by Lucy Gordon
His face was suddenly tense. ‘I think not. I prefer to keep her around and make her face up to what she did.’
‘Is that why you got me back here?’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I don’t believe it’s coincidence that we just happened to meet again.’
He paled. ‘You think I manipulated this situation?’
‘You could have.’
‘And I’m telling you I didn’t. How dare you? Perhaps I should accuse you of manipulation. Did you persuade your friend to let you take her place?’
‘No way. I had no idea you’d be here until I saw you on the stairs.’
‘Nor I. Let’s get this clear, Natasha. I didn’t trick you into coming here. I didn’t want to see you again, not after the way you behaved.’
‘The way I—?’
‘You left me feeling as though I was hanging off the edge of a cliff.’
‘I know that feeling,’ she said softly, with anger in her voice.
‘All right. For the moment we have to accept things as they are. We’re enemies but we need to be allies as far as this job’s concerned. Our fight is still on, but it’s a fair fight.’
‘Is it? I wonder if your idea of a fair fight is the same as mine.’
‘I guess we’ll find that out.’
A beep from her mobile phone interrupted him. Answering it, she found a text:
You didn’t have to run away. We can sort this out.
There was no name, but there didn’t need to be. This wasn’t the first text that Elroy Jenson had sent her since he’d shut her out of his media empire. Clearly he’d expected her to cave in and come crawling back.
She had to make him stop doing this.
Swiftly, she texted back:
Forget me, as I’ve forgotten you.
His reply came at once:
If that were true you wouldn’t have run away. Come home. I can do a lot for you.
She groaned, wondering how much more of this she could take. She’d thought that by coming to Italy she could put Jenson behind her.
‘What’s the matter?’ Mario asked. ‘Who has upset you?’
‘It’s nothing,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m fine.’
‘I don’t think so. Perhaps you should change your mobile number. Doing that works well because then the guy can’t reach you. But of course you know that. Here—’
Before she could stop him he’d seized the phone from her hand and was reading the text.
‘Just tell him to— What does he mean, run away?’
‘I’ve been running away from him for months. He’s Elroy Jenson, the man who owns a great media empire. It stretches all over the world—England, America, Europe—’
‘Yes—’ Mario broke in ‘—I’ve heard of him. Some of his papers are in this country. Not a man you’d want to antagonise.’
‘I used to make a good living writing for his newspapers and magazines, but then he decided that he fancied me. I didn’t fancy him but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He kept pestering me until I slapped his face. Unfortunately, some of his employees saw it and the word got out. Since then none of his editors will buy articles from me.’
‘And he keeps sending you these messages? Why don’t you just change your mobile phone number?’
‘I have. Several times. But he always manages to get the new one. He’s a powerful man and his tentacles stretch far.’
‘Bastardo!’
‘If that means what I think it does, then yes. Now I can’t earn a living in England and he’s coming after me.’
‘Thinking you’ll turn to him for the money? And he’d like that—knowing that you’d only given in to him out of need?’
‘He’d enjoy it. He’s that kind of man. But he’s going to be disappointed. I’ll do anything rather than what he wants.’
‘Anything? Including taking a job with a man you hate?’
‘Even that. This job’s a lucky break for me. It gets me out of England.’
‘But you have to put up with me.’
‘Stop being melodramatic. You’re not so bad. I can manage. We’ve put the past behind us.’
He smiled wryly, trying to come to terms with her words. ‘You’re not so bad’ implied a casual acceptance that should have been a relief but felt more like an insult.
‘Yes, we’ve put it all behind us,’ he agreed. ‘And now we can concentrate on business, which is what we’re here for. You need to make a living and I need to repay the bank loans I had to take out to buy this place.’
‘That must be a heavy burden,’ she said.
‘It is. Damiano wanted to help me by lending me some money, and standing guarantor for the bank loan. But I wouldn’t let him do either. This is my hotel, and mine alone.’
‘I remember meeting Damiano in Venice. And his wife. They were very nice to me.’
‘They both liked you a lot.’
In fact both Sally and Damiano had nudged him, saying, ‘She’s the one, Mario. Go on, make sure of her.’
And when things went wrong they had united again to call him ‘The biggest idiot of all time’. It was a remark that still stung him.
‘Why wouldn’t you let him help you?’ she asked.
‘I just prefer to control my own life,’ he said in a voice that was suddenly hard.
A tantalising memory flickered through her mind: Mario, two years ago, young, carefree and easy-going. Somehow he had changed into this grimly self-sufficient man who mistrusted the world.
‘I prefer it too,’ she said. ‘You feel safer, like wearing a suit of armour. But is that always a good thing to wear?’
‘That depends on who challenges you,’ he said.
His eyes, fixed on her, left her in no doubt of his message. Her presence was a challenge, one that he would fight off ruthlessly.
‘But you wouldn’t need a suit of armour against your older brother,’ she said. ‘Helping you is surely what older brothers are for?’
‘Possibly, but I needed to stop being the younger brother, leaning on him. I told him I could do it alone, so I’ve got to prove that’s true. I simply mustn’t fail.’
‘And I mustn’t fail either,’ she said, ‘so in future we’re going to concentrate on being practical. Please leave me now, and when I’ve finished my research I’ll see you and Giorgio at supper.’
‘Good luck with the work,’ he said, and departed.
He went quickly to his office and went online. A few minutes’ research told him all he needed to know about Elroy Jenson: his creation of a media empire, his money, his far-reaching power.
But it was the man’s looks that amazed him. He’d expected a slobbering, middle-aged monster, a man no woman could want to be with unless she was after his money. But Jenson was well built, even handsome, with a riotous head of curly hair. A woman lucky enough to have captured his attention would have every reason to flaunt her triumph.
But not Natasha.
No man impresses her, he thought. She decides what she wants, and woe betide him if he can’t live up to it.
He glanced at himself in the mirror.
‘But could any man live up to it?’ he murmured.
*
Researching the Albergo Splendido, Natasha could easily believe that it had started life as a palace. It was seven hundred years old and magnificently built.
To dine there meant dressing in style. Luckily she’d brought with her a black satin figure-hugging dress that managed to be both decorous and elegant.
Giorgio nodded approval. ‘Lovely. You’ll make their heads spin. Let’s go.’
As they walked to the car Mario said, ‘Aren’t you making too much of her appearance? Surely it’s her efficiency we need to promote?’
‘Efficiency alone isn’t enough. She’s got that extra “something” special, and it’s going to make all the difference.’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Mario said coldly.
At the hotel Amadore was waiting for the
m. ‘Everyone’s here,’ he said. ‘They’re longing to meet you.’
He led her into a room filled with tables at which sat crowds of men and women, who broke into applause at the sight of her.
There could be no doubt that she was the star of the evening. Amadore introduced her to each guest, one by one, giving the name of the person and of their hotel.
‘Ah, yes,’ she said to one elderly man. ‘That’s the place where—’
He listened, open-mouthed, as she revealed her in-depth research. She did the same thing with several of the other hotel owners and was rewarded by looks of admiration.
‘You see what I mean?’ Giorgio murmured to Mario. ‘A brilliant lady, clever and hard-working. We’ve struck gold.’
Mario didn’t reply.
When she’d met all the guests she sat down at the head table for the meal, which turned out to be a glorious banquet, adorned with the finest wines.
‘Mmm, lovely,’ she said, sipping from her glass.
‘Everyone thinks of Verona as the site of the love story,’ Giorgio told her. ‘But it’s also surrounded by vineyards. Most of the hotel owners have some sort of investment in vineyards.’
‘The wine you’re drinking now was produced in my own vineyard,’ Amadore said.
‘It’s delicious,’ she said, sipping again.
‘Thank you, signorina.’
They clinked glasses.
Soon she saw that everyone was looking at her expectantly.
‘They’re waiting for your speech,’ Mario murmured.
‘But I can only speak English,’ she protested. ‘Will they understand?’
‘Hotel owners tend to speak English because your country sends us many tourists.’
Mario got to his feet.
‘My friends,’ he said, ‘it has been our pleasure tonight to meet the lady we’ve employed to promote us to the world. Now let us hear her plans.’
There was applause as Natasha rose. For a few moments she was nervous but the warm, friendly atmosphere enveloped her and she began to enjoy herself as she laid out the ideas that had been forming in her mind.
‘Every hotel has something to connect it to the story,’ she said. ‘Some are near Juliet’s house, some near Romeo’s house, some are near the tomb.’
‘Some of us aren’t so lucky,’ a man called. ‘Our hotels aren’t near anywhere significant.’
‘Don’t be so sure,’ she said. ‘Remember the scene where Romeo’s friend Mercutio is stabbed to death by Juliet’s kinsman? That happens outdoors in the street. But which street? Nobody knows for sure, but perhaps some of your hotels are nearby.’
Natasha looked out at her audience, smiling and nodding appreciatively as she spoke. She was fulfilling all their highest expectations. Applause rang in her ears.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘NOW FOR THE next stage,’ Natasha said. ‘I’ll want to talk to you all individually, and then I’m going to write my first piece explaining how “Romeo and Juliet” are still alive in Verona if people know how to find them. We’ll invite them to come here, and stay in your hotels. By that time I’ll have produced several more texts.’
‘But who will publish these?’ called a voice from the floor.
‘Anyone she sends it to,’ Giorgio called back. ‘This lady is a very notable journalist with many connections. She gets published everywhere.’
More applause, but Natasha held up her hand for silence.
‘We’re not going to take chances,’ she said. ‘This “article” will actually be an advertisement. We buy a double-page spread and insert our own text and pictures. That way we can be sure of being read. What matters is to get things done the way we want. Of course it will be costly. Advertisements have to be paid for, and perhaps some of you won’t want to accept that expense. Let’s take a vote. Hands up anyone who’s against the idea.’
Not a single hand was raised.
‘We’ll do it your way,’ called a voice.
There were cheers and applause, which went on until they were interrupted by the sound of music.
‘That’s coming from the ballroom,’ Amadore told her. ‘Our guests like to dance in the evening.’
‘A ballroom is wonderful,’ she said. ‘The Capulets gave a ball for Juliet and Paris, the man they wanted her to marry, which Romeo gatecrashed to see another girl that he was in love with. Instead he met Juliet and they fell in love within a few minutes. Without that ball it might never have happened.’
‘Then come and have a look,’ Amadore said eagerly.
Everyone crowded after them as he led her along a short corridor, throwing open a double door at the end, revealing a huge, beautiful room where couples were whirling.
‘Perfect,’ she murmured.
Amadore took her hand. ‘Dance with me.’
Smiling, she let him draw her into his arms and guide her onto the floor. He was an excellent dancer and she responded gladly. When the music stopped another man stepped in to claim her, then another.
At last she found herself facing Mario.
‘You’ve danced with everyone else,’ he observed. ‘Will it ever be my turn?’
‘Not until you ask me.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to ask you.’
But as he spoke his arm went around her waist in a grip too firm for her to resist, even if she had wanted to.
They had danced together once before. One night in Venice, when they had been having supper at an outdoor café in St Mark’s Square, a band had started to play and before she knew it she was waltzing in his arms.
‘Is this all right?’ he’d whispered.
‘I’ll let you know later,’ she had teased.
It had lasted only a few minutes, and she had promised herself that one day she would dance with him again. But the next day they had broken up, and it had never happened again. Until now.
It was unnerving to feel his arms around her, his hand on her waist, holding her close. Her heart was beating softly but fervently. She glanced at him, trying to know if he felt the same. Would he invite her to dance with him again?
But before he could speak they became aware of a middle-aged man on the edge of the crowd, trying to attract their attention.
‘Ah, there’s Francesco,’ Mario said. ‘I hoped he’d be here. He owns one of the biggest hotels, and I always like to have him on my side. Let’s go and say hello.’
Francesco beamed, greeting Natasha with an embrace.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ he said warmly. ‘Now, let me introduce my daughter, Laura.’
The young woman with him was in her mid-twenties with a beautiful face and an air of confidence that came from being always in demand.
‘How have you done?’ she said carefully to Natasha.
‘No,’ her father interrupted her. ‘Not like that, cara. The English say “How do you do?” not “How have you done?”’
‘How do you do?’ Laura echoed, smiling. ‘Is that right?’
‘That is perfect,’ her father said.
He spoke proudly and Natasha knew a slight twinge of sadness as a memory came back to her from long ago. She had heard that pride before, in her own father’s voice, in her childhood, before he’d abandoned her without a backward glance.
But this was no time to be brooding over the past. She thrust the memory aside, returning Laura’s greeting with the appearance of warmth.
Then Laura turned her attention to Mario, saying, ‘And how do you do?’
‘There’s no need for such formality,’ Mario said, shaking her hand. ‘We already know each other.’
‘Indeed we do,’ Laura said, glancing at Natasha as she spoke.
Natasha returned her look with interest. She had the feeling that Laura was sizing her up as possible competition.
Then Amadore appeared beside them. ‘Do I get another dance?’ he asked.
‘Of course.’ Natasha let the charming hotel owner enfold her in his arms and twirl her gently across the f
loor.
Out of the corner of her eye she could just see Mario gliding past with Laura, who seemed to be trying to dance as close to him as possible.
‘There the women go again,’ Amadore said, ‘parading themselves to get his attention.’
‘Do you mean Signor Ferrone?’ Natasha asked.
‘Oh, yes. He’s a lucky man. Every female makes eyes at him, and the rumour is that he can have any woman he wants.’
So nothing had changed, she thought, remembering how women’s eyes had followed Mario during their time together. How they had envied her, being with him. How little they had known how he could make a woman suffer.
‘Look at that,’ Amadore said, still regarding Mario with envy. ‘The way she’s pressed up against him is almost indecent.’
Natasha managed to chuckle. ‘Oh, come on. A man’s entitled to enjoy himself if he can.’
‘That’s very generous of you. Most women don’t take such a relaxed view.’
‘I can afford to be relaxed. My life is arranged just the way I want it.’
‘You’re luckier than most of us then.’
*
Mario, just a few feet away, glanced at them only briefly before swinging Laura away to the far side of the ballroom. There, he found more female attention to distract him from sights he didn’t want to see and thoughts he didn’t want to think.
But it lasted only a short time. When he next looked at Natasha she was sitting down scribbling in her notebook. Two men were sitting beside her, while another two looked over her shoulders. As the music came to an end he began to approach her, but Amadore detained him.
‘Lovely lady,’ he said. ‘Every man is interested. Luckily she’s not interested in them.’
‘She told you that?’
‘We were watching Laura making a play for you. I disapproved but she said you were entitled to enjoy yourself. I complimented her on her relaxed attitude and she said she could afford to be relaxed as her life was arranged the way she wanted it.’
‘She probably just said that to shut you up.’