‘I have no intention of giving them a free show,’ he told her with a smile, keeping his voice low and only for her ears.
Suzanne saw that the hotel porter was also watching them and she felt rather resentful at their intrusion into her perfect evening. But of course it hadn’t been perfect! Hadn’t the Conte Cesare Martino seen to that? Oh well, the latter part had more than made up for it. ‘Goodnight, Vidal,’ she said huskily. ‘I’ll look forward to hearing from you.’
The intimate glow in his eyes was his only indication that he would have liked to do more than politely kiss the back of her hand. Blushing prettily, she gave him one last glowing smile before pressing the button to close the lift doors. She hugged herself tightly. Wasn’t he wonderful, perfect, all that she had ever wanted in a man! And yet still the nagging doubt remained. No flashing lights and sounds of thunder. She dismissed this as unimportant, it had to be. Celeste must be right, because this had to be love she felt. It had to be!
She walked dreamily into her room, discarding her evening bag and her shoes before looking at her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t look any different, a little starry-eyed perhaps, but that was all. Shouldn’t there be something more than that to show how gloriously happy she felt, something more tangible than this bubbling feeling inside?
The door flew open without warning and Celeste marched purposefully into the room, interrupting and breaking into Suzanne’s dream world. ‘What a liar you are, Suzanne!’ she spat out with a sneer. She looked about the room as if she were surprised to see Suzanne alone. ‘Where is he, then? Skulking in the bathroom?’
‘Where is who?’ Suzanne’s eyes were bewildered. ‘What are you talking about, Celeste? Who could possibly be in my room at this time of night?’
Celeste gave a harsh laugh. ‘Don’t act the innocent with me, Suzanne. Not any more. I saw you—I saw you, I tell you! Out there in the garden!’
Suzanne began to look apprehensive. ‘You—You saw me?’ Oh, God, no! Celeste would never forgive her.
Celeste walked about the hotel room, a mocking smile marring her beauty. ‘Mmm. Mooning about the garden with your gigolo.’
‘Gigolo?’
‘Yes, gigolo. He could hardly be anything else, he thinks you’re rich, remember? I was right, wasn’t I? It was Carlo. How could you do it, Suzanne!’ She sat down on the bed. ‘You know my position here. You know how important it is that we retain an air of respectability. The Martino family won’t stand for any scandal. If it’s known that my stepdaughter keeps company with the waiters then the respectable appearance we’ve built up here will become non-existent. How could you do it, Suzanne? How could you!’
Suzanne felt a glimmer of hope. Celeste didn’t realise that her companion in the garden had been Vidal Martino, and she certainly wasn’t going to tell her. ‘You believe I was with Carlo?’
Her stepmother shrugged. ‘What does it matter which one of the waiters it was? You may go out with anyone you choose when at home in Manchester, but not here. I won’t allow it. If Vidal Martino gets to hear of this affair you’ll ruin my chances.’
‘V-Vidal Martino?’ Suzanne echoed hollowly. How could he not hear of it when it had been him all the time?
‘Yes, Vidal Martino!’ Celeste stood up angrily. ‘So this little flirtation must stop. Do you understand?’
‘Celeste, you can’t—’
‘I can, Suzanne! This affair stops or you’ll return to that hovel you call home immediately. I mean it, Suzanne,’ she walked to the door. ‘So you’d better tell your little friend that it’s over.’
Suzanne stared at the closed door. Well! Just who did Celeste think she was? How dared she walk in here and proceed to order her life? The fact that Celeste considered her to have been meeting a waiter and not Vidal made no difference. She had no right to come in here and issue orders concerning Suzanne’s conduct. No right at all.
She walked restlessly about the room. Celeste must have seen her from the window of her own hotel room, they both had that view from their window. Obviously the darkness had prevented her from recognising Vidal, but her own golden hair must have shown up very clearly in the moonlight. Thank God she hadn’t actually seen the person who was with her; there was no telling what she would have done if she had known that.
* * *
Suzanne was late down to breakfast the next morning. She had tossed and turned most of the night. She was feeling so indignantly angry that she had great trouble getting to sleep at all. Celeste’s reprimand had stayed in her thoughts late into the night until finally she fell into a restless sleep.
Celeste was just finishing her coffee when Suzanne arrived at their table. She looked at her stepdaughter critically. ‘That’s a pretty dress,’ she remarked coolly.
Suzanne sat down reluctantly; she had hoped Celeste would already have breakfasted. ‘You’ve seen it before. You paid for it.’
‘There’s no need to be bitchy, Suzanne. I only said what I did last night for your own good. My marriage will benefit you as much as it does me.’
‘Why?’ Suzanne asked sharply. ‘Because I’ll get you out of my life once more? You don’t know how much I wish for that, Celeste. If I’d realised just how obnoxious you were going to be I wouldn’t have agreed to come here at all. I’ve managed without you so far and I’ll do so again.’ She poured herself a cup of coffee. ‘I can’t wait for the day.’
‘No one forced you to come here, Suzanne. Luxury appealed to you, didn’t it?’
‘Yes, it did, I don’t mind admitting it. But I wish now that I hadn’t bothered—I can’t stand being here with you.’
‘Now that’s a shame, because I quite like you. You’re like your father in many ways.’
‘Will you leave my father out of this!’ Suzanne’s cup clattered down into the saucer. ‘I couldn’t give a damn what you do with your life, but leave my father out of it.’
‘All right, Suzanne, I will. We never liked each other, did we? Perhaps you were right and I shouldn’t have shut you out of our life together. We would maybe have been friends then. Well, it’s too late now,’ she crumpled her napkin and stood up. ‘I’ll be seeing Vidal this morning, so you please yourself what you do.’
‘Thanks.’ Suzanne obstinately kept her eyes downwards, helping herself to a piece of toast and concentrating on spreading it with butter. ‘I was going to anyway.’
Celeste laughed, looking beautiful and vital in a black and white spotted sun-dress. ‘That’s what I thought. I may be out all day, so it’s up to you what you do. As long as you don’t meet that waiter,’ she added darkly.
‘I’ll meet who I please, when I please,’ Suzanne looked at her defiantly. Celeste’s casual mentioning, of her expected meeting with Vidal only made her feel more angry and contemptuous. How could Vidal help but find the attractive and sophisticated Celeste more beautiful than she?
‘Not on my money you won’t,’ was Celeste’s parting shot.
Suzanne suddenly wasn’t hungry. Her appetite hadn’t been too great to start with, but now it was non-existent. She left the dining-room to collect her bathing things and then went to the pool, intending to spend the morning lazing beside the pool and bathing in the soothing water.
Carlo, the waiter, brought her out a long cool lime juice at her request, placing it on the low table beside her. ‘Miss Hammond,’ he began nervously. ‘Someone is asking for you in reception, someone of importance,’ he indicated her bikini. ‘It would not be proper to meet him dressed so.’
Suzanne’s eyes opened wide at Carlo’s tone of rebuke. It wasn’t usual for the staff at this expensive hotel to act in this way. Perhaps Carlo guessed that she wasn’t one of its rich patrons, but a masquerader. But even so … ‘Who is it, Carlo?’ she asked sharply, not a snob herself, but she didn’t welcome this boy’s familiarity either.
Carlo, one of the Italian staff at the hotel, broke into a spate of his own language, the pure complicated Italian that only they could speak. Suzanne understood li
ttle of it, although she knew a little of the language, once having shared a flat with a young Italian girl over here for her education. The only thing that seemed to make any sense out of this tirade was the name Martino. Suzanne sat up, her eyes bright and happy. She had seen Vidal Martino leave the hotel with Celeste earlier, but perhaps he had returned to see her.
‘Mr Martino?’ she said excitedly. ‘Is Mr Martino waiting for me in reception?’
‘Si, si,’ Carlo nodded vigorously, watching as Suzanne jumped to her feet, pulling on her bathing robe. ‘But, Miss Hammond, it—’
Suzanne didn’t wait to hear any more but ran into the hotel, slowing down to a fast walk as she neared the reception area. Her face glowed and her eyes shone. Vidal had come back to see her, she felt sure of it. She knew he had checked out of the hotel at eleven o’clock, she had seen him leave, and she had also seen Celeste clinging to his arm. But he had come back to see her.
She looked around for him excitedly, coming to a shocked halt as she saw who was waiting for her. ‘Conte Martino!’ She said breathlessly.
CHAPTER THREE
HE walked towards her with those familiar long easy strides, completely male and dominant. He took her proffered hand, bowing low over her slender fingers. ‘Miss Hammond.’ Those icy grey eyes searched her startled face. Her hand was slowly released and he stepped back away from her. ‘You did not expect me,’ he surmised correctly. ‘Did the waiter not explain that I wished to see you?’
To see her! But why? Last night he had treated her with nothing but contempt, so what did he want with her now—not more insults, surely? ‘I—I thought you were—’ She broke off in confusion. It sounded rude to say she had thought him to be someone else, even if it was true. She shook her head wordlessly.
‘You thought I was Vidal,’ he guessed correctly again. ‘But did the waiter not explain that it was Cesare Martino, and not Vidal?’
Suzanne put up a nervous hand to her disordered hair. It badly needed washing after her dip in the pool and at the moment surrounded her heart-shaped face in riotous curls. Oh, why hadn’t she stayed to listen to the end of Carlo’s conversation, for she felt sure now that he had been going to explain exactly who her visitor was. ‘He may have done,’ she said hurriedly, realising he was looking at her strangely for her prolonged silence. ‘He was talking in Italian at a very fast rate,’ she explained. ‘I’m all right with bookish Italian if it’s spoken very slowly, but anything else defeats me, I’m afraid.’
‘But surely he must have known this,’ the Conte said harshly. ‘All the non-English staff are requested to speak only English.’
‘Oh please, don’t be angry, Mr—Signor Conte,’ she amended hastily. ‘He was so excited, because you’re a count, I suppose, he just forgot for a moment.’ She looked down at her lack of clothing. ‘That’s probably the reason he told me I wasn’t dressed properly too,’ she said wryly.
The Conte’s swarthy face darkened with anger. ‘He dared to do that?’ he demanded coldly. ‘A waiter told a guest at my hotel that she was insufficiently dressed? But this cannot be!’
Only one thing made any sense to Suzanne. ‘Your hotel, Conte Martino? You own this hotel?’
‘That is correct. And many more like it throughout Europe and America. Sadly not enough in America—that was why the Grant contract was so important to me. But no matter, I did not come here to discuss business. In fact I came here to apologise for my behaviour yesterday evening. I may have been annoyed with Vidal, but my behaviour towards you was unforgivable.’
‘You don’t have to apologise to me,’ Suzanne said quickly. ‘I quite understand.’
Quite frankly she felt bewildered. Conte Martino actually owned this hotel she and Celeste were staying at. Had Celeste known this when she had decided to come to London, to this particular hotel? Suddenly she felt sure that she had. That was the reason Celeste had seemed as if she were waiting for something or someone—she had been. She must have guessed that sooner or later Vidal Martino would be a guest here at his family’s hotel, or perhaps she hadn’t needed to guess at all, perhaps she had known. Perhaps she knew more about the Martino family than Suzanne realised. But if this were so, then she must also realise there was a Conte Martino, a man with good looks, money, and most of all, a title. So why was she seemingly interested in Vidal Martino? It was all a mystery to Suzanne, a complete mystery.
‘So,’ he broke effectively into her thoughts, ‘is my apology accepted?’
‘Of course, Conte. But there was no need, really.’
He looked about the lounge, finally indicating for her to sit down in one of the luxurious armchairs provided. As she sat down she became blushingly aware of her lack of clothing. A thigh-length bathing robe was hardly suitable attire to entertain a real live Conte in. She should have listened to Carlo! He could have delayed the Conte while she ran upstairs to her room to change. Oh well, it was too late now.
‘I do not agree,’ he said haughtily. ‘I am not usually so abrupt to visitors at my hotel. You have visited London before?’ he asked suddenly, those strange grey eyes intent upon her.
‘No.’ What else could she say?
‘You like it?’
‘I haven’t actually seen much of it,’ she told him almost guiltily.
‘You have not been in London long?’
‘A week,’ she admitted reluctantly, feeling almost as if she had committed a sin; the way the Conte was looking at her she could almost believe she had. Goodness, a Conte, a Venetian aristocrat! And he was every inch that, from his styled curiously light hair to his immaculate linen and hand-made leather shoes.
‘I see,’ those firm well-shaped lips pressed together disapprovingly. ‘I naturally assumed you to be a tourist.’
‘Oh, I am. It isn’t that I don’t want to look around London,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I would really love to. Unfortunately my stepmother doesn’t like sightseeing. She finds it boring.’
‘And you feel obliged to keep her company?’
Suzanne laughed, a lighthearted youthful sound that made those grey eyes narrow even more. ‘Heavens, no!’ she shook her head. ‘Celeste doesn’t need me. Not now anyway, not when she has—’ she broke off, realising she couldn’t actually say that to this man; Vidal was his brother. Anyway, she shouldn’t talk about such things to a stranger. But what a handsome stranger, handsome and intriguing. He raised a dark eyebrow at her sudden halt, strangely dark brows in comparison with that silver-blond hair.
‘Yes?’ that clipped voice enquired.
She shrugged. ‘It isn’t important. But I should be free to see some of London during the next few days. I’m really looking forward to it.’
‘Then you will do me the honour of letting me be your guide. There are many places not to be missed by any tourist.’ He looked enquiringly at her startled face. ‘There are many places of interest among the surrounding shops and restaurants that do not jar on the nerves. I cannot believe that you have been in London a Week and not been to see these things.’
‘But I have, Conte. But I promise to see them all now, it’s what I’m here for, after all. Celeste, my stepmother, will probably be entertained elsewhere during the next few days, so I’ll be able to go sightseeing to my heart’s content.’
That arrogant face tightened, the nostrils flaring out on that haughty nose. ‘You refuse my invitation to show you London?’
Suzanne looked at him searchingly, her green eyes shadowed. She fussed nervously with her sun-glasses in her hand and seeing his eyes on her movements stopped abruptly. ‘I didn’t say that, Conte. I believed your offer merely to be one of politeness.’
‘It was not.’
‘But I—I hardly know you. I can’t ask a complete stran—’
‘But I am not a stranger. We were formally introduced yesterday evening, otherwise I would not be here now. Vidal introduced us and so everything is perfectly in order. Do I take it that you still refuse my offer? I assure you it was made only out of a desire to show
you your beautiful city. But if the brother of Vidal is not good enough for you—’
‘Conte Martino!’ Suzanne was really shocked now. ‘I didn’t say anything of the sort. You are the Conte Martino, and I would never do or say anything to imply that I felt anything but respect for you. As for Vidal, well …’ she raised her hands helplessly, ‘I met him for the first time yesterday too.’
If she had expected to shock this haughty man then she was mistaken; not a flicker of emotion showed in those pale grey eyes. ‘You met here at the hotel?’
‘Yes, at the pool.’
His look encompassed her scanty attire. ‘Which is where you were today, until a few moments ago. You did not know Vidal before this?’
‘As I said, signore, I met him for the first time yesterday.’ Was it really such a short time ago? It seemed much longer.
‘You seemed rather—friendly when I arrived.’
‘Possibly,’ Suzanne said stiffly. Really! This man looked down his arrogant nose far too much for her liking! ‘Your brother is an easy person to talk to,’ she said defiantly.
‘I have no doubt,’ his mouth twisted with bitter humour. ‘You know that Vidal is betrothed?’
‘B-betrothed?’ A betrothal in Venice was almost as binding as a marriage, that much she had learnt from her flatmate.
‘I see you did not know. Vidal perhaps did not feel obliged to mention this fact because it has not yet been made official. An understanding between the two families for many years, you understand. It is to be announced during his next time at home with us.’ He straightened one snowy white cuff beneath the cream linen of his lightweight suit.
‘Why are you telling me this?’
He shrugged those broad powerful shoulders. ‘I thought it might perhaps have been of interest to you.’
Suzanne’s green eyes became stormy and she gathered up her purse and sun-glasses in readiness of leaving. ‘You thought no such thing, signore,’ she said with suppressed anger. ‘And you certainly didn’t come here out of politeness,’ she gave a harsh laugh. ‘That was the last thought on your mind!’
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