CHAPTER TWELVE
AS soon as she’d left Zak’s office, Emma went to her suite and packed up her clothes before checking out of the Pembroke. It was pride which motivated her, but fear, too. Fear that Zak might come up and find her and use all that potent sex appeal to persuade her into changing her mind. And it would be wrong to fall into bed with him when he had the ability to make her feel like some sort of hooker. Now that the inequalities in their relationship had been revealed, she needed to put as much distance between them as possible before she got on that plane tomorrow.
Clutching her suitcase, she hurried out of the building and hailed a cab, which took her to another hotel, close to JFK. It was a mere 1.7 miles away from the airport and ran a free shuttle service. It was cheap and it was basic and it was exactly what she needed as a kind of antidote to the luxury of Zak’s Pembroke. She found a strange kind of comfort in the bland magnolia walls and the highly glossed blue satin bedcover, which was stretched tightly over the high bed. She sat in the red-walled cafeteria and drank weak coffee at a formica table and the most stupid thing was that she felt nostalgic, because this was bottom end of the market. A place for people on a budget. She’d once lived on a budget before circumstances had catapulted her into a world where money ruled.
Yet money really didn’t bring you happiness, did it? Look at Louis, squandering most of his vast fortune on drink and drugs. And look at Zak—who, for all his hotels and massive fortune, didn’t seem to possess any kind of inner peace.
But she didn’t want to think about Zak—with his stormy grey eyes and that way he had of kissing her, and holding her which made her feel as if she’d fallen into some kind of secret paradise. She wanted to forget that she’d lost her heart to a man she’d known from the outset had been dangerous.
He rang that night, as she sat on the blue-glossed bedspread, comfort-eating a doughnut and watching some horrendous game show on the giant TV screen. She saw the name ‘Zak’ flashing on the screen of her cellphone and she despaired as her heart gave a lurch. She wanted to pick it up. She wanted him to say the kind of things to her that she knew he was never going to say. Instead, she licked her sugary fingers and turned up the TV—so that the loud studio laughter blocked out the ringtone. And after that she switched the phone to silent and turned it face down on the table where she couldn’t see it flashing.
He rang again as she sat waiting in the departure lounge at the airport, but still she didn’t pick up. And when the delayed plane landed at Heathrow, she saw that he’d rung twice more. She was not going to speak to him—because what would be the point when everything had already been said? And surely hearing the silken lilt of his Greek accent would be counterproductive if it only increased this terrible aching in her heart. Glancing down, she saw that he’d left a voicemail message and she gave her first grim smile of the day as she pressed the delete button.
Back in London, she found the city suffering from some of the most unforgiving weather it had seen in years. The trees were stripped bare and the wind howled like a demented banshee. It felt as if nature were playing a cruel trick—making the elements reflect the miserable way she felt inside—and Emma shivered as she stared out at the dark sky.
Yet didn’t she only have herself to blame? Knowing that she had thrown all her principles out of the window to sleep with a man like Zak?
Maybe … She bit her lip, plagued by the thought which kept buzzing around her head. Maybe she had been more influenced by the whiff of money and power than she’d previously admitted. So did that make her a hypocrite as well as a fool?
She was dreading returning to work at the Granchester—although she’d half expected to find a termination contract waiting for her on her return. And wouldn’t that have been easier? To just close the curtains on this particular chunk of her life, and never need to peep behind them again.
But there was no such dismissal letter, and when she rang in to speak to Xenon—Zak’s aide—it was to be told that there was a whole stack of work ready and waiting for her. Emma knew she should have been glad for the distraction, but instead her heart sank. She didn’t want stuff waiting for her when all she felt like doing was closing the door of her apartment and staying there until this hurt had gone away.
In her silent bedroom, she unpacked—realising that it had been ages since she’d done anything as normal as going to the supermarket. She sent Nat a text, telling him she was back and saying that maybe they could meet for a drink some time. And the reply which came pinging back an hour later said, Love to. Am away. Back next week. Em, think I’m in love!
Emma wondered if this time he had found the real thing as she stared in the mirror, realising that she looked different—and not just because of her strained face. She felt different. Something had changed and she recognised that for the first time. She had changed. She had found the strength to walk away from something she knew to be damaging, even though it had hurt like hell to do so. Maybe inner strength was the consolation prize—the one good thing to emerge from the ashes of her dead relationship.
But she also realised that there was no going back. That she had used her friendship with Nat as a buffer against the rest of the world. And even if this love affair of his went the way of all the others, she couldn’t just slip back into her old role. She couldn’t keep reaching for that particular safety net, not if she wanted to live her life as fully as possible. She might not have Zak. She might not end up with anyone—but she just might. And didn’t Leda’s kind words spur her on to think
that there might be some kind of happy future, even if it wasn’t with the Greek lover she had grown to love, despite her determination not to?
The following morning, she went straight to Xenon’s office where Zak’s oldest aide greeted her with a crinkly smile as he leaned back in his chair. ‘I hear you did good,’ he said, waving her towards a vacant seat.
Emma sank into the chair and looked at him with wary eyes. ‘You did?’
‘Sure. The wedding room at the Pembroke is a massive success—they’re already booked out until next May. Can you believe that?’
‘That’s fabulous,’ said Emma, hating herself for her inability to resist asking, ‘How … how did you hear?’
‘You mean apart from the glowing reviews in the press and the fact that Vogue wants to shoot a wedding issue there?’ Xenon beamed at her. ‘It was Zak, actually. Not like him to take an interest in such minutiae—but he seems to be delighted. Unusually so. In fact, there’s talk about you doing something similar, here.’
Emma stared at him. ‘Here?’
‘Sure. Why not?’ Xenon rubbed his fingers and thumb together as he mimed the international sign for making money. ‘Lots of weddings in London—so why not capitalise on a fertile market?’
But Xenon’s words shocked her into realising that she really couldn’t go back. Or at least, not to the Granchester. How could she carry on working here when every wall and stick of furniture—every sheet of letterheaded paper—would remind her of Zak? Did she really think she could continue doing the same thing—
working on another wedding room—with any degree of enthusiasm, when just the thought of weddings made her want to bawl her heart out?
She shook her head. ‘I can’t do it, Xenon,’ she gulped.
‘What do you mean, you can’t? Zak said you went down a storm in New York.’
‘Maybe I did, but I still can’t do it. In fact, I can’t work here any more. I want …’ She drew a deep breath as if giving herself time to comprehend the irrevocability of her next words. But the short pause which followed did nothing to change her mind. ‘I want to hand my notice in.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Emma, are you crazy? Everything is just opening up for you.’
And everything was in danger of shutting down at the same time—her heart and her spirit and her hopes—if she allowed it to. This place was now steeped in bitter sweet memories and she needed to be able to break away from the past and start a new life for herself. Again, she shook her head. ‘I can’t, Xenon. I have to go. There’ll be a million brilliant people who’d love to take my place—so you’ve no worries on that score. Perhaps you could … well, perhaps you could let Zak know?’ she questioned hoarsely.