Master of her Virtue

Not a bad setting for a New Year’s Eve party, however.

Violet frowned again as she stared up at the still-empty driveway. Where was everyone? It did seem strange that no one had driven in since her own arrival. Maybe they were already inside. Maybe she wasn’t early; maybe she was late.

There was only one way to find out, she supposed. Squaring her shoulders, she turned and made her way over to the glass-walled foyer of the building. Inside, a security guard sat behind a large curved reception desk. The design of the building was big on curves; all the glass walls facing the harbour were gently curved, as well as the balconies which fronted the entire length of each apartment.

A buzzer rang when she pushed open the door, bringing the guard’s head up from whatever he was doing. Probably reading. He looked around sixty, a jovial-faced fellow with a ready smile.

‘You’ll be here for Mr Wolfe’s party, by the look of you,’ he said cheerily.

‘Yes,’ she said, trying not to feel foolish in her Snow White costume.

‘Name, please, miss?’ the guard enquired.

‘What? Oh … er … Violet Green.’

His head dropped, presumably to check Henry’s guest list.

When he looked up again, he was still smiling. ‘You can go on up, Miss Green.’

‘Thank you. Has … um … anyone else arrived yet?’

‘Only the caterers, miss. You’re the first guest.’

She sighed a deep sigh. ‘Oh dear.’

‘I’m sure it won’t be long before the others get here. Mr Wolfe’s parties are always very popular. Ah, look, there, didn’t I tell you? There’s someone else arriving now.’

Violet glanced over her shoulder just in time to see a white stretch-limousine slide down the steep driveway before being expertly manoeuvred to stop reasonably close to the foyer door. A smartly uniformed chauffeur alighted and strode round to open the back door, standing to attention as Henry the Eighth climbed out followed by one of his wives; impossible to guess which wife. One with her head still on. Whatever, the costumes were extremely elaborate and expensive, making Violet feel instantly ill at ease in her home-made outfit.

Not that it wasn’t well made; it was. And very close to the picture most people had in their head of what Snow White had worn. It had an ankle-length gathered skirt made in a pale-blue silk, the same pale-blue silk used in the puffed sleeves. The fitted bodice was made in red velvet which matched the red velvet band in Violet’s hair, hair which she’d had dyed black for the night and styled in a shoulder-length bob.

Her shoes were black patent pumps with small heels and diamante-encrusted bows on the front, the closest she’d been able to get to the shoes in the picture of Snow White she’d printed off the Internet. The stiff stand-up collar which wrapped around her neck and framed her face was white. The only major difference in her own costume was the laced-up front, a necessity to make the costume fit.

She’d actually felt very happy with her costume … till now.

‘Is there a ladies room down here?’ she quickly asked the security guard before the swish new arrivees swept into the foyer. ‘I’d like to freshen up a bit before going upstairs.’ Despite Henry’s apartment being number one, it was located on the first floor of the building, the ground floor taken up with the owners’ car park.

‘Just down that corridor, miss,’ he indicated. ‘Right next to the lift.’

‘Oh, yes, I can see it. Thank you.’

Her hand was actually on the powder-room door when Joy’s voice popped into her head.

You’re not going to be a wishy-washy, lily-livered little nincompoop, are you?

Shame and anger revived her determination to have done with her silly shy self once and for all. With her bag clutched tightly in one hand, she moved on to firmly press the lift button instead. The doors opened immediately and she stepped inside.

This is New Year’s Eve, Violet lectured herself as she rode the lift up to the first floor. A night for facing things head-on; a night where the past was finally put aside in favour of the future. It’s up to you, Violet, to make that future a better place. A bolder place. A place where you finally look in the mirror and see the truth. Your Snow White might not be the fairest in the land but you are an attractive, intelligent woman. There’s no need for you to go through life alone. No need to shrink away from social situations just because they’re out of your comfort zone.

Lady Gwendaline never shrank away from anything, she reminded herself. And, boy, she’d been really out of her comfort zone when she’d been kidnapped by that ruffian. Whenever you feel your courage or your confidence waning, think of her and what she would do. Don’t be shy. And, above all, don’t be a wishy-washy, lily-livered little nincompoop!

CHAPTER FOUR

‘THERE’S THE DOORBELL,’ Henry said to Leo. Both men were standing at the built-in bar opening a few bottles of nicely chilled champagne. ‘Answer it for me, will you, Leo? I’ll pop out to the kitchen and let the caterer know people are arriving.’

‘Fine,’ Leo agreed, depositing the champagne bottle he was holding into one of the ice buckets before heading for the front door.

His eyebrows rose when he opened it to find the most delicious looking Snow White standing there. All alone, he noted happily; no Prince Charming by her side. He also noted that her lovely big brown eyes were staring at him like he was a little green man from Mars. It occurred to Leo that perhaps she was thinking he hadn’t bothered to dress up. He supposed his black dinner suit, white dress shirt and black bow-tie didn’t look like a fancy dress costume.

‘Good evening, Snow White,’ he said with what he hoped was a suitably suave smile. ‘Do come in. By the way, my name is Bond. James Bond,’ he added, looking deep into her eyes.

‘Oh,’ she said, her prettily pale cheeks colouring with the most enchanting blush. It was then that Leo twigged who she was.

‘You’re Violet, aren’t you? Dad’s assistant.’

‘Yes. Yes, I am. But how did you …?’

‘Call it intuition,’ he interrupted smoothly. ‘I presume you know who I am. When I’m not being James Bond, that is.’

He was rewarded with a small, sweet smile. ‘Yes. You’re Henry’s son, Leo, the famous movie producer.’

‘Maybe not so famous after my last effort,’ he replied drily. ‘But let’s not talk shop tonight. Or stand in the doorway.’

Her full skirt swished as she stepped inside the foyer. Leo closed the door before taking her elbow and steering her into the middle of the huge but empty living room.

‘I came too early,’ she said, sounding embarrassed.

‘Not at all,’ Leo assured her. ‘Everyone else is late.’

Another small smile, but it didn’t hide her tension. Henry hadn’t exaggerated when he’d said she had no confidence in herself. She didn’t, though Leo could not understand why. She was very attractive, and obviously highly intelligent. Henry would not have employed her as his assistant if she wasn’t. Violet was a puzzle, all right.

‘Henry’s out in the kitchen,’ he explained. ‘With the caterers. Look, let’s pop that bag of yours in Henry’s bedroom. Unless you want to carry it with you all night.’

‘No, not really,’ she said, and followed him meekly into the master bedroom where he told her to put the bag on the nearest bedside table.

‘Henry won’t mind. You can use his bathroom too, when needs be. Save you sharing the main bathroom with the other guests,’ he informed her as he led her back out into the still-empty living room. ‘Henry!’ he called out. ‘Violet’s here.’

Henry waddled out of the kitchen, his gait somewhat impaired by the pillow tied around his waist underneath his brown woollen habit. Leo watched his father do a doubletake when his eyes landed on Violet.

‘Good Lord!’ he exclaimed as he came up to her. ‘I didn’t recognise you there for a moment.’

Clearly, Violet didn’t usually look as good as she looked tonight. Yet Leo could see that she wasn’t just all clothes, hair and make-up. She had lovely dark eyes, porcelain skin, nice cheekbones, a lush mouth and a good body. At least, the parts Leo could see were good. Very good. He conceded that she might not be so perfect underneath that full skirt. She might very well be pear-shaped with huge thighs and thick ankles. Impossible to tell in that get-up.

‘I didn’t recognise you either,’ Violet replied.

Leo knew exactly what she meant. Henry had totally transformed himself from his usual trim, elegant self into a portly and rather drearily dressed Friar Tuck, even going to the length of covering his thick head of well-groomed silver hair with a brown wig which had the appropriate bald spot.

‘Yes, but not for the better, I fear,’ Henry said wryly. ‘Lord knows what possessed me. Whereas you, my dear girl, look absolutely gorgeous.’

There it was again, that blush, at which point Leo totally abandoned his earlier theory that Violet might be having a secret affair with a married man. Mistresses didn’t blush like that.

At the same time, he wasn’t willing to believe she was pure as the driven snow. She was too attractive for that to be the case. Real Snow Whites did not exist in this day and age. Despite looking little more than twenty tonight, she had to be … what? Twenty-five, twenty-six, maybe? University degrees took three or four years at least, after which she’d been working for his father for about four years.

No, his first theory had to be right. She’d had a bad sexual experience at uni which had knocked her for a six and made her retreat into herself. That would certainly explain her lack of social confidence.

Poor darling, he thought, and resolved to do his best to make sure she enjoyed herself at this party. He suspected it had been a big deal for Violet to come here tonight. Maybe the lure of the fireworks had finally overridden her shyness. Though, ‘shy’ was not quite the word he would use when describing her. A truly shy girl would not have shown that much cleavage …

The doorbell ringing again stopped Leo from ogling Violet’s exceptional breasts, bringing his eyes back up to Henry’s face.

‘Do you want me to answer that?’ he asked his father.

‘No, I’ll get it. You can pour Violet a glass of that champagne I bought especially for tonight.’

‘Do you like champagne?’ Leo asked her as he led her over to the corner bar. ‘You can have something else, if you like. Henry has a bit of everything behind here.’ Leaving Violet standing next to a bar stool, he made his way behind the black, granite-topped bar which had an assortment of glasses and bottles at the ready.

‘I’m not sure I’ve ever had real champagne,’ she said, making no attempt to sit on the stool. Understandable, given the width of her skirt.

‘Don’t worry. You’ll like it. Henry only ever buys the best.’

‘Have you always called your father Henry?’ she asked as he filled two crystal flutes with the chilled champagne from the ice bucket.

‘Ever since I went to uni. His idea, not mine. I suspect he didn’t want the women he fancied knowing he had a grown–up son.’ He handed one glass over to Violet before lifting the other to his lips.

‘I thought James Bond only drank dry martinis,’ she said with just a hint of a smile curving her ruby red lips.

Lord, but she was a provocative package when she smiled like that. More so because she wasn’t aware of her attraction.

‘I have a confession to make,’ he said.

‘What’s that?’

‘I don’t think I’d make a very good James Bond. I get tired even watching 007 in action. All those car chases, not to mention the fights. After which he has to make love to at least half a dozen different women, most of whom are trying to kill him.’

She laughed. Not the laughter he’d become used to with women—nothing forced or flirtatious, a natural-sounding laugh.

Leo realised at that moment just how jaded he’d become with the female company he usually kept. All the up-and-coming young actresses he met at parties and premieres who obviously saw him not as a mere man but as a step up the ladder of their careers. They fluttered their false eyelashes at him and flattered him endlessly, hanging on his every word and laughing coquettishly, even when he hadn’t told a joke.

He couldn’t imagine Violet acting that way. Nothing false about her, he thought, as his eyes dropped once more to the creamy mounds of flesh which were fighting to be freed from that corset-like bodice. Leo knew that, without a bra, Violet’s breasts would settle into lushly natural curves, not stand up high on her chest like two huge grapefruits the way Helene’s had done.

The prospect of spending this New Year’s Eve party with a girl like Violet was an unexpectedly pleasant one. He’d already been curious about her, but he hadn’t anticipated being this enchanted by her. Enchanted and intrigued.

The sounds of loud laughter brought his gaze over Violet’s shoulder to the group of guests who’d just arrived. Leo didn’t know the people beneath the costumes but felt sure their real characters matched the ones they’d chosen for the evening. Henry the Eighth and wife, along with Napoleon and Josephine. The men would be ruthless and their women little more than expensive window dressing. Leo had met their kind before.

What he hadn’t met before was Violet’s kind. She was like a breath of fresh air in a world filled with pollution.

‘Why don’t we take our drinks out into the balcony?’ he suggested, eager to get her alone and find out more about her.

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