Night with a Stranger

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Night with a Stranger Page 7

by Joanna Mansell


  Almost as if he had heard her unspoken question, the door opened and Lewis Elliott came in. He seemed rather surprised to find her sitting up in bed, but was obviously satisfied with her progress.

  'It looks as if you're going to have a fairly quick convalescence,' he remarked. 'How's the memory this morning?'

  'Not too bad. Most of the bits seem to be falling into place,' she told him.

  That piece of news seemed to please him.

  'Good,' he said briskly. 'Then you can tell me what you've done with my briefcase.'

  Lorel looked at him blankly.

  'Your briefcase?' she repeated. 'Why should I know anything about your briefcase?' Then her face suddenly cleared as one obvious explanation occurred to her. 'Am I your secretary? Is that why I've come with you on this trip to Venice?'

  'Damn it, you are not my secretary!' Lewis said irritably. 'And you didn't come with me. We met on the train.' He looked angry and frustrated. 'I thought you said your memory was now all right again! It still seems pretty poor to me.' His eyes suddenly flared. 'Or are you just faking the whole thing?' he demanded suspiciously. 'Do you think you can get yourself out of trouble this way, by pretending you can't remember what happened?'

  She frowned at him uneasily. 'Trouble? What trouble?'

  She saw him make an effort to get his temper back under control. He paced over to the window, and when he turned to face her again she was relieved to see the tension had left his features.

  'If you really can't remember anything about the briefcase, then there's not much point in going into it right now.' He shot a curious glance at her. 'Why did you think you might be my secretary?'

  'I can remember handing in my notice at my old job,' she explained. 'I thought for a moment that I might have got another job, with you. But that's not right, is it?' she said, her forehead wrinkling as she slowly worked it out for herself. 'I was coming to Venice on holiday—I remember that now.' Her eyes brightened. 'On the Orient-Express. Yes, that was it! Some money I inherited from my great-aunt, and I decided to blow it on the trip of a lifetime. Only now I can't remember any of it,' she finished rather dolefully. 'Did I enjoy the trip?'

  'It was—fairly eventful,' Lewis remarked drily. Before she had a chance to ask him exactly what he meant by that, he went on, 'The entire journey's a complete blank?'

  'I'm afraid so. I can remember booking the trip, and getting excited about it. I can even remember packing. But that's it. After that—nothing.' Her brows drew together. 'Why do you suppose that is? Everything else is pretty clear in my mind by now. Why not those last couple of days?'

  Lewis seemed to hesitate before he answered. 'I don't know,' he said at last, in a distinctly curt tone.

  Lorel shrugged. 'Well, I suppose I'm going to have to rely on you to tell me everything that happened. You said we met on the train? Then we must have talked, spent some time together—you'll be able to fill in some of the details for me.'

  She had the impression that Lewis's eyes had darkened, although she couldn't figure out why. It seemed a perfectly reasonable thing to ask him, and she didn't think it would be too difficult for him to give her the information she wanted. Perhaps he simply didn't want to be bothered, she told herself with a grimace. Maybe he had decided she had caused him more than enough trouble already, falling over and knocking herself out right in front of him, so that he didn't have any choice except to bring her here and take care of her.

  At least, that's what she assumed had happened. She didn't really know. Until she managed to remember the missing couple of days for herself, she was going to have to accept Lewis's version of events.

  Only, he didn't seem very keen to discuss them. He was silent for a long while after she had asked him to fill in the details. Then he moved a little restlessly over to the window, and finally spoke to her from there.

  'We met on the train, then got to know each other rather better on the ferry crossing. You were—nervous of the sea,' he said briefly. 'You said your parents had drowned, and that had given you a phobia about water.'

  'I told you about my parents?' she said, startled.

  'No details, only the basic facts. When we rejoined the train at Boulogne, we had a couple of drinks, and later had dinner together.' Again, there was an odd hesitation which made her feel distinctly uneasy. 'That was about it,' he finished rather abruptly. 'We parted when the train reached Venice, and didn't make any more plans to meet.'

  'Then how come you were around when I fell?' she asked curiously.

  Lewis shifted position, as if he found it difficult to stand still. In fact, she had the impression that he would prefer to be almost anywhere at this moment, except in this room with her.

  'We met in St Mark's Square.' He gave a noncommittal shrug. 'Everyone who comes to Venice makes their way to St Mark's Square. It wasn't so odd that we should meet there.'

  'Was that where I had my accident?'

  'No, it was a short distance from there. You tripped crossing one of the small bridges. I was—I just happened to be behind you, and saw it happen.'

  'And came rushing to my rescue? I really am very grateful,' she told him.

  Lewis gave a small grunt, and turned away.

  'Why didn't you take me to my hotel?' she went on. 'Surely it would have been less trouble for you?'

  'I didn't know where you were staying. Anyway ‑' He stopped rather suddenly, as if he didn't want to say any more.

  She decided it was no good pushing him. He obviously wouldn't tell her any more than he wanted her to know. All the same, it was rather peculiar. She was quite sure he wasn't telling her the entire truth. But why not?

  She gave a brief frown.

  'What was all that earlier about a briefcase? Have you lost one?'

  'You could say that,' he replied grimly.

  'But what's it got to do with me?'

  There was another of those brief pauses which she was beginning to find distinctly worrying. She was certain that Lewis Elliott was keeping quite a lot back from her. What, though? And why?

  'I thought that you might be able to help me find it,' he replied at last. 'But until you get your memory back completely, there isn't much chance of that.'

  Lorel slowly shook her head. She still didn't really understand any of this. Then she gave a small shrug. There wasn't much point in bothering her head about it right now. When she remembered the missing couple of days, she would know what this was all about.

  In the meantime, what she would really like was to freshen up.

  'Is there a bathroom around here?' she asked.

  'Just through there,' replied Lewis, nodding towards a door on the far side of the room. 'Need any help?'

  'No, thanks,' Lorel assured him hurriedly.

  Moving slowly and carefully, she pushed back the bedclothes and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Then she looked down at herself. 'What on earth am I wearing?' she asked blankly.

  An unexpected smile touched Lewis's mouth. 'It was difficult to find anything suitable at such short notice. That nightdress belongs to Maria—she's the housekeeper. She's also a fairly big woman,' he finished tactfully.

  That was obviously something of an understatement! The nightdress was huge and, as Lorel gingerly levered herself into an upright position, she had to hang on to it to stop it slipping down and revealing far more than she was prepared to let Lewis Elliott see.

  Then another thought struck her. 'Who undressed me?' she demanded suspiciously.

  Lewis's blue eyes glittered. 'Maria, of course,' he answered smoothly.

  Lorel wasn't at all sure that she believed him. This was hardly the time to argue about it, though. Instead, with as much dignity as she could manage under the circumstances, she clung on to the voluminous nightdress and made her way across the bedroom, then through the doorway that led to the bathroom.

  Once inside, her eyebrows shot up. ' Very impressive,' she murmured under her breath. And so it was. An absolutely massive bath, gold taps and fittings,
and beautifully patterned tiles on the floor and walls.

  'All right?' queried Lewis.

  Lorel jumped. She hadn't realised he had followed her, and was now standing just outside the door.

  'Fine,' she said quickly. Then she firmly closed the door, shutting him out.

  She walked over to the sink, and turned on one of the gold taps. Then she splashed the cold water over her face, which for some reason was suddenly feeling rather flushed.

  When she lifted her head again and looked in the mirror, she was relieved to find that she didn't look very different from usual. The bump on her head was just on the hairline, and was more or less covered by the soft fall of her hair. Peering under the nightdress, she could see dark bruises on her skin, but they would fade in a few days. All in all, she had been pretty lucky, coming out of that bad fall with very few injuries.

  Except that she still couldn't remember those missing couple of days, she reminded herself with a frown. That was definitely rather worrying. All right, Lewis Elliott had filled her in on the basic details. She couldn't quite get rid of the conviction, though, that he hadn't told her the complete truth. The furrow between her brows deepened. Why would he keep anything back from her? She didn't know, and it bothered her. In fact, she was willing to admit that Lewis Elliott himself bothered her. She knew she ought to be grateful to him for bringing her here and making sure she had medical treatment. There was something about him, though—something about those vivid eyes of his...

  She shook her head in frustration. She supposed it would all come back to her, in time. She just had to be patient, and wait.

  When she finally made her way back to the bedroom, she was rather relieved to find that Lewis Elliott was no longer there. She climbed into bed, and was just settling herself comfortably back on to the pillows when the door opened and a massive woman waddled in.

  It wasn't hard to guess that this was Maria, who had donated the nightdress. She was carrying a tray, which she set down beside the bed as she launched into an absolute flood of Italian.

  'I'm sorry,' Lorel said rather bemusedly. 'I don't understand a single word. Er—non capisco.'

  Maria beamed, gestured towards the tray, and launched into another flood of words.

  'Well, I guess I get the gist,' Lorel grinned back at her, and she picked up the tray. As she began to eat, Maria nodded in satisfaction, and then waddled out again.

  For the next couple of days, Lorel didn't do much except eat, rest and sleep. She was extremely bored by the end of it, but was determined to behave sensibly. More than anything, she wanted to get completely better—and get out of here. For some reason, she felt deeply uneasy about staying at the Palazzo Gregolino and having to sleep under the same roof as Lewis Elliott.

  It was because he was a complete stranger, she told herself defensively. Anyone would feel awkward at having to share a house with someone they had never met before. Then she would have to remind herself that she had met Lewis Elliott. That, according to him, they had spent quite a lot of time together on the train journey to Italy.

  At that point, though, Lorel always ran up against a familiar brick wall. No matter how hard she tried— and it was very hard indeed!—she couldn't remember a single second of that journey. The rest of her memory was working perfectly by now. She could recall absolutely everything, right up to the morning of her departure for Italy. She could remember packing her clothes, and getting a taxi to the station. She had a crystal-clear memory of walking on to the platform, checking in and handing over her luggage. But after that—nothing! The next thing she could remember was waking up in this luxurious bed here, at the palazzo.

  The doctor had been back to check on her again, and was apparently very pleased with her progress.

  At least, that was what Lewis had told her. Since she spoke no more than a dozen words of Italian she had picked up from the phrase-book, and the doctor spoke no English, they had both had to rely on Lewis to translate for them.

  After the doctor had prodded and poked her, asked a lot of questions, and then pronounced himself very satisfied with her progress, Lorel turned to Lewis rather impatiently.

  'What's he got to say about the fact that I still can't remember a thing about those last couple of days?'

  Lewis hesitated for a moment, and then spoke to the doctor in what seemed to be fluent Italian. The doctor shrugged, made a small gesture with his hands, and then launched into a lengthy answer.

  'What did he say?' demanded Lorel, when the flood of words finally stopped.

  'That it's fairly common for a knock on the head to be accompanied by a temporary loss of memory,' Lewis replied.

  The doctor added something else. When Lewis didn't immediately translate, Lorel stared at him.

  'Well?' she questioned. 'What else did he say?'

  A brief frown touched Lewis's already rather grim face. 'He says that you might not want to remember,' he said shortly. 'That if something—unpleasant happened during those couple of days, then you might prefer to push it right out of your mind, so you don't have to think about it.'

  'What do you mean—unpleasant?'

  Lewis gave a rather irritable shrug. 'I've no idea. I'm merely translating what the doctor said.'

  He seemed in a very odd mood today. Lorel wondered if he was perhaps tired of having her hanging around, causing him a lot of extra bother and worry.

  The doctor smiled at her, added something else in a soothing voice, and then left the room.

  'He says you're to stay in bed one more day,' translated Lewis. 'Then you can get up, as long as you don't rush around doing anything too strenuous.'

  Lorel pulled a face. 'I'm fed up with sitting around, waiting for things to put themselves right. I don't like losing a couple of days out of my life. As well as that, it's very inconvenient. I don't even know which hotel I checked into after I arrived in Venice, so I can't even get hold of my clothes.' She pulled at the baggy nightdress in disgust. 'How can I get up when I haven't got anything to wear? Or is Maria going to volunteer to lend me a dress?'

  Lewis's mouth relaxed into a faint smile. 'I think we'd better try and find you something that'll fit a little better.'

  'I want my own clothes,' she insisted. 'And I want to get out of here, go back to my hotel, and get on with my holiday. I'm sorry if that doesn't sound very grateful, considering all the trouble I've put you to, but that's the way I want things to be.'

  She looked at Lewis, to see how he was taking her bald announcement, and found that his face had changed yet again. This time, she didn't particularly like the expression that had settled across his features. It was unpleasantly dark, and his eyes were fixed on her rather too intently for comfort.

  'How about if we talk about what I want for a change?' he said, his tone as altered as his face. 'You're well enough to face a few facts by now; I don't have to treat you like an invalid any longer. So—how about if we discuss my briefcase, Lorel?'

  Her brows drew together. What did his briefcase have to do with all of this?

  'You went on about that once before,' she said rather crossly. 'And I told you that I didn't have the slightest idea what you were talking about.'

  Lewis's eyes narrowed. 'That's what you said,' he agreed. 'But what if you're faking this amnesia? It would certainly be one way of getting yourself out of a whole lot of trouble.'

  She glared at him in indignation. 'You think I faked that fall?'

  'No, not the fall,' he conceded. 'But the loss of memory certainly came at a very convenient time for you.'

  Lorel shook her head. 'That's the most incredible thing anyone's ever said to me!' Then she glared at him. 'Do you know what it's like to have a chunk of your life missing? To keep wondering what went on— what you did—during those missing couple of days?' Her eyes narrowed. 'But you know what I did, don't you?' she said, more slowly. 'That's what this is all about. You've told me some of it, but there's a whole lot more that you've left out. I'm right, aren't I? You're keeping something back
. Well, perhaps you'd better start to fill in some of those gaps!'

  Lewis came closer, so that he was looming over her. She flinched a little at the stormy lines of his face, but didn't back away from him. His blue gaze locked on to hers, and the full force of his glittering eyes bore down on her.

  'You want to know what you did during those missing couple of days?' he said in a clipped, angry voice. 'You stole my briefcase! You're a thief, Lorel!' Ignoring the shocked look that swept over her face, he went on, 'I need the papers and contracts in that case. I don't know if you're faking this loss of memory or not and, to be truthful, I don't really give a damn one way or the other. But I will tell you this. Until I get back that briefcase—and the papers inside it—I don't intend to let you out of my sight. One way or another, I'm going to force you to remember where you put that case. And believe me, I don't care how I have to go about it!'

  With that, he wheeled round and strode out of the room, leaving Lorel to stare after him in shaken disbelief.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  For a few minutes after Lewis had gone, Lorel was sorely tempted to leave the palazzo and just make a run for it. Anything to get away from Lewis Elliott and his insane accusations. Then common sense slowly prevailed. Wearing nothing except Maria's nightdress? She wouldn't get very far! The Italian police would almost certainly stop and question a girl hurtling through the streets of Venice wearing just a nightie that was a dozen sizes too big for her!

  At the thought of the police, she suddenly shivered. She knew that Lewis Elliott had lied, she wasn't— couldn't be—a thief. Yet the thought of getting caught up in the police system of a foreign country, where she didn't even speak the language, was a distinctly daunting one. There could be all sorts of misunderstandings, and she could inadvertently end up in real trouble. She glanced around the luxurious room, and then shivered again. Anyway, who knew what sort of influence Lewis Elliott might be able to exert? He was obviously a very wealthy man, and he probably had a lot of powerful connections. Who was going to accept her word against his?

 

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