Once she would have believed that, before he’d opened up to her about his mother, his childhood. Not just that painfully cryptic moment on the plane but in the quiet moments of intimacy he’d somehow been able to respond to her queries about how things had gone with a frankness that had shown her a new side of his character. She knew that the charming, untouchable, totally in control Max Valentine had a vulnerability that she suspected no one else had ever seen.

But she was vulnerable, too, hiding inside her own shell, and with an archness she was far from feeling she said, ‘Are you suggesting that I won’t?’

‘All I’m saying, Louise, is that it’s taken you three years to get over James Cadogan. I very much doubt that you’re a woman who can do detached “fun”.’

‘Gem-’

‘It’s okay, lecture over,’ Gemma said, backing off. ‘I’m going to get a sandwich. Can I bring anything for you?’

‘Please,’ she said, relieved to be moving into safer territory. ‘Salmon,’ she said. ‘And a blueberry yoghurt.’

‘Anything else?’

A chance to do things again, perhaps. Max had been casual enough about her need for secrecy, but he didn’t like it. It wasn’t as if they were doing anything wrong, anything they need be ashamed of. They were together and, no matter how temporary their affair was intended to be, in some deep, hidden recess of her soul, she knew she wanted the world to know, to see what they had.

‘Lou?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’ Nothing anyone could give her.

‘I’ve got confirmation of an article in a heavyweight international financial journal today, Max. The package I put together of the Qu’Arim restaurant sold it to them.’

‘Mmm?’

He was engrossed in a booking list and only gave Louise half his attention.

She reached over and removed the sheet of paper he was working on and when he looked up, she kissed him. Only when he was kissing her back did she pull away. ‘It’s half past six, Max. My time.’

He leaned back, squeezed the space between his eyes. Smiled at her. ‘You look good enough to eat.’

‘That is not out of the question. First, business.’

‘A financial journal?’ he said, just to demonstrate that he’d been listening. ‘Why would they be interested in us?’’

‘The first new Bella Lucia in twenty-five years may only be of passing interest to the kind of people who make their global deals over lunch at the Mayfair restaurant,’ she began. ‘Something to note for the next time they’re in Qu’Arim-’

‘Only of passing interest?’

Question the interest quotient of his precious restaurants and suddenly she had his attention.

‘So what’s the big deal?’ he asked.

‘The big deal is not a single restaurant, but that it’s the first in a new era of expansion. This magazine is read by people who know us, trust us, show it by coming here to make their deals in the discreet atmosphere of the Mayfair restaurant. They can smooth our path overseas, Max. They’ll come to us with partnership proposals, finance.’ Then, when he didn’t immediately congratulate her for being brilliant, ‘Tell me if you think I’m stepping on your toes again, Max.’ Then, more concerned at how tired he looked than that he wasn’t interested in what she had to say, ‘If you’re really too busy to spare me half an hour this evening?’

‘No, no…’He dragged his fingers through hair that already bore the evidence of previous abuse. ‘Really. Tell me about it.’

‘I’ll make an appointment for you to meet with their features writer,’ she continued. ‘In the meantime they want pictures, not just of you but of Dad and your father, too. I’ve organised that for tomorrow. Here. The Mayfair restaurant will be familiar-’

‘For goodness sake, Lou, we’ve only just managed to shoehorn the pair of them out to pasture. Give them an inch-’

‘Relax. You’ll be front and centre, but the features writer will want some background on William Valentine, personal memories. How he built his empire from scratch after the war, when there was still rationing.’ She smiled. ‘They like men who can overcome apparently insurmountable obstacles to make things happen. And three generations of Valentines make us look solid.’

‘We are solid.’

‘I know, but trust me on this, Max. It’ll look good.’

‘Yes, of course it will. Sorry.’ Then, ‘You’ve spoken to your father?’

‘No, I was busy. Gemma organised it all.’

‘Lou…’ He got up, put his arms around her, pulled her close. ‘You can’t go on punishing them like this. They love you.’

‘They lied to me.’

‘They were afraid.’

‘They were?’ She pulled back. Looked up at him. ‘Why?’

‘They were afraid that you wouldn’t love them as much if they weren’t your own parents.’

‘But that’s…’ She was going to say that it was ridiculous. But he’d had stepmothers who’d had children of their own. For whom he was just a tiresome add-on. How had that felt? ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I just need a little more time.’

‘Don’t leave it too long.’ Then, gesturing at the paperwork on his desk, taking the crumpled paper from her own hand, ‘Let me get this straight and we’ll go and have a drink.’ He pulled a face as he returned to his chair. ‘I’ll need a drink.’

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, looking over his shoulder and felt a sharp chill. ‘Oh, you’re working on Valentine’s Day.’

Huge tips from goofily happy men and a fabulous party afterwards to celebrate the anniversary of the opening of the Chelsea restaurant on Valentine’s Day in nineteen forty-six. It was a magic occasion. And this year was their diamond jubilee, so they were pulling out all the stops.

‘It’s next week,’ he said, looking up at her as if he wanted to say something. Thinking better of it.

He didn’t have to say it. They both knew that the fourteenth was her own self-imposed deadline.

‘How are we doing?’ she asked.

‘Booked to the rafters. All that stuff about us in last week’s City Lights seems to have made everyone crazy to celebrate with us.’

‘It’s word association, Max.’ He looked up. ‘The juxtaposition of diamonds and Valentine’s Day. It was an easy sell.’ Then, ‘Maybe you should insist that all the men are going to be packing the real thing before we accept their bookings.’ Max frowned. ‘We don’t want any of our female diners to go home disappointed.’

‘You’re talking about engagement rings?’

‘Well, obviously.’

‘Wouldn’t that rather spoil the surprise?’

‘If an unmarried woman gets taken out to dinner at Bella Lucia on Valentine’s Day, the only surprise will be if there isn’t a ring hidden in the dessert. What could be described as a dumb-male, tears-before-bedtime scenario.’

He laughed. ‘Right.’ Then, sitting back, easing his neck. ‘Would you believe that I’ve never had a Valentine’s Day date?’

‘No.’

‘It’s true. There’s never been a Valentine’s Day when I haven’t had to work. From the day I turned eighteen and was old enough to serve a drink, it was the one night I had to turn up and pitch in.’

‘Well, that’s one way of avoiding matrimony,’ she agreed, dropping a kiss on his forehead. ‘You’re clearly too busy to talk marketing and PR tonight. Let’s give it a miss.’

‘No…’ He reached out, caught her hand. ‘You could stay and help. It is all your fault that we’re overwhelmed.’

‘Thanks, but I’ll pass on that one.’

‘You could just stay and let me look at you.’

‘Tempting, but once you get drawn into the nitty-gritty of how much chocolate, how much champagne you’re going to need, you’ll forget I’m here.’

For a moment she thought he might protest. Thought he might abandon planning the biggest night of their year and take her for that drink he’d offered. Instead he dragged his fingers through his hair, and, his attention already back on the complex planning required to ensure that everything ran smoothly, he said, ‘You’re right. I’ll see you later.’

No. She should say no. Begin to ease away now while she still could…

‘If I’m asleep…’ she said, putting a spare set of keys on his desk and instead of taking a step back, keeping their relationship at a level where just sleeping together was enough, she said, ‘Don’t wake me.’

Max picked up the keys, watched her gather her things, smile back at him as she headed for the door, hating to see her go. She brightened his day, had changed his life in ways he couldn’t begin to understand. It gave him a new kind of strength, and yet it frightened the life out of him, too. He’d surrendered something to her, lost the one thing that had kept him together even during the blackest times. Control.

‘Louise…’ She paused, turned back. ‘About the Valentine’s party…’

He’d been doing his best not to think about the huge party the family threw each year, after the restaurants closed-a celebration, a thank-you to all the staff. All day, as he’d been working on the plans for that evening, he’d remembered their deal, that she planned to draw a line under her involvement on that day…

‘What about it?’ she asked.

‘You will be there?’

She hesitated. He almost thought her shoulders sagged a little. Then she nodded.

‘Sure, Max,’ she said. ‘I might even dance with you.’

‘Uncle Robert!’ Louise dropped her briefcase on Max’s desk, kissed his father, bestowed the kind of brief, distant smile on Max that she’d always used around her family. His eyebrows rose a touch, he held her gaze for a moment longer than felt right, but then just nodded. Let it be. And that felt wrong, too. This was all wrong. She should go to him, kiss him…

‘How’s Aunt Bev?’ she asked, turning to Max’s father.

‘Good. She sends her love,’ he said. ‘Your father isn’t with you?’

‘He’s making his own way here.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘The photographer isn’t due for another fifteen minutes…’ She turned as the door opened behind her.