Holding Back

by Helen Pollard

  "You have no idea," he muttered under his breath, reading the e-mail over again as though that simple action would make the whole mess go away.

  Laura watched him cautiously. Reading between the lines, she suspected his girlfriend had taken one step too far. She was glad she wasn't in her shoes right now!

  "I'll need another room," he said, finally breaking the awkward silence.

  Shaking her head apologetically, she told him, "I'm sorry, we're completely full. You took the last room." The one next to mine, and won't that be a joy?

  "Surely there must be something you could do, just for tonight?"

  Laura shook her head again. If she was so inclined, she could gather up her luggage which she hadn't yet unpacked, let him have her room for the night, and drag all her own stuff up to the family house. But they didn't have a spare room, and after a full day travelling, she couldn't face sleeping on the sofa. Besides, Paulo's mother wouldn't allow her to. She would turf his sister out of her room and make her sleep on the sofa. Laura felt that was a bit much, even within the realms of the superb customer service they offered here.

  "If there was something I could do, Mr. Stone, I would, but this is only a small hotel and I have no room for manoeuvre at this point."

  "In that case, I'd like to speak to the owner," he said stubbornly.

  Laura's hackles rose. As far as she could see, this whole thing was a personal issue between Daniel Stone and Natalie Hartman. Paulo wouldn't be able to do any more about it than she could. She had no intention of trooping up to the house and dragging him back down here just to tell his customer the same thing she had.

  She decided a small white lie was in order. "I'm afraid the owners are away," she said quickly. "They left today and won't be back for just over two weeks." That wasn't entirely accurate, of course, but they were going first thing tomorrow and wouldn't be back until the day after Mr. Stone left, so he was stuck with her whether he liked it or not.

  Unsurprisingly, he didn't. "The owners are away?" he asked sharply.

  Laura couldn't help but take his attitude as a slur on her abilities – a direct hit to her pride. She was perfectly capable, and she didn't appreciate this man thinking otherwise.

  "The hotel always runs smoothly on the rare occasion they take a break," she reassured him as politely as she was able. "Perhaps I could show you to your room now?"

  Making it clear this was the only option left to him, she collected a second key to his room, moved past him, and strode purposefully through the doorway, leaving him to follow. His bags stood by his hire car and she reached for one of them, but he moved past her to lift them himself.

  "I can manage," he said curtly.

  Doing her best to ignore his macho gesture—what did he think she was going to do, swap his bag with hers while he wasn't watching?—Laura led the way down the gravel path to the rooms.

  "I assume you're helping out here temporarily, Miss Matheson?" he asked as they walked.

  He would assume that, Laura fumed. He probably doesn't think I'm capable of doing anything for any length of time!

  "I take over each summer while Senhor and Senhora Silva visit relatives back in England," she replied tartly, smarting at his inference that she was a poor second to having the owners available to pander to his every whim. "Take over" was a bit of a stretch, but it certainly sounded better than his "helping out." "They're very good friends of mine," she added for good measure. "I've been doing it for years."

  "I see." There was a calculating gleam in his eye, but it was swiftly gone as he quirked an incredulous eyebrow in her direction. "They leave you in charge? You amaze me!" And before she could reply, he strolled ahead, not slowed one iota by his luggage.

  Standing open-mouthed at the insult, Laura watched the muscles bunch across his back through his shirt as he hefted his bags, and then couldn't believe she'd even noticed something like that. What was wrong with her today? The man was unbearable! Who cared whether he had a torso to die for?

  Almost running to catch up with him, she worked hard to remain outwardly professional whilst inwardly seething at his attitude and at her hormones' traitorous determination to find the man attractive despite his obnoxiousness. Politely, she knocked at his door in case Miss Hartman was inside. When there was no reply, she unlocked it for him and held it open while he entered and deposited his bags.

  Most guests were delighted by their rooms. Mr. Stone, apparently, was not.

  "It has a double bed," he stated the obvious, glaring at the object as though it might be full of bed bugs. "Didn't you have a twin room?"

  Laura took a deep breath. "As I already mentioned, this was the only room left when you booked. Since your booking was initially for a single occupant, the bed wouldn't have been thought a problem." Not wanting to inflame an already delicate situation, she chose her next words carefully. "When Miss Hartman added herself to the booking, specifically asking to share your room…"

  "Fine. I get it." He held up a hand to stop her. "Do you know where Miss Hartman is at the moment? Is her car here?"

  He glanced back towards the parking area, and Laura noted that the angry edge to his voice had been overtaken by pure weariness. Now that was something she could sympathise with—she was pretty weary herself.

  "I'm sorry, I'm not sure," she admitted, softening a little. "I assume she must have gone out for something to eat. We'll have a note of her hire car and licence plate back up at the office if you want me to go and see?" She had to stop herself from glancing at her watch.

  "No, that's fine. Please don't trouble yourself."

  Relieved, Laura nodded. "If you need to eat, we serve sandwiches and snacks at the bar until nine, or I could recommend a local restaurant. Otherwise, there's a fruit bowl over there and complimentary wine, beer, and sparkling water in your fridge, along with a few nibbles—cheese and crackers, that sort of thing."

  "I'll stay here."

  "In that case, perhaps I could quickly show you around?"

  The air was tolerably cool now and the gardens were enchanting in the low evening sun, but as Laura took him on her well-rehearsed tour of the pool, breakfast room, and bar, Daniel hardly spoke a word.

  Unnerved by his lack of communication, Laura decided to quit while she was ahead—or as ahead as she was going to be with a guest in this frame of mind. Leaving him to unpack, she walked back up the path to lock the reception building, then—finally—she headed over to the family house.

  ****

  In truth, the hotel was everything Daniel had expected from his research and more. The minute he'd seen it on the Internet, he'd wanted to stay here. In fact, it had lured him into breaking every rule in his book. He should be moving around, staying a couple of nights here and a couple of nights there as he always did, but the beautiful photographs had caught at his imagination and imprinted themselves on the back of his brain. How good would it be to stay in one place for more than a night or two, maybe relax a little? On impulse, he'd convinced himself it would be sensible to try having a stable base for a change, and he'd booked for a full fortnight.

  He'd been deluding himself. Relax? Hardly. It might be a novelty to come back to the same place each night, but all that meant was that he would have to do a lot more driving to get where he needed to go and see what he needed to see. Still, as he stood looking out from the doorway of his room at the perfectly kept lawns stretching down to where the small pool and terrace lay still and quiet, the paths bordered by fruit trees with grapevines clambering overhead to provide a shady tunnel, the rustic stone buildings so pleasing to the eye, he couldn't be sorry. This was a spectacular setting, and he was already hoping his stay here would ultimately bear fruit.

  Daniel suspected he hadn't transmitted that impression to his hostess, however. As Miss Matheson had shown him around, he'd barely trusted himself to speak. So many things had gone wrong today that by the time she was giving him her tour, he'd come to the conclusion the only way to stop himself from saying something
he might regret was to say nothing at all. He'd always been forthright and demanding—that came naturally in his business—and he certainly didn't suffer fools gladly, but he was rarely as impatient and antagonistic as he had been today. Downright rude, even. Well, it was too late to do anything about it now.

  He ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. With only a week's turnaround between returning from France and flying out here, he was so tired he could sleep for a month. Encounters with stroppy, sexy women he could well have done without. On his drive north from the airport, he'd had quite a struggle to forget the pretty brunette with attitude—and so the unexpected sight of her when he'd arrived at the hotel had taken him aback.

  No longer flushed and sticky, she'd been striking in a white sundress, her hair once more tamed into its ponytail. Daniel had found himself wondering how long that hair would be out of its clips; how soft it might be to run his fingers through. On top of the heat and the drive and the fatigue, unwanted thoughts like that could only add to his bad temper.

  His discovery that the owners were away hadn't helped. Since he'd chosen this hotel specifically because it was independent and family owned, it took some effort to quash his irritation and disappointment. He hadn't been entirely successful on that score, and he knew he'd taken it out on Miss Matheson. Daniel could kick himself for not thinking to check something so basic in advance, but since he hardly had time between trips to plan properly nowadays, his omission wasn't surprising. Besides, why would he have thought to check? It was peak season. Who in their right mind left their business at the height of summer in the hands of a ditzy, accident-prone family friend?

  Closing his door, he went to the fridge and plucked out a cold beer. As he flipped the top off, he told himself it didn't have to be a setback. All he was interested in was seeing the place from a holidaymaker's point of view. He could contact the owners later if he needed to. But his reaction had surprised Miss Matheson—and offended her, judging by the mutinous look on her face—and as he took a welcome swig of beer straight from the bottle, he reminded himself he needed to be more careful about what he said and how he said it.

  Daniel took his bag over to the bed to unpack, wincing at the sight of flimsy, lacy nightwear laid out ready on the pillow. The shock of finding out he had the prospect of Natalie to contend with took the biscuit. If he wasn't so tired, he would be furious. He dreaded to think what Laura Matheson must make of him and his personal life! This trip was turning into a nightmare, and the last thing he needed was to have to explain things to a woman he'd only just met and who managed to rub him up the wrong way every time he came across her. Knowing she assumed Natalie was his girlfriend made him feel distinctly ruffled. For some reason, he didn't want her making that assumption.

  He closed his eyes and savoured the cold beer. All this travelling was beginning to get to him. Maybe he'd been at it too long. The flights, the driving, the hassle. Never being home long enough to relax. He would have to do something about cutting back after this trip.

  And yet even as he thought it, Daniel already knew fate and circumstance would not allow him that luxury.

  Chapter Three

  For the sake of Maria, who spoke no English, and Teresa, who was less confident than she should be with her excellent high school version, Laura lapsed easily into Portuguese over dinner as though a year had not passed since she was last here. While they ate, Paulo dutifully went through everything with her, but since she'd done it all before, they didn't linger long on the details.

  Over coffee, he asked her about the new guests, and Laura happily obliged, carefully omitting the fact she'd met one of them earlier that day in such farcical circumstances. When she concluded with the melodrama connected to room eleven, Rachel frowned.

  "Mr. Stone booked with Paulo by phone a few days ago," she said, glancing across at her husband for confirmation. "When Miss Hartman's e-mail came through the next day, we assumed she'd only just finalised that she could join him. She quoted his reference number and knew everything about the booking." Her eyebrows knitted together. "Come to think of it, she did check in much earlier today—around lunchtime, I think. I suppose she must have been on a different flight." Her face fell. "How were we supposed to know that he didn't know? I hope you don't have any more trouble over this, Laura. Do you think Paulo should go down there and see if everything's alright?"

  Laura glanced at the clock. "No, I don't think that's a good idea. It's late and Mr. Stone looked worn-out. Besides, that's one domestic dispute we're best staying out of, if you ask me!" Shrugging, she added, "I don't think you should worry. All you did was accommodate a late booking and an even later addition. The problem is theirs, not yours. If Mr. Stone didn't want Miss Hartman to tag along, he shouldn't have told her his booking details—or even where he was planning on spending his holiday at all!"

  Paulo nodded his agreement, but his face was still troubled. "Except I'm not sure he is on holiday," he muttered, half to himself.

  Laura frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "Does he seem like a tourist to you?" he asked.

  She thought it a strange question, but she answered honestly. "No, I must admit he doesn't come across as a tourist. Definitely someone who travels a lot, though. He seems . . . confident." She wanted to add brusque, demanding, unbelievably attractive, but she refrained. "Why do you ask?"

  "No reason." His response was too quick, and he knew it. "I'm curious, that's all. He asked a lot of questions over the phone, details a holidaymaker wouldn't usually ask. Maybe he's just picky."

  His mother tutted. "Don't worry, Paulo. Laura's managed picky guests before. She always does a fantastic job here." She patted Laura's hand. "We couldn't manage without you."

  But Paulo was still brooding.

  ****

  Laura mulled over the conversation as she walked back to her room. She'd sensed an undercurrent of strain all through dinner but assumed it was only the upheaval of Paulo and Rachel going away. Now, she wasn't so sure. Paulo wasn't his usual easygoing self. Curiosity about his guests was natural enough, she supposed, but there was something else she couldn't quite put her finger on. Was he worried about leaving his business for a couple of weeks?

  Rachel had been quiet too. She'd barely eaten and looked pale. Laura wished she hadn't had to spend so long dealing with Daniel Stone's problems. If she could have had a little time on her own with Rachel, maybe she could have asked her about it.

  As she neared her door, she heard raised voices and realised with a sinking feeling that they were coming from the room next to hers. Not wanting to eavesdrop, she hurriedly unlocked her door and scurried inside, but despite the walls being thick and well-built, she could still make out the high-pitched tone of a woman and the deeper rumble of a disgruntled man.

  It seemed Miss Hartman had made her appearance at last, and it had not gone down well. Hoping the guests in the room on the other side weren't being disturbed, Laura quickly undressed, brushed her teeth, and prepared to sink into her much-wanted bed. Feeling a draught from the window, she crossed the room to close it a little, but as she did so, the conversation next door came through their open window loud and clear.

  "This is a business trip pure and simple, Natalie."

  "It could be a little of both, Daniel. Business . . . and pleasure."

  Laura pulled her window tight shut. If she had to be a little warmer than she wanted, that was infinitely preferable to finding out any more about Daniel Stone's pleasure arrangements tonight.

  ****

  Laura woke early the next morning. A low mist hung over the lawns and it was wonderfully quiet. She indulged in a long shower, then pulled on linen trousers and a sleeveless vest top and dragged her hair into its customary tail.

  When she heard raised voices from next door, she rolled her eyes. If those two didn't sort out their differences soon, she might have to deal with complaints from the other guests. As she slicked on a little makeup, she wondered what Daniel Stone's girlfriend was like. P
robably unbearably gorgeous—he didn't come across as the kind of man who stood for anything less than the best. Laura wondered how old he was. Somewhere in his mid-thirties, maybe?

  Annoyed at the direction her thoughts were running, she scowled at herself in the mirror. This was so unlike her, allowing someone to invade her head this way! It wasn't hard to remind herself that Daniel Stone's manner left a great deal to be desired, and that he considered her a bumbling idiot to boot. Besides, the man was clearly spoken for, whether he liked it or not—and the way things sounded next door, he didn't like it one little bit.

  She picked up her bag and stepped out of her room, but as she locked her door, she was halted by the flow of angry words coming from room eleven's open window.

  "But the return flight isn't transferable!"

  "Not my problem, Natalie. You wanted a holiday, so you can have one—only not with me."

  "Daniel, you're so tired, you're not thinking straight. If you were, you'd know this makes sense. I was owed some holiday and needed a break. You spend all this time travelling alone. It'll be nice for you to have some company. I know you weren't expecting me, but now I'm here, why don't we make the best of it?"

  Laura stayed frozen to the spot, unable to decide what to do next. If she walked past their room now, they would hear the gravel crunching and it might make them uncomfortable to know she was there. Yet going back into her own room seemed too ridiculous. As she wavered, Daniel's voice took on a hard edge.

  "I may be tired, Natalie, but I'm not senile. I can still think perfectly straight. You had no right to tag yourself onto this booking; even worse to assume I would be okay about us sharing a room."