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‘What are those smaller birds darting around over the river?’ If she wanted to talk about wildlife, then he could only be grateful. Anything to keep her mood as it was. The stiffening in her shoulders as he’d asked about where she lived had gone again, and he was thankful. He didn’t want to talk about anything at all that might make her tense up again. This visible thawing, slight though it was, was far too precious for that.
‘Swallows and swifts, probably,’ she replied. ‘They like to catch the insects that are attracted to the water.’ She took another sip from her champagne flute. It helped to let her speak more naturally, with less awkward stiffness. And besides, sipping chilled champagne, here on the terrace, looking out over so beautiful a vista, seemed an appropriate thing to do in such a setting.
With such a man beside her … A man who set every nerve-ending in her body aflame …
No—she mustn’t think of that! Mustn’t let herself. She was coping with this whole situation in the only way she could—by taking it minute by minute and keeping that composed, unemotional mask over her face, her mind …
Leon smiled. ‘Ah, yes—I’ve seen them at my villa on Santera, skimming over the swimming pool in the evenings.’
Flavia glanced at him. ‘Santera?’
‘One of the many smalle
r islands of the Balearics,’ he said.
‘I’ve not heard of it.’ She shook her head slightly.
‘Most people haven’t,’ he answered. ‘They know about the main islands of the Balearics—notably Majorca—but the archipelago has a host of other tiny islands and islets. Many are uninhabited, kept as nature reserves or just places to sail to and around. A few have villas and resorts on them, like Santera.’
Flavia looked away again. It was safer to look at the view down to the river, to study the birds darting over the water, than to stand looking at Leon. He was talking again, and she was grateful. More about this island near Majorca. She made herself pay attention. Nature, geography, foreign travel—all were safe, innocuous subjects.
‘Santera is very flat,’ he was saying, ‘and the land almost seems to meld with the sea. It’s dry and sandy, but to my mind very lovely. The beaches are wonderful, and there is only one metalled road, leading from the small harbour where supplies are brought in. There are only a few other villas there besides mine, so each is very secluded.’
‘It sounds beautiful,’ she said slowly. There had been a warmth in his voice she had not heard before, and it made her turn her head to glance at him. Just for a moment—the briefest second—their gazes mingled.
Then she pulled hers away and looked out towards the River Thames again, rotating the stem of her champagne glass. Her blood seemed to be swirling in her veins suddenly.
‘It is,’ he said. An idea was forming in his mind, though he was not sure of it yet. ‘But it is not by any means luxurious.’
She gave a small, dismissive shrug of her shoulders. ‘Luxury isn’t important,’ she said.
His eyes narrowed, studying her as she gazed out over the balustrade. She was a child of luxury—born to it—with a wealthy father to lavish her with designer clothes like the elegant outfit she was wearing now.
‘Easy to say when you have always had it at your disposal,’ he could not stop himself saying.
She turned at that. Her expression was stricken, and Leon immediately felt bad that he’d made such a remark.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘that was crass of me.’ There was a sincerity in her voice that was not there just for politeness.
He would have responded, but one of the hotel staff was approaching, enquiring if they would care to take their table yet.
Their table was by the French windows and gave a full view of the setting sun, its rays gilding the ornate room and glinting on the polished silverware. Menus were presented, their flutes refilled, and whether it was the champagne or the air of the countryside, Flavia suddenly felt hungry. When she gave her order, Leon looked mildly surprised at her choices. They were definitely more hearty than they had been the night before.
‘It all sounds so appetising,’ she said by way of explanation.
When the food arrived, superbly presented and even more superbly prepared, she found she was eating with real enjoyment.
Something was changing, she knew. It wasn’t just the champagne, or even the exquisite food, or the beautiful room they were dining in—all painted Adam ceiling and gilded pillars, opening out on to the terrace and the view beyond. It was more than that.
Her gaze went to Leon.
For a long, long moment her eyes rested on him, taking him in, drinking him in. She felt an aching longing welling inside her. And knew she must answer a question she could no longer avoid, no longer hide from.
If I were free—totally free, without any consideration for anyone but myself—where would I be?
She had fled from Leon once, overwhelmed by him, by the feelings he could arouse in her, seeing only the impossibility of it all, scared and overcome by it. She had fled back home to her responsibilities, to the grandmother who depended on her. Leon Maranz was not for her—he could not be. The inescapable circumstances of her life made it impossible.
But now she had been forced to go to him. Forced to do her father’s foul bidding. She resented and hated it. Yet for all that the question came again, refusing to be silenced.
