Sins (17 page)

‘OK then, so where’s the famous sighing bridge everyone goes on about?’ Oliver challenged her.

‘It’s called the Ponte dei Sospiri,’ Ella answered him. ‘People refer to it as the Bridge of Sighs because it’s the bridge that prisoners used to have to cross. It’s this way, I think.’ Ella hurried him past the sign that read ‘Piazza San Marco’, hoping that Oliver wouldn’t ask her if she could speak Italian in that sarcastic voice of his, and then along the waterfront back the way they’d come, to the Rio del Palazzo. Standing on the bridge that crossed it, she pointed down the narrow canal to the enclosed bridge further down.

‘You mean that’s it?’ Oliver demanded. ‘How the hell am I supposed to photograph models standing on that?’

‘You can’t,’ Ella told him, but he wasn’t listening.

Instead, he was looking through the lens of his camera, finally telling her in a peremptory voice, ‘Right, I want you to stand here.’

‘Here’ was the middle of the bridge.

Thankful that there was no one else about, Ella did as he had instructed her, her self-consciousness increasing when he started to lift his camera and look through it.

‘No, not like that. You look like a block of wood. Relax, and look towards that sighing bridge, or whatever it’s supposed to be, and think about something sad. And get rid of the umbrella, and the beret.’

‘I’ll get wet,’ Ella protested.

‘So?’

She hated him, she decided, as he took the umbrella from her, quickly snatching off her beret herself and putting it into her bag. She really, really hated him. She looked towards the Bridge of Sighs and shivered, trying to imagine what it must have felt like to watch someone you loved being taken over that bridge to the cells, convicted to spend the rest of his life there.

‘Come on, this is no time to start looking all moony. We’ve got work to do.’

Ella gasped in indignation but before she could point out that he had told her to look ‘sad’, Oliver was continuing, ‘Now we want a church, but not just any church. It’s got to look right.’

He wanted a church. Venice had any number of them. Ella gritted her teeth.

‘Any particular kind of church you want?’

‘Yeah, a photogenic one.’

In the end she found him three churches that met with his approval, along with five bridges and, most humiliating of all, as far as Ella was concerned, a stray gondolier, whom Oliver persuaded to hand Ella into his gondola where she had to recline against one of the cushions whilst Oliver snapped busily.

At last it was over, the light was fading, and Ella was wet and cold. Her knitted suit was clinging uncomfortably
to her body and would be ruined, and Ella had been all too conscious of the look the gondolier had given her breasts as he had handed her into his craft.

‘Right, come on, let’s get back,’ Oliver announced.

He’d got some excellent shots, and although he didn’t really want to admit it, Ella’s knowledge of Venice had given him some locations he doubted he would ever have found by himself.

Ella was hurrying, head down, along one of the city’s narrow streets with Oliver in front of her, when he suddenly turned round and grabbed hold of her, pushing her back against the wall of the building behind her, just in time to prevent her from being hit by the cyclist coming the other way at speed.

The anger that had filled her when he had grabbed hold of her vanished, to be replaced by relief when she realised how close she had come to being hurt, and then a dizzy shakiness.

‘Are you OK?’

Ella nodded. She had long ago abandoned the umbrella and raindrops flew from her wet hair, which was curling wildly round her face.

She really was a good-looking girl, Oliver acknowledged. He was still holding her, but his hands had slipped to her waist, so narrow that he suspected he might be able to span it with his hands. She was deliciously curvy, with the kind of body that a man just couldn’t help but want to hold. A sharp stab of desire kicked through him. He moved closer to her, tightening his grasp on her, and his gaze fixed on her mouth. Her lips were soft and invitingly pink.

What was Oliver doing? Ella looked up at him, her eyes widening as her heart somersaulted in disbelief. Oliver Charters was going to kiss her. No, that wasn’t possible; she must be imagining it. She tried to escape his grip but it was too late. His lips felt warm and firm against her own. He was cupping her face with the free hand that wasn’t securing her to him.

Ella opened her mouth to object, but her objection turned into an indrawn sigh, which was silenced and then somehow transformed into a helpless appreciation of pleasure beneath the expertise of his kiss.

She could feel the heat of his body warming her own. She felt as though she might almost melt right into him; she felt…Abruptly Ella realised what was happening.

She closed her lips together very firmly and pushed Oliver away. Her face was burning as she sidestepped him and started to walk very fast towards the hotel.

‘There’s no need to make such a big deal about it,’ Oliver told her after he had caught up with her. ‘It was only a kiss.’

Ella ignored him. She didn’t trust herself enough to speak. How could she have let him kiss her like that? She knew what kind of man he was, after all: the kind who went around making love to as many girls as he could–and even now he was probably laughing at her, comparing her with the pretty sophisticated models on the shoot. Not that she cared if he did. Not one little bit.

‘Oh, John, I didn’t see you there.’ Rose hoped that she didn’t sound as breathless and self-conscious as she felt, having cycled over, as she stepped into Fitton’s Great Hall. She blinked against the bright shafts of sunlight coming in through the high, narrow late-medieval windows and piercing the shadows thrown by the thick stone walls.

‘I’m just on my way to the stables. I’ve got to go and see one of my tenant farmers and I thought I’d ride over instead of driving the Land Rover. Why don’t you come with me?’

He hadn’t said anything about her hair, but then perhaps he hadn’t noticed yet. The Great Hall was deeply shadowed, after all.

‘I’d love to say yes, but you know me and horses,’ she answered him ruefully. If only he would say that he wouldn’t bother riding over to see his tenant farmer but would take the Land Rover instead so that she could go with him, but to her disappointment he simply agreed.

‘No, you never really took to riding, did you? In fact, if I remember correctly, of the four of you, Janey was the one who rode best.’

John was looking at the door, no doubt keen to be on his way, and not, like her, cherishing every single second they could be together.

‘The reason I came over,’ she told him quickly, ‘is because my aunt wondered if you and Lady Fitton Legh would like to come over for dinner tonight. She would have telephoned but it’s such a lovely day that I said I’d walk over. You’ll have heard, I expect, that we’ve got the new duke staying with us at Denham?’

‘An Australian chap, isn’t he?’ John asked. ‘I heard that he owns a sheep station, and I certainly wouldn’t mind picking his brains about what kind of breeding programme they run out there. I’ve got sheep on the Fitton land in Wales, but we can’t compete with the quality of the fleeces the Australians are managing to produce. Please tell your aunt that I’d be delighted to accept. I can’t speak for my stepmother, though. You’ll probably find her in the yellow drawing room. I’d better go…’

A smile and a brief nod of his head and he was striding towards the door.

Rose waited until it had closed behind him before rushing to the window that overlooked the drive and kneeling up on the window seat–its now faded covering of silk designed by her aunt’s Russian father and woven at Denby Mill especially for the Fitton family–the better to watch John for as long as she could.

He hadn’t noticed her hair, she acknowledged sadly as she watched his departing back with yearning devotion.

‘Rose, this is a surprise. Why, I wonder, hasn’t anyone announced you?’

The sharp cold sound of Lady Fitton Legh’s voice had
Rose scrambling off the window seat to face her, feeling more like a wary child than a young woman. There was something about Cassandra Fitton Legh that made Rose shiver, as though somehow her presence chilled the air around her. Where Jay was handsome and kind, his cousin Cassandra, with her once red hair now streaked with grey, was plain and harsh-natured. Just because she was in her presence, Rose immediately felt guilty and uncomfortable.

‘My aunt asked me to come over to pass on to you her invitation for dinner this evening.’

How long had John’s stepmother been there? Had she seen her looking yearningly through the window? The thought increased Rose’s discomfort. She knew that Cassandra disliked and despised her, though she had never said so. The way she looked at her told Rose as much.

Now she arched a thin eyebrow, saying coolly, ‘Did she? Amber is fortunate in having the number of staff she does at Denham. If I had a young relative staying with me with time on her hands, I’m sure I’d be able to find her plenty of things to do without sending her on an errand that could quite easily have been accomplished in much less time via a telephone call. You were lucky to catch John in–but then I’m sure that somehow or other you would have found him anyway and delivered your message.’

Rose could feel her face burning. ‘John has said that he is free to accept my aunt’s invitation.’

‘Then of course I must do so as well.’

There was no offer of a cup of tea, no suggestion that
Rose might sit down and provide Lady Fitton Legh with an update of her life in London or those of her two nieces, nothing other than that iciness that made Rose very relieved to say goodbye and escape from her chilling presence.

‘Emerald, it was awfully rude of you to turn your back on Dougie like that.’

Amber and Emerald were in Emerald’s bedroom at Denham. The windows were open to make the most of the late April sunshine.

Emerald glared at her mother.

‘I really wish you would be more pleasant to Dougie. He’s doing his best, poor boy. He arrived with the most enormous Fortnum’s hamper on Friday, but it’s obvious that he feels awkward and out of his depth, and that’s only natural. It’s up to us to do all we can to help him through what must be a very difficult time. It isn’t just rude of you to treat him the way you are doing, it’s downright mean and spiteful as well. He’s gone out of his way to try to fit in, chatting to Jay about estate management and—’

‘Of course that would make him perfect in your eyes, Mummy, but have you thought how my father would feel, knowing that an ignorant Australian is taking his place?’

‘I know that your father would have treated Dougie with a good deal more kindness than you have done, Emerald. I really am shocked by your behaviour, and all the more so in view of Dougie’s generosity in agreeing that you can remain at Lenchester House and have your
ball there. He would be perfectly within his rights to ask you to leave and cancel the ball. The least you can do is help him to find his feet a little socially. I’ve invited him to your coming-out ball, and naturally, given that he is now the head of the family, he will partner you for the evening.’

‘No! You can’t do that. I won’t have it. I won’t!’

Emerald had been banking on the fact that she would not have any male relatives present at her ball as a lever she could use to manoeuvre the Duke of Kent into partnering her. Now her mother was telling her that, without consulting her, she had made arrangements for the loathsome sheep farmer who claimed that he was her father’s heir to partner her.

Didn’t her mother realise how humiliating it would be for her to have to acknowledge that someone so gauche was the new duke, without trying to force her to have him at her ball, spoiling all her own plans? How typical it was of her mother totally to ignore her feelings in favour of those of someone else. She had never put her first, never given her the exclusive love that Emerald had always felt should have been her right. Instead she had to favour others, people so far beneath Emerald in status that her mother fussing over them had been an added insult. People like Rose, and now this detestable Australian.

‘I can’t possibly have him at my ball. He hasn’t got the first idea of how to behave. He’ll make a laughing stock of himself.’ And of her as well if she wasn’t careful, thought Emerald.

‘Dougie may not be well versed in the way things are
done in society, but that isn’t his fault. It’s up to all of us, but most especially you, to help him in that regard. It’s certainly what your father would have wanted and expected. If there was one thing Robert detested, it was snobbery.’

‘Fancy Mama inviting Aunt Cassandra and John over for dinner tonight. Aunt Cassandra will criticise us and John will bore on about farming,’ Janey complained to Rose as they stood together in the drawing room, sipping the pre-dinner G and Ts Janey’s father had made for everyone. ‘He actually telephoned this afternoon and asked me if I’d like to go riding with him first thing tomorrow morning.’

Rose almost spilled her drink as first shock and then jealousy spiked through her.

‘I said no, of course. I’m not getting up at the crack of dawn to listen to John going on about sheep breeding.’

‘It’s only natural that he should be concerned about getting the best return on Fitton’s lands,’ Rose defended her hero stiffly.

Janey laughed, and then pleaded, ‘Rose, don’t be cross with me. I didn’t mean to criticise John. I know you’ve always had a soft spot for him.’

‘No I haven’t,’ Rose denied immediately. ‘I just don’t think you should run him down, when all he’s trying to do is keep the estate going.’

‘What do you think about Dougie turning out to be the new duke?’ Janey asked her, hastily changing the subject, not wanting to upset or antagonise Rose. ‘What a surprise that was.’

‘What was a surprise?’ Ella asked them, coming over to join them. She’d had a bit of a fright earlier when Janey had almost walked in on her just as she was about to take her diet pill. Not that it really mattered if Janey did know, of course. After all, she wasn’t doing anything wrong. It was just that she didn’t want Janey telling everyone what she was doing, as her sister, with her easy, open manner, was bound to do if she were to find out.