My Dear Mrs. Dixon (14/?)
“Well, that didn’t take long. You weren’t kidding when you said ‘sizeable investment’ were you?” Ariadne says quietly as she watches Collins zero in on them. He looks different from his picture somehow - less harsh, brown hair with a hint of grey at the temples, a smile that seems to extend to his eyes. She turns slightly away from Eames and prepares herself. If she can survive the next few minutes then maybe they have got this in the bag.
Eames is smiling as well. With one hand still firmly resting on Ariadne’s hip, he extends the other. “Mr. Collins, I am honored to finally meet you in person.”
“Please, Martin,” the other man corrects as he pumps Eames’ hand with a grin on his face. “After all the wheeling and dealing we have done I figure we are on a first name basis, yes?”
“Of course,” Eames says easily. “Practically partners now aren’t we?”
She suddenly finds herself thinking that perhaps Eames has said too much. Something passes over Collin’s face, a subtle shift - a dull in his grin. She wonders if Eames, who makes a living on reading others has noticed. Surely he has.
Ariadne steps forward a little, placing herself between the two. She hopes the smile on her face appears warm. She extends her hand and speaks clearly, “Mr. Collins, as you can see my husband speaks highly of you. I am glad that we have finally gotten the chance to meet face to face.”
Collins shifts his attention from Eames to her and she meets his eyes with her head titled up. She thinks she sees the uneasiness fade, a passing moment. She swallows the anxiety she hasn’t even realized she is feeling when he takes her hand and gives it a firm shake. “Mrs. Dixon, your husband failed to tell me that you were a stunning creature.”
She thinks that overblown flattery is the only way these people know how to talk to one another. Still, she smiles appropriately, “Why thank you, Mr. Collins. He often forgets to divulge that particular piece of information. Luckily, he has other talents so I am forgiving,” she says with a laugh and is glad when Collin’s does as well. She can feel Eames inching closer to her and she doesn’t want to look back...not when she has just made a thinly veiled reference to their sex life.
“You must call me Martin,” he insists.
“Then I am Elizabeth,” she immediately retorts.
Eames’ hand is on the small of her back, and she can feel the warm of his hand through the fabric of her dress. She glances up this time and sees that he is looking down at her. There is something in his eyes, the way they sweep across her face that has her a bit unnerved. Was he not happy with her performance?
Ariadne searches through her memory for some tidbit of information gleaned from Elizabeth Dixon’s file. She is hoping to cut down on tension she thinks she feels. “I wanted to thank you for donating to the Helping Hands Foundation in the spring. It was a very generous move.”
“It was the least I could do - a worthy cause, and after all your husband has done for me, I felt the need to give just a fraction of it back,” Collins’ tells her as he closes the space in between them a little.
Ariadne hopes she doesn’t look too surprised when Eames inserts himself into that space, a jovial smile on his face. “Martin, you should never feel obligated to me,” Eames begins and she wonders if he is deliberately blocking her from Collins now or if it is a coincidence. “I know a good investment when I see it.”
As the two dissolve into talk of business Ariadne finds herself only partly paying attention. Her eyes are drifting to the crowd around them. If Martin Collins is here, then where is the lovely Mrs. Collins? After all, meeting Collins is only a side benefit - it is his wife they are truly after tonight. Finally, she sees her amongst the crowd - a demure looking red head in a stunning emerald cocktail dress. She is in conversation with an older gentleman but her eyes stray to her husband every now and then before she notices Ariadne.
Ariadne smiles warmly hoping that she won’t be put off by being watched and instead come join them. She forces herself to pretend to be interested in the intricacies of business, wondering just where Eames has picked up that sort of lingo. However, she can’t help but glance towards Mrs. Collins every now and then, and feels a tiny thrill when she begins to make her way towards them.
Mrs. Collins comes to stop a few feet behind her husband, watching as he converses with Eames. Ariadne knows from the subtle shift in his body that Eames has noticed her as well. It is clear that Collins is not going to stop his diatribe on government restrictions and Mrs. Collins is not the type to interrupt, so Ariadne decides to take initiative. She steps to the side, moving the few feet to come to stand near other woman.
“You have a lovely home, Mrs. Collins,” she says as she extends her hand. “I am sorry that it has taken us this long to see it.” Ariadne thinks she looks cautious, guarded against something. Nerves flare in her stomach, leaving her to wonder if Mrs. Collins knows.
“I had heard that my husband was talking to the elusive Mr. and Mrs. Dixon,” she finally says as she takes Ariadne’s hand.
“Elizabeth,” Ariadne corrects.
“Vivian,” she says as she ends the handshake and looks back to husband, who has seemed to notice that she is there for the first time. “Martin, darling, Thomas Fredricks has just arrived and seems quite keen on speaking with you…”
Collins shakes his head. “He’ll have to wait until later. Right now I can think of nothing better than having a seat with the Dixon’s in hopes of sharing a drink and conversation.”
“Excellent!” Eames exclaims and he is reaching for Ariadne. She takes his hand and stumbles a little over her heels when he gives her an easy tug in his direction. She resists the urge to glare and hopes that their hosts don’t notice her lack of grace. Eames has a rather telling smile on his face that she would like to wipe away but now is not the time. “Lead the way my dear man.”
Collin’s takes his wife arm and they move toward an empty table near a set of impressive terrace doors. Ariadne holds Eames purposely back a few paces so she can whisper, “She’s taller than your forgery.”
“Already noted,” Eames tells her as they weave through the crowd. “And I am not quite sure I have her hair exactly the right color.”
“Striving for perfection?” She asks.
“Don’t you always,” Eames answers before he refocuses his attention to Collins and his wife. He is smiling again, and Ariadne realizes that she has never seen him smile quite like that before - there is something counterfeit about it, but of course they don’t know that.
The other couple have seated themselves by the time they reach the table. Eames pulls a chair out for her and she thanks him as she sits. He settles in beside her, his arm casually draped over the back of her chair. She can feel his fingers brushing the skin of her shoulder.
It is distracting.
She tries to focus on small talk but instead she is fighting off the urge to fit her body into his, to expand on the contact between them. She is vaguely aware of Vivian leaning in closer to her. She has to be repeating something and Ariadne flushes with embarrassment. “I am terribly sorry, Vivian. I had some champagne as soon as we arrived and I believe it has gone straight to my head.”
“Perfectly understandable, I rarely touch the stuff myself. I was just commenting on all the lovely charity work you have done in the past year. You are an inspiration for someone like me,” Vivian tells her as Eames and Collins continue to talk about the current tax laws. Ariadne has one ear on their conversation and wants to make a face at the absurdity of the situation. She makes a mental note to ask Eames when they are back in the safety and comfort of the loft just how the hell he knows these things.
“Thank you. I figure since I have so much it is only fair that I give in return,” she says easily and realizes rather sadly that these women have no real adventure in their lives. They have everything handed to them and they spend their time giving to any cause in their sights so the plebs doesn’t rebel against them. Not even close to the life that Ariadne would chose for her self.
When Eames mentions the phrase Impôt sur les fortunes Ariadne rolls her eyes, and is caught by Vivian. She quickly covers. “Don’t you wish that just for one night they would just stop?”
Eames learns forward, his voice nearly in her ear. “Feeling neglected, Lizzie dear?”
“Of course. Have you even noticed the music, Ambrose?” She shoots back playfully. “I hope you don’t intend for me to sit here all night listening to the political climate of corporate trading or other such nonsense when there are so much more enjoyable uses of my time.”
Eames seems genuinely amused, perhaps a little surprised. He sits back, surveying her with a slight smirk. He gets that look on his face and she knows he is about to say something that might cause her to blush. She steels herself.
Thankfully he is interrupted by Collins, who stands, both of them turning their heads as the chair scraps across the floor. “Elizabeth is right. We are wasting too much time on business. Would you like to dance?”
It takes Ariadne a moment to realize that he is talking to her. She hopes she doesn’t look too surprised. She takes a quick glance at Eames, his face unreadable and then stands. “That is a lovely idea, thank you Martin.”
As she takes his hand and allows herself to be lead to the dance floor, she can feel Eames eyes on her back.