jim, filling in the gaps.

‘Sales have plateaued. There are bigger, shinier developments in the city. I thought Manhattan had the highest number of billionaires per capita in any city in the world. Apparently that’s not enough to sustain the number of high-net-worth developments.’

‘Anything I can do? I mean, if it’s bridging finance you need . . .’

‘What are you doing, Johnson? Your girlfriend’s dirty work? Looking for a scoop for the business pages of that trivia site she works for?’

‘Believe me when I say that anything I can offer is purely to help an old friend.’

Connor hesitated, then sat down on the walkway.

‘My finance team are calling it a cash-flow crisis, but I guess you know what that means.’

Jim nodded and sat down next to him. It was a polite way of saying the money had run out and the banks were refusing to lend any more, or worse, calling in the debt. He’d seen it so many times in rival companies: an entire resort development in Dubai had once gone belly-up because there was a sudden inexplicable shortage of sand. Sand was everywhere, of course, but not the right kind, the kind required for making flexible levelling compound. There just wasn’t any in the country at the time they needed it, so the building stalled, causing a domino effect that cost the investors millions and meant that the project still stood windowless and empty, the desert slowly blowing in.

‘How far in are you?’ asked Jim as gently as he could.

Connor barked out a hollow laugh. ‘That’s the irony; it’s seventy-five per cent done.’ He turned to Jim, the weariness apparent on his face. ‘I’ll level with you. We overplayed our hand, told everyone it was under control when it wasn’t, missed one too many payment deadlines, I guess. Now when I tell the banks it’s ready to go, they don’t believe us and I can’t really blame them. But – man, you should see it. When it’s finished, it will be one of the finest places to live in the city.’

‘What do you need?’

He named a figure. Jim didn’t blanch. He knew the business well enough to have worked it out.

‘Could you not sell some assets?’

‘Like our family home?’

‘No, I wasn’t suggesting that.’

‘Yes you were. You’ve seen this place, must know how much it’s worth.’

‘It would liquidate some cash . . .’

‘It would kill
Jennifer to sell this place.’

‘Do you think Jen is that interested in money, in the trappings of it all?’

‘Is that what she told you?’ Connor said, flashing him a fiery look. Then his expression softened and he looked genuinely upset. ‘Our city house belongs to a family trust. I could never get rid of this place. Jen loves it. It’s the one place where she’s happy. By the water. I just don’t want her to have to go through leaving another family home that she cares about.’

‘I know,’ said Jim quietly, silently acknowledging that for once, he and Connor were in complete agreement.

‘How interested do you think Simon would be in investing?’ Connor’s expression was stoic, proud, but the hint of desperation was obvious. Jim didn’t like to point out that he had been belittling Simon Desai just the night before, hinting at his financial problems. But he could only imagine how difficult it was for Connor to have this conversation. And he had been telling the truth when he said he didn’t want to point-score.

‘I don’t know,’ he said honestly. ‘He’s avoided ultra-luxe residential investments in New York in the past. Thinks the market’s saturated. But I can ask him.’

He watched Connor’s shoulders slump. He didn’t like the man, but it was impossible not to feel sympathy for everything he was going through.

‘I have two hotels,’ Connor said finally. ‘Through a separate investment vehicle. I don’t want to sell either of them, but if I don’t raise the capital to salvage the condo project, then I’m in danger of losing everything.’

‘Where are they?’

‘One is in New York. The other is in the Caribbean. Would you be interested in having a look?’

‘Tell me about the Caribbean resort.’

Connor puffed out his cheeks. ‘It’s on the island of Baruda. Do you know it?’

It was Jim’s job to know the industry inside out, the best resorts, the hot spots with buzz. But there were so many thousands of hotels in the world, it was hard to keep abreast of everything. The Caribbean in particular had a raft of hotels with ever-changing names and ownership.

‘It’s called The RedReef Club. I bought it three years ago. It’s not as deluxe as any Omari resort, but it’s a wonderful spot, private beach access, fifteen minutes by seaplane to the international airport on Turks and Caicos. You could do something interesting with it.’

‘Do you have a sales prospectus?’

‘Until five minutes ago, it wasn’t even for sale.’

‘Well send me something,’ Jim said, and for the first time in twenty years, he and Connor looked at each other with something approaching solidarity.