Do Not Disturb

by Anna Cleary

  Joe had put the tragedy behind him, but Jake had been his father, his beloved father, and though Joe never spoke of that terrible time she knew it was woven into the fabric of him, warp and weft. In fact, anyone knowing these things about Joe would assume Monte Carlo to be the last place he’d think of visiting.

  So why had he chosen to come?

  Worriedly, she turned her attention to locating her suitcase, and for the first time took time to examine her room properly.

  Overwhelmed, she stood stock still to drink it all in.

  After the luxury of Zurich she knew better than to wonder if Stella had made some mistake with the bookings. This time the thoughtful woman had excelled herself.

  The room was charming, opulent and distinctly French. High of ceiling, it boasted an antique writing desk and rose satin drapes framing two sets of French doors that opened to a small balcony.

  Unable to resist, Mirandi walked outside and leaned on the stone balustrade, inhaling the heady Mediterranean air, thrilled by the sights and sounds of the fairy-tale city. Below her was a terraced garden with ponds and fountains and beyond that, across the rooftops, the sea.

  If only she and Joe were here on a real holiday. She toyed with the idea of distracting him from his purpose. Considerations of how she might achieve it would have made her grin if she hadn’t felt such a sense of foreboding. His moods had suddenly become so unpredictable who knew if he’d still want her by nightfall?

  With a sigh she turned back inside.

  If she had to be confined to a hotel, she was glad it was this one, at any rate.

  She strolled around, opening all the doors and investigating the drawers.

  The king-sized bed—surely an excess for one person—was attired with a heavy satin counterpane of roses on a cream background, with rose-covered pillows. A vase of the real thing in fragrant, partly unfurled buds of pink and red adorned a side table.

  It was a duchess’s room. A princess’s. She couldn’t wait to sink amongst those fluffy pillows on that inviting bed and sleep.

  The bathroom was equally grand. Besides vast expanses of marble and a glassed-in shower recess, she was gratified to find a huge old-fashioned tub with detachable shower hose. Beside it, fresh rose petals in a jar waited to float in her bath water.

  Perfect. Or it would be, once the conference was finished for the day.

  She sighed again, and set about hanging up her clothes. At least Joe had given her the two lovely dresses and she wouldn’t be disgracing herself among the glamorous clientele. The minor problem of that tricky zip occurred to her, and, taking up the brochure detailing the hotel facilities, she sprawled as delicately as she could on the rose-covered counterpane and leafed through it.

  Aha. As she’d hoped, garment mending was on offer. Taking a chance the person on the other end of the phone had better English than her few words of French, she dialled Housekeeping. In no time a housemaid was at the door to collect her red dress with the promise it would be hanging back in the closet within the hour.

  This was the life.

  She changed into her suit and was brushing her hair when Joe’s crisp tap sounded on the door. Conference time.

  Joe had definitely switched into CEO mode, his eyes serious and purposeful, the lines of his face taut. She grimaced. Forget any notions of a holiday. This was business.

  Downstairs, they queued at the conference desk among all the other business people with their briefcases and phones. She was frowning into space, trying to remember what else Auntie Mim had told her about Jake Sinclair, when Joe suddenly took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

  ‘Don’t look so worried.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘It’s only the jaws of hell we’re walking into.’

  She grinned, her heart glowing with relief. He was still there somewhere, her tender, mocking, affectionate Joe.

  Once they’d signed in and been issued with ID tags and prospectuses, he suggested they plan their agenda over coffee by the pool. Mirandi needed no persuading.

  They waited for their coffees seated in comfortable armchairs on the pool terrace. The pool looked almost too inviting to resist, with its radiant aqua water lapping the tiles at its edge. The sun dappled their table, a sea-scented breeze trifled with her hair, and while she perused the conference agenda she was half aware of the holiday tang of sun lotion, splashes and shouts of laughter from people with nothing to do but play.

  There were information sessions planned all that day and the next with a cocktail party to be held at the casino that evening. She read that delegates would have an opportunity to try their luck at the tables, if they so desired. She pursed her lips, frowning.

  Delegates. People like her and Joe.

  No one would come to Monte Carlo without visiting the casino, at least for a look. Even her father would be interested in visiting the building to view its fabled splendours. So why did she feel so uneasy?

  She scoured her conscience, aware of a nasty gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach. Admit it. She didn’t want Joe to go there. Everything about it seemed so—dangerous. What if…? A frightening thought crossed her mind and she crushed it to smithereens.

  That wouldn’t be Joe. It just wouldn’t.

  A waiter brought their coffees and placed them on the low table between them.

  Though who ever knew they had a weakness until opportunity crossed their path? A sickening thought crept up on her. Maybe the addiction had already claimed him. Wouldn’t that explain the entire trip?

  ‘Well, out with it,’ Joe said, replacing his wallet after slipping the man a note. ‘I’m sure you have an opinion.’

  Mirandi glanced up warily from stirring her coffee. ‘About what?’

  ‘You know what.’

  She raised the cup to her lips and sipped the creamy brew, then glanced across at him. His expression was apparently relaxed, but his black brows were drawn over his alert blue eyes and there was a curious tension in his frame, as if the fate of the world suddenly hung on her reply.

  What could she say? Don’t risk it, Joe? Turn away from temptation before it sucks you in like quicksand?

  She gave a shrug. ‘The hotel is fabulous, my room is a dream. I have a lovely dress to wear tonight and another one tomorrow night. I’m jet-lagged and a little tired and would appreciate a long hot soak in that tub upstairs, but you’re the boss. If you say I have to spend my time on the Côte d’Azur in a conference about gaming, then that’s what I’ll do.’

  His mouth tightened. ‘I get it. You disapprove, but you’re just following orders.’

  She blinked, startled. ‘What do you want me to say?’

  Anger flashed from his eyes. ‘Be honest. Say what you think.’

  Hot words rushed to her tongue but she bit them back. ‘I’m a market analyst for an investment company, remember? Too much sensibility is a handicap for the likes of me.’

  ‘That’s no answer and you know it. It’s a cop-out.’

  The unexpected emotional undertow was dragging her towards saying some things she might regret. But she held her cup tight and kept her voice cool. ‘If you’re planning on investing in a casino I’m sure it will be very lucrative. I’m not your conscience.’

  ‘Good,’ he said curtly, rising to his feet. He pointed a warning finger. ‘Just you remember that.’

  But…but…what had she said? Her head swirling with bewilderment and annoyance, she followed him back inside.

  ‘Well, anyway,’ she said, hurrying to keep up with him as he strode towards the lift. ‘Thousands of people go to casinos every day without coming to any harm. Millions. People are free to choose their style of entertainment. If rich people want to play games with their money…’

  He halted and turned fiercely on her, grabbing her arm. ‘Don’t say that to me. Don’t ever…’ His face twisted and she was shaken by a bolt of utter shock. He must have seen it because he released her arm and brought his momentary loss of cool under control. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry. But—don’t try preach
ing morality as per the blessed Reverend Summers at me, either. I’m here to make a reasoned decision. You’re here as an MA, so stay out of it.’

  She blinked. ‘But what have I said? All I said was… You asked me…’

  He made a stern silencing gesture.

  Fuming, she folded her arms and turned her back on him on the ride up in the lift. Fine, not another word on the subject would cross her lips. If his conscience was so tender, let him deal with it on his own.

  Not surprisingly, the conference sessions were an endurance. With Joe so apparently angry with her for no good reason, she felt too resentful to care if he gleaned any useful information from the various speakers with all their videos and graphs and risk projections. She listened to it all on one level and brooded on another.

  Every so often she felt his eyes flick to her as if attempting to penetrate her reactions to the topics under discussion. Things about profit. Loss. Public relations. She refused to help him out. If he didn’t know what she really thought of it all, then he didn’t know Mirandi Summers.

  He didn’t recover his good humour. During the lunch break, while other delegates took the opportunity to meet each other and engage in civilised conversation on the terrace, he leaned up against the stonework looking like a thundercloud, his arms folded across his chest.

  She supposed it didn’t help that the roof of the casino was visible through the shrubbery, the dome and spires of the fanciful Belle Epoque extravaganza drawing admiring comments from the gathering. Luring them there.

  Joe remained silent. She attempted conversation a few times but he was as impenetrable as a wall and she gave up. She’d have had no one to talk to at all if a pleasant American man hadn’t started up a conversation with her when she sashayed over for a refill of her coffee.

  He introduced himself as Louis. He was from Chicago. A lawyer, he told her in his charming American drawl. He looked smooth and clever and had twinkling dark eyes and a way of looking at a woman as if she were the only person in the world. In truth, he seemed quite intrigued by her accent.

  Naturally she warmed to him. She might have laughed once or twice at some of the teasing things he said about Aussies, because once she glanced over at Joe and was nearly electrocuted by his forbidding blue glare.

  The sheer nerve of the guy. He wouldn’t talk to her himself, but he didn’t want her to chat with anyone else.

  It was a relief to meet such an uncomplicated, friendly guy as Louis. She turned her back on Joe Sinclair, though her insides were churning with hurt and resentment at his unreasonable behaviour, and she could feel his eyes boring through the back of her skull.

  Louis took out his phone and showed her pictures of himself competing in a swimming race in Lake Michigan. The event was called Big Shoulders, and the photos proved Louis had the shoulders, all right. And the chest. There was nothing wrong with his abs, either.

  She was just leaning over to delve further when Joe strode up, brusquely introduced himself, shook Louis’s hand in what looked like a crushing grip, then hustled her back inside the hotel.

  ‘We need to go through our notes,’ he stated.

  ‘What notes would that be?’ she snapped. ‘I’m not aware you took any.’

  ‘But you did, surely. Surely I can rely on you for something.’

  ‘Well, no, you can’t. I’m out of it, remember? Boss’s orders.’

  He closed his eyes briefly. ‘Mirandi…’ He made some kind of effort and the rigidity of his shoulders eased. All at once he looked so weary her heart melted with pity for him.

  ‘Look.’ He breathed deeply, his hands clenching and unclenching. ‘I’m not really in the mood for games. Try to be less provocative, will you?’

  The sheer injustice of the man. She abandoned her sympathy and raised a haughty eyebrow. ‘That will be hard for a woman of my renowned temperament, Joe. In fact, at the risk of being provocative, I think you’re seriously overtired. If you ask me anything, you should be spending this afternoon sleeping.’

  ‘Then it’s as well I’m not asking you, isn’t it?’ he said in a gentle, maddeningly reasonable voice.

  Hostilities didn’t improve during the afternoon, although there weren’t more actual words spoken. When the last interminable session ended, she and Joe stalked to the lifts to join the small crowd waiting there in stony silence.

  At last there was a ping, then one set of lift doors slid open to eject a small party of women. As they emerged into the hall, chattering and laughing, one small elderly lady in the middle of the bunch suddenly stopped and stood stock still, staring.

  Her face seemed to stiffen. ‘Joseph.’

  Whipping a surprised glance at Joe, Mirandi saw that he seemed to have frozen still. But he was only disconcerted for a moment. Before her eyes his face smoothed into an expressionless mask.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t know you, madame,’ he said to the small woman, utterly chilling in his politeness. Mirandi became aware then of his grip tightening to steel on her arm and being jostled in to join the crowd in the lift.

  Just before the doors closed Mirandi saw the woman halt and turn for another glimpse of them, her eyes huge in her white face.

  Mirandi rubbed her arm resentfully. Conscious of the others in the small space with them, she lowered her voice. ‘Who was—?’

  She broke off when she glanced at Joe.

  His posture had taken on a strange rigidity. His jaw was tight—clenched, his nostrils flaring, while his eyes glittered like ice beneath his black brows. She noted with a small shock a tiny vein throbbing in his temple.

  Whatever the small woman represented to Joe Sinclair, it was dynamite.

  The lift stopped at their floor and they had to wait their turn to exit. As soon as they were in the hall and out of earshot of other people, she ventured to Joe, ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘What do you mean? Of course I’m all right.’ He didn’t sound all right. He reefed his hand distractedly through his hair, then made an apologetic gesture. ‘Sorry. What was that you were saying? Oh, and, er…sorry about earlier. I know I’ve been a bit… It’s been a long forty-eight hours. How about you? Are you all right?’

  Hang on. Was she in some parallel universe? Unless her radar was way out of whack something tumultuous had just happened to Joe, and here he was talking as if she’d enquired about the weather. Though smooth enough, he couldn’t disguise the unnaturalness in his tone, or the effort it was taking to produce those normal-sounding words.

  Whatever the encounter meant, clearly he wasn’t about to discuss it with her. Well, Mirandi Summers could take a hint. Curiosity might be killing her, but she was beginning to guess when not to intrude. Though the way things had gone for her this day she could be wrong.

  Following his lead, she acted as though nothing unusual had occurred in the vestibule of the Hotel Metropole, and continued on with the artificial small talk.

  Like a tightrope dancer pirouetting on point across Niagara Falls she said, ‘Truthfully? I’m shattered. I can’t wait to sink into a hot tub. Are you—are you planning on going to the casino tonight?’

  He’d stopped to stare fixedly at a painting in the hall. It was an oil, a view of a local fishing village.

  When he didn’t reply she repeated her question, and he swung around all at once to laser her with a glittering glance. He said very softly, ‘Is there any reason you think I shouldn’t?’

  With a stab of guilt she struggled to retrieve herself. ‘Well, no. Not at all. I just wondered if—since we’re both quite tired…’ Suddenly everywhere she turned was a no-go zone with an elephant galumphing all over it.

  ‘Don’t you want to go?’ he demanded.

  ‘Look,’ she said, clenching her fists at her sides. ‘I’m happy to go if you want to.’

  ‘You really want to?’ He narrowed his eyes searchingly at her.

  She hesitated. ‘If you want me to.’ She smiled in hopeful appeal. ‘Or maybe you’d prefer to go another time when we’re better rest
ed.’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t,’ he muttered grimly. ‘All right then. Let’s do it and get the whole bloody thing over with.’ Then he seemed to collect himself a little. ‘I mean, this is an important part of the whole event. We need to immerse ourselves in it to get the full picture.’

  ‘Oh, Joe.’ She rolled her eyes and couldn’t help muttering to herself. ‘As if you don’t know what the full picture is.’

  But his gaze had drifted back to the painting and it didn’t seem to matter what she muttered, because it was pretty clear he wasn’t hearing a word she was saying.

  Eventually he stirred himself to move on and they reached her room. She unlocked the door, then turned to him. She cleared her throat.

  ‘Joe, who was that woman in the lobby?’

  He closed his eyes. ‘No one. You know, Mirandi, you should—never give into jet-lag. It’s best to carry on regardless until you drop.’ He pushed back his cuff and showed her his watch. ‘See? It’s barely five.’

  She hardly took in the time. All she could focus on was Joe’s hand, shaking. Joe, the coolest, strongest, most controlled guy she’d ever met. He must have noticed it at the same time because he drew back his hand and said harshly, ‘All right? I’ll collect you in two hours.’

  Two hours were hardly the time she needed for a decent wallow, a satisfying snooze and time to dress, but somehow she didn’t feel like pushing him any further. ‘Look, are you sure you’re—?’

  ‘What?’ he said sharply.

  ‘Oh, nothing. Two hours, then.’

  Left to her own devices, she stood chewing her lip, speculating on the woman downstairs. The Frenchwoman.

  Joe closed his door behind him and headed straight for the minibar. Thank God for single malt.

  He downed a quick Scotch, then another. Somewhere through the third his heartrate slowed down to a gallop and his blood pressure felt as if it was beginning to subside. He made the effort to think.

  He’d probably laugh later—much later—at the amazing irony. Of all the traps set by fate, this had to be the most diabolical. Now that the woman had sprung his presence here, she’d seek him out again, that much was certain. She’d hound him and harass him… Just as she had when he was a boy. After the funeral. As if he could ever have borne to lay eyes on her again.