Winner Takes It All (30 page)

‘
That’s good.’
Tom noticed the server pushing his plate of food across the
counter. ‘Well it’s been very nice chatting with you Natalie.
Perhaps I’ll see you around.’

‘
Yes, I look
forward to it.’

Tom ate his breakfast and
went back up to his room, emailing Alex and telling her he’d been
acquainted with the owner and she informed him it did good trade.
He also pointed out that Natalie was heavily pregnant and would
probably be looking for a quick sale. He then emailed Tara, telling
her he was missing her and outlined all his plans for the week.
Today he was going to visit the Louvre and take a walk along the
Seine. He told her he wished he could be sharing all of this with
her and he meant every word. Paris was the most romantic city in
the world, and here he was, alone - as usual.

***

In a week that flew by, Tom had
the time of his life. Despite missing Tara desperately, he’d
managed to enjoy Paris, doing all the things he hadn’t been able to
afford when he was eighteen. He went to the Louvre; travelled up
the Eiffel Tower; went shopping on the Champs Elysses and whilst
there bought Tara the most beautiful cerise coloured shawl with
flecks of gold in. He dined at expensive restaurants and in the
evening caught up with his reading and the films he’d brought with
him to watch. He’d even bought a French phrase book and could now
ask for a cup of coffee without resorting to hand
gestures!

As well as sightseeing,
he’d also fulfilled his brief and built up quite an acquaintance
with Natalie Favreau. She was always around the hotel, keeping an
eye on the staff or chatting with the guests, making sure they were
comfortable. Tom discovered she was married to a very rich French
man and indeed this beautiful hotel had been a wedding present to
her. They already had two children under five and this one was the
third. It was on the Monday morning when Tom was having breakfast
and Natalie had stopped by for a chat that she finally said what he
wanted to hear.

‘
I’ll be sad
to see the back of this place,’ she said idly, stirring her
cappuccino. ‘I know it will break Pierre’s heart, but how am I
supposed to run a hotel and look after three small
children?’

‘
Couldn’t you
get someone in to help?’ Tom asked, trying to sound
nonchalant.

‘
I could but,
oh I don’t know. It’s weird Tom, but because this place is so
personal to me I’d rather wash my hands of it completely than know
someone else was looking after it for me. Does that sound
silly?’

‘
Not at all.
How much are you selling it for?’

She laughed.

‘
Why? Are you
thinking of buying it?’

‘
Not me, no.
But my cousin is looking to buy a hotel, I know that.’

‘
Does your
hotel know what he’s doing? Has he owned a hotel
before?’

‘
She. My
cousin is running Sheridans at the moment and she’s looking to
expand into the hotel business.’

‘
I see. Well
I’ve had it valued and we’re looking in the region of fifteen to
twenty million euros.’

‘
And that
would be everything thrown in, the furniture, the lot?’

Natalie raised her hands
in the air.

‘
If I’m going
to get rid of it, I’m going to do it properly. And if your cousin
wants to put in a bid, she’s quite welcome to.’

‘
Fantastic.
I’ll let her know.’

Tom emailed Alex to let
her know it was go go go. Le Boutique was a busy, popular hotel and
for around ten million pounds, she would be getting a really good
return for her investment. He then went out to get a few souvenirs.
On returning he found an email from from Alex congratulating him on
his work and informing him she was going to put a bid in for
fifteen million euros for Le Boutique.

With a heavy heart, Tom
then phoned Maurice Bannerman at his office in Regent Street to
tell him the news. Bannerman sounded like the cat who’d got the
cream.

‘
Fantastic
work Tom,’ he purred. ‘I’m coming out to have a look at this
hotel.’

‘
You don’t
have to come here do you?’

‘
Of course I
do. I like the idea of owning a little French hotel. I might buy
this one for real.’

As he promised, Bannerman
turned up two days later. Tom had spent a lovely morning touring
some street markets, picking up a painting of Sacre Coeur for his
mother – she’d stayed close to the ancient church as a young girl
and was studying art in Paris. Since his dealings with Sorcha and
her clan, Tom felt a new affinity for Fiona. He’d always thought
her rather spoilt and selfish but now knowing what she’d grown up
contending with, it was obvious she’d had no choice but to build a
wall around herself for protection. He wondered if when he returned
he should confess all to her; the need to unburden was becoming so
great he felt he would tell a tramp on the street if he thought
they would listen.

Returning to the hotel
for some lunch and an afternoon nap, his heart sank on seeing
Bannerman sitting on one of the sofas in the lobby reading last
night’s copy of
La Monde
. Tom hesitated, wondering if he
could just sneak past him and go up to his room; but it was to no
avail - Bannerman spotted him.

‘
Tom!’ he
called, stopping him in his tracks.

‘
Hello
Maurice,’ he practically groaned.

‘
Hello old
chap, fancy a drink?’

‘
If you
like.’

They went into the tiny
bar at the back of the hotel. It was always half empty because the
hotel catered for people on extended weekend breaks or more
wealthier backpackers – people who would rather spend their money
sightseeing than on expensive whisky. Bannerman got them both a
scotch on the rocks and they settled at a table close to the door
which was Tom’s choice - he needed to feel he could
escape.

‘
So how’s it
going?’ Bannerman asked.

‘
It’s alright.
Alex emailed me today to say she’s put in a formal bid for the
place.’

‘
Fifteen
million euros?’

‘
Yes.’

‘
Right, so
FreeTime are going to offer Mrs Favreau sixteen
million.’

‘
I thought I’d
better warn you, Alex can smell a rat. When she came to Summerset
to tell me she wanted me to go to Paris, I could tell by her
demeanour that she thinks something’s amiss. I think it was a grave
error doing the whole Finn Healy stunt.’

‘
In hindsight
you’re probably right. But I think we can just about scrape
through; and anyway, I have the most fantastic news.’

‘
What’s
that?’

‘
Well, let’s
just say, poor old Michael’s drinking habit is getting more and
more out of control. I helped him a little by meeting him yesterday
in Pilkington’s and with a few of these in him.’ He lifted his
glass. ‘It became like a confessional. It seems he’s accrued some
rather nasty gambling debts with a particularly vicious Arab casino
owner and neither daddy nor sister Alex will bail him out. So,
kindly ‘uncle’ Maurice has offered to give him the two million
required if he signs his voting rights in Sheridans over to
me.’

‘
You’re
kidding?’

‘
And even
better; when Christian dies and Michael gets his portion of the
shares, he’s going to sign them over to me as well – fifteen
percent. Oh Tom, we’re already on the road to what we
want.’

‘
But
Christian’s only a young man. He may have years left in
him.’

‘
He’s already
had one stroke, I doubt very much if he’ll make old bones. Anyway,
that doesn’t matter because by the time you’re finished, we’ll have
thirty percent of the shares. What’s important Tom is that I..well
Jackson now has voting rights on Sheridans.’

‘
I bet
Jackson’s happy.’

‘
He’s
delighted. He’s wanted this for so long and now it’s in his grasp.
What about Daniel Steadman? Have you made any progress with
him?’

‘
No, he wants
more time to think about it.’

‘
Okay, well
perhaps when you go back you should give him a little
nudge.’

Bannerman finished his
drink and stood up, patting Tom upon the shoulder.

‘
I’ll call you
when I want to meet again,’ he said.

‘
So you’re
going back to England?’

‘
Oh no, I’ve
brought Christine over and we’re staying in the Hilton. You don’t
think I’d stay in a dump like this do you? There’s no way I could
consider buying it.’

By Friday Tom was ready
to return home. For most of the time, his trip to Paris had been
successful and he’d enjoyed it, but the darker aspects of it were
getting to him. He’d received an email from Alex, informing him
that she’d been outbid by another company and she would be offering
a half a million more. He then, with heavy heart, called Bannerman
and told him this so he could offer more.

When he was having lunch
in the canteen and reading his guidebook, he was approached by
Natalie Favreau, who seemed to grow fatter by the day.

‘
Your last
night here,’ she said, squeezing into the chair opposite
him.

‘
That’s right,
yes,’ he replied. ‘It’s been fun.’

‘
I’ve decided
not to sell,’ she suddenly announced.

Tom froze.

‘
What?’

‘
I’ve decided
not to sell. It was getting silly Tom. The last offer I got was for
eighteen million euros and even I know it’s not worth that. I spoke
to Pierre and he’s persuaded me to get someone in to help run it
after all.’

‘
I see. Have
the bidders been told?’

‘
I don’t
know,’ she replied nonchalantly. ‘I’ll let my brokers deal with
them.’

Tom cut his lunch short
and ran up to his room, calling Bannerman and letting him know the
deal was off. Bannerman didn’t care – after all, he had no real
intention of buying Le Boutique anyway – he just didn’t want Alex
getting it.

That night, Tom couldn’t
face going out anywhere. His train left at eleven a.m. the next
morning and so he started to pack his things away and settled down
on the bed to watch some French TV, proud that in the past
fortnight - by immersing himself in the culture and the language -
he could understand what they were saying the most of the
time.

There was a knock on the
door and he sat up, nervous. All this subterfuge had made him
paranoid and sometimes he was convinced Jackson had somehow become
aware of his true feelings and had sent a hit man out to finish him
off for being a traitor.

‘
Who is it?’
he asked.

‘
It’s me!’
called a familiar sounding female voice from the other side. Tom
froze. It was Tara. What was she doing here?

Wishing he hadn’t spoken;
wishing he could pretend he wasn’t there, he got up from the bed
and walked over to the door. He opened it to find Tara standing
there looking very chic and Parisian and gorgeous in her black off
the shoulder top and black leggings. Half of Tom was overjoyed to
see her; the other half wished she would go away.

‘
Tara what are
you doing here?’ he uttered.

‘
I’ve come to
see you.’

She walked into the room,
putting down her overnight bag and launching herself at him. She
kissed him passionately and despite himself, Tom responded. He’d
missed her so much and it felt wonderful to have her in his arms
again. It was only when his hand instinctively reached for her
breast that he stopped himself, pulling away and easing her down
onto the bed. He sat beside her and grasped her hands.

‘
Have you
booked in?’ he asked.

‘
No,’ she
giggled. ‘I’ve just sneaked up here, hoping you could accommodate
me for the night.’

‘
Tara,
I…’

She silenced him by
putting her finger to his lips.

‘
Tom I know
what I’m doing. I love you and I want to be with
you….properly.’

She removed her hand and
before she could speak, she replaced it with her mouth, kissing him
softly. Tom wanted to refuse; he wanted to push her away but he
couldn’t. He loved her so much and at night had lain awake in
frenzy, wanting her. Now she was here he was powerless to stop
her.

Making love in that bed,
with the windows open and the sounds of Paris rumbling by outside,
Tom felt as nervous and inexperienced as Tara herself. All the
girls before had been the sort who’d been around the block, knew
what they were doing and required very little of him. Tara looked
to him for guidance and for a moment he became lost in his own
inadequacies. He then realised that this wasn’t some girl he’d
picked up who would consider him just another notch on the bedpost
– someone to compare to her other lovers; this was his Tara - his
beautiful Tara who he loved so much and this was just another
expression of that love. She wasn’t expecting him to prove himself
or give some outstanding performance - she just needed reassurance
and tenderness and he could offer that in abundance.