by Julia James
‘Fancy a swim?’ Leon grinned, seeing her longing glance towards the azure sea.
He carried the suitcases inside, and she followed him. The stone walls of the villa cooled the air, and the wood-shuttered windows made the atmosphere dim and shaded. Leon might have described the villa as ‘not luxurious’ but it was still beautifully decorated, in a rustic style with a simplicity about it that was immediately appealing to Flavia as she looked about in delight.
But then her whole world was a delight. A wonderful, entrancing delight that she had never before experienced. Her eyes rested on Leon, softening as she followed him along a tiled corridor into a large, cool bedroom and he deposited their suitcases on the wide bed. She felt her breath catch, as it did so often in these unforgettable days and nights since she had given herself to Leon.
They had spent all of the following day at Mereden. Leon had ruthlessly cancelled his business meetings to devote himself to her. They had stayed in bed till late in the morning, glorying in their unity of desire, then passed the rest of the morning exploring the beautiful grounds of the hotel, taking in a waterside lunch at the little Thameside marina the hotel provided for guests, followed by a leisurely, meandering cruise along the river in the hotel launch. They had moored under sweeping willow branches, and Leon had kissed her long and lingeringly.
‘Come away with me!’ he’d whispered to her. ‘Come to Santera with me. Be with me completely there. We can have at least a week there—maybe two.’
Flavia’s eyes had shone—then dimmed. Could she really leave her grandmother for a week or longer? Yet even while guilt had plucked at her she’d also known, with a heaviness she had long had to accept, that her grandmother would not really know how long she was away, that she would be in good hands with Mrs Stephens. And who knew? A burning longing had swept through her. Who knew how long Leon would want her? Who knew what the future might or might not hold? She could not tell and did not want to ask—wanted only to shut out everything except this bliss that was enveloping her. This joy and wonder.
A more practical objection had threaded into her mind, and as Leon had looked at her questioningly she’d said, ‘I haven’t got my passport.’
It didn’t faze him. ‘I’ll send a courier for it. It can be delivered to the airport directly, and we can fly straight off tomorrow morning.’
Flavia’s eyes widened. Could it really be that simple?
It was. A single phone call from the hotel’s front desk had done it. Flavia had spoken directly to the courier company, giving details of where to find her passport at Harford, while Leon had contacted his PA to clear his diary and arrange flights the next day. All Flavia had then had to do was phone Mrs Stephens and arrange for her to stay longer.
‘A holiday is just what you need,’ her grandmother’s carer had said approvingly. ‘I’m happy to stay on as long as need be. Your grandmother is as well as she can be, and there is no need at all to worry.’
Relief had filled Flavia, even if there had still been an undercurrent of anxiety, a fear that she was being selfish in heading off with Leon. But as he’d swept her into his arms, and she’d found all over again the magical bliss of being together with him, her anxious thoughts about her grandmother had been swept away as well. For now—for a little while—she would be with Leon, wherever he wanted her to be.
They had paused briefly in Palma on their way to Santera, to have lunch and give Flavia an hour or two to shop for beach clothes, but now their journey was ended—and an idyll awaited them, she knew. The past and the future were held at bay—she would not think of them, would let only this sunlit present surround her, give herself entirely to the moment.
Entirely to Leon.
And she would let nothing of her fears about her grandmother, her revulsion at her father, get in the way of that.
Leon was opening her suitcase, pulling out the bikinis she’d bought in Palma that day, holding them both up.
‘I can’t decide which one you’ll look more gorgeous in,’ he told her.
She whisked them both out of his hands. ‘I’ll surprise you.’ She laughed, and disappeared into the en suite bathroom she could see opening up from the bedroom.
‘You have already,’ murmured Leon, watching her go. His eyes were warm, his expression bemused.
But then, bemusement was a key emotion in him now—bemusement that this warmly passionate woman, whose embrace melted him, could ever have been that stiff, reserved ice maiden, holding him at bay, freezing him out. That Flavia had gone—vanished completely. This Flavia was—a revelation!
And when she reappeared a few minutes later in one of the bikinis she was a revelation again. He’d knew—intimately—just how perfect her figure was, but now, skimmed by the brief material of the swimsuit, her body was breathtaking.
Enticing.
Hurriedly he snatched up his swimming trunks and headed into the bathroom himself, adjuring Flavia to make lavish use of the sunblock they’d bought in Palma.
Within minutes they were outdoors again. ‘Race you to the sea!’ Flavia cried, and hared across the beach with Leon chasing after her, and both of them collapsed into the shallow turquoise waters.
Flavia lolled in the tiny wavelets, letting her head fall back, hair streaming in the water, face lifted to the sun. ‘This is bliss,’ she murmured, splashing idly with her feet.
It was a phrase she was to repeat over and over again. It applied, she decided, to every aspect of their days—and their nights. It was bliss to wade into the warm sea, to lounge on the shaded patio on a padded sunbed, sipping iced fruit juice at lunchtime and champagne at sunset. Bliss to have late, leisurely breakfasts, and slow, leisurely lunches, and dine on nightly barbecues beneath the starry sky which was, as Leon had promised, every bit as spectacular as he had described.
But bliss, most of all, to leave the stars to heaven and find their own in each other’s arms.
They were in their own private world, Flavia knew. A world where the rest of the world did not exist. Her father’s vile machinations were vanished as if they had never been. She would not think of them—or him.
Nor would she think of the reason she had succumbed to his threats.
Though her eyes shadowed, she knew she was deliberately not thinking about her grandmother. All she did was check her phone nightly for the reassuring text Mrs Stephens faithfully sent. But apart from that she let the whole world of Harford slip away. Focussing only on Leon. Only on her time with him.
How can it be so good? How can he overwhelm me the way he does? Sweeping me away, time after time, after time, into such bliss?
But it was more than passion, she knew, searingly intense as that was. It was a sense of ease with him. A togetherness. A naturalness.
She could see that he hadn’t quite believed her when she’d said she didn’t want luxury, but now, here in this simple villa, with only themselves for company, he had realised she had been telling the truth. And he, too, seemed to be taking this simple life as natural for him.
Was it taking him back to his roots? she found herself wondering. Listening to him telling her about the work he was doing in his own country, to help others make a better life for themselves, about the difficulties they faced, the hopelessness so many lived with, even simply hearing him speak his mother tongue Spanish when they’d arrived on Majorca, had brought home to him just how different his background was from hers. How harsh his early years had been, and how much his life had changed since he was a teenager newly come to Britain, trying to make a new life for himself.
She longed to ask him about it—how he had coped with the trauma of settling in a new country, often hostile and indifferent to him. But she sensed a restraint about it and would not force it. She understood it, too, for she herself did not yet want to talk about her life in England—did not want to tell him about her grandmother, the loss of her mental powers, the non-stop care she needed now. It was too emotional, too sad …
And with a darkening in her hea
rt she knew she never wanted to tell Leon about the danger her home was in—about what her father had done.
What he had made her do …
Instinctively she veered away from thinking about it. She had resolved that she would not let her father’s poison taint this miraculous time with Leon and she would keep to that. Her thoughts were fierce.
He’s got nothing to do with it! Nothing! I’m here with Leon because I want to be—because it’s the most wonderful, miraculous thing that’s ever happened to me!
It could not last. She knew that. Knew it with a tearing helplessness. This brief, blissful time was all she would have. Soon—all too soon, she knew—they must leave. Leon’s busy, demanding life would take over again, and he would have to return to work. And she could not continue to abandon her grandmother as she was doing now. When this idyll ended she would go home—back to her life, back to her grandmother. Would nurse her and care for her until the end came. She would never leave her.
Not even for Leon.
‘I’m truly sorry about this—I wish to God I didn’t have to go—but it’s not something I can deal with here. I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise—and then we’ll come right back to Santera. I’ll make sure I can stay an extra week to make up for abandoning you now.’
Leon leant forward and kissed her reassuringly. Flavia did her best to appear reassured, but she felt the thread of unease unwind inside her further, even here in Palma, at the hotel Leon had checked her into to await his return the following day. The outside world had called to Leon, and he was having to respond to it. He hadn’t told her what it was that summoned him, only that it was unavoidable, and she knew she had to believe him on that. Trust him. She knew, too, that a man like Leon Maranz would have a thousand calls on his time.
Her eyes shadowed. For herself, she had only one other rival for her time—but it was an overpowering one. One she would never turn her back on.
She still had not yet told Leon about her grandmother, for she had not wanted anything of the outside world to intrude on their private paradise. Not yet. When they were both back in England, when she was ready to let the outside world back in willingly, acceptingly, then and then alone would she tell Leon about the woman had always been the most important person in her life, and how Harford had always been the most important place in her life—her beloved home.
Part of her longed to tell him—longed to talk to him about her grandmother, about Harford—but part of her was reluctant. What if he asked her why, if her grandmother was so frail, she had come away with him as she had? And—far more difficult—how could she possibly tell him now about the ugly threat her father had made? How could she possibly confess how her father had blackmailed her into getting in touch with Leon?
When she thought about it an icy pool congealed in her stomach. What had happened between her and Leon had been so extraordinary, so wondrous, that she did not want to sully it in even the slightest way with any taint from her father’s vile machinations. Oh, she would tell Leon about it—of course she would!—but not yet. Not yet …
Because it was all so new to her—this revelation of how wonderful it was to be with him! How transformed she was by him! She wished with all her heart that she had never met Leon through her father, that he had had nothing to do with him in any way at all. She wanted, now, to separate them totally.
But she did not know how or when. She only knew not yet …
Fears clutched at her, and unease threaded its disquieting skein through her nerves. She wished Leon was not going to London—however briefly. In his arms she felt those fears silenced—but on her own they plucked at her again, making her uncertain and fearful.
She must not let them surface. So she bade him goodbye, returning his ardent embrace on parting and he set off for the airport in a taxi, leaving her to while away the day in Palma.
She didn’t really know what to do with herself, and the unease she had felt on parting from him intensified as she meandered through the morning. Everywhere she looked people seemed to be in couples, carefree and on holiday. She told herself not to be morbid and stupid, that Leon was coming back the next day.
Suppose he’s delayed? Suppose his business takes longer than he thought it would? Suppose something else crops up he has to deal with? Suppose he has to fly off further afield …?
She tried to put the anxious thoughts out of her head, but still the sense of unease grew oppressively, disturbingly.
She headed back to the hotel. She would have a siesta in her room and pass the time that way.
When something roused her she was initially too groggy to tell what it was. She stirred dopily. Then, with a jolt, she realised it was her mobile beeping. She had received a text.
Leon!
Immediately she sat up, snatching the phone from her bedside, clicking on ‘view message’.
As her eyes focussed on the words she froze.
It was not from Leon …
‘I would point out—’ Leon’s voice was icy, barely leashing his anger ‘—that it was Lassiter who requested this meeting urgently. So why the hell isn’t he here?’
‘I’m really very, very sorry, Mr Maranz.’ Alistair Lassiter’s secretary sounded flustered down the line. ‘But all I can say is that he left for the Far East this morning. At very short notice,’ she finished, her tone attempting to be placating.
Leon’s jaw tightened with angry exasperation. Why the hell had Lassiter gone overboard to get him back to London to hammer out the deal right now and then promptly disappeared to the other side of Asia?
‘Where in the Far East?’ he demanded of the hapless secretary.
‘Mr Lassiter said his plans were fluid,’ she replied uncertainly.
Leon rang off, his face dark. Lassiter was up to something. Had he tracked down a late-entry white knight in the Far East? Was he hopeful of better bail-out terms? Well, the deal Leon was offering was the only one he was going to offer Lassiter, whatever the man did. But in the meantime he’d torn himself away from Flavia, and it had not been what he’d wanted to do.
Flavia …
Her name resonated in his head, weaving between his synapses like a seductive, sensuous silken flame.
Flavia …
Emotion welled in Leon, washing away all tiresome thoughts of Alistair Lassiter. Focussing on the one person he wanted to think about.
Flavia.
He said her name again in his head, feeling a rush of wonder. She was everything he’d dreamt she might be—everything and much, much more! He had known from the first moment of seeing her that he desired her, but now—oh, now she fulfilled so much more than desire. There was a warmth to her, a sincerity, an ardour, and a passion that was like a bright, true flame. How he had ever worried that she might be the spoilt daughter of luxury he could not now imagine!
I can trust her—believe her—be happy with her …
Happy …
The word resonated in his head like a sweet note of music.
So simple a word. Yet how much it encompassed! This past week with Flavia had been unforgettable—as if his life had become something it had never been before. As if he had found something he had never found before …
Found someone he had never found before …
Someone to be happy with.
Happy for ever?
The question hovered tantalisingly, wonderingly. Dared he ask it?
Dared he answer it?
He stared ahead of him, unseeing of the wide expanse of his office, the high vista out over the City beyond that had taken him so many years of dogged work to achieve. He was seeing only Flavia, smiling at him, with all the warmth in her gaze that he could dream of. Holding out her arms for him …
With a start, he got to his feet. What was the point of him hanging around here in London any more? Out in Palma Flavia was waiting for him, and that was all he cared about. He would head back to Majorca, to Flavia, without delay. Waste not one more moment without her. And as for that question—the o
ne he longed to answer—well, there would be time. All the time they needed together to answer it. There was no rush, no urgency. They would take as much time as they needed, being with each other, learning all there was to know about each other, finding all the happiness that lay between them.
His spirits high, on a rush of anticipation to be with Flavia again that very day, he went through to his PA’s office and let her know he was leaving again. Would she book the earliest Palma flight possible for him? Then, taking his leave, he headed to the lift, phoning Flavia’s mobile as he went. He couldn’t wait to tell her he was on his way back to her. Couldn’t wait to be with her again—take her in his arms again!
Impatiently, standing by the lift doors, he waited for her to pick up.
But instead the call went through to voicemail. Frowning momentarily, he stepped into the lift as the doors opened, and redialled once he was in the lobby downstairs.
Yet again it went to voicemail. Well, maybe she was in the hotel pool. He tried one more time, still got voicemail, and left a message, duplicating it in a text as well. Then, to be on the safe side, as he settled himself in the car taking him to the airport he phoned the Palma hotel direct.
‘Phone up to Señorita Lassiter’s room, please,’ he instructed the desk clerk.
Her answer was apologetic. ‘I’m so sorry, Señor Maranz, but Señorita Lassiter checked out of the hotel last night.’ She paused, then said enquiringly, ‘Will you be settling her bill?’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
RAIN was beating on the windowpanes, rattling the frame. Flavia had drawn the curtains; the bedside light was low. Her heart was gripped by a vice.
I should have been here—I should have been here.
The words of condemning reproach went round and round in her head as she sat by her grandmother’s bed. The nurse had gone an hour ago, saying she would be on call to come back ‘at any time’ as she’d said tactfully to Flavia.