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‘Mother, it’s just not practical to bring twenty of your friends in for afternoon tea. You’ll swamp the front reception area and you know how they get after a few drinks.’
Her mother pooh-poohed her. ‘Nonsense, darling. It’s Tilly’s birthday and if your father was here he’d never say no to me. Anyway, it’s too late because they’re here now.’
Antonio’s eyes narrowed on Orla. In an instant he read the dynamics of the Kennedy family. There was a veritable flock of expensively perfumed women thronging the lobby as they greeted one another and exclaimed loudly. It was the Ladies Who Lunch brigade and Orla’s mother was the Queen Bee.
He could see Orla’s frustration as they did exactly what she’d feared, taking over the serene peace of the main reception area off the lobby. She called one of the managers over and had a quiet word but his attempts to corral the ladies into a corner were unsuccessful once Mrs Kennedy had realised his instructions.
Antonio could see some of the other guests already getting up to leave, casting looks at the group. He knew that if he hadn’t been staying here and hadn’t seen Orla’s work ethic, and he’d just witnessed this, he would have judged her passion for her brand as being shallow. It was anything but, especially if the pinched expression on her face was anything to go by.
She saw him then and her face went even paler. Two spots of colour blooming in her cheeks. He hadn’t seen her since they’d woken at dawn that morning and made love again. While she’d been taking a shower, he’d left. His head in a tangled mess after baring his soul in a way he hadn’t done with another person apart from his therapist.
He lifted his hand and gestured for her to come to him and a predictably mutinous look came over her face, making his body tighten with awareness. Damn her and this ability she had to reduce him to the status of a horny teenager.
She walked towards him, her slim body graceful today in a cream silk shirt and slightly darker pencil skirt. Her hair immaculate, just begging for him to undo it and muss it up.
An image of a place popped into Antonio’s mind’s eye. And a desire to see Orla out of this milieu. Out of those too-structured clothes. A desire to see her naked and on her back, in his bed, for long hours at a time. Days, even. His heart sped up as an idea formed in his head and she sat down on the chair near him.
Immediately a staff member rushed over and asked if he could get them anything. Orla smiled and asked for tea. Antonio asked for coffee. He could hear the shrieks of laughter coming from Orla’s mother’s party now and saw her wince.
She caught his look and said, a little embarrassed, ‘It wouldn’t be so bad if I could persuade Mother to go to a private room but she won’t hear of it. She likes to show off the hotel to her friends.’
Antonio tried not to let the fact that he could see how much this pained her affect him. He cursed himself; he shouldn’t have slept with her. A voice in his head laughed uproariously at that. As if he’d had a choice.
And then he made a split-second decision. He told Orla that he’d be back in a few minutes and stood up, taking out his phone to make a call. Then he went straight over to where Orla’s mother sat.
Orla watched Antonio and her breathing stopped when she saw him bend down to talk to her mother. Marianne Kennedy knew who he was because she’d met him before with Orla’s father when the takeover was being discussed initially. So Orla could see her mother’s less than friendly expression.
But then it was changing and becoming distinctly friendlier. To Orla’s chagrin, she felt
something dark settle into the pit of her belly. And then she almost gasped out loud—was she actually feeling jealous of her own mother?
She stood up as much in agitation at that revelation as for any other reason, just as Antonio also stood and headed back to Orla with an enigmatic expression on his face. But he walked right by her and went to the hotel entrance where Orla could see that a luxury coach was pulling up.
Then her mother came past her in a haze of expensive scent and she stopped momentarily to say, ‘Orla, darling, that Mr Chatsfield has just offered us a champagne reception in his hotel for Tilly’s birthday.’
Orla looked at her and her jaw dropped. Her mother sniffed. ‘I mean, it’s the least he can do, really, I think, in the circumstances.’
Orla was too stunned to say anything and could only watch as her mother led her merry band of acolytes out of the Kennedy hotel and onto a bus. As soon as they were gone, serene calm descended again.
Antonio returned and Orla found that she was sitting back down into the chair because her legs felt weak. Antonio sat down and proceeded to drink his coffee as if nothing had just happened. She stared at him as if he’d grown two heads. He raised a brow. ‘What? Your mother was causing you stress so I removed it.’
Orla’s mouth opened and closed. The overriding thing she was feeling was something very ambiguous. No one had ever, ever, done something like that for her before. She didn’t quite know how to react and she was fairly sure she should be angry but quite for what reason she wasn’t sure.
Antonio gestured. ‘Drink your tea. It’ll be getting cold.’
Orla shook her head slowly, some of the shock wearing off. ‘I can’t believe you just did that.’
‘When is your father due back?’
Orla took a sip of tea to restore some sense of reality and frowned. ‘Not till next week. Selling up in Bangkok has proved to be more complicated than he’d expected but he won’t hear of me going out to help him.’
Antonio looked at her. ‘Because you advised him against it, didn’t you?’
Orla blanched before guilty colour seeped up from her neck. She saw Antonio’s expression turn grim.
‘What was it?’ he asked now. ‘Your mother fancied hotels in the Far East to impress her friends?’
Orla avoided his eye, feeling prickly after his very unexpected show of support. ‘It’s none of your business why we took those decisions.’
