Sara Craven Tribute Collection

‘Yes,’ she agreed with a touch of defiance. ‘Yes, it would.’

He sighed. ‘Just for you, then, mia bella.’

Flora slipped out of bed and made for the door. As she reached it something prompted her to look back over her shoulder.

Marco was propped up on an elbow, watching her with undisguised and shameless appreciation.

‘Oh,’ she choked furiously, and flew to the bathroom, followed by his laughter.

By the time she had prepared lunch, adding fresh fruit and a dish of black olives to the food he’d provided, and choosing a bottle of wine, she was feeling altogether more composed.

While he’d been in the bathroom she’d snatched the opportunity to dress, in a brief blue skirt and white tee shirt, and give her hair a vigorous brushing.

She looked different, she realised with a sense of shock as she glanced at herself in the mirror. There was a new glow to her creamy skin, a woman’s shining secrets in her eyes. She was no longer the innocent of twenty-four hours ago, and everything about her proclaimed it.

All she needed to do now was develop a persona to go with her new-found sexual sophistication, she thought wryly. Find something hip and flippant to accompany her smile when she waved Marco goodbye. Proving beyond doubt, she hoped, that she’d always known this was a strictly casual encounter.

When she was alone she ate at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, but for guests she kept a folding table in the walk-in cupboard in the hall. She’d set this up in the corner of the living room, with the directors’ chairs which accompanied it.

She was just opening the wine when Marco came to the door.

‘Bello,’ he approved softly. ‘A feast.’ He indicated the towel draped decorously round his hips. ‘See, I am sparing your blushes, cara.’

Flora bit her lip. ‘You must think I’m awfully stupid…’

‘You are wrong. I find you a delight.’ He held out a hand. ‘Come to me.’

She went over to him and he drew her close, resting his cheek against the top of her head while she inhaled the clean, fresh scent of his skin.

After a moment she stood back, studying a discoloured mark on his shoulder. ‘What’s that?’

He grinned at her. ‘Don’t you remember?’

‘Oh,’ she said, discomfited. ‘I—I’m sorry.’

‘Then don’t be. I like my battle trophy—and its memories.’

‘Is that how you see making love—as a war?’ She laughed, but she felt faintly troubled too. ‘Then who is the victor and who the vanquished?’

He kissed her, his mouth moving on hers with tender warmth. ‘At a moment like this,’ he murmured, ‘it hardly seems to matter.’ He paused, stroking the hair back from her face. ‘And don’t look at me like that, Flora mia,’ he added softly. ‘Or lunch might become dinner.’

Her glance didn’t waver. ‘I wouldn’t mind.’

‘Then let me be wise for us both.’ His smile was rueful. ‘I think it is time I also put on some clothes.’

He kissed her again, and went soft-footed back to the bedroom.

It was a quiet lunch. Marco seemed lost in thought more than once. Or perhaps, thought Flora, he was just exhausted…

‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.

‘Nothing in particular.’ She took a hasty swig of wine. ‘Why?’

‘Because you are blushing again. I thought it might be—significant.’

‘Not really.’ Flora fanned herself with her napkin. ‘It’s probably the heat. It’s such a beautiful day.’ She paused. ‘Would you like some more wine?’

‘No, I thank you.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I must get back to my cousin’s house. And I shall be driving later.’

Oh, Flora thought flatly. So—that was that, after all. And she couldn’t pretend it was a surprise.

‘It would be good to get out of the city,’ he went on. ‘I thought I would hire a car.’ He smiled at her. ‘Perhaps you could suggest a suitable destination.’

She sat rather straighter. ‘I really couldn’t advise you.’

‘No? You disappoint me.’

‘I don’t really know your tastes.’ She hesitated. ‘Do you like—looking at things?’

‘I like to look at you.’ The green eyes met hers with cool directness. ‘As for the rest, I am not a sightseer, but I thought we might find a pleasant hotel in some beautiful part of England and spend the remainder of the weekend together there.’

He paused, running a hand over his chin. ‘I need to shave, and we both have bags to pack. When I return you can tell me where you would like me to take you.’

She said quietly, ‘After paradise, anywhere else will seem rather tame.’

There was an odd silence. Flora saw his mouth tighten, and the green eyes become suddenly remote. It was as if she had made him angry, she thought in bewilderment.

But when he spoke his voice was light. ‘You flatter me, carissima. But you should beware of paradise. It can so often conceal a serpent.’ He rose to his feet. ‘I should not be longer than an hour or two.’ He came round the table and dropped a kiss on her hair. ‘Have our route planned.’

There was a nightgown in her drawer, a sheer, lacy thing wrapped in tissue, that she had bought for her honeymoon with Chris.

The betrayal was complete now, she thought, as she put it carefully into her weekend case. And the wretchedness of telling Chris would be her punishment.

She thought of phoning Hes. You’re a witch, she’d say lightly. You wished it on me and it’s happened. Passion to die for. And then loneliness to last a lifetime. Only she wouldn’t say that.

Nor did she make the call. There would be plenty of time for confession in the weeks to come, she thought without joy.

But she did not have time to brood because, surprisingly, Marco was back within the hour, driving a low, sleek open-topped sports car.

Flora gaped at it. ‘Someone let you hire that?’ she asked incredulously.

‘It belongs to Vittoria,’ he said. ‘She has lent it to me.’ He paused. ‘She also suggested somewhere we might go—unless, of course, you have thought of a place.’

She spread her hands. ‘I’ve been racking my brains, but I so rarely go out of London—except to Surrey, to stay with my mother and stepfather.’ And very occasionally to Essex and Chris’s family, she thought with a pang of guilt.

‘It is called the Aldleigh Manor Hotel,’ he said. ‘Vittoria says it is very comfortable, with beautiful grounds, and wonderful food.’

‘It sounds perfect,’ she said. ‘Like a dream.’