Page 10 of Tears of Ink

I grasp at a lungful of air. “I’ll have the meeting with Baroness Fairclough and then decide.”

Abi peals with laughter. “Baroness? Hahahaha, you didn’t tell me that. Good luck, Faith, you’ll fit in a storm.”

I squint my eyes giving her a well-practiced side eye. “Thanks.”

“Always a pleasure. Some of us will have to see your feet firmly in the shit when you are being touted all over the world.”

Blowing her a kiss, I cut the video call, slumping back in the chair. I suppose I should get some food.

I reach for my packet of cigarettes instead. That will do.

C H A P T E R F O U R

I fiddle with the neckline of my silk blouse. A pale-blue, the material is just thick enough to keep my secrets hidden underneath. I stare at myself in the reflection of The Ritz’s glass window. I’d laughed until I’d cried when Gerard had told me the meeting with Baroness Fairclough was going to be at The Ritz. Who goes to The Ritz apart from tourists? Apparently, she does.

I’ve had three showers this morning, but I’m still uncomfortably hot and sweaty. I wish the rain would come and clear the air, but there hasn’t been a drop for weeks. I hike my leather tote containing my portfolio up onto my shoulder and push through the revolving door. Cool air from the air conditioning greets me as I step inside, for which I’m very grateful.

I wished Gerard had accompanied me, but he’d told me it would look better if I came alone. Bloody arse. Who sends a young woman by themselves to meet a baroness for a job interview? Gerard Steers does that’s who.

He prepped me last night though over a glass of wine and some crackers. I couldn’t eat, my stomach too twisted with knots. I approach the lounge, walking with my head held high in front of the reception desk. Once there, I’m stopped by a neat sign telling me to wait to be seated.

I glance around. The room is hushed with whispered conversations; groomed and coiffed heads tilted towards one another. Some of the tables have papers on them. People working in luxury.

It is luxury. Even the air smells rich and clean. Crisp. There aren’t that many obvious tourists. I was expecting a few overweight sightseers with their cameras flung around their necks on straps.

A waiter sees me and inclines his head in my direction while he continues helping another elderly couple. I smile and fiddle with the neck of my blouse. Calm down, Faith.

It’s hard to calm down. I’ve never been anywhere like this. The nearest I’ve got is a wine bar.

“Good afternoon,” the young man greets me warmly, his face open and friendly. Nothing forced, no sign that he hates his job or the rich people he must serve. “Are you joining us for coffee, or lunch perhaps?”

My tongue nearly falls out of my mouth, but if he notices my discomfort he calmly ignores it. How can he be calm in this place? I want to puke. Coughing and clearing my throat, I attempt to pull myself together. “I’m here to meet Baroness Fairclough.” I’m surprised by my voice coming out so calm and level. Inside I’m flapping about like a fish out of water. He hesitates before smoothing his expression. “Could you wait just one moment?”

My palms slick with sweat and I clutch my bag tighter, so I don’t wipe them down my silk blouse. “Sure.” I smile.

He walks off and ducks his head into a booth in the corner. A moment later he returns and asks me to follow, guiding me with his outstretched hand, careful not to touch me in any way. “Can I take your bag?”

I clutch it closer. “No, thank you, I’ll keep it with m—” my words die on my lips as I glance inside the booth.

This is no baroness. Not unless I’ve spent my life misunderstanding the title.

Instead of the middle-aged lady I’m expecting, there sits a man in the sharpest, neatest suit I’ve ever seen. You could cut bread with the edges of navy material.

Google has failed me. I’ll never trust you again Google. The man stands and towers over me, a clear head and shoulders higher than me, and his broad shoulders block the light in the room. His hair is close cropped, a dark fuzz; but it’s his eyes that render me totally mute. I’ve never seen anything like them, as deep as lapis lazuli, they are more vibrant than any gem I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen a few. I’m an artist for God’s sake.

“My apologies for the confusion; Miss Hitchin, I believe?” Oh God, his voice is soft, low, devilish. It licks warmth along my reeling insides.

“Faith. Your Faith.” What? “Sorry. I mean, I’m Faith, yes.” I brush at the ends of my ponytail, but there is no hiding the scorching burn travelling up my cheeks.

“You were expecting my mother, but she’s been held up.” His stunning gaze sweeps over my face. His own is open, his lips turned slightly at the edges as if something is amusing. What could possibly be amusing about this I don’t know. He’s tanned, his skin a dark gold, and a faint stubble darkens his jaw. I don’t think I’ve ever met a single human being in the flesh who is quite so beautiful.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is she running late?” I don’t know whether or not to take a seat. I’m experiencing total loser syndrome.

He takes control of the situation, smoothly moving around the booth and motioning for the velvet seat opposite his own. “She’s in New York. She got muddled with her dates,” he says as I slide into the seat.

“Oh,” I stutter. “Oh. Has she changed her mind?” I’m officially going to kill Gerard for making me deal with this. This is hell.

“Well, no, she wanted me to do this on her behalf.”