He’d named it La Couronne, the crown, to let the world know that it was the queen of hotels, and his own pride and joy. He had personally overseen every detail of an establishment that offered conference facilities as well as luxurious accommodation, discretion as well as flamboyance. Anybody who was anybody had stayed there: top level businessmen, politicians, film stars. It was a place of fashion and influence. But most of all money.
Money was the centre of his life. And from that centre it stretched out its tentacles to every distant detail. He’d started his business with loans guaranteed by his father, who also added money of his own, to be repaid in due course. Marcel had returned every penny.
At the back of the hotel he found a huge room that would be used for the wedding next day. It was a grandiose place, decorated to imitate a church, although the ceremony would be a civil one. Flowers were being piled everywhere, suggesting a romantic dream.
‘We’ll marry as soon as possible, won’t we, my darling? And all the world will know that you ‘re mine as completely as I am yours.’
The voice that echoed in his head made him stiffen and take an involuntary step back, as though seeking escape.
But the voice was his own and there was nowhere to flee.
‘If you knew how I long to call you my wife.’
Had he really said that? Had he actually been that stupid? Young, naïve, believing what he longed to believe about the girl he adored, until his delusions were stripped away in pain and misery.
But that was long past. Now he was a different man. If only the voice would stop tormenting him.
He left the wedding venue quickly and almost at once bumped into his father. They had last met several weeks ago when Amos had suffered heart trouble, causing his sons to hurry to his bedside in Monaco. Now, to Marcel’s relief, the old man seemed strong again. His face had aged with the strain of his illness, but he was both vigorous and alert.
‘Good to see you better,’ he said, embracing his father unselfconsciously.
‘Nothing wrong with me,’ Amos declared robustly. ‘Just a lot of fuss. But I was glad to have you all there for a while. Now you must come up and visit Janine and Freya. They’re looking forward to seeing you again.’
Amos’s private life might politely be described as colourful. Marcel’s mother had been his second wife. Janine was his third. Freya, her daughter by a previous husband, was also part of the family. Amos, a man with five sons and no daughters, had particularly welcomed her as a plan formed in his mind.
‘Let’s go up slowly,’ he suggested now. ‘We can take a look at the place and get some ideas. It’s not a bad hotel but you could do better.’
‘I’ve been thinking of expanding,’ Marcel mused. ‘A change of scene might be interesting.’
‘Then London’s the place to look. Property prices have plunged and you could pick up a bargain. I’ve got some good banking contacts who’ll help, and I can loan you some money myself, if needed.’
‘Thanks. I might take you up on that.’
They toured the hotel, each making notes.
‘The one thing this place has got that La Couronne hasn’t is the wedding facility,’ Amos observed. ‘You might try that. Money to be made.’
‘I doubt if it would increase my profit,’ Marcel said coolly. There were many reasons why weddings didn’t appeal to him, but none that he was prepared to discuss.
They finished on the eighth floor where there was a bar with magnificent views of London. Sitting by the window, Amos indicated a tall building in the distance.
‘See that? Headquarters of Daneworth Estates.’
‘I’ve heard of them,’ Marcel mused. ‘Things not going too well, I gather.’
‘That’s right. They’re having to sell assets.’
Amos’s tone held a significance that made Marcel ask, ‘Any asset in particular?’
‘The Alton Hotel. It was bought with the idea of development but the money ran out and it’s ripe for takeover at a knock-down price.’
He quoted a figure and Marcel’s eyebrows rose. ‘As little as that?’
‘It’s possible, if someone with a certain amount of influence twisted the screw on Daneworth so that the sale became more urgent.’
‘You don’t happen to know anyone with that kind of influence?’ Marcel asked satirically.
‘I might. How long will you be in England?’ ‘Long enough to look around.’
‘Excellent.’ Amos made a noise that sounded like ‘Hrmph!’ adding, ‘It’s good to know I have one son I can be proud of.’
‘Are you still mad at Darius because he gave his wife too generous a deal over the divorce? I thought you liked Mary. You’ve come to her wedding.’
‘I won’t quarrel with the mother of my only grandchildren. But sense is sense, and he hasn’t shown any. Do you know anything about the girl he’s bringing with him today?’
‘I saw them arrive. She looks attractive and pleasant. I’m going to visit them in a minute.’
‘While you’re there take a good look at her. See if Darius is falling into her trap.’
‘Thus spoiling your scheme to marry him to Freya?’ Marcel said ironically.
‘I’d like to have Freya as my daughter-in-law, I make no secret of it. And if Darius won’t come up to the mark—’
‘Forget it,’ Marcel interrupted him.
‘Why should I? It’s time you were putting down roots.’
‘There are plenty of others to do that.’
Amos snorted. ‘Five sons! Five! You’d think more than one of you would have settled down by now.’
But Amos himself was hardly an advertisement for domesticity, Marcel thought cynically. Of the five sons, only two had been born to the woman he’d been married to at the time. His own mother hadn’t married Amos until several years after his birth. Travis and Leonid were bastards and proud of it. But he didn’t want to quarrel with his father, so he merely shrugged and rose to go.
‘Tell Janine and Freya I’ll be up as soon as I’ve been to see Darius,’ he said.
As he approached his brother’s room he was barely conscious of adjusting his mask. He donned it so often that it was second nature by now, even with a brother with whom he was on cordial terms. When he arrived his charming smile was firmly in place.
The door was already open, giving him a clear view of a pretty young woman, done up in a glamorous style, and Darius regarding her with admiration, his hands on her shoulders.
‘Am I interrupting anything?’ he asked.
‘Marcel!’ Darius advanced to thump his brother with delight, after which he turned and introduced his companion as Harriet.
‘You’ve been keeping this lady a big secret,’ Marcel said, regarding her with admiration. ‘And I understand why. If she were mine I would also hide her away from the world.’
His father was in for a shock, he reckoned. Harriet was definitely a threat to his plans for Darius’s next wife.
He chatted with her for a few moments, flirting, but not beyond brotherly limits.
‘So Darius has warned you about the family,’ he said at last, ‘and you know we’re a load of oddities.’
‘I’ll bet you’re no odder than me,’ she teased.
‘I’ll take you up on that. Promise