A Kept Woman by Louise Bagshawe Read Free Book Online

herself softly .. the American dream. The ennui would pass, she must just be tired. A life of leisure could be exhausting. Maybe this spa would be the thing to refresh her.
    The limo pulled in smoothly to the kerb, her .driver
     
    36
     
    easily negotiating the Fifth Avenue traffic. L’Urbane’s frontage, a quietly opulent canopy of bronze silk, was spread out to welcome her. Diana slid out of the car while Richard held the door open for her. She tugged her tailored jacket closer around her breasts, snugly encased in La Perla mocha lace this morning, and gave a tiny smile to the hot-dog vendor who whistled as she strutted into the lobby.
    The girls were waiting for her. Diana gave them a little wave.
    ‘Darlings, it’s so good to see you.’
    ‘Diana! At last.’ Natasha stood, all skinny blonde elegance, and moved to kiss the air at the side of her face. Jodie and Felicity waggled manicured fingers and gave her the small grimaces that passed for smiles among many New York wives since the press broke the story that smihag g.ave you wrinkles. Natty Zuckerman was married to a press mogul, Jodie Goodfriend to an investment banker, and Felicity Metson was recently divorced from a real-estate magnate. Felicity was the youngest of the three, just a little older than Diana, and was her closest friend over here. She was currently dating a US Marine major stationed at Fort Hamilton, and liked to give Diana all the juicy gossip. And wasn’t gossip the best thing in the world - after a nice designer sale at Bloomingdales?
    ‘Shall we go in? It’s the seaweed wrap to start with,’ Felicity said, eagerly.
    ‘Sounds good.’ Diana smiled at her friend, vaguely aware that Jodie and Natasha sometimes gave Felicity a hard time, just because she was divorced, which was unfair, of course. Some people were just tolerated. Diana tossed her newly platinum bob, her roots eliminated as of nine this morning, her head covered in a glossy cloud of corn-gold, shining hair.
    ‘Ladies. Please to come this way.’ A beautiful Indian
     
    37
     
    lady in a sari of rich crimson and gold appeared before them, bowing low. The changing rooms were individual, of course, and inlaid with mosaics on the floor. The taps were gold-plated, and the countertop solid marble in pale pink. L’Occitane shea butter and honeysuckle soap was laid out for her, next to a crystal vase crammed with roses and the delicate buds of actual honeysuckle blooms. Wow, Diana thought. The Americans certainly know how to pamper a woman.
    She knew she ought to be thrilled at the thought of a half-day of massage in the company of her girlfriends. Impatient with herself, Diana struggled into her swimsuit and shook her head. She would enjoy this. New things, she found, always alleviated the boredom.
     
    Michael Cicero stretched in the half light of dawn. His arms felt like they were on fire. Three sets of curls with thirty-pound weights had made his biceps scream, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself through it. Exercise was the physical stress that helped him cope with the mental stress of running his company. Besides, he didn’t intend to allow his muscles to slide. Guys today, many of them, looked like they could hardly lift a gallon of milk without panting. Just because he wore a suit didn’t mean that he was going to go soft.
    He pushed himself up lightly on the balls of his feet and stepped into the shower. Getting up at 4 a.m. to sneak out of a girl’s apartment was tiring, but it had some definite advantages. He didn’t have to worry about hustling her out while not appearing rude. The chick had been attractive, too, Jessica, an old flame he called up periodically, a grad student at NYU, one of those cool chicks with an out-there CD collection and a nice line in little leather backpacks. She wore her hair too short for his taste, but she was very well endowed, and with those tits bouncing towards him, he could forget other aesthetic
     
    38
     
    considerations.