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‘Well, I think it’s excellent.’ Her voice was crisp and curt, instantly dismissing his findings. ‘I’ve found that a please and a thank-you work wonders—you really ought to try it, Maurice.’
‘What are your plans for today?’ he asked.
‘I’m hoping to do some sightseeing.’
‘Well, you need to shop—perhaps you should consider something a little less beige,’ Maurice added. ‘I asked the concierge and he recommended a hair and beauty salon a short distance from the hotel. I’ve booked you in for four.’
‘Excuse me?’
Raul was about to close his laptop. His interest had waned the second he had realised she was with someone.
Almost.
But then the man spoke on.
‘We’re meeting Bastiano at six, and you want to be looking your best.’
The sound of his nemesis’s name halted Raul and again the couple had his full attention—though not by a flicker did he betray his interest.
‘You’re meeting Bastiano at six,’ the blonde beauty responded. ‘I don’t see why I have to be there while you two discuss business.’
‘I’m not arguing about this. I expect you to be there at six.’
Raul drained his espresso but made no move to stand. He wanted to know what they had to do with Bastiano—any inside knowledge on the man he most loathed was valuable.
‘I can’t make it,’ she said. ‘I’m meeting a friend tonight.’
‘Come off it!’ The awful man snorted. ‘We both know that you don’t have any friends.’
It was a horrible statement to make, and Raul forgot to pretend to listen and actually turned his head to see her reaction. Most women Raul knew would crumble a little, but instead she gave a thin smile and a shrug.
‘Acquaintance, then. I really am busy tonight.’
‘Lydia, you will do what is right by the family.’
Her name was Lydia.
As Raul continued to look at her, perhaps sensing her conversation was being overheard, she glanced over and their eyes briefly met. He saw that they were china-blue.
His question as to the colour of her eyes was answered, but now Raul had so many more.
She flicked her gaze away and the conversation was halted as the waiter brought their drinks.
Raul made no move to leave.
He wanted to know more.
A family had come into the restaurant and were being seated close to them. The activity drowned out the words from the table beside him, revealing only hints of the conversation.
‘Some old convent….’ she said, and the small cup in his hand clattered just a little as it hit the saucer.
Raul realised they were discussing the valley.
‘Well, that shows he’s used to old buildings,’ Maurice said. ‘Apparently it’s an inordinate success.’
A baby that was being squeezed into an antique highchair started to wail, and Raul frowned in impatience as an older child loudly declared that he was hungry and he wanted chocolate milk.
‘Scusi…’ he called to the waiter, and with a mere couple of words more and a slight gesture of his hand in the family’s direction his displeasure was noted.
