“Mmm,” Sophia raised her brows as she read the paragraph Zahira had indicated with her finger. “This idea is a beauty. Imagine if we could help all those poor baby girls left to die in China... But what I still don’t get is: why us?”
Edward sighed deeply, impatient, “Why? Why not, Sophia? Ashford clearly likes you. You have a foundation that allows this kind of maneuver. He makes contributions every year. He, intelligently, combined business with pleasure. Why not?”
“Mrs. L., the plan has provisions for...” Zahira leafed through the document and pointed to another paragraph, “a ten year plan. It’s a long-term commitment. He is directing all his contributions to your foundation. All he asks for is investments in India and China.”
“Well then,” she raised her eyes to Edward, “since you both approve...”
“We do,” said both at the same time.
Chelsea, Royal Hospital Road. Gordon Ramsay.
1.35 p.m.
“Alistair Connor.” Tavish was flabbergasted. “You’re a genius.”
Alistair smiled smugly at his brother. “The facts were there for everyone to see, Tavish Uilleam, but that’s what makes the difference between a successful businessman and everyone else. Never fear, be bold. I have been investing in that young group of artists for fifteen years. It was pure chance, but when they started having problems keeping up with the mortgage payments for their gallery, The Blue Dot, I took matters into my hands and proposed a partnership, investing more to keep it afloat. Art has always been an obsession of mine. I decided to sponsor all of their,” he made quotes in the air, “insane ideas. Malcolm and Berkley called me a lunatic and didn’t agree with the investment. At that time, they were the majority shareholders at the bank. I was new, starting my career at the bank, thanks to our father’s money.” He shrugged. “I made a deal. I’d make a huge investment in the gallery and be its CFO, if they sold me a percentage of the business and the property. I put in my personal money.” And Alistair’s smile grew larger, “And yours, too.”
“You did what? You never told me.” Tavish shook his head slowly. He didn’t like the way Alistair sometimes treated him as if he were still a little boy, but he had given carte blanche to his brother to do whatever investments he thought interesting, while he was in Iraq and Afghanistan. “But didn’t you think it was too risky?”
“A wonderful house in Chelsea? A historic building? Never. This was clear from the get-go. It has increased tenfold in value, Tavish. And as for the investment,” he smirked. “How do you think both of us ended up owning bigger shares of the bank than Malcolm and Berkley?” Alistair shrugged. “I determined a stop-loss, of course. They are brilliant, just disorganized. They have a great eye for discovering new artists. All I had to do was create a business plan for them to follow, organize their finances and give my opinion whenever a new young artist proposed something - How can I put it? - Extremely contemporary. We’ve been working closely and it has been a huge success.”
“I’ve never seen such a huge profit for such a small investment, in such a short period of time.”
“I turned the idea into an investment fund and I want you to supervise it. We are going to relaunch the gallery on June first.”
Tavish’s brows shot to the middle of his forehead, in alarm. “Me? I don’t know anything about investment funds. I have some connections and I can get clients for the bank, but supervise an investment fund? I know how to buy art, but I don’t know the first thing about selling it. Alistair Connor, I’m going to mess things up.”
But Alistair was already expecting this reaction and had prepared his answer, “But that’s exactly what I need you to do. Get new clients to invest in the fund. I’m planning a big opening party for the gallery. A charity cocktail evening with an exhibit of ten new artists who are finishing their masters at Goldsmith’s. And part of the profit will be reverted to some foundation. I’ve set a meeting with the guys for tomorrow morning. They are going to explain everything to you. I want you to spend a few hours per day in the gallery to study the collection and-” Alistair gasped for air as it disappeared from his lungs.
Tavish turned his head to see Sophia enter the restaurant, smiling, totally at ease, on Ethan’s arm. In a flash, he put a heavy hand on Alistair’s shoulder, stopping him from raising from his chair, “Don’t.”
“She told me she couldn’t have lunch with me,” his breath wheezed from his mouth and he rubbed a hand over his heart, as if in pain, “because she had a lot of work to do.”
“And who said this isn’t work?”
“With Ashford? What could she possibly have to discuss with him? He produces steel, she deals with oil.”
Alistair’s face darkened and he tried to raise again, but Tavish shoved him down.
“He is her ex-lover,” Alistair hissed at Tavish.
“Easy, Brother. Don’t make hasty judgements. She’s-”
“Can’t you see with your own eyes?”
“All I can see is two people having lunch together. Don’t jump to conclusions. They won’t see us from where we are. Calm down. You’ll see there’s no reason to be suspicious.”
“Very well.” He picked up the bottle of whisky and poured himself a good dram. Drinking it in a gulp, he raised his empty glass. “Let’s drink to-” Another betrayal.
“Stop it, Alistair Connor. Stop it right now.” Tavish breathed deep and stared at his brother. “I have to tell you something.”
The way Tavish said this made Alistair stiffen on his chair. He put his glass with a thump on the table, his fingers narrowing around it. “What?” Oh, please, don’t let it be what I’m thinking.
“I have a confession to make.” Tavish’s lips quirked up when Alistair relaxed on the chair. “Remember the day you, Alice and Leo walked in on the two of us at the pool, at Craigdale?”
“Aye,” Alistair clenched his teeth so tight that he thought he might break them.
Tavish pushed his artichoke salad around his plate, before saying, “I confronted Sophia. I thought she was another Heather.”
“She slapped you.”
“Aye. With reason.”
“She never mentioned it again. She accepted whatever lame apologies you gave. And I... I let it go. You and I had already had too many... differences to work out, so... You know.” He waved his hand in the air. “What happened?”
“Alistair Connor,” Tavish exhaled loudly. “To be brief, first I said she was like... your other women. Then I said that even if she didn’t need your money, she wanted your status. Continuing to fuck things up, I stated that she wanted you just to substitute Gabriela’s father. And to top it off, I told her that she was a coward, and that she was ogling me, trying to get me in her bed with you.”
“Je-sus,” Alistair murmured, slowly. “Jesus. Mary. And Joseph. A slap was... too little.” He was astonished. Like my other women? What did Tavish Uilleam tell Sophia, for Christ’s sake?
“She rebuked me. Elegantly violent. She reminded me... of Mother.”
“She reminds you of our mother?” Alistair’s eyes were glued on Sophia and Ethan’s table.
“Not her looks, Alistair Connor. She has principles, morals. I observed her the whole weekend. First, I was too wary. But Alice and Leo convinced me to try with kinder eyes. She is an exceptional woman: gentle, extremely polite, intelligent, she defends her positions fiercely and she seems innocent. Not like a stupid virgin girl, if they still exist, but as a young woman should be.”
Alistair helped himself to some more whisky, thinking about what his brother had said. There could be no greater praise than comparing Sophia to their mother.
But what is she doing here with Ashford? He drank his whisky and crossed his silverware on his barely touched lobster. He wasn’t hungry anymore. He drank the rest of the whisky in his glass, filling it again. “Why did she lie to me?”