“You’ll meet her later,” he said, as if the whole idea of the meeting between them was amusing. Annette was willing to bet that Helga wasn’t going to be another eight-year-old.
“Shall we go?” Nels said. “Just a quick drive around the city, I think, and then back to Pieter’s hotel. You did book the table, I take it?” he asked Pieter in mock dismay.
“You don’t think Pieter would forget such a thing, especially with Annette as guest of honor!” Elena said protestingly to her fiancé. “Pieter’s too good a hotelier to forget such an important occasion!”
Unintentionally, they made her feel awkward rather than honored at that moment, but the feeling passed as they moved out into the cool night air and into Nels’s sleek limousine. Amsterdam’s climate was comparable with London’s, Annette thought, and snuggled into the fur collar of her coat as she sat beside Pieter in the backseat and the car glided out of the square toward the center of the city.
She was very conscious of his dark profile alongside her, and the fact that his thigh was warm against hers. When his hand caught hold of hers, she let it lie there passively, though she found it hard to resist the urge to press her fingers around his. It was both ridiculous and unbearably sweet to be sitting in the back of a limousine in the dark of evening, holding hands. It was something she hadn’t done in years.
As Elena began pointing out some of the landmarks of the city, Annette gave up trying to sort out her feelings and looked out instead at the shimmering canals, lit by moonlight and streetlamps, and reflecting the lovely bridges and the tall slim houses.
The city was alive at night, even this early in the year, with tourists and locals alike. As the car twisted and turned, it was too much to absorb all at once, and such names as the Singel, on which the floating flower market stood, the Herengracht and the Amstel, all merged in her mind. She glimpsed the splendid Rijks-museum and gaped at the opulence of the main post office, which looked nearly as grand, and the comparatively austere building of the royal palace in its wide square of tiny cobbled stones. It would be fascinating to come here in daylight and on foot, Annette remarked, and Pieter told her at once that he intended showing her as much of the city as possible.
“Won't you be busy?" Annette asked. He laughed, squeezing her hand, and this time it was impossible not to respond.
“I told you. I’m the boss. And my time is at your disposal while you’re here. I want you to come back, Annette.”
“So I will, for the wedding,” she said coolly, but she knew he meant more than that. She looked curiously at the posters she’d seen at frequent intervals through the car windows, each one portraying brilliant floral arrangements. She asked quickly what it was all about.
“That’s something else Pieter and I wanted to ask you about, Annette,” Elena turned her head around to smile. “We have a big flower festival taking place in Amsterdam three weeks before the wedding. It’s a purely local festival, but ‘local’ includes villages and towns from a wide radius! We thought how marvelous it would be to enter a Van Ness float. And how wonderful it would be if our flowers were arranged by Annette of London! Am I tempting you?”
“We could work as a team on the project,” Pieter said suddenly, his voice deep and persuasive. “Think about it, will you? Don’t say no straightaway!”
“Well, I would need to think about it, naturally,” she answered, knowing the idea was catching her imagination immediately. It would be the biggest thing she’d been involved in, and therefore a new challenge to her skills. And Pieter had been so subtle, she realized, in pretending not to force her, when he must know very well how it would appeal to her. But it would mean being in Amsterdam far longer than she’d intended. She’d need to be here for a few weeks if she were to agree to this. Her heart was thudding as the thought of working closely with Pieter on the project added a new dimension to the idea. When had the idea come to him? she wondered. He was more clever than she’d thought, knowing that if anything would draw her here for a lengthy stay, it would be to work in this land of flowers.
The car stopped outside a large hotel lit by a blaze of lights. This was the Van Ness Hotel, then, and at once Annette saw that it was the type to cater for an exclusive clientele. They walked inside on thick red carpeting, with uniformed staff leaping to attend them and escort them to the best table in the center of the dining room, where the floorshow had already begun. The lights were discreetly low all around the room, the tables set in little alcoves or screened to give each one maximum privacy. The small orchestra played dreamy background music while a beautiful black-haired singer sang in a deep throaty voice as she moved sinuously among the tables, giving a sense of warmth to each little performance. As the new arrivals seated themselves and the headwaiter produced four menus for them to study, the words blurred momentarily in front of Annette’s eyes at Elena’s whispered words. The singer was Helga.
Chapter Five
In some ways her first evening in Amsterdam seemed totally unreal to Annette, consisting of a few sharply defined memories, the rest of it blurred at the edges. One thing became crystal clear to her: the resident singer at the Van Ness Hotel, Helga Jansen, considered Pieter Van Ness to be her exclusive property. Annette was first aware of it as the sultry singer wove her way gradually toward their table. She was a very sophisticated lady, Annette saw at once. She sang briefly to each male in her audience as if she sang for him alone, and she made a stunning picture in her silvery-white gown that fit like a second skin. Annette’s heart was pounding as Helga approached them, to put one hand on Pieter’s shoulder as she sang her husky song of love and longing, her dark eyes for him only, a wealth of meaning in her expression.
To anyone else Helga’s treatment of the song must have seemed the same as with all the other men in her audience, but Annette sensed it was more than that for Pieter. Having heard the girl’s name so often already, and now seeing her and Pieter’s obvious enjoyment in her performance, Annette felt a wild jealousy run through her. She must be going soft in the head, she thought, angry with herself. And she felt even angrier because she thought she detected a knowing look on Pieter’s face, just as if he thought she cared.
It was as she had suspected. He had his share of women, and she was willing to stake her reputation on it that Helga was one of them. At the end of the song, when the singer strolled over to be introduced, to the applause of the clientele, Annette found herself wishing she was anywhere else but in that room. She hadn’t wanted to meet Helga, and it was obvious, to her at least, that Helga didn’t really want to meet her. The dark-eyed singer looked her over as Pieter stood to make the introductions, and Annette felt her fingers lightly touched in Helga’s grasp.
“So you’re the famous Annette we’ve heard so much about,” Helga said noncommittally. “I hope you’ll find something to amuse you here in our city.”
She dismissed Annette’s artistry as no more than the fumbling flower-bunchings of a child. The implication was insulting, but said in the same husky tones that clearly fascinated every male. Annette darted a look at Pieter, who apparently noticed nothing of the instant antagonism between herself and Helga. He wouldn’t, she thought bitterly, annoyed to acknowledge that he was the cause of it, whether she wanted it that way or not.
“Annette has agreed to do all the flowers for the wedding, Helga,” Elena said eagerly. “So we’ll be seeing more of her in the future.”
“That’s very nice,” Helga commented, her eyes belying the words as she glanced at Annette sitting between Pieter and Nels. Her expression made it all too plain to Annette. Keep off, it said. Pieter is mine. Helga needn’t bother, Annette thought seethingly. She didn’t want him. But already in a tiny corner of her mind she knew that she did.
She was glad when Helga disappeared to change for her next appearance and the four of them could eat their meal. The cuisine was superb, as Annette had expected. Succulent Dutch biefstuk, the tastiest fillet steak Annette had ever eaten, drenched in a rich creamy sauce and ac
companied by tiny deep-fried potatoes kept hot on the table in a dish over its own warmer. There was a selection of familiar vegetables, tiny green peas, cauliflower with cheese, zucchini, and to follow the main course, Annette chose a delicious frothy concoction of cherries and whipped cream, and the best-tasting coffee she’d ever had. The meal was accompanied by red wine with the steak, and champagne.
“I’ve always heard the Dutch take eating seriously.” She smiled through a haze of wine and candlelight. “I couldn’t keep this up, or I’d put on pounds.”
“You’re perfect just the way you are,” Pieter agreed with a laugh, which wasn’t what she meant at all. Nor did she mean for his eyes to linger lazily on the way the black dress clung to her shape, as if he envied the contact between the soft material and her skin. His eyes had told her the same thing once before, when they’d dined in London, and just as before, Annette felt the prickling of her skin and the hardening of her nipples.
“Will you dance with me, Annette?” he said softly as the small orchestra played slow music in the break from the floorshow, and couples started drifting onto the square of polished wood to float in each other’s arms to the music.
Dreamlike, she took his hand and was led out to the floor, to be held tightly in his arms, so close she felt herself to be a part of him, aware of every muscle and sinew in his body as they moved slowly in time to the music. She could hear the beat of his heart next to her own, and the sound of his breathing. She could feel the touch of his lips on her cheek as they moved slowly and sensuously. She lifted her face to look into his face, darkly handsome and shadowed in the subtle, intimate lighting.
“What are you doing to me, Pieter?” she said unsteadily.
His arms tightened imperceptibly around her. “Don’t you know?” he said softly. “I’m making love to you. It’s what I’ve wanted to do since the moment I saw you, my beautiful Annette, more beautiful than any of the flowers with which you surround yourself. So far I must be content to make love to you only with my head – but I promise you the time will come when you will want my heart as well. And not only that! Deny if you can that the attraction between us burns as bright as any fire!”
How could she deny it when her own body betrayed her? She hadn’t felt this sudden longing for fulfillment for so long, it frightened and overwhelmed her. As if the force of this man’s personality were so strong it threatened to overcome all her carefully built-up defenses. He was playing with her; she felt his fingers on the back of her neck, stroking gently, making her shiver.
“I can’t deny it,” she said raggedly, “but that doesn’t mean I intend to do anything about it! You can’t force me –”
Pieter gave a quiet laugh against her cheek. “I’ve never forced a woman, sweet Annette. I’ve never needed to. Our time will come, believe me, and when it does, you’ll ask yourself why you were so foolish as to delay it one second longer than necessary.”
The words were arrogant, yet said so quietly and with such conviction it was obvious Pieter believed them himself. There was none of the anger or impetuosity she might expect in a typical man – the type Annette had been able to deal with so easily before. In this man there was a maturity that said he’d wait however long it took, and the knowledge did nothing to help her jangled nerves or the feeling of inevitability that he would get what he wanted in the end – as Elena said he always did.
It was very late by the time the four of them left the hotel, but Annette was quite glad to return to the Van Ness house. Mrs. Luykens was waiting to serve them more coffee and liqueurs, and they sat up talking long into the night about the arrangements for the coming wedding. Annette felt she could hardly be the one to break up the foursome, since she needed to know all that was required of her, and anyway, she was vitally interested. It became obvious it was going to be an important affair and that Annette’s part in it all was more demanding than she had realized.
“Although it is to be a city wedding, I’m anxious to incorporate some of the old customs that are usually carried on only in tiny villages now, Annette,” Elena told her. “I’ve always wanted to go to my wedding in a horse-drawn carriage decorated with flowers. Tomorrow I’ll show you some pictures of the kind of thing I mean, and I know your imagination will be stimulated by them. We’ll need oceans of flowers,” she said expressively. “But fortunately that’s no problem in Holland! You’ll have heard of the famous Aalsmeer flower market, similar to your Covent Garden, I’m sure.”
Annette nodded, finding it hard to keep awake, but feeling a keen sense of anticipation at the coming wedding.
“Everything you need can be obtained from Aalsmeer,” Pieter put in. “And as Elena says, it will be a big task. As well as the principal floral creations for the bride and her attendants, which you two girls will be getting your heads together about, we’ll need special floral arrangements for the house. After the wedding, the guests will be invited back to view the presents; then we’ll need arrangements for the church and the hotel. You’ll be very busy, Annette. Are you sure you can manage it all?”
His eyes challenged her. His smile was wide and relaxed, his fingers caressing his glass. Annette caught her breath, knowing she’d need to be busy while she was in Amsterdam; by keeping busy, she could ignore the churning inside that his presence evoked.
“I’m sure she can,” Nels added smoothly. “From what Elena has told me, I have every confidence in Annette, and I’m sure some competent assistants can be found if necessary. Right now, I think it would be a good idea if we all retired and continued the discussion tomorrow. Annette must be very tired.”
“I am a little.” She smiled at him gratefully, suddenly longing to sink into the softness of that great inviting bed in her room and drift off into velvet blackness. But when she had creamed her face of its makeup and slid between the cool sheets with a sigh of pleasure, she discovered her mind was too active for her to sleep immediately. She tossed and turned restlessly, hearing Pieter’s voice in her head, sensing his touch as if his fingers crept seductively over her skin, melting into his embrace.
This was ridiculous, she thought angrily. It was as if the man had hypnotized her. She made herself relax, inch by inch from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, imagining those oceans of flowers Elena had mentioned, and deriving the usual pleasure from the mirage in her mind. The waking fantasies merged into sleeping ones, and when she dreamed, it was to dream of him...
The flowers were still there, surrounding her with their exotic scents, so heady that they made her dizzy. She was drowning in them, falling, falling and laughing rapturously, because it was her world, the world she knew. Her arms were outstretched, and from the mist a familiar figure reached out for her, tall and broad and ruggedly attractive, with little laughter lines fanning from gray eyes that were alight with love for her. His hands caught hers and pulled her out of the mass of flowers and into his arms. She was still dizzy with the scent of them, but now she was intoxicated by a far more sensual awareness, of needs in her that had been too long denied and which craved fulfillment.
“Why have you fought me for so long?” The dream Pieter oozed sensuality as his voice moved through her senses, sending waves of desire pulsing through her veins. “How can you say we two are strangers, when I’ve always known you, in this life and every other life? Don’t you know it too? Can’t you sense it, my beautiful one?”
“Oh, yes, yes.” The dream Annette sighed blissfully as his hands pushed aside the gossamer nightgown she wore and sought her breasts. She floated in his embrace, feeling his lips on her flesh, taking her to the peak of desire. He had appeared to her in flimsy floating garments. Now suddenly there was nothing between them but the urgency of passion, and she gloried to the feel of his hard demanding body, wanting hers, as she wanted and needed his. She could still feel his lips tingling on her skin, seeking out the secret places that had been so long without love. “Oh, how I’ve wanted you, Pieter. You and only you, Tony, my love...”
She w
as suddenly awake, cold and shaking and bathed in sweat. The dream was so vivid in her mind still. Her hands were clenched at her sides, gripping hold of the sheet, and she almost sobbed at her unwitting betrayal of Tony’s love. How could she, even in a dream, give herself so wantonly to another man’s arms? The dream was so real and to her shame she felt the unfulfilled ache still deep inside her. She had ended it when she had inadvertently called out Tony’s name. But it had been Pieter lying with her, and Pieter’s body she could still picture so readily. No matter how tightly she closed her eyes, the images wouldn’t leave her, and she felt the salt tears trickle down her cheeks in the darkness. She had never had such a dream before. It made all her careful attempts to keep sacred the memory of Tony as futile as trying to capture a moonbeam. It was one more reason she resented Pieter Van Ness for storming into her life.
Annette made herself feel anger for him, and only succeeded in giving herself a headache that was still there in the morning. She was pale, but enormously thankful that Pieter didn’t join them for breakfast and that Nels had taken his nieces out already, so that she and Elena were alone.
“Too much champagne last night,” she apologized as she refused the generous offer of a cooked English breakfast and sank her teeth gratefully into the continental breakfast of rolls and jam. It wasn’t really the drinks that made her head dull and heavy, but the effects of the unbidden erotic dream she’d had. She made herself smile as normally as possible at Pieter’s sister, wishing she wasn’t always conscious of the likeness between them. Even when he wasn’t physically here, she was still aware of him.
“It’s good to be on our own for a while, Elena, because we must get down to some work! I shall need to know the style and colors of the dresses for the wedding in order to decide on the shapes and colors of the flowers. Your dress, of course, will be white, I take it?”
“Oh, yes.” Elena’s mouth was suddenly soft, thoughts of the future with Nels making her beautiful for a moment. It was a look that made Annette momentarily envious and gave her a twinge of loneliness.
The Language of Love Page 5