Night with a Stranger

by Joanna Mansell

  'I've had enough of this,' she told him, with some determination. 'I told you on the train that I didn't want to see you again, and I meant it. Go away and leave me alone. I've got a lot of sightseeing planned for today. I don't want to stand around all morning, having silly arguments with you.'

  'I intend to stick around until I get back that briefcase,' Lewis informed her grimly. 'I need the papers in it. Without them, this trip to Italy will have been a complete waste of time.'

  Lorel hoped he couldn't see the gleam of satisfaction that lit up her eyes. Taking that briefcase had been the perfect way to get back at him! All right, she knew she couldn't keep it indefinitely. She had never intended to do that. But she was certainly going to make him sweat for a couple of days, before she finally handed it back to him. Her tongue briefly licked her lips. Revenge certainly was sweet!

  'Well, I suppose I can't stop you hanging around, if you've nothing better to do,' she replied airily. 'I just hope you don't get too bored.'

  Lewis looked as if he would like to wring her neck, but Lorel knew she was perfectly safe. There were far too many people around for him to risk inflicting any kind of physical injury on her.

  Turning away from him, she headed towards the belltower. Leaving Lewis standing at the entrance, she went inside and took the lift up to the top. The view was fantastic, with the sunlit panorama of Venice spread out on all sides. She didn't want to go down again—especially since she was sure Lewis would still be there, waiting for her.

  He was, his blue gaze intense and furious. He fell into step beside her as she made her way towards the Basilica, and although she refused to look at him she knew his features were fixed in a black scowl.

  'I could go to the police,' he threatened at last.

  'Yes, you could,' she agreed. 'But what good would that do? It wouldn't get your briefcase back again.'

  'Do you know how important those papers are to me?' he demanded.

  Lorel smiled sweetly at him. 'I'm afraid I've absolutely no idea. You know how we females are—no head for business.' She paused under one of the ornate portals leading into the church. 'Are you coming inside, or are you going to stay and simmer in the sun?'

  He didn't even bother to answer. Instead, he propped himself up against one of the stone pillars, and Lorel quickly got the message. She could do all the sightseeing she wanted, but she was always going to find him waiting for her when she came out again.

  She bit her lip. Was it really worth all this hassle? Then she was immediately angry with herself for even thinking that. Of course it was worth it! She had lost her self-respect, and he had lost his briefcase. It seemed to her an extremely fair exchange. They had both had to give up something of great value.

  It was dark inside the church, which suited her mood. The great domes loomed high overhead, their beautiful mosaics almost lost in the shadows. Lorel wandered around without really seeing their sombre splendour. Coming face to face with Lewis again had been far more of a shock than she had been willing to admit, and now that she was no longer bolstered up by that initial burst of defiance she was beginning to feel unpleasantly shaky. She knew she needed to get away from him. She didn't think her nerves would stand it if he trailed around after her all day, like some avenging angel. The only problem was, how was she to manage it?

  Her gaze slid round slightly desperately, and then fixed on a large group of tourists at the far end of the church. They were obviously just getting ready to leave, eager to move on to another of Venice's numerous attractions.

  Moving quickly, Lorel went over to join them, pushing her way into the very centre of the crowd. As they made their way out of the Basilica, she edged out with them, certain Lewis wouldn't be able to spot her in the middle of the jostling throng.

  Once outside, they began to head in the direction of the Doge's Palace. Lorel immediately gave a frustrated groan. She needed to get out of St Mark's Square. While she was here, she would stay trapped.

  She glanced round, and saw that Lewis was still staring moodily at the main entrance to the Basilica. She took a deep breath, and hoped he wouldn't turn round and look in her direction at the wrong moment. Then she peeled off from the crowd, scuttled round the side of the Basilica, and shot down a narrow street opposite.

  She didn't have the slightest idea where she was going, but she didn't really care. She just kept moving, turning left and then right, dashing across another smaller square and past a church, then off down another narrow road.

  There were far less people around now she had left the main tourist area of St Mark's. A couple looked at her curiously as she careered past, but mostly they took no notice.

  Out of breath, she paused for a moment and, for the first time, looked back. Then she gave a disbelieving shake of her head. There was a tall, dark, frighteningly familiar figure at the far end of the street—and he was heading purposefully in her direction.

  The man was like a limpet! she told herself a little despairingly. It was just impossible to shake him off!

  She began to run again and didn't look round any more, but she didn't need to. All her senses were shrieking out that Lewis was only yards behind her.

  There was a canal in front of her now, blocking her escape. Then she let out a breathless sigh of relief as she saw a small bridge crossing it. There were steps up one side, and she thundered up them, and then ran across the top of the bridge.

  'Lorel—wait!' came Lewis's imperious command.

  Not likely! she thought to herself grimly. She galloped down the steps on the far side of the bridge, and had almost reached the bottom when she suddenly missed her footing. The world did a complete somersault, and then she came crashing down so hard that she knocked practically all the breath out of her body. Her head cracked against something solid, a great blackness swooped over her, and with a small groan she let it completely swallow her up.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Her eyes fluttered half-open, and then closed again. There was a lot of pain, both inside her head and spreading its way right through her body. She didn't want to move; didn't even want to think. Instinctively, she knew it would hurt far too much.

  She seemed to doze for a while, although she thought she probably wasn't completely asleep because she was vaguely aware that she could hear voices. She didn't know what they were saying, but that was because she couldn't be bothered to listen.

  Then she gradually realised that someone seemed to be saying a name over and over, which became a little irritating after a while. She decided to ignore it. After all, it wasn't anything to do with her.

  Then she did actually fall asleep again. Or it might have been another lapse into unconsciousness. And when she swam back to reality a second time things seemed much clearer. She opened her eyes wide, and slowly looked around.

  There was still a thumping pain inside her head, but it didn't seem as bad as it had been before. She blinked a couple of times and waited for everything to slide slowly into focus. Then a small frown wrinkled her forehead. This wasn't her bed—nor was it her room. She wasn't at home, in her own flat. So—where on earth was she?

  Another frown creased her face as she tried to figure it out. Not a hospital—everything was too elegant, too grand. Perhaps if she saw more of the room, she would finally recognise it. She tried to move her head, and then gave a small groan as a fresh bolt of pain zipped through it. Very quickly, she closed her eyes again.

  'Lorel?' said a voice sharply. 'Are you awake?'

  Reluctantly, she forced her aching eyelids open and found herself gazing up at a dark-haired man with piercingly blue eyes. She looked at him groggily. Was he a doctor? But he wasn't wearing a white coat ‑

  'Lorel?' he said again. 'How do you feel?'

  He was obviously talking to her, but his words didn't seem to make much sense. Who was Lorel? Was it supposed to be her? With a rising sense of panic, she realised she didn't know. There was an awful blankness inside her aching head, as if it had been completely wiped clean of ever
y thought and every memory.

  'Don't know,' she muttered in a shaky voice. She suddenly shivered. 'Don't know!' she repeated, her tone echoing her growing fear.

  'Don't know what?' asked the man. His own voice sounded a little impatient now. 'Don't play games, Lorel. I just want to know how you are.'

  She licked her dry lips. 'Can't remember,' she muttered, tossing a little restlessly now, even though it hurt to move. 'Not—anything.'

  He stared down at her with clear disbelief. 'Are you telling me you've got amnesia?' he queried incredulously.

  She couldn't understand why he wasn't helping her. Or fetching someone who would know what to do. She was telling him she was frightened; that the panic was starting to well right through her as the blankness inside her head just seemed to grow and grow; and all he was doing was standing there and looking at her as if he thought she was making the whole thing up.

  She tried to tell him how scared she was, how awful it felt to have this terrifying emptiness inside her head, but she couldn't get any words out. Instead, she just gazed up at him in utter misery, feeling ill and alone, and confused to the point where she thought she was going a little mad.

  He was still frowning, but his dark features didn't seem quite so forbidding.

  'All right,' he said. 'You'd better just lie still and rest. The doctor's coming again later today. Let's hope he can sort out this mess.'

  She didn't want to rest. She wanted to get her memory back—and right now! She wanted to know who she was, what she was doing here—and who this unsympathetic man was.

  Tiredness was beginning to sweep over her again, though. Not a natural tiredness, but an overwhelming exhaustion of both mind and body. Her eyelids were too heavy to stay open for very much longer but, at the same time, she didn't want to sleep. She was too scared. What if nothing had changed by the time she woke up again? She didn't think she could cope with this yawning emptiness inside her head. It really would drive her insane...

  'Go to sleep,' said the man beside the bed. 'I'll stay here with you.'

  'All the time?' she mumbled anxiously. 'You won't go away?'

  'I won't go away,' he promised. A warm, firm hand closed over her own, and for some reason she immediately began to feel more safe. She still didn't want to go to sleep, but she couldn't resist it any longer. Her eyes slid shut, and she drifted into another long period of dreamless unconsciousness.

  When she eventually opened her eyes again, the first thing she was aware of was that someone was holding her hand. A little puzzled, she looked up, wondering who it was. A man with dark hair and vivid blue eyes—he was sitting beside the bed, and looking straight back at her.

  'You've been asleep for nearly ten hours,' he told her. 'Do you feel any better than when you last woke up?'

  She looked at him blankly. 'I don't remember waking up.'

  He gave a brief frown. 'Then you still can't remember anything?'

  She wasn't fully awake yet, and couldn't figure out what he meant.

  'About what?' she asked, wrinkling her forehead.

  His blue gaze seemed to focus on her with fresh intensity. 'Do you know your own name?'

  'Of course,' she said, a little annoyed. What did this man think she was? An idiot? 'My name's ‑' She paused, and for a moment felt a flash of panic as she hunted around in her head for the answer to such a simple question. Then she gave a sigh of relief. 'It's Lorel Parker,' she said with complete certainty.

  She was surprised when the man beside the bed looked almost as relieved as she was that she had come up with the right answer.

  'Where do you live?' he asked, after a short pause.

  Again, she needed time to think about it. Then the address slid smoothly into her memory, and she repeated it to him.

  'Why are you asking all these silly questions?' she asked, puzzled.

  'Because last time you woke up, you couldn't remember a single thing,' he informed her. 'Not even your name.'

  She gave a light grimace. 'I told you, I can't even remember waking up before.' Then she glanced round the room. 'I suppose this is the classic question in this sort of situation,' she said wryly. 'But I've got to ask it, anyway. Where am I?'

  'We'll get to that in a minute. Let's get a couple of basic facts established first. Firstly, how do you feel?'

  'I've got a headache,' she said slowly. 'And I think I must have some hefty bruises.' She shifted a little uncomfortably. 'I can definitely feel some sore spots. And I'm a bit dizzy. Apart from that, I don't feel too bad. I do want to know how I got in this state, though.'

  'You still can't remember that?'

  'No. There seem to be quite a few blank spots inside my head,' she admitted.

  He frowned. 'And I'm one of those blank spots?'

  'I'm afraid so.' She looked at him more closely, trying to find something familiar about the clearly defined lines of his face, the rather tense set of his mouth, and the highly distinctive colour of his eyes. For a fraction of a second, something about their intense blue seemed to strike a responsive chord in her; then the sensation faded, and the man appeared a complete stranger again.

  'Who are you?' she asked curiously.

  'My name's Lewis Elliott.'

  It didn't mean a thing to her. 'Are you sure that I know you?' she questioned doubtfully.

  'Oh, yes,' came his unexpectedly grim reply. 'You know me.'

  Lorel gave a small sigh. 'Well, I suppose it'll all come back to me in time. Until it does, perhaps you'd better fill me in on one or two things. Like where I am,' she added, looking round at the unfamiliar surroundings. 'What is this place? Some kind of private nursing home?' She began to look a trifle worried. 'I really can't afford to stay in a place like this.'

  'This is the Palazzo Gregolino,' Lewis told her. 'And since I'm renting it at the moment, there's no question of you having to pay for your stay here.'

  But Lorel was already beginning to get totally confused again. 'Palazzo?' she echoed, with a baffled look. 'What do you mean? How can this be a palazzo?'

  Lewis's eyes narrowed. 'Where do you think you are? Which city?'

  'Well—London, of course,' she replied. 'I've had some kind of accident, haven't I? Been knocked down by a car, or something?'

  'No,' he answered, with a touch of curtness. 'You weren't knocked down by a car. Nor are you in London. This is Venice.'

  'Venice?' Lorel gazed at him in total bewilderment. 'I don't understand ‑'

  'What's the last thing you remember?'

  It was hard to work that out. Big chunks of her memory had come back again, but it all seemed to be floating around inside her head in a rather disordered sequence.

  'Going to work, I suppose,' she said rather uncertainly, at last. 'I think that was yesterday.'

  'Yesterday, you were lying in this bed for most of the day,' came Lewis's slightly rough response. 'You— you tripped over in the morning, and knocked yourself out. You were out cold for quite a while, but then you came round for a short time in the evening. You couldn't remember anything, though, and eventually you went to sleep. You woke up again about half an hour ago.'

  She blinked. It was so hard to take all of this in.

  'The doctor's been in to see you a couple of times,' Lewis continued. 'You've got mild concussion, and several large bruises from your fall, but he's satisfied there isn't any serious damage. You're to stay in bed for at least another couple of days, and then take it very easy for a while, until you've, completely recovered from the concussion.'

  Lorel was still trying to come to grips with what he had told her.

  'I'm really in Venice?' she said uncertainly. 'I know I was planning a holiday, but it was all in the future.'

  'This is the future,' Lewis said, in a quieter voice. 'It's just your memory that's lagging a few weeks behind. The doctor says it's fairly common after a crack on the head. It should all come back to you fairly soon. You've just got to be patient.'

  'I suppose it's already starting to get better, if
I couldn't remember anything at all last night,' she said, trying to look on the optimistic side of this bizarre situation.

  'By tomorrow, there's a good chance you'll be able to recall everything,' Lewis agreed.

  She began to ask another question, but Lewis held up one hand.

  'I think that's enough for now,' he said decisively. 'The doctor was pretty specific. Plenty of rest for a couple of days, and no stress or strain.'

  'It's pretty stressful, having chunks of your life missing,' she complained.

  'We'll sort the rest of it out after you've had some sleep. Are you hungry? Or thirsty?'

  She was thirsty, but couldn't face food yet. She managed to sip some fresh fruit juice, and then slumped back on the pillows again. Lewis Elliott was right, she realised. She had had enough for the moment. She wondered if he was the sort of man who was always right about everything, and decided it would be very irritating if that turned out to be the case. Then she closed her eyes, and promptly went back to sleep.

  She didn't sleep for so long this time, and when she woke up again she could clearly remember all of her conversation with Lewis Elliott—whoever he might be! She realised he had told her absolutely nothing about himself, or how he had come to be on the scene.

  Very carefully, she sat up, and was pleased to find she felt much better. Her head still ached a bit, and her exploring fingers found the tender, swollen lump where she had obviously hit it when she had fallen. The dizziness had practically gone, though, and she could think fairly straight. With a grunt of satisfaction, she looked around and began to take more notice of the room she was in.

  It certainly was elegant! It also shrieked of luxury and comfort. The silken sheets were soft and smooth against her skin; the walls and ceiling were ornately decorated, there were heavy brocade curtains at the windows, and the exquisitely patterned carpet must have cost a small fortune.

  She remembered Lewis Elliott telling her that he had rented the palazzo for a while. She had a good idea what it must cost to rent a place like this for even a few days, and her eyebrows lifted thoughtfully. Obviously, he was a man with money. What else was there to find out about him?