Alessandro was trusting her on that front and it was very easy to remember that lazy suggestion of power he emanated, the sort of power that could grant wishes just as fast as it could punish in equal measure.
The truth was, though, that Georgie knew that discretion was something she could handle. She was talented when it came to keeping things to herself.
Underneath the perky, cheerful façade, she’d learnt to hide the hurt she’d felt, growing up, as she’d watched her older sisters and her friends get the Valentine’s Day cards and the eager phone calls from boys while she got the invites to play tag rugby with them on a Sunday morning.
She’d joined in with her friends in the jumbled years of adolescence but could never get serious enough about make-up and flirting and so had awkwardly hovered in the background in her jeans and sweatshirts, content to hear their tales of boyfriends and broken hearts, having her crushes and quietly putting them away every time they came to nothing.
How she’d hidden her unhappiness when boys had confided in her, never really seeing her as a blossoming woman. If she’d been starring in a movie, she would have been the bridesmaid but never the bride.
Then that miserable Hans episode. Putting it in perspective, she knew it hadn’t really been true love and her broken heart might mostly have been wounded pride, but it had still hurt and she had continued to put a smile on her face and carry on regardless.
So keeping stuff to herself? Definitely within her remit.
Events might have hurtled towards her with the suddenness of a sinkhole but there was a spring in her step as she made her way to the first-class check-in.
She checked in at the speed of light.
It was only when she was heading to the first-class lounge that she felt the first twinge of nerves.
Her phone pinged. Alessandro.
‘Checked in yet?’
The deep timbre of his voice made her heart skip a beat and she pulled over to the side and leaned against the wall by one of the coffee shops.
‘I’m just making my way to the first-class lounge.’
‘Good. Flora and I are here but before you meet my daughter there are a couple of things I need to discuss with you first. If you go past the reception area you’ll see a bank of sofas to the right. I’ll be waiting there.’
‘With Flora?’
‘I can leave her to amuse herself for fifteen minutes. I’ll make sure I can see her from where we’re sitting. She’s good at occupying herself.’
‘What else do we need to talk about? I haven’t breathed a word of anything to anyone, if that’s what you want to quiz me about.’
‘It’s not. I trust you not to have said anything to anyone. I’ll see you in twenty minutes. That should be plenty of time to wend your way there. Coffee, how do you take it? Or would you rather something else?’
‘Er…’
‘The flight leaves in an hour and a half so let’s move along, Georgie.’
‘Coffee. White. One sugar. Thank you.’ She could picture him impatiently looking at his watch.
‘No dawdling, please. I’ll see you in fifteen.’
Before she could launch into something sarcastic aboutdawdling being the furthest thing from her mind, he’d hung up and she sprinted with her pull-along, following signs to the lounge and getting there with barely any time to spare.
She spotted him as soon as she had managed to get past the three women guarding the lounge like gatekeepers on a mission to make sure no riff-raff managed to con their way into the sanctuary where only the wealthy were allowed.
Incipient nerves had disappeared in her haste to get to the meeting point but now they returned with a vengeance.
She felt instantly out of place.
She’d dressed for comfort and the cold, even though they would be heading to warmer temperatures because Florida would be basking in the twenties.
Her trousers were black, loose and fleece-lined and she had layered up so that she could strip off as necessary. Vest, tee shirt, long-sleeved tee shirt and a cosy waterproof jacket because she would be returning to deep winter and would need it when she got back. She doubted she would have the luxury of a chauffeur-driven car once her role was over.
When she looked at the tribe of smartly dressed, self-assured men and women in the lounge with their shiny patina of people living jet-setting, busy, expensive lives, she couldn’t help feeling just a tiny bit like a bag lady.
