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It was only when Antonio was explaining about sending someone to check on him and that they’d found him collapsed in his home that Orla realised he’d somehow manoeuvred her so that she was now in the back of his car, with her bag on her lap, and they were driving away from the hotel which looked out over the stormy Atlantic sea.
Her eyes snapped back to Antonio. ‘Of all the rotten, manipulative—’
Antonio sat back looking smug. But even now Orla couldn’t rest until she knew for sure. ‘Is he being looked after?’
Antonio nodded. ‘By my own physician. He wasn’t feeling well, and then he had a fall at home. Nothing is broken, but he needs to be monitored. It could be the end of his time at the hotel though.’
Orla felt a sadness that was disproportionate to her affection for the old man. Guilt lanced her. How could she be feeling sorrier for herself when the culprit of her pain was right beside her and confusing her with his behaviour?
She didn’t like how Antonio’s obvious concern for their aged employee made her feel soft inside. Tender. Vulnerable.
The air seemed to grow thick between them. Heavy with unspoken things and physical awareness. Orla’s hands literally itched to reach out and place them somewhere, anywhere, on his body.
She looked away from temptation, out the window at the familiar green countryside, and stayed tense enough to break until they arrived at Kerry Airport, where a small jet was waiting.
He seemed determined to furnish her with no more information until they got to London and so Orla stayed quiet too, afraid of what might come out of her mouth if she opened it. Afraid of what had come out the last time.
When they arrived in London, another car was waiting for them and whisked them into the city. Orla battled déjà vu to think of the similar journey last week when she’d felt so empty and desolate. Now she felt as if her nerves were too sensitive after being in the relative peace and solitude of the west of Ireland.
Just then she noticed that they weren’t going in the right direction for the hotel, or his. They were heading in the opposite direction.
‘Hey …’ She turned to Antonio, eyes narrowed. ‘Where are we going?’
He actually looked nervous and Orla reeled. She didn’t think that Antonio Chatsfield would even understand the concept of being nervous, never mind look it. ‘We’re taking a small diversion.’
Orla felt nervous herself now. Butterflies jumping around her belly. She could see that they were in and around the upmarket Notting Hill area. The butterflies increased.
Antonio’s face was as impassive as a stone. She felt sick to recall how she’d confided in him about looking at houses on her days off. How he’d teased her.
They were on a wide leafy road now, dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. Tall houses on either side. It was one of Notting Hill’s most exclusive streets. Antonio’s car pulled up outside an elegant four-storey town house, steps leading up to a classy dark blue front door. Mentally, Orla was already repainting it a rich dark grey.
Her insides were jumping around, a knot in her belly. She looked at Antonio, a question in her eyes. He just said, ‘Bear with me, a few minutes longer.’
He got out of the car and came around and opened Orla’s door, putting out a hand. Orla hesitated for a few seconds before allowing herself to touch him. A shiver of longing went through her body when his big hand enclosed hers.
He pulled her out and led her up the steps. To her surprise he had a key and opened the door, leading her in. Stunned, Orla followed him into the long ornately tiled hall, off which were two huge reception rooms. The rooms were empty, clearly waiting for someone—new owners?—to fill them with furniture.
A ball of emotion was growing in Orla’s chest. She was afraid to look at Antonio and so she let him lead her around silently, showing her the huge kitchen-cum-den area in the basement which led out through French doors to a beautiful landscaped garden stretching all the way back to a small copse of trees.
In the basement there was also a gym and a vast utility area. And a playroom. Upstairs there were five bedrooms and an attic space that could be used as an office or another bedroom. Numerous bathrooms. The stunning master bedroom had a palatial en-suite bathroom and two dressing rooms attached. It was also empty but for a massive undressed bed. Orla flushed when she saw it, her hand going immediately sweaty in Antonio’s, but when she tried to pull away he wouldn’t let her.
When they came back down to the reception rooms, Orla was feeling shaky. She finally took her hand from his and stood back, feeling wobbly. ‘What is this, Antonio?’
‘I need to clarify something I said earlier … before we go any further.’
Orla just looked at him.
Taking a deep breath, Antonio told her, ‘When I told you that we, meaning the Chatsfields, had decided to invest in the Kennedy Group rather than take it over, it wasn’t entirely accurate.’
Orla crossed her arms over her chest, battling the simmering butterflies in her gut.
‘The more accurate version is that it’s a personal investment from me. I was afraid if you knew you wouldn’t come with me.’
Orla’s arms tightened, and she gasped. ‘You? Alone?’
He nodded. She was stunned. ‘But … why? What about your sister? What about improving the Chatsfield brand?’
Antonio’s mouth firmed and Orla had to stop her mind from straying to wanting to feel that mouth on hers.
