‘Typical boring accountant!’ Lisa sniped, still annoyed with him for making her doubt—if only for a moment—her darling, adorable Diego.
‘Now you know you don’t mean that,’ Sophie scolded mildly as they slowly, arm in arm, approached the wide flight of steps that led up to the hotel foyer. ‘You know he can’t help being practical any more than you can help being a dreamer. And cheer up, do. Such a long face! I can’t wait to meet your Diego. It looks like he’s serious about you if he wants to see me and Ben—your minders—on your last night in Spain!’ She gave Lisa’s arm a tiny, reassuring squeeze. ‘I’ve told Ben not to say a word out of place; you know how protective he is of you. And I told him Diego probably wants to ask his permission—in the absence of your father—to visit you in England.’
Or to get a free slap-up meal and plenty to drink as a final perk. Lisa hated the disloyal thought that sprang into her head just as much as she hated her inability to prevent it forming. And loathed Ben for putting it there in the first place. She ousted it firmly. Diego wasn’t into fancy food and wines. He’d always come provisioned with a picnic lunch on their days together. Crusty bread, olives, fruit and bottled water. Simple, cheap and wholesome.
‘We’re a bit early,’ Ben commented as he caught up with them on the steps, eyeing the impressive smoked glass revolving doors.
‘So?’ Sophie shrugged. ‘So we sit in the foyer, cool down and people watch.’ She pushed through the doors and Lisa followed, wishing the dragging minutes away, desperate to ask Diego what he’d been doing with that devastatingly beautiful woman, why he’d let her kiss him, why they’d disappeared into that jeweller’s together. Desperate to hear an entirely acceptable explanation.
And time, perversely, seemed to pass even more slowly in the air-conditioned space. All cool marble floors and stately columns, chandeliers and hushed opulence. Seated in matching pale jade-green upholstered chairs around a low table, Lisa had her back to the main area but Sophie was avidly scanning the languid comings and goings of the wealthy patrons.
‘Now, how’s that for an invitation!’ Sophie giggled. ‘Over there, by Reception—turn round and take a look. It’s his lucky day!’
Lisa obliged. Anything to pass time, to stop her friends from wondering what was wrong with her, why she was wearing what they’d teasingly describe as her Tragic Face.
Diego and that woman!
Lisa shuddered with disbelief and a pain that wrapped icy fingers round her heart. What she was seeing wiped out every beautiful moment of the last weeks. Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away. One of his hands rested on the sexy curve of her black-silk-clad hip while the other flipped the lid of a small jeweller’s box closed and slotted it into his pocket. A gold signet ring to match the watch she had bought him? Had the fabulous dark-haired woman already kitted him out with the classy casuals he was wearing?
Stretching up on her high spiky heels, the owner of the scarlet sports car reached up to whisper in his ear. Whatever she said made him grin, that wide slashing grin that said he was happy. She knew it so well!
A slender gold-dripping arm was lifted, beringed fingers dangling a room key in invitation, just before she turned and swayed away towards the bank of lifts, sexual confidence in every movement of those endless legs and delectable body. Diego watched her, still grinning, then turned and sauntered over to Reception.
‘Steamy, or what?’ Sophie hissed and Lisa had to summon every ounce of will-power to make her face blank as she turned back to face the others.
Ben kept glancing impatiently at his watch and Lisa said, trying not to sound as if her world had just fallen into ugly little pieces, ‘Let’s go and find a drink; I’m sick of sitting here.’
She shot to her feet to stall any protests from Sophie who was clearly enjoying her people watching session. And Ben followed suit but insisted on finding the disco bar, even though Lisa was convinced that Diego wouldn’t turn up. Why would he, when he obviously had better prospects lined up? The betrayal was so immense she couldn’t bear to think about it and she couldn’t drag the others away from this place without confessing that Ben had been right about Diego.
Tapas and heavy beat music. Lisa demanded champagne. She would have asked for something strong enough to dull the piercing ache that stabbed through her heart—whisky, maybe—but she knew Ben wouldn’t oblige. Convent educated by nuns strict enough to make your eyes water, treated like a vaguely annoying house guest by a father who had never taken much interest in her when she was home, Ben still tended to regard her as a delicate flower in need of perpetual care and attention.
‘Yes, let’s let our hair down,’ Sophie put in when she noticed Ben’s eyes gravitate to the soft drinks dispenser. ‘It is our last night.’
Lisa drained her glass in two long thirsty swallows and sneaked a refill when Ben wasn’t looking. He was peering at his watch.
Already ten minutes after the appointed time. Diego wouldn’t be coming. Lisa was psyching herself up to tell them why, admit that Ben had been right about her Spanish waiter, drinking her second glass like water to dull the pain when Ben, watching her put the empty glass down on the tiny table, grinned at her. ‘Dance, Lise?’
She wanted to dance about as much as she wanted to sit in a barrel of hot tar but anything had to be better than sitting here, getting tipsy, wanting to cry and doing her best not to, wanting to get her hands on Diego and strangle him after asking him how he could be so cruel.
She took Ben’s hands and got to her feet. The floor dipped and heaved so, instead of dancing opposite him like the other couples, she clung on to his shoulders and was grateful when he clamped his hands around her waist to steady her. He raised his voice above the level of the thumping music and lectured, ‘Squiffy, Lise? That will teach you not to drink a glass of champagne in five seconds flat.’
Two glasses, did he but know it! A hysterical giggle, halfway to a sob, caught in her throat. About to bury her head on his wide shoulder and confess everything, she saw Diego arrive. He said something to his glamorous new girlfriend who gave him a conspiratorial wink before sashaying off to the bar.
How dared he? How could he? Lisa knew she was about to be horribly sick. But she mustn’t! Her fingers dug into Ben’s shoulders. The pain in her gut was unbearable. Think about something else.
Revenge.
Show him! Show him that she wasn’t a silly little girl with the smell of the schoolroom still lingering around her; that she wasn’t the type to cry for a month because she’d been conned by an expert.
He was now standing a scant three feet away, his beautiful eyes lightly hooded as he watched her. What was his intention? How did such guys operate? Would he tap her on the shoulder, wish her a pleasant flight tomorrow, then join his new prey at the bar?
Or would he simply ignore her?
Well, he wouldn’t ignore this—without giving herself time to think—her misery was too great to allow coherent thought—she lifted her hands, pulled Ben’s head down and kissed him as if she were auditioning for a part in a blue movie.
And while Ben was trying to recover, his face brick-red, she looked into Diego’s suddenly ferocious black eyes and lashed out, ‘Go away! You’re cramping my style!’ and watched him turn abruptly on his heel, his mouth hard, his shoulders rigid, as he walked over to his new woman. Lisa thrust her knuckles into her mouth and bit them. She wanted to run after him, take it all back, beg him to make everything all right again.
But she knew she couldn’t. The fairy tale romance was over, the ecstatic days when two hearts had seemed to beat as one had turned into a sordid nightmare.
She turned to Ben, her face white. ‘Take me home. He won’t be coming. I can explain. But not now. Take me home!’
CHAPTER TWO
SOMEONE was watching her. Lisa could actually and physically feel the dark power of unknown eyes on her. Nothing like the vaguely patronising glances she had endured all evening from the great and the good who were here in this gl
amorous setting to support and, far more importantly, be seen to support a fashionable charity.
She could feel the intensity of that look as it bored between her silk-clad shoulder blades. Feel the watchful, coldly cutting contempt.
It was unsettling, eerie.
A cold shiver flickered through her.
It was all in her imagination. It had to be!
Annoyed with herself, with the weariness that was making her prey to fanciful imagery, she did her best to dismiss it. She was overtired, that was all. It was obviously time to make tracks.
In her capacity as Sub for the Social Editor, as well as her own recently acquired title of Fashion Editor, she had noted the names and titles of those with the highest profiles and details of what the women were wearing. Neil, her snapper, had the shots. She’d dig him out from wherever he’d sloped off to and tell him to call it a day.
She was so tired her legs were having difficulty bearing her slight weight. If things at Lifestyle went on the way they were she’d find herself subbing for every department and working right round the clock eight days a week. Experienced editors were leaving in droves. Rats deserting the sinking ship, as her father said every time a letter of resignation landed on his desk.
The noise of high society at play had given her a pounding headache and she couldn’t wait to get back to the peace and quiet of her flat. Trouble was, she was a round peg in a square hole and knew it. Perhaps that was responsible for the manic sensation of despising eyes following her every movement. She was transposing her own inner feelings on to a non-existent entity.
Of course no one was watching her, despising her! Why on earth would they?
Slender in her understated black sheath dress, she straightened her wilting spine and headed for the lavish buffet. Found Neil, as she’d thought she would, scoffing canapés as if he hadn’t eaten for a fortnight.
‘I’m off,’ she said, shaking her head at his offer of wine. ‘We’ve got all we need.’ Though whether the tumbling circulation figures would be boosted by the feature in next month’s issue was highly debatable.
Neil’s brown eyes roamed her pale face. ‘You look bushed. You should find yourself a proper job!’ He abandoned the food in favour of a glass of red wine. ‘Hang on a sec and I’ll give you a lift home. I take it I’m invited to your engagement bash tomorrow night?’
‘Of course. The more the merrier.’ Lisa smiled then, her first genuine smile of the evening. A comforting warmth flooded through her, swamping out the unsettling sensation of being watched.
Dear Ben. She’d do her best to make him a good wife. No grand passion for either of them and that, they’d decided, was actually a bonus. There would be no ephemeral highs or debilitating lows in their relationship. They had discussed it, accepted it—embraced it, even. A safe marriage, a secure one, affection and respect on both sides was all either of them wanted. She didn’t know about Ben but she guessed he was too pragmatic to harbour strong emotions; and as for her, well, the events of five years ago had put her right off the concept of passionate love. She would never again feel so deeply about anyone as she once had for the Spaniard. Which was a blessing. The stronger the emotions, the greater the hurt.
Unnervingly, the feeling of being watched came back again with a vengeance. She hated it; it scared her. It swamped all those comforting thoughts of Ben and the life they planned together.
She was out of here, home to get some much needed rest before her imagination ran away with her completely! ‘I’ll pass on that lift.’ It was an effort to speak. ‘I’ll grab a taxi. See you.’
It was an even greater effort to turn. And impossible to stem her gasp of shock as she saw him. Cold black eyes watching her.
Just as she remembered him but with breath-snagging changes—a haughty elegance that made him seem older than his twenty-seven years, his dark, perfectly crafted suit adding to the intimidating effect, oozing the cool self-assurance of a man wholly at ease with himself.
The handsome features were arrogantly cold, the black eyes narrowed and intense as they raked the pallor of her face.
‘Diego!’ His name escaped her on a shaky huff of breath and everything inside her descended into chaos as he acknowledged her with a cool, dismissive dip of his dark head, turned on the heels of his immaculate, hand-crafted black leather shoes and walked away from her through the bejewelled, designer-clad chattering masses as if he didn’t care to sully himself by any verbal contact.
Sophie was sprawled out on the sitting room sofa in the shoe box flat they shared near Clapham Common, her attractive face suffused with an enviable inner radiance until she glanced up on Lisa’s arrival. ‘God, you look awful!’ She hauled herself into a sitting position. ‘What happened? Did Neil make another pass at you? Shall I phone Ben and get him to go round and slap him?’
Lisa’s mouth twitched. As usual, Sophie was completely OTT and she needed that to help her get the main event of the evening—seeing the man she had once believed to be the love of her life again—in proper perspective.
‘No, nothing like that, thank heavens!’ She lobbed her handbag to the floor and draped herself on to the armchair with the dodgy springs. ‘These high society charity bashes are a complete pain.’
‘Entirely your own fault,’ Sophie pointed out unsympathetically. ‘You should never have let yourself be talked into joining the staff. They tried to twist my arm too, remember, but I stuck out for my chosen career in physiotherapy.’
Lisa shrugged and kicked off her shoes. It was old history. She’d never got to university. On her return from Spain, joining her father in the service flat near the magazine’s head office, he’d asked her to re-think her future.
The publishing company was in difficulties. They were in the process of downsizing, selling off or closing down the stodgy middle-of-the-road titles, concentrating on the flagship Lifestyle. They all had to tighten their belts. It was all hands on deck and loads of other clichés. It was her duty to join the staff—at peanut wages—and do what she could to help turn things around.
At the time she’d been too emotionally exhausted to stand up for what she wanted, in no state to really know what she did want any more.
‘I expect you’re right.’ Lisa removed the battery of pins that kept her long blonde hair smoothly away from her face and was debating whether to tell her old friend of her sighting of Diego Raffacani when she noticed the champagne bottle and two flutes set out on the low coffee table. An arched brow tilted in Sophie’s direction.
Sophie blushed then giggled. ‘James proposed this evening. And I accepted.’
Lethargy entirely forgotten, Lisa leapt to her feet to give her friend a bear hug, settling beside her on the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her. ‘That’s the best news I’ve heard for longer than I can remember!’ Sophie had been dating the attractive young GP for over a year and was madly in love with him. ‘I’m so happy for you! Tell me more!’
‘He’s joining a practice in the West Country—all lovely and rural.’ She stretched over for the bottle. ‘He got called out, would you believe—so you’re going to have to celebrate with me. I don’t want to get squiffy on my own!’
The cork ricocheted all round the small room. ‘We’re going to have to house hunt down there,’ Sophie confided excitedly. ‘I can just see myself as a country doctor’s wife—I’ll have loads of babies, join the WI, put my name down for the church flower rota and wear tweed skirts and those green quilted waistcoat things. And hats! With pheasant feathers!’
‘An unlikely scenario, if ever I heard one.’ Lisa grinned, accepting a flute of bubbles, firmly dismissing the wish that she could be as excited over her own wedding plans as being well out of order. She and Ben weren’t into high romance and magical, ephemeral flights of excitement. Companionship, mutual support… ‘So when’s the big day?’ She rapidly blanked out another wholly unwelcome pang of envy.
‘Three months. I’ll be a midsummer bride.’ Her eyes opened very wide. ‘We could h
ave a double wedding! That would be fantastic. Ben could move in here with you. It’s time he got his act together and left the parental home.’
It was a possibility, Lisa mused as she listened to Sophie chatter on about wedding dresses, bridesmaids and honeymoon destinations.
Ben had mentioned a wait of a year after the official engagement announcement tomorrow. And he shared the family home in Holland Park for purely practical reasons. The money saved on rent and his keep was accumulating nicely. But when Sophie moved out she, Lisa, would still have to find the rent for this flat, so it would be both practical and sensible for Ben to share it as her husband.
After the second glass of champagne Lisa forgot practicalities and seemingly out of nowhere found herself blurting, ‘He was at the charity bash tonight. Just as I remembered him, yet different.’
‘Who?’ Sophie, in mid flow over guest lists, refilled their glasses.
‘Diego.’
How easily the name she hadn’t mentioned since that dreadful night slipped from her tongue. How easily the sound of it brought it all back—the heartache, the anger, the sheer gut-wrenching misery, all the emotions she’d believed long dead and buried.
Fuelled by Sophie’s blank look and an unaccustomed rapid intake of alcohol, she offered, ‘Spain. You remember. That holiday you and Ben insisted on giving me?’
‘Of course!’ Sophie banged the side of her head with the heel of her hand. ‘The handsome waiter you thought you were madly in love with, the one who dumped you on that last night—the snake! What a small world—and what was he doing mixing with that lot?’
‘I’ve absolutely no idea.’ Lisa put her glass down on the table, not really knowing why she’d started this, struggling to work out why she needed to talk about him. A catharsis maybe? An emotional release, setting her free from the pain of betrayal that had been buried deep within her psyche.
‘He looked a million dollars—well, let’s say he looked as if he’d regard that amount as small change. I guess his social-climbing career must have taken off in a big way.’
Spanish Vengeance Page 2
