AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But what of her stepbrother, Mike? What might he lose if she said no to Dex? Much as she adored Mike, she would not sleep with a man for him. Then it hit her—she could swallow her pride for Mike, and tell Dex the truth. If she'd done that two weeks ago she might not be in the mess she was in now.
The cold pale light of dawn was slanting through the window when Beth finally reached her decision. A wry smile tilted the corners of her mouth. It was so obvious she should have realised straight away.
Once she told Dex the real reason she had jilted him— she had overheard the conversation between Dex and his friend Bob—and admitted that Paul Morris was her godfather, he'd realize she was no threat to his sister. Any interest Dex had in her would vanish like a whistle in the wind, along with any need to harm Mike. Dex might even have the grace to feel ashamed of the way he had treated her. But she doubted it. He was ruthless in the pursuit of what he wanted, that much she had learnt from their brief relationship.
With her decision made, Beth went back to bed. She had time for a few hour's sleep before calling Dex at his hotel with the truth.
A long way off a bell was ringing. Beth stirred and half opened her eyes. The ringing stopped and she rolled over in bed and snuggled back down. She was so tired, and today was Saturday—no work, she thought contentedly.
Ringing! Her eyes flew wide open and she shot up in bed, the events of last night flashing through her mind. She turned her head, looked at the clock on the bedside table, and groaned. 'Oh, my God!' she exclaimed, and closed her eyes again for a second in disbelief.
She could not believe it. She had overslept. She opened her eyes again and looked once more at the clock. There was no mistake. Eleven in the morning. It could only happen to her! Still, she tried. . . Leaping out of bed and dashing into the kitchen, she picked up the telephone and studied the palm of her hand. Was that a three or an eight? The heat of her palm in her sleep had smudged the numbers.
Frantically Beth dialled what she hoped was the right number, and got a Mercedes car dealership! She tried again and heaved a sigh of relief when a female voice answered, announcing the name of Dex's hotel. Her relief quickly turned to horror when she was informed that Mr Giordanni had checked out not ten minutes ago and was on his way to Heathrow to catch the Concorde flight to New York.
Beth staggered into the living room, collapsed in the armchair and groaned. Well, fate had taken a hand. That was it. Dex had his answer by default. There was nothing she could do about it now. She tried to cheer herself up with the thought there
was nothing Dex could do about Mike, at least not for the next two days. But Monday was a different matter.
Beth toyed with the idea of ringing Mike and telling him what had happened, then decided against it. There was no point in worrying her stepbrother unduly. It crossed her mind to try and get in touch with Dex, and then she realised he had never actually given her so much as his address or home telephone number. She didn't even know for certain where he lived. Rome or New York, he had said. She could ring the Seymour Club and ask how to get in touch with him, but did she really want to?
No. . . Swallowing her pride for her stepbrother had seemed a good idea last night. But Beth was a fatalist. Why bother? Mike was good at his job, and he was old enough and man enough to make it on his own. As for Elizabeth, Beth had no doubt the girl would stand by him whatever he did. It was real love she had seen between the pair of them last night. Not the shallow copy Dex had pretended to feel for Beth.
All those out-of-the-way intimate restaurants Dex had taken her to—she had thought they were romantic. With the clarity of hindsight she realised his reasons had been much more basic. He had never even once suggested she accompany him to his hotel. Dex had obviously not wanted their brief relationship or engagement made public. Because he had known from the start it was a fake.
Getting to her feet, Beth walked into the kitchen and made herself a cup of coffee. Sipping the reviving brew, she concluded it was probably as well it had ended this way. Dex could do his damnedest for all she cared. He no longer had any hold over her. He had broken her heart, but he would never know. She was young enough and strong enough to recover, she told herself. And if the thought echoed hollowly in the corner of her mind, there was no one to hear it but Beth.
She spent a miserable weekend, and could barely wait to get home on Monday evening and ring Mike. She quizzed him tactfully about work, but he was fine—his job was fine. Still Dex's threat preyed on her mind. As each day passed she found her nerves getting more and more strung out, waiting for the proverbial clog to drop. . .
Until she opened her mail on Friday evening. Curled up in the armchair, a glass of wine on the table in front of her, she read the letter again. It was a brief, cheerful note from her godfather, inviting her to stay with him at a villa on the Isle of Capri next weekend. He had already squared it with her boss, Cecil, and the air ticket was enclosed. She was to fly out the following Friday and stay until the Sunday. She was to bring her glad rags. He was getting married to 'the lady of the lamb noisettes,' he joked.
Beth dropped the letter and the ticket on the table, and, picking up the wine glass, took a large swallow. She needed it. Replacing the glass on the table, she grimaced. So that was it. . . Her worries were over.
Now she knew why Dex hadn't carried out his threat to ruin Mike. His sister had got her man. There was no need for Dex to pretend he wanted Beth. She was no danger any more. And obviously by now he must know Paul was her godfather.
A long drawn-out sigh escaped her. She supposed she should be relieved, but instead she simply felt sad. Her first thought was not to go to the wedding because she'd see Dex. But she knew Paul would be deeply hurt if she did not attend. Then, as she sat there sipping her wine, mulling over the way Dex had used her, she got angry. She was going to the wedding. It would be worth it just to show Dexter Giordanni she could be as sophisticated and blasé as he was, and if she embarrassed Dex by her presence all the better. . .
With a sense of growing excitement, Beth boarded the ferry boat that was taking her on the last part of her journey to Capri. The flight had been uneventful; a taxi driver with her name on a placard had met her at Naples Airport and delivered her to the ferry boat. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon. The sun shone from a clear blue sky and the temperature was a balmy sixty degrees. She had never been to Italy before, never mind to Capri, and she was really looking forward to it.
She stood at the prow of the boat, dressed in blue jeans, a green sweater and a jacket, her auburn hair blowing in the breeze. The island rose like a jewel from the clear blue sea. It was more rugged than she had imagined, but absolutely beautiful. Eagerly her eyes scanned the dockside as the ferry tied up in the small port, and, spying Paul's elegant figure standing on the jetty, she waved frantically.
In minutes she was in his arms, and with the greetings over he led her to a blue Mercedes car. Her glance darted all over. There was a funicular railway that took passengers up the sharply rising cliff, and the road Paul took wound very steeply in a corkscrew up the hillside, the sea never far from view. She looked back down on the bustle of the port, and Paul pointed out where the famous Blue Grotto was. Finally managing to contain her excitement, she looked at Paul.
'So, you're getting married. Are you sure?' she asked. She loved him, but she knew just how volatile the members of the Giordanni family could be. Her godfather was a lovely man, but very British.
Paul glanced at her, his pale eyes serious. 'Yes, Beth. I have never been more sure of anything in my life.'
'I'm happy for you,' she said sincerely, and she was. Then the car was sweeping around a sharp corner and into the concealed entrance of a narrow road that dipped steeply down again. Beth gasped. It felt as though they were driving into the sea.
'Impressive, hmm?'
'That is an understatement,' Beth whispered as the car swept through large iron gates on to a wide drive, to stop in front of a magnificent whitewashed villa that faced straight out to sea.
Half an hour later, Beth stood beside a huge four-poster bed and looked around in awe. An elderly housekeeper had unpacked and hung up her few clothes, and left. The bedroom was exquisite, a symphony in white and gold, with just a touch of blue in the marble mosaic floor. She crossed to where another door opened off the room, and gasped at the sheer size and elegance of the en suite bathroom. Whoever owned this place certainly knew how to live. She was almost afraid to use the facilities, but she did. After quickly washing her face and hands, she kept her jeans on but changed her sweater for a white polo top. It was so much warmer here than in London; she could not believe it.
Making her way back down the grandly curving staircase, she felt almost like Vivien Leigh in Gone with the Wind. Her lips twitched. Except for her jeans and shirt. Catching sight of Paul waiting for her in the huge reception hall, she flashed him a full-blown smile. 'This is some villa.'
'Yes, it is nice,' he said in his understated way. 'But what can I get you, Beth? A drink? Something to eat?'
