‘No problem,’ Tristan said with a warm wink. ‘Call it a welcome to town gift,’ he added, flashing that come-to-bed smile of his. He put his wallet away. ‘Have a good day!’ he said, as he saluted the women and left them both utterly undone.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Later that evening, Vivian Steinherr was talking to her restaurant manager, Henrik, on a sofa by the fireplace when she saw Tristan walk through the Anna Maria entrance and approach the front desk. A small thrill lifted her fatigue after a long day, but fell again when she realised he had seen her, but chosen to pretend he hadn’t. He’d been evasive all week, cancelling a dinner date on Vivian’s day off on Monday, and on Wednesday when she’d joined him and his wine buyers in Down Mexico Way, she’d felt a shift. He was polite and nurturing in front of the group, who were all staying at Vivian’s hotel, but when they were alone back in Tristan’s apartment, they hadn’t even made love.
‘Excuse me for a minute will you, Henrik,’ Vivian said.
‘Of course, I’ll be in the restaurant if you need me,’ he replied, as they both got up.
Vivian walked over to the front desk in her delicate cream sweater, navy trouser suit and Gucci loafers. Her wardrobe was more understated than her sister’s: Victoria Beckham or Isabel Marant tailoring by day; Tom Ford and YSL for evening. Clothes hung from Vivian beautifully, although she hid her figure more than she should. Around her neck she always wore a delicate Bucherer necklace: a gold cross set with a single diamond that had been her mother’s. It sat on her decolletage beautifully.
‘Grüezi!’ she greeted Tristan eagerly. She waited for him to kiss her but he didn’t. ‘Is no one seeing to you?’ She was one part annoyed that the desk had been left unattended; two parts happy to see him alone. She wanted to hug him, to wrap her arms around him. For her legs and hips to be locked around his again. But something about him was unsettling her tonight– it had unsettled her all week– as he rubbed his left hand through his hair and almost leaned back from his position, resting his right forearm on the front desk.
‘Hey,’ he said, smiling, businesslike. ‘I’m just checking some ski helmets were delivered here, to my group.’
‘Oh I don’t know, I’ll have someone check.’ Vivian leaned against the desk on her left arm, unwittingly mirroring Tristan. She touched his hand lightly, then backed off.
‘You OK?’
‘Yeah, I’ve just been meeting an associate.’
Vivian didn’t like it when Tristan was vague. They both knew everyone in this town, so if he said ‘associate’, it would only arouse her suspicions. ‘Associate’ sounded like a fob-off. Vivian didn’t like being fobbed off. She still couldn’t get the sound out of her head from a few weeks ago, when she dropped in on Tristan’s town centre apartment one Saturday morning. She could hear music. She could hear laughing. She could hear moaning, she was sure of it. Vivian was nice but she wasn’t a walkover.
‘Which associate?’ she asked forthrightly.
‘Stognev. Up at Vitreum,’ Tristan said, defensively.
It irked Vivian that he hadn’t taken her to Vitreum. Her father had built that hotel before losing it to Tristan’s father in a card game. The least he could do was take her upthere, make her feel welcome. Why was he holding back? Why was he keeping her at arm’s length? She knew Tristan wasn’t always the cocksure man he appeared to be. The first time they had finally made love after years of longing, in the penthouse of the Anna Maria one sultry night, he had said something about not being good enough for her. At first Vivian thought it flattery, but as she dwelled on it during quieter times in her office, or by the fire at the Steinherr mansion, she did wonder if Tristan had imposter syndrome. He was from new money, and relatively new in town compared with the Steinherrs, Sommars or Herwegs of the world. He was under immense pressure to make a name from his mother’s vineyard, rather than be shackled to his father’s disastrous foray into hospitality with Vitreum, or the question marks around his disappearance. It made Vivian cut him some slack when he had been evasive in recent weeks, but now it was starting to smart.
‘Oh right,’ Vivian said, knowingly. ‘Haven’t seen him around town for a while.’
‘He’s been in the UAE.’
Vivian didn’t want to talk about Alexey Stognev; she didn’t like that Tristan was the only person in town who didn’t mind doing business with the man. He was the least agreeable of all the hotel owners, and she suspected, like many, that Vitreum was a front for his more nefarious revenue streams. Vivian tried to forget that Tristan had sold her father’s beloved Vitreum to Stognev and not back to the family. She wanted to forget business altogether. She wanted to drink Pinotage with Tristan and talk about their days. To be naked with him again. It had been over a week since they’d made each other come. Another factor to incite her suspicions.
‘Hey, do you want to grab some dinner tonight? Fabrice is starting his shift soon, he can cover things here for a couple of hours.’
Vivian trusted Fabrice far more with the hotel than she did Anastasia, who hadn’t set foot in the Anna Maria since Vivian rehired Michael the sommelier with a grovelling apology and a 5,000-franc bonus for his stress.
Vivian looked around, still agitated that no one had come to reception, so she rang the bell sharply.
‘Er …’ Tristan hesitated.
The Anna Maria’s day manager hurried from out the back.
‘Nora, where have you been? Mr Du Kok has been waiting for too long– he’s wondering if you took a delivery of ski helmets?’
‘Yes, I took delivery myself, about an hour ago. Concierge then delivered them to the correct rooms.’
‘Great, thank you,’ Tristan said.
Vivian noted that Tristan was speaking to the day manager in the same businesslike tone he was using with her.
Tristan ran his finger on the shiny surface of the front desk in circles, seeming to be doing anything he could to avoid looking at Vivian.
What is wrong?
‘What do you say?’ she said breezily. ‘We could go to 1865? The new chef from Peru is meant to beincredible.’
