She had. From the outset she had thought that yes, he was a very attractive man, and she had a weakness for them. They were as seductive as chocolate, as addictive as crack, the ones who could pull women easily. So mostly she tried to avoid the office whenever she knew for sure Benedict would be there. In fact, she wouldn’t even have come in today at all, if she hadn’t been looking for Connor.

‘Benedict, listen – this is business,’ said Aysha. ‘You’ve got a possessive girlfriend who’d tear my guts out if she knew there was anything going on with you and me. So, it’s business only, my friend. Let’s just keep it that way.’

‘What, you mean Bev?’ Bev was a hard-eyed blonde who ran a couple of massage parlours; she’d been into the office a couple of times to see Benedict. ‘That party’s more or less over.’

‘Oh sure.’

‘It is. Because I’ve met someone else.’

‘Oh? Who?’

He gazed hard into her eyes. ‘You, you daft mare. So business only? That’s what you want? Really?’

‘I do.’

‘You’ve been married. To that tosser Joey, Connor told me the worst bits. Not his fault. He didn’t want to tell me, I prised it all out of him. Connor was in torment over the whole thing. He was concerned for you. Told me to be really careful what I said to you, that you were on a knife-edge.’

‘That’s all history,’ she said. ‘Marriage? Sod that. Never again.’

‘Bad, uh?’

The worst. ‘Pretty bad, yeah.’

‘Maybe next time will be better.’

‘Benedict, there’s not gonna be a next time.’

He gave her a glinting smile. ‘Shame,’ he said, and turned back to his desk.

119

119

When Lesley Deveney got to New York, she booked into a hotel not too far from Josh’s own gilt-fronted palace on Park Avenue. Her place was plainer but a hell of a lot cheaper. She settled in and then went out and walked a block to the Astoria, then she sat in the reception area with a copy of the New York Times, drinking coffee. Jet lag was setting in and she needed the coffee just to stay awake, but she still looked around her with interest at how the other half lived.

This was quite some hotel. Big chandeliers and acres of glossy marble. Huge potted palms and someone tinkling a tune on a grand piano. Classy waiters plying you with drinks, spruced-up bellboys zipping here and there with guests’ bags and suitcases piled high on golden trolleys, while the richly dressed clientele sauntered through en route to a late lunch or some high-end shopping.