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CHAPTER FIVE
BETH OPENED HER EYES to see the early-morning rays of the sun flooding the bedroom and stretched lazily. She looked across at the large windows that folded back to open almost the whole room to the balcony and the sea beyond and sighed contentedly. She loved this house, she thought, a soft smile curling her lips as she glanced around the master bedroom.
The cream-and-blue flower-sprigged wallpaper with matching curtains and bedlinen were a little faded now, as the master suite with bathroom and dressing room had been refurbished to Helen’s taste when she had been released from prison. Beth never wanted to change it as the room reminded her of her friend and gave her a feeling of serenity. It was her safe haven from the rest of the world.
A builder and decorator had completed the refurbishment of the rest of the house last week. The other three bedrooms on this floor had en-suite bathrooms now, plus the two bedrooms on the top floor. The house had never looked better, and the rental potential had increased significantly. Beth was quite happy with what she had achieved.
Sliding her legs over the side of the bed, she stood up and walked into the dressing room, collecting briefs and an exotically printed slip dress, and then entered the bathroom.
Yesterday she had received notice that her plans to convert the roof space of the garage into a two-bedroomed apartment had been passed. The builder was due to start in three weeks’ time.
With a sense of satisfaction she stepped into the shower and turned on the water. She had slept without dreaming of Dante Cannavaro or thinking of him the minute she woke up for a couple of weeks now, and her plan to exorcise him from her mind by having sex with him seemed to be working.
She had definitely made the right
decision. She loved her new life—the freedom to work when she wanted to or walk out of the door and breathe the fresh sea air or take a swim and go surfing if the mood struck her. She had even acquired a slight tan, and for the first time in ages no longer felt she had to be careful or fearful of the past coming back to haunt her. She was her own woman, mistress of her own destiny, and Cannavaro had been shoved back into the box he had occupied for the last few years and was not worth thinking about.
She slipped on her briefs and dress and ran a brush through the tangled mass of her hair. Down here she never bothered with a hairdryer or the electric straightening tongs that had been a part of her daily routine in London in order to present a sleek, professional image. Much as she had liked her old job, Beth had not really enjoyed living in London. But she had fulfilled Helen’s wish and become a success. Now she was out of the rat race and hoping to be equally as successful in her new venture.
She had certainly made a good start, she thought happily. She already had a few bookings for next year, by which time the garage apartment would certainly be ready. She would have to work two days a week in the house when it was rented out, but that was no problem—and much preferable to working all week in an office.
An hour later, having fed Binkie and with a cup of tea and two slices of French toast in her tummy, Beth was ready to face the day. Janet was coming over at two with her daughter, and they were driving into town to shop before returning to the house for dinner.
Janet’s father had been employed on a part-time basis here for years, as gardener and caretaker, and Beth had met Janet the first time she’d visited. Now she considered her a friend. Janet had married young and had a four-year-old daughter called Annie. Tragically, her soldier husband had been killed in Afghanistan last year, and after his death Janet was back living with her parents. Sometimes Janet and Annie stayed with Beth for a night or two, and it suited them both.
Carrying her second cup of tea and her sunglasses, Beth opened the front door onto the long terrace that ran the length of the cottage, with steps down to the garden path and the road, with the beach and sea beyond. She sat down on one of the eight captain’s chairs and looked out over the bay. The sea was as calm as a millpond.
Blinded by the glare of the sun on the water for a moment, she blinked and put on her sunglasses—then blinked again as the roar of a car split the silence.
A big black Bentley...
She watched as the luxury car stopped in front of her gate and with a sinking heart recognised the driver as he opened the door and got out. Her heart sank further at the sight of Dante Cannavaro, standing surveying the bay.
His black hair gleamed like polished jet in the sunlight. Aviator sunglasses hid his eyes, but nothing could detract from the golden chiselled perfection of his features. His great body was clad in a black polo shirt open at the neck, and hip-hugging black jeans that clung to his muscular thighs and long legs like a second skin. He was strikingly attractive. Simply looking at the man was enough to make most women go weak at the knees.
Beth was glad she was sitting down, because her plan to rid him from her mind—which only earlier she had thought was working—had obviously not worked after all. Why, oh, why, she wondered despairingly, after twenty-seven years of hardly being aware of the sexual side of her nature, had she only got to see Dante Cannavaro for her pulse to race and her temperature to soar?
Filled with self-loathing at her reaction, she lifted her cup and took a drink of tea, trying to ignore him. She did not know what had brought him here and she was not going to ask. He certainly wasn’t a typical day-tripper. As a super-rich, sophisticated international lawyer, a luxury resort somewhere exotic was surely more his style.
* * *
Looking around, Dante was surprised by the beauty of the cove—and more so by the house. He had pictured some quaint old cottage as he had driven over the headland and down the cliff road to the harbour. He had called at the local pub to ask directions to the cottage of Miss Lazenby, and had been treated to a glowing tribute to Beth by the landlord. He had also been informed that the cottage was the best holiday rental for miles around, and a great little earner for Beth, and then told how to find the place. Dante had driven to almost the opposite end of the bay, as per instructions, and had been surprised.
The ‘cottage’ was a large white-rendered double-fronted house, with a wide terrace that ran the width of the building. Another balcony ran the length of the first floor, and in the roof was a third, complete with a flagpole and a telescope fixed to the glass guardrail. All the windows were virtually walls of glass that opened onto the respective terraces. It was in a magnificent position, looking straight out to sea, and set in about an acre of garden with a stone wall surrounding it. The road that ran between the house and the beach came to a dead end a few hundred yards farther on at the foot of the cliffs in a small car park.
Turning, Dante shook his head in amazement. Somehow he could not see the elegant redhead, the professional big-city accountant, settling down in a place that looked as if time had forgotten it. But then he had trouble seeing Beth as anything but naked beneath him, and knowing the mistake he had made was driving him crazy.
As for Faith Cove—if it had more than a thousand residents he’d be surprised.
Carved in the stone column of the house’s entrance gate was ‘The Sail Loft’ and, appropriately, a sailing dinghy was parked on the hard standing to one side of the house. A rack for surfboards with two in evidence stood beside it. On the other side was a long drive that led to a large garage at the rear of the property. The doors were open and her very distinctive Volkswagen was visible.
He was impressed. The land alone, situated as it was with spectacular views of the bay, had to be worth a good deal of money, Dante realised, never mind the house.
He tensed as he caught sight of Beth, sitting on the terrace, and surprisingly felt a moment of doubt. Ironically, he had arranged his schedule to have the month of September free to get married. Instead he had spent the first few days catching up on estate business and then supposedly relaxing. His housekeeper, Sophie, had made relaxing difficult, though. She was another woman who had already ‘bought the hat’ for the wedding that never was, and she’d spent most of her time giving him dire warnings that if he didn’t marry soon he would be lucky to see his children grow up. It was hard to argue with a woman who had changed his nappy as a child, and finally he had given up and gone to Rome where he’d accepted a new case. He’d had a couple of dinner dates with an old flame, determined to get on with his life, but it hadn’t helped....
Far from forgetting Beth Lazenby, as he’d intended, he had found she’d occupied his thoughts for the last eight weeks to the point of distracting him from his work—not something that had ever happened to him before. Women had their place in his life—usually his bed. But never in his head...
He had reread the investigator’s report on Beth and realised that Jane Mason had lost her parents only twelve months before her trial. He was surprised that her lawyer, Miss Sims, had not brought that fact up in court. Any good defence lawyer would have used the death of her parents as part of a character profile—troubled young lady who had lost her parents recently....
