“Of course I’m in fucking control,” he’s spitting furiously into the phone. “What the fuck do they think they’re—” He breaks off and is silent for a few moments. “I don’t need to fly back to London! Alicia has it all in hand. She says there’s absolutely no problem with Provident Assurance, she spoke to them today and they’re very happy. Someone’s just shit-stirring, God knows who. Yes, I know,” he says in a calmer voice. “Yes. OK, will do. I’ll see you tomorrow, Michael. Thanks.”
He switches off his mobile, puts it away, and looks at me as though he’s almost forgotten who I am. But then his brow softens and he smiles.
“Hi!” he says, and drops his briefcase onto a chair.
“Hi!” I say brightly, moving away from the wardrobe door. “Stranger.”
“I know,” says Luke, rubbing his face wearily. “I’m sorry. Things have been… a bit of a nightmare, to be frank. I heard about your screen test, though. Fantastic news.”
He goes to the minibar, pours himself a scotch, and downs it. Then he pours himself another one and takes a slug while I watch anxiously. His face is pale and tense, I notice, and there are shadows under his eyes.
“Is it all… going OK?” I ask gingerly.
“It’s going,” he replies. “That’s about as much as I can say.” He walks over to the window and stares out over the glittering Manhattan skyline, and I bite my lip nervously.
“Luke — couldn’t someone else go to all these meetings? Couldn’t someone else fly out and take some of the load? Like… Alicia?”
It nearly kills me even to mention her name — but I honestly am getting a bit worried. Slightly to my relief, though, Luke shakes his head.
“I can’t bring in somebody new at this stage. I’ve been managing it all until now; I’ll just have to see it through. I just had no idea they’d be so pedantic. I had no idea they’d be so…” He sits down in an armchair and takes a slug of his drink. “I mean, Jesus, they ask a lot of questions. I know Americans are thorough but—” He shakes his head disbelievingly. “They have to know everything. About every single client, every single potential client, everybody who’s ever worked for the company, every single bloody memo I’ve ever sent… Is there any possibility of litigation here? Who was your receptionist in 1993? What car do you drive? What fucking… toothpaste do you use? And now, with these rumors… they’re picking everything apart all over again.”
He breaks off and drains his glass, and I stare at him in dismay.
“They sound awful!” I say, and the flicker of a smile passes across Luke’s face.
“They’re not awful. They’re just very conservative, old-school investors — and something’s rattling them. I don’t know what.” He exhales sharply. “I just need to keep them steady.”
His voice is trembling slightly — and as I glance at his hand I see that it’s clenched tightly around his glass. I’ve never seen Luke like this, to be honest. He usually looks so utterly in control, so completely smooth…
“Luke, I think you should have an evening off. You haven’t got a meeting tonight, have you?”
“No,” says Luke, looking up. “But I need to go through some of these forecasts again. Big meeting tomorrow, with all the investors. I need to be prepared.”
“You are prepared!” I reply. “What you need is to be relaxed. If you work all night, you’ll just be tired and tense and ratty.” I go over to him, take his glass out of his hand, and start to massage his shoulders. “Come on, Luke. You really need a night off. I bet Michael would agree. Wouldn’t he?”
“He’s been telling me to lighten up,” admits Luke after a long pause.
“Well, then, lighten up! Come on, a few hours of fun never did anybody any harm. Let’s both dress up and go somewhere really nice, and dance, and drink cocktails…” I kiss him gently on the back of his neck. “I mean, why on earth come to New York and not enjoy it?”
There’s silence — and for an awful moment I think Luke’s going to say he hasn’t got time. But then suddenly he turns round — and thank God, I can see the faint glimmer of a smile.
“You’re right,” he says. “Come on. Let’s do it.”
It turns into the most magical, glamorous, glossy evening of my life. I put on my Vera Wang dress and Luke puts on his smartest suit, and we go to a fabulous restaurant all done like an Art Deco cruise ship, where beautiful people are eating lobster and there’s an old-fashioned jazz band, just like in the movies. Luke orders Bellinis, and we toast each other, and as he relaxes, he tells me more about his deal. In fact, he confides in me more than he ever has before.
