Sara Craven Tribute Collection

His brows drew together. ‘You would prefer somewhere else? That’s not a problem. We could tour around, maybe? Take our chances?’

‘Oh, no,’ Flora said swiftly. ‘Aldleigh Manor sounds really wonderful. But it might be fully booked.’

‘They have a room for us,’ he said quietly. ‘Overlooking the lake. I must confess I already made the reservation. Although it can always be cancelled if you wish?’

‘Certainly not.’ Flora threw him a wicked grin. ‘I can’t wait to see it. And if it’s anything short of paradise I shall know who to complain to.’

‘You’re very quiet,’ she commented as they edged their way out of London.

‘I am concentrating on my driving,’ Marco returned after a pause. ‘Remember that for me the gear shift—the road—everything is on the wrong side. And if I scratch Vittoria’s darling—Madonna!—I’ll be a dead man. And I have people depending on me back in Milan.’

‘Are accountants really that important?’ she teased.

‘Only when they are as good as I am, mia bella.’ He slanted a grin at her.

He really had no need to worry, she thought. He was a marvellous driver, considerate with other traffic, and not using the powerful car as an extension of his virility.

All she had to do was sit back and admire his profile, and bask in the envious glances of people toiling along hot pavements.

The hotel was important enough to be signposted.

‘Oh,’ Flora said. ‘It has a golf course.’

‘Well, that need not concern us,’ Marco said, turning the car between tall stone gateposts. ‘Unless you wish to hire clubs and play?’

‘No, thanks,’ she said hastily. It was just a reminder of Chris that she didn’t need, she thought, guilt piling in again. Well, perhaps she could find some reason to tell Marco she didn’t like the place, and persuade him to drive somewhere else.

But it was difficult to know what she could possibly object to, she thought, as the building itself came into view from the long curving drive. It was three storeys high, its grey stones lit by the late afternoon sun which gave the mullioned windows a diamond sparkle. The commanding entrance was made more welcoming by the urns of bright flowers which flanked it.

As Marco drew into one of the parking spaces allotted to hotel guests a porter instantly emerged to take their bags.

They were shown into a vast foyer, made cool by arrangements of tall green plants and dominated by a massive central staircase.

Through an open door Flora could see people sitting in a pretty lounge, enjoying afternoon tea.

She touched Marco’s arm. ‘That looks nice.’

He smiled at her. ‘I’ll have some sent up to our room. Wait for me here, cara, while I register.’

As he went to the desk Flora took off the scarf she’d been wearing and shook her hair free. She looked around her, noting where the lifts were and spotting discreet signs indicating the cocktail bar, the dining room and the leisure club. According to the brochure that she picked up from a side table, as well as an outdoor swimming pool the Manor boasted an indoor pool, together with a gymnasium and a sauna in its basement.

Perhaps I can interest Marco in some other form of exercise, she thought, suppressing a grin. Or, on second thoughts, perhaps not…

She heard her name spoken, and turned, the smile freezing on her lips as she did so.

Because it wasn’t Marco with the key, as she’d expected.

It was Chris. Standing there in front of her with three other men, all carrying golf bags. Looking astonished, and not altogether pleased.

‘Flora,’ he repeated. ‘What on earth are you doing here? How did you find me? Is something wrong?’

‘No, nothing.’ Or everything, she thought desperately. ‘I didn’t know you were here.’ She gave a wild, bright smile. ‘But I’m not actually staying. So, please, don’t let me interfere with your game. Do go on, and I—I’ll see you on Monday.’

‘Oh, we’ve finished for the day,’ Chris said. ‘Not a bad couple of rounds at all. But you haven’t met the lads. Jack—Barry—Neil, this is my fiancée, Flora Graham, who seems to be just passing through for some reason.’ And he laughed with a kind of boisterous unease.

There was a chorus of greeting which faded into a bewildered silence, and Flora realised, horrified, that she’d actually taken a step backwards.

‘So nice to see you all,’ she babbled. ‘But I really must be going.’

If I can just get outside and find the car I can wait in it. Tell Marco I can’t stay…

She turned to flee, and cannoned straight into Marco himself. He steadied her, hands on her shoulders, halting her flight.

‘You are going in the wrong direction, carissima.’ He sounded amused, every word falling on her ears with total clarity. ‘The lift is over there, and we are on the first floor—in the bridal suite, no less.’ He slid his arm round her waist and pulled her close. His voice became lower, more intimate. ‘I have asked them to send up your tea, and some champagne for us, so that we can—relax before dinner. Would you like that, my sweet one?’

The silence seemed to stretch out until doom. Except that doom would have been preferable, Flora thought. She felt as if she was watching everything from a distance—Chris looking stunned, with his mouth open and his face brick-red—his companions exchanging appalled glances and trying to edge away—and Marco, his hand resting on her hip in unquestioned possession, smiling like a fallen angel.

At last, ‘Who are you?’ Chris burst out hoarsely. ‘And what the hell are you doing with my fiancée?’

Marco looked in his direction for the first time, his glance icy and contemptuous. And totally unwavering. He said, ‘I am Marco Valante, signore, and I am Flora’s lover. Is there anything more you wish to ask me?’

Flora saw Chris’s mouth move, and realised he was silently repeating the name to himself. The angry colour had faded from his face and he was suddenly as white as a sheet.

There was tension in the air, harsh, almost tangible, filling the shaken silence.

‘No,’ Chris muttered at last. ‘No, there’s nothing.’ And, without looking at Flora again, he turned and stumbled away, followed by his embarrassed companions.

‘I think, mia bella,’ Marco said softly, ‘that your engagement is at an end.’

‘You know the old cliché about praying for the floor to open and swallow you?’ Flora threw a sodden tissue into the wastebin and pulled another from the box. ‘Well, it’s all true, Hes. I just wanted to disappear and never be found again.’

‘Yet once again the floor remained intact,’ said Hester. ‘So what did you do? Go for the sympathy vote and throw up over Chris’s shoes?’

‘It’s not funny.’ Flora sent her a piteous look. ‘Hes, it was the worst moment of my life, bar none.’

Twenty-four hours had passed, and they were in Flora’s sitting room. Flora was stretched out on the sofa and Hester was standing by the window, glass of wine in hand.

She nodded. ‘I believe you.’ She whistled. ‘Boy, when you fall off the wagon, Flo, you do it in spectacular style, I’ll grant you that. No half-measures for our girl. So what happened next? I presume Chris tried to kill him?’

‘No.’ Flora shook her head drearily. ‘He just stood there, looking at Marco as if he’d seen a ghost—or his worst nightmare. And then—he walked away.’

Hester frowned. ‘You mean he didn’t even take a swing at him? I’m not pro-violence, but under the circumstances…’

‘Nothing,’ Flora said tonelessly. ‘And he didn’t look at me, or say one word.’

Hester grimaced. ‘Probably didn’t trust himself.’

‘I can hardly blame him for that,’ Flora sighed. ‘I can’t forgive myself for the way I’ve treated him.’