Platinum Coast. Lynne Pemberton

a message coherently.’

      ‘We’ve been out on location for two days and the girl you are referring to is Max’s assistant, Pippa, a complete air-head.’

      Stephen stole a swift sideways glance at Christina, feeling ridiculously pleased to see her.

      Her face was flushed and her eyes were bright with anticipation. She caught his glance and a surge of excitement passed between them.

      ‘Fancy something to eat?’ he suggested.

      ‘I’m absolutely starved. I haven’t had a good meal for five days. Max seems to live on sandwiches and take-away Chinese and Indian.’

      ‘Okay. What sort of food?’

      ‘I really don’t mind. As my father used to say, I could eat a scabby horse between two mattresses.’

      Stephen chuckled. ‘I’ve got just the place, and it’s only round the corner. Fingers crossed it’s not fully booked.’

      Christina lifted both her hands and crossed two sets of fingers. Stephen turned the car into Roland Gardens and pulled up outside Blake’s Hotel.

      ‘You jump out while I try to park,’ he said.

      Christina did as she was told, and walked up three deep stone steps into what resembled a very chic London town-house. Entering the small reception area, she felt as if she was in a private home, and stood awkwardly next to the discreet reception desk manned by a trendy young man.

      ‘Can I help you?’ he asked pleasantly.

      ‘I’m waiting for someone, actually,’ she replied in a small voice, and turned as she heard the young man say, ‘Mr Reece-Carlton, how are you?’

      ‘I’m fine, Rupert. And you?’

      ‘Overworked, underpaid, and busy,’ he replied, and then added, ‘So what’s new?’

      Stephen led Christina to the head of a narrow open-tread staircase, calling to Rupert before they descended, ‘See you soon. Take care.’

      ‘You obviously come here often,’ Christina said before she reached the bottom of the steep stairs.

      ‘I used to stay here a lot before I bought a place in London.’

      ‘Monsieur Reece-Carlton, long time no see.’ The head waiter came forward.

      ‘I’m afraid I don’t have a reservation, Philippe.’ Stephen’s voice was apologetic.

      The small man glanced at his reservations list and his watch. It was 8.30.

      ‘I can give you a table now, but I’m afraid you will have to vacate it by 10.30. I have an after-theatre reservation.’ He looked at Stephen. ‘Is that okay?’

      ‘That’s fine by me.’ Stephen stood back to allow Christina to follow the head waiter to their table, which was located in the far corner of the small restaurant.

      ‘Aperitifs, I presume?’ Philippe asked as they sat down.

      ‘I would like a large glass of Perrier, please, with lots of ice and lemon,’ Christina said.

      Stephen ordered a glass of champagne.

      ‘What a fantastic place.’ She looked around the dimly lit restaurant, fascinated.

      There were long-stemmed white lilies spilling out of several tall glass vases and unusual feathery tulips in the palest shade of pink on every table.

      The dark, narrow bar was packed with smartly dressed people, and Frank Sinatra’s voice crooned in the background. Their drinks arrived along with the menus.

      Christina, determined not to make a fool of herself again, asked, ‘Can you advise me what to have, Stephen? You must know the menu pretty well by now.’

      ‘It does change, but there are some firm favourites.’ He glanced at the carte.

      ‘Why don’t you try the soup followed by fish? It’s always very good here.’

      Christina took his advice.

      The food was delicious. She ate most of her cream of leek soup with two chunks of crusty granary bread, all of the baked fish with tomato sauce, and polished off her portion of potatoes dauphinoise and most of Stephen’s. They drank vintage champagne followed by a Château Petrus.

      It was almost 10.30 when Stephen suggested they have a nightcap in the small, deep-seated area located off the restaurant. Christina was a little tipsy as she sank into the soft Oriental cushions. Stephen joined her.

      Brandy and chocolates arrived a few moments later.

      ‘You must try one of these chocolates. They’re out of this world.’

      He pointed to the tiny dish of very thin, flat, dark chocolates. She nodded, and he was about to pick up the dish to hand her one when she leaned forward, her wide mouth slightly open. In a teasing voice she said, ‘You give me one, please.’

      He picked up a sweet and very slowly placed it in her mouth. She licked his fingertips before he withdrew them, then her own lips.

      She looked into Stephen’s pale-green gaze, and neither of them spoke for a couple of moments until Christina said, ‘Absolutely delicious. May I have another one?’

      He grinned. ‘The same way?’

      ‘Yes, please.’

      He placed the chocolate in her mouth, only this time traced her slightly parted lips with one finger whilst she chewed, slowly and deliberately.

      His fingertips trailed down her neck and brushed lightly across her shoulders.

      Christina shuddered.

      ‘Do you want to go now?’ Stephen’s voice was thick when he whispered in her ear.

      ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

      They left the restaurant ten minutes later and drove to his flat in Kensington. Neither of them spoke much during the fifteen-minute drive. They were both absorbed in their own thoughts.

      Stephen’s flat, though not as big as she had expected, was exquisitely furnished.

      ‘It looks like something out of a glossy magazine,’ she commented on entering the big open-plan living-room, dominated by two enormous, deep-cushioned beige sofas, covered in piles of assorted cushions.

      A two-inch-thick glass-topped coffee table housed stacks of glossy magazines and books, plus framed photographs and a beautiful antique dish containing pot pourri.

      ‘Have a seat.’ Stephen indicated the sofa. ‘Drink?’

      ‘I think I’ve had enough to drink.’

      ‘A final nightcap,’ he said, opening a bottle of champagne.

      ‘Okay, you twisted my arm.’ Christina took off her jacket and draped it over a delicately carved occasional chair.

      ‘You have wonderful taste.’ She sank into the luxurious sofa, running her hand across the smooth surface of a silk cushion.

      ‘Not guilty,’ Stephen said, pouring two glasses of champagne. ‘My wife was born with several silver spoons in her mouth and grew up surrounded by beautiful things. She became an interior designer. All this …’ – he gestured casually – ‘is her work.’

      He joined her on the sofa, handing her a glass as he sat down.

      Christina took a sip of champagne.

      ‘Mmm, this is lovely.’

      ‘Krug is the best in my opinion.’

      Stephen sipped his champagne, and stared at her over the rim of the glass.

      ‘Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes? Such an unusual colour.’

      ‘Millions of randy young men.’