Romance of a Lifetime (5 page)

It was cool and elegant inside the hotel, un-crowded, the reception staff looking at them enquiringly as they approached the stairs. Marcus Craven gave a dismissive nod in their direction, and Beth felt fresh irritation at what was obviously a linking of them together.

She moved purposefully to the lift once they had ascended the stairs, realising as she did so that Marcus Craven was no longer accompanying her. She turned with raised brows.

'My room is on this floor,' he explained drily. 'I managed to get a cancellation.'

Beth's hand stopped in the action of pressing the button for the lift, and she gave a perplexed frown. 'Your decision to come to Venice was an— impulsive one?'

His mouth twisted. 'You could say that.'

She drew in a sharp breath. 'I just did,' she bit out slowly, having the strange feeling that
she
had been instrumental in his making that impulsive decision. But why? It seemed a very odd thing for someone to do on the basis of two unwelcome meetings in Verona. Surely even this man wasn't arrogant enough to behave in that way? She couldn't believe he would find any woman attractive enough to follow around the country.

'So you did,' he mocked.

'Yes,' she acknowledged curtly, very disturbed by the thought of this man following her anywhere.

'Perhaps we could have dinher together this evening?' He raised dark brows enquiringly.

Hounded didn't quite describe the way this man made her feel; haunted was more like it!

I'm not sure of my plans yet,' she evaded.

'Of course not.' He gave a taunting smile. 'You know, I'll start to get a complex if you continue to give the impression you would rather avoid my company.'

'Was it only an impression?' Beth drawled. 'And here was I thinking it was fact; how silly of me!'

His smile seemed to widen in spite of himself. 'You could be very good for me.' He gave a rueful shake of his head, his smile self-derisive now.

'Then it's a pity you'll never have the chance to find that out,' she dismissed.

His soft laugh was echoing around the tall-ceilinged hallway as she stepped into the lift.

Somehow Beth had a feeling she had just made him all the more interested. And determined. And goodness knew how effective that was going to be!

She moved restlessly about her room. The most sensible thing to do would be to cut this holiday short and go home.

The most sensible thing to do, maybe, to avoid Marcus Craven, but it wasn't what she was going to do, for several reasons that made just as much sense. For one, she wasn't going to run away from anything or anyone. For two, she didn't have to spend time with anyone she didn't want to, no matter how persistent they were. And three, she had no guarantee that he wouldn't follow her back to England and continue to be harassingly annoying! It was the latter reason that made a complete nonsense of fleeing Venice.

Nevertheless, she needed to hear the sound of a reassuring voice.

'Beth!' her mother greeted warmly as she accepted the call into her office. 'How's Venice?'

'Magical,' she admitted ruefully. 'I didn't believe it could possibly live up to its reputation, but it does. And more so.' She went on to tell her mother about the wedding party.

'It sounds wonderful, darling,' her mother enthused, and Beth could picture her as she sat behind her glass and chromium desk, all elegant efficiency in one of her tailored suits. 'Actually, I'm glad you called,' she added eagerly. 'Charles and I are having dinner this evening, so I should know more about what he and Martin are up to after that.'

Beth had to hand it to her mother; she wasted no time in pursuing a course of action once she had made up her mind, even if it meant spending time with a man she despised above all others.

Beth's father.

Charles Palmer had seen the woman he wanted for himself twenty-five years ago, had wooed her and won her, married her, and from that day on had treated her just like any other business asset he possessed!

He had been disappointed when their first child was a girl, had wanted to instantly try again for the son he wanted to succeed him, hadn't believed Katherine when she had informed him that she refused to be a com plete wife to him until he Started showing her some respect as a person, had been sure she would soon tire of this attitude. But Katherine's stubbornness had outlasted his irritation, and the irritation had quickly turned to anger, the anger to fury, until Charles had demanded she come to her senses. Katherine's answer to that had been to pack her own and Beth's belongings and transport them both back to the Isle of Man.

Charles had followed them, alternately threatening and then cajoling, all to no avail because the man didn't have an ounce of real tenderness in him, only ambition, as Katherine had ultimately had to realise and accept.

A divorce had been out of the question as far as Charles was concerned; he had no intention of handing over any of his money or assets to an ex-wife and daughter, and after the lesson Katherine had learnt from him, so painfully, about love and marriage, she had felt no interest in ever marrying again either. But she had learnt more than pain from her marriage; had eventually used that knowledge to become a successful businesswoman in her own right, much to Charles's annoyance. It would have pleased him much more if Katherine had finally had to go to him for financial help at least.

So although the relationship between her parents was strained they had continued to keep hi touch, mainly because Katherine felt Charles should know something of his daughter, even if he wasn't particularly interested. It might have saved Beth a lot of heartache if her parents had never spoken to each other again!

But that wasn't really being fair to her mother; any mistakes she herself might have made had been by her own decisions, and no one else's.

She just hadn't realised that her father, after years of separation from his wife, had given up all idea of ever having the son he wanted to succeed him and decided that the daughter he did have could be an asset after all. Her mother had tried to warn her, but after years of being ignored by her father Beth had just been so overwhelmed by this sudden interest in her when she was twenty-one that she hadn't seen the danger in it until it was too late.

But the last three years had given her a healthy respect for her mother's suspicions where Charles Palmer was concerned; her mother obviously knew him better than anyone else.

'Be careful, Mummy,' she warned concernedly.

'I ceased being terrified of Charles years ago,' her mother scorned. 'He has one weakness: this empire he's built up with Sean Carlisle. And one day it's going to destroy him.'

'I doubt it,' Beth said drily from experience. 'And if you're only having dinner with him for my sake don't bother; there's nothing left that he can do to hurt me.' That last was said without bitterness, it was merely a statement of fact. She
couldn't
be hurt by anything else her father did.

'I want to know what he's up to.' The frown could be heard in her mother's voice. 'Besides, I've chosen to have dinner at the most expensive restaurant in town; there's nothing I enjoy more than watching your father pay out some of his precious money!' she added with relish.

Beth gave a rueful smile. Her mother had lived with the strange situation of her marriage for so long now that neither that nor Charles himself bothered her any more. Beth's own pain at his hands was still too new, too raw, for her to think of him with anything less than a shudder.

'I'll call you again as soon as I know anything, darling,' her mother continued briskly. 'In the meantime, enjoy Venice.'

It was only once Beth had rung off that she realised she hadn't told her mother about Marcus Craven being in Venice too. But perhaps that was just as well; her mother wouldn't leave the subject alone if she did know about it.

Dinner on the terrace restaurant of the Danieli Hotel had to be another experience Beth would remember for a lifetime.

The lagoon and the Grand Canal were all brightly lit beneath her, crafts of all kinds still bobbing about on the water, gondolas silhouetted against the sunset.

Beth felt all her tension leave her at the calm tranquillity of the beauty spread out before her, surrounded by unhurried elegance as she was, a glass of cooled white wine in front of her as she perused the menu. She had been so enthralled by the quiet beauty around her that she hadn't even glanced at the menu yet.

And when the shadow fell across her from behind she didn't even blink, looking calmly up at Marcus Craven. 'Not even you can spoil my enjoyment of this special moment,' she told him placidly.

I'm glad.' He sat down opposite her at the table, dressed in a dark evening suit again tonight, his shirt showing up very white against the tan he was quickly acquiring, nodding acceptance as the wine waiter came over to pour him a glass of wine from the bottle Beth had ordered.

'Be my guest,' she derided, still calm, too relaxed to feel upset by him just now.

'Actually,' he murmured softly, sitting forwards so that his face was only inches away from her own, 'you're
my
guest; I booked this table for the two of us earlier.'

She couldn't even feel surprise at that; it was what she should have expected from his arrogance. She couldn't feel anger either, was completely mellowed by her surroundings.

'Have you decided what you would like to eat?' He indicated the menu in front of her.

'I'm really not that hungry,' she dismissed, turning back to look over the lagoon.

She was rarely hungry nowadays—that was why her weight had fallen to a ridiculously low level, why her mother always fed her the most fattening things she could think of when Beth went to her apartment for dinner.

'I'll just have a salad,' she shrugged, putting the menu down.

Marcus gave her a derisive glance before turning to the waiter who stood quietly at her side, ordering their meal in perfect Italian, a new respect for him having entered the waiter's eyes before he left the table.

'I see you learnt some useful things off your Italian grandmother too,' Beth drawled, although she had a feeling this man had needed to be taught little in his adult life, that he knew most things instinctively.

'Nonna was always very proud of her heritage.' The grey eyes were unseeing, his focus inward, on memories that were for him alone.

From his use of the past tense Beth realised his grandmother must be dead. And that Marcus had obviously loved her very much. It gave her a personal insight into this man she would rather not have had, into a vulnerability she would rather not have been privy to.

Fortunately their first course arrived at that moment, making it unnecessary for her to pass any further comment on the subject. Not that she knew what to say anyway. After all, she couldn't really express sympathy for the loss of someone she hadn't known to someone she barely knew.

Marcus had chosen a salad as a starter, a glorious concoction, and Beth enjoyed every mouthful. She was mellowed enough, felt gracious enough, to tell Marcus so.

'Thank you.' He gave a teasing smile.

He looked years younger when he smiled like that, his eyes glowing like molten steel.

And she might just have had a sip too much wine on a relatively empty stomach! What other reason could there be for her actually enjoying his company?

This wouldn't do at all; a man like this would see her apparent pleasantness as a definite encouragement. The magic of Venice would have to be resisted if she were to continue showing resistance to Marcus Craven.

But it was difficult, very difficult. She felt sure stronger women than her had been unable to resist Venice by moonlight, and her pleasure was enhanced by the unobtrusive service of the Danieli staff, the refilling of her wine glass without her even realising it had been done, the warmth of the gentle breeze in her hair, and all the time Marcus talked to her warmly about the wonders of the city. He assured her that St Mark's Square was just across the Bridge of Sighs and around the corner, that she had to go there, that they could even stroll through the square after their meal if she would like that.

A stroll in the moonlight, through the square reputed to have half a dozen or more outside cafes, most with live music of some kind, the sort of music for lovers to gaze into each other's eyes.

It definitely wasn't for her!

'I don't think so, thank you,' she refused politely. 'In fact…' she looked at the slender watch on her wrist '… I think it is time I went back to my room—it's been a long day.'

Marcus gave her a chiding look. 'You don't look tired.'

'Appearances can be deceptive,' she returned firmly.

He sat back in his chair, his face suddenly in shadow. 'Yes,' he answered curtly. 'If you've finished your coffee…?' He indicated the empty cup in front of her.

Beth eyed him uncertainly. Why had his mood suddenly changed? She had been nowhere near as dismissive as in the past, and yet this time he had accepted it without question.

And she was disappointed. No, she wasn't disappointed, she was just surprised, that was all.

But she had been right about his intelligence, had enjoyed his company in spite of herself.

She looked at him questioningly as they stepped into the lift and he pressed the button for her floor rather than his own.

'I always see a lady home after I've spent the evening with her,' he drawled.

Always? she thought cynically. She doubted very much that all his ladies returned to their own home at the end of an evening spent in his company!

She turned to him outside her room. 'Thank you for dinner.'

'You're welcome,' he returned softly. 'Tomorrow. Let me show you Venice.'

'I——' She broke off gratefully as the telephone could be heard ringing inside her room. 'I have to go,' she told him with some relief.

'Yes,' he acknowledged impatiently, the annoyance in his eyes showing his irritation with the interruption. 'Ten o'clock tomorrow morning. Downstairs in Reception.'

'What?' Half her attention was on the telephone that still rang in her room, seeming to become more insistent with each ring.