Night with a Stranger

by Joanna Mansell

  Lewis's eyes had already gone very cool, though. There was no sign of the bright blaze that occasionally lit them, and his features were equally emotionless. She had the feeling that there was a great deal more he wanted to say, but that he was deliberately holding the words back. She was grateful for that. She felt that she had had about as much as she could cope with this morning.

  'You seem to have made all the decisions,' he remarked at last, in a very even tone. 'It looks as if I don't have much choice except to go along with them.'

  His words didn't make Lorel feel any more relaxed. She was sure that he wasn't used to taking such a passive role, and her muscles went even more rigid as he shifted position again. He was taking a step towards the door, though, obviously intending to leave. She released her breath in a pent-up sigh of relief, and realised then that she had never really thought he would leave with so little trouble.

  He paused in the doorway, though, and shot one last cold glance at her.

  'Which of us do you think has been the loser in all of this?' he challenged her tautly. Then he went into his own cabin, flinging the connecting door noisily shut behind him.

  Lorel stared at the door. Who was the loser? Well, she was, of course! She had lost her pride and her self-respect. What could be worse than that?

  She locked the connecting door; then she slowly began to wash and dress. When she had finished, she sat by the window, watching the scenery of northern Italy drifting by. She didn't want to leave her cabin and have to speak to other people. And she certainly didn't want to run into Lewis Elliott again.

  Just saying his name to herself sent a small shiver running through her nerve-ends. She pressed her palms against her aching head, and wished she had never, set foot on this damned train.

  A couple of aspirins helped to cure her headache, and her jangling nerves slowly began to settle as the morning slid by. The steward brought her lunch on a tray, and she forced herself to eat a few mouthfuls. She felt a lot calmer now, and almost ready to face the world again. Not that she had a great deal of choice, she reminded herself ruefully. The train would be pulling into Venice very shortly. She couldn't stay hidden away in this cabin for very much longer, even if she wanted to.

  She gathered together her luggage, and then cautiously opened the door of her cabin. The corridor outside was empty. She guessed that most people were busily collecting their things together, ready to get off the train.

  Her eyebrows drew together resentfully. What a waste of money this trip had been! First, that bad experience on the ferry, when her phobia about water had nearly got the better of her, and then last night's disaster ‑

  Was it such a disaster? murmured a treacherous little voice inside her head.

  Yes, it was! she answered herself fiercely. She refused to let herself look at it in any other way.

  She sidled past the door to Lewis's cabin, and then noticed that it wasn't quite shut. Was he in there? she wondered tensely. Then her eyes suddenly gleamed.

  If not, perhaps she could leave him a small parting gift—something to remember her by. He must have a couple of expensive suits, ready for the business meetings he would be attending in Italy. How unfortunate if a bottle of perfume just happened to spill all over them!

  Very carefully, she eased open the door a fraction, intending to draw back instantly if Lewis was still inside. The cabin was empty, though. With a quick glance back along the corridor, she slipped inside, her pulses thumping away much faster than usual.

  His suitcase was placed just inside the door. Lorel reached into her handbag for the bottle of perfume she kept there. Then her gaze fixed on the briefcase lined up beside Lewis's suitcase. She knew what had to be in it. The papers he had been working on when he had first boarded the train.

  Afterwards, she couldn't have explained what had made her do it. All she was aware of was a strong urge to get back at this man. And what better way than by removing something that was obviously very important to him?

  Without thinking, without even making any conscious decision, she picked up the briefcase and backed out of Lewis's cabin. She flung her light mac over it, so no one could see what she was carrying. Then she picked up her own case again, and began to make her way along the corridor.

  Since the train was pulling into the station now, other people were beginning to leave their cabins. Lorel moved towards them, deciding it would be best to mingle with them, and get lost in the crowd.

  She had almost reached them when a hand reached out from behind and descended on her shoulder.

  She didn't have to turn round to find out whose hand it was. She recognised Lewis's touch immediately. Her heart jumped, and then began pounding at top speed. Nervously, she glanced down at the briefcase in her hand. Then she relaxed just a little as she saw it was still completely covered by her mac. Lewis couldn't see it.

  'What do you want?' she asked, edginess making her voice sound very sharp.

  'Did you really intend to get off this train without saying another word to me?' He sounded a little incredulous, and when Lorel swung round to face him she could see that his features were very dark.

  'Of course I did,' she said stiffly. 'I thought I'd made that perfectly clear.'

  Lewis shook his head. 'I really misread you, didn't I?' he said slowly. 'That sophisticated act you put on last night was just a front. Underneath it, you were just a child playing at being an adult.'

  That remark really got to her. 'I'm not a child!' she denied indignantly. 'You'll soon find that out,' she added, with a gleam of triumph, her fingers closing a little tighter around the handle of the briefcase.

  Lewis frowned. 'Exactly what is that meant to mean?'

  'Nothing at all,' she said with sudden nervousness, realising that it would be really stupid to make him suspicious. She took a step backwards. She wanted to get away from here, before he discovered his briefcase was missing. He was going to be in a furious temper when he realised it had gone, and she didn't want to be around when that happened. 'Well, see you around,' she said, keeping her voice as casual as she could. 'I'm off now.'

  'Not yet, you're not,' he said, a trifle grimly. His fingers closed around her arm, making it impossible for her to move.

  'Let go of me,' she hissed. 'Or I'll scream!'

  'I don't think so. You don't strike me as the sort of girl who'd make a scene in public.'

  Lorel glared at him. He was right, of course. She would just end up half-dead with embarrassment, which would hardly help the situation.

  'Well, what do you want?' she snapped.

  Lewis regarded her steadily. 'Believe it or not, I do have a sense of responsibility,' he said at last. 'And a rather strong one, at that. Neither of us were very careful last night. I wanted to make sure there wouldn't be any consequences that would make the situation even more difficult than it already is.'

  Her face flushed bright red as she realised what he was getting at.

  'There's nothing for you to worry about,' she lied.

  His gaze caught hers and held it with unexpected force, 'You're sure?'

  'Absolutely certain,' she grated back at him. 'Will you let me go now?'

  'I suppose I don't have much choice, do I?' His voice sounded oddly regretful. He flicked one last unfathomable glance in her direction. 'It didn't have to be like this,' he said evenly.

  'Oh, yes, it did,' she retorted. 'You made sure of that!' She bent down to pick up her suitcase.

  'Let me help you with that.'

  'I don't need any help. And particularly not from you!'

  His blue eyes briefly blazed with pure anger. 'Then to hell with you,' he said curtly. And, with that, he spun round and strode off along the corridor.

  Lorel swallowed hard, and found she was shaking. All that defiance had only been on the surface. Underneath, her nerves were in tatters, and she felt an overwhelming need to get as far away from Lewis Elliott as possible.

  She hurried out of the station, almost forgetting that she was still cl
utching Lewis's briefcase. Then she stood still as she saw that the steps outside the station led down to a wide stretch of water. For a while, she had actually forgotten where she was. Venice—where the only practical way to get around was by boat.

  She gave a small groan. That was just about the last thing she needed at the moment—another dose of her least favourite form of transport! She didn't think she would get into a panic this time, though. This wasn't the open sea, only the beginning of the Grand Canal. She would be only yards away from dry land, which should make her feel fairly safe.

  Some of the other passengers were heading for the water taxis, but she made for the vaporetto, the water bus, which was slower and a lot less comfortable, but definitely much cheaper.

  She had booked her hotel in London, and had been given detailed instructions on how to reach it. She dumped her case down beside her in the vaporetto, made sure that she knew which stop to get off at, and then lifted her head for her first good look at Venice.

  She was aware that this should have been a magical moment, her first sight of what was meant to be the most beautiful city in the world. Unfortunately, a low mist obscured everything except the nearest buildings.

  She didn't really care too much, though. She wasn't in the mood for magical moments.

  Once she got off the vaporetto, it took her ages to find her hotel. She had been warned that Venice was an absolute maze, but she hadn't really appreciated how difficult it would be to find her way around. When she did finally stumble across her hotel, it was purely by accident, and not because she had regained her sense of direction. Then she became even more depressed when she found it was little more than a rooming house.

  'I know I told them I wanted somewhere cheap, but this is ridiculous,' she muttered to herself, as she looked up at the dilapidated building set beside one of the smaller canals.

  Still, there wasn't much she Could do about it. She had been told in London that accommodation in Venice was expensive. Since there hadn't been much money left after she had paid for the trip on the Orient-Express, this was all she had been able to afford. With a small shrug of resignation, she picked up her case and went inside.

  The interior was a little more promising; not exactly luxury standard, but very clean. So was her room, even though it was only just big enough to take the single bed, chest of drawers, and small wardrobe that had been crammed into it!

  Lorel was beyond caring by now, though. Her mood was getting blacker by the minute, and she shoved her clothes into the drawers, slung Lewis's briefcase into a dark corner of the wardrobe, and then went to stare gloomily out of the window.

  If anything, the mist had thickened.

  'Another mistake,' she muttered to herself. 'This is obviously the wrong time of the year to come to Venice. OK, so it's not completely crammed with tourists, but that's not much good if you can't even see the damned place!'

  Since the hotel provided only accommodation, and not food, she finally had to rouse herself and find somewhere to have a meal. Luckily, there was a small trattoria nearby, and for a reasonable sum of money she was given more than she could actually eat. When she finally left to make her way back to the hotel, she felt as if she had pasta coming out of her ears. Then she gave a small groan of dismay as she realised it had begun to rain.

  'Oh, this is great!' she grumbled, with a fresh wave of gloom. 'If I'd wanted a week of mist and rain, I could have stayed in England!'

  The other rooms in the hotel seemed mostly empty, which didn't surprise her. She guessed that anyone who could afford it would go somewhere more upmarket. No one seemed to speak English, and since she didn't know more than half a dozen words of Italian, it took a lot of time and much thumbing through a phrase-book to find out even basic things, such as the location of the bathroom.

  Since there wasn't much else to do, she went to bed early and then spent a lot of time staring miserably at the ceiling. This entire holiday had turned out to be a disastrous mistake. A disastrous, expensive mistake, she reminded herself with another rush of gloom. She was frittering away the last of her small legacy on these few days in Venice, and when she got back to England she wouldn't even have a job. She must have been mad to have acted so rashly!

  And then, on top of everything else, there had been that awful episode with Lewis Elliott. She still couldn't quite believe she had done what she had. Gone to bed with a virtual stranger—and enjoyed it. She was too honest to admit that she hadn't. It was only afterwards that she had begun to feel so awful. She had been genuinely shocked by her own behaviour, and by the discovery of a side of herself that she hadn't even known existed.

  She tossed and turned for a couple more hours, kept closing her eyes, more in hope than any real belief that she would fall asleep, and then at last drifted into a light doze that slowly deepened into real sleep.

  In the morning, she crawled unenthusiastically out of bed, peered out of the window, and then gave a small 'Oh!' of surprise. The rain had stopped, the mist had cleared, and a pale, golden light illuminated the city. The small canal outside her window glittered, the buildings opposite didn't look nearly as dilapidated as they had the day before, and she found herself unexpectedly eager to see more of this unashamedly romantic city.

  An hour later, she was dressed, had eaten a quick breakfast at a nearby cafe, and was standing at the side of the canal, poring over the guide-book. She supposed she ought to start with the more obvious sights—St Mark's Square, the Basilica, the Doge's Palace—if only because they would probably be the easiest to find. Rather than try to negotiate her way through the maze of narrow streets, she took the vaporetto, and settled back to enjoy the experience of a trip up the Grand Canal.

  This morning, Venice seemed a completely different city from the one she had arrived in yesterday.

  Or perhaps it was her own frame of mind that had changed. Her memories of Lewis Elliott weren't quite so frighteningly vivid as they had been yesterday. In time, she would probably forget him completely, she told herself firmly. And if she didn't really believe that, then she didn't intend to admit that fact.

  Instead, she settled back to enjoy the sight of Venice glistening in the early spring sunshine. The palazzos slid by, some crumbling, some still impressive, but all of them beautiful. The vaporetto passed under the Rialto Bridge, and Lorel looked up to admire it, and then gave a smile of contentment. This was how she had imagined it would be, before Lewis Elliott had stepped in to ruin everything. Well, he wasn't going to spoil the rest of her holiday, she decided with determination. In fact, she wasn't even going to think about him any more.

  The Grand Canal wound round, with even more boats filling it now. Sleek black gondolas, small and large motorcraft, water taxis and vaporetti, churned their way past. Although the peak of the tourist season was still quite a long way off, it seemed that the city was never less than crowded and busy.

  The church of Santa Maria della Salute loomed on the right, looking rather like a giant wedding cake with its ornate white walls, domes and cupolas. They were at the entrance to the Grand Canal now, and on the left was the entrance to St Mark's Square with, just beyond it, the Doge's Palace, a dazzling fantasy in pink and white, with fine stone tracery.

  Lorel left the vaporetto, along with a couple of dozen other tourists, and headed along with them towards the main square. She had to admit it was very impressive. And very big! The famous cafes which lined it were already open, their chairs and tables set out in the golden and surprisingly warm sunshine. And at the other end was the bright red belltower, and beyond that, the Basilica of St Mark's, with its huge curved portals, its mosaics touched with gold that caught and reflected the sunlight and the five great domes which crowned the famous church.

  The square itself was so large that, despite the number of people in it, it didn't seem crowded. Lorel gave a sigh of satisfaction. Although she had seen photographs of the square, it certainly didn't compare to being here in person. She was just trying to decide whether she wanted to
tackle the Basilica first, or the Doge's Palace, when a very familiar voice sounded in her ear.

  'I thought I'd find you here, if I waited long enough. Everyone who comes to Venice heads first for St Mark's Square.'

  Her legs turned to absolute jelly. The one man she hadn't wanted to see ever again. And here he was, right beside her!

  Lorel swallowed hard, and tried to get a grip on her shattered nerves. 'Well, fancy seeing you here,' she burbled. 'What a coincidence ‑'

  'Oh, it's no coincidence at all,' Lewis assured her rather grimly. 'I thought I'd already made that very plain.'

  Lorel swallowed again. Yes, he had, but she didn't want to think about that.

  'This is a fantastic place, isn't it?' she waffled on. 'And the weather's so much better today. I was afraid it was going to rain all week ‑'

  'Where's my briefcase?' he cut in tersely.

  'What briefcase?' she asked innocently.

  Lewis gave a small growl under his breath. 'I haven't got the time or patience to go through some pantomime routine. You took it, and both you and I know that. You were seen carrying it when you left the station. The man who saw you had seen us together the night before, and he assumed that you had every right to have it in your possession. He didn't realise that you were stealing it!'

  Lorel's eyes flashed. 'I don't steal!' she said sharply. Then she bit her lip. Normally, that was perfectly true. There was something about this man, though, that made her act completely-out of character. Could she be blamed for that? she argued with herself fiercely. She managed to convince herself that she couldn't and went back on to the attack again.