Secrets of Castillo del Arco (5 page)

He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter one way or the other. ‘So, think about it. No rush. Meanwhile, we were talking about you. Where did you go to school? I seem to remember Umberto mentioning boarding school once or twice when I visited him.’

She nodded, feeling warmed by the thought of Umberto talking to Raoul about his granddaughter and what she was doing—and Raoul actually remembering—while in the back of her mind she kept hearing his words,
Come with me, Bella
.

She took a sip of water, wondering if it was the wine making her feel reckless enough to want to say yes. Then she marshalled her scattered thoughts enough to answer his question properly.

‘From the day I was born, my mother had me booked into the same ladies college in the Cotswolds she’d attended as a girl. I’d always known I was going there and, while I didn’t want to leave Umberto, it felt good being there and nearer her parents, too, while they were alive. And I’d see Mum’s name on winners’ boards and amongst lists of past prefects and it made me feel good—walking those same corridors, sitting in those same classrooms that she had. Like I was closer to her, if that makes any sense.’

Suddenly she wasn’t sure what made sense and
what didn’t. She gave a nervous laugh, tilted her head. ‘Did you actually mean it about coming to Venice?’ Immediately she dismissed it. ‘But, no, sorry, it’s a crazy idea. I’m probably not making any sense.’

‘You make perfect sense,’ he said, raising his glass to her. ‘And it’s not such a crazy idea.’

Oh, but it was. If she went to Venice she might get used to the warm, wonderful way he made her feel—as if she had one hundred per cent of his attention all the time, as if she were the only person, the only woman, in the world.

And that would be crazy
.

‘Anyway,’ she pressed on, determined to get back to her story and not dwell on things that could not be, ‘That’s where I met Phillipa.’

‘Your friend I met today?’

She nodded, remembering the first day they’d met, the two girls who’d teamed up in desperation because they’d known nobody else in the entire school and yet had stayed friends ever since. ‘She was my very best friend from day one, even through the couple of years when her family shifted to New York. She came back to study librarianship at uni as well, and we ended up living together during terms. We’d each go our separate ways in the holidays, her to New York, me to Paris, or we’d take turns at visiting each other’s homes.’ She smiled. ‘Phillipa’s the most brilliant friend. Better than a sister—not that I’ve ever had one.’

She stopped, and looked at him, leaning back and smiling patiently at her. ‘Oh God, I’m talking too much, aren’t I?’

‘No, I could listen to you all night. I wish I had been there more for you, Bella.’ Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have ended up so lost himself … ‘I should have done more.’

She shrugged. ‘Come on, Raoul, how could you? The last thing you needed was to be bothered with a girl barely in her teens. And I was fine. I actually liked boarding school. It was hard at first, but in a way it took my mind off things. Besides, what could you have done? You were busy with your own life.’

Busy? That was one way to put it. And, realistically, what could he have done? He’d spent the two years after his parents’ death either drunk or aiming for it, playing every casino he could find, throwing money at every game and every horse it was possible to lose on and finding himself a new family into the deal. A family that loved someone who could splash money around and not care, a family who had adopted him for one of their own, if only to suck him dry.

And then, emerging out of the bleakness of that time, he’d found Katia—or she had found him. Playboy of the year, bachelor of the year; he’d been awarded so many of those meaningless titles he couldn’t remember them all. But she had wanted him above all others and they had been so absorbed in their own special world that nothing else had mattered. Or so he had thought. Not until much later when the foundations of his world had once again been torn apart …

He shook his head, wondering at the insanity that had driven his actions then, knowing he should know better now. For it had to be a form of insanity to be contemplating
what he was doing, to be undertaking what he was doing.

Even now he’d primed Gabriella perfectly; she was still thinking about Venice even though he’d said nothing to encourage her after that first exchange. Even now she was still thinking it through, working out the angles, making it possible in her own mind, making it her own decision.

Even now it could still happen—and he could get her to Venice and clear of Paris before the news of Consuelo’s inevitable arrest broke. For Consuelo would be arrested, nothing was surer.

But right now, looking into Gabriella’s eyes flickering brandy-gold in the lamplight, he wasn’t so sure of anything else. The way she looked at him …

She wasn’t the girl she had once been. She was a woman now, and his body was reacting the way a man’s body did to a woman he desired.

He shook his head, trying to dispel those images. ‘You were no doubt better off without me.’
As you would be now
.

She reached over, took his hands in hers. ‘I’m sorry. How about we make a deal? How about we don’t think about the past? Maybe it’s time we let it go. You yourself toasted to a new beginning, so can’t we just leave it at that? Can we let the past go and start again?’

If only it were that easy!

His past
was
him. It was his past that had made him, shaped him and moulded him, even broken him along the way. It had made him who he was now.

How could he let that go without losing himself, without losing who he was now?

He didn’t know how.

He wouldn’t know where to begin.

And, promise or no promise, suddenly he couldn’t do this—not to himself and definitely not to her. It was suddenly too hot, the air like poison as the walls of the bistro closed in on him. He knew he had to get outside into the fresh air, into a world where he could disappear and be alone and where she would be safe from him.

‘Are you finished?’ he asked, already standing, his voice like gravel as he threw some notes onto the table.

She blinked up at him in surprise, grabbing her coat as he moved like a dark cloud past her out of the restaurant and into the night.

It was raining, the lamps along the Seine throwing jagged zigzags of colour sliding along the wet pavement and across the dark water. ‘Raoul,’ she said, as she skipped to keep up with his long stride. ‘What’s wrong? What did I say?’

‘It is nothing you have said, nothing you have done.’

‘Then, what?’

‘It is me, Gabriella.’ It stung like a slap to her face that he had dropped the use of Bella, dropped the endearment. ‘You are better off without me.’

‘No, Raoul, how can you say that?’

‘Because I know! You were right to decide not to come with me.’

He hailed a taxi and bundled her and she thought he would follow until he rattled off her address and made
to close the door. She threw out her hand against the door to stop him. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Sending you home. Good bye, Gabriella.’

She shoved open the door and stood up to him, face to face, the door—and a world, it seemed—between them. ‘No. Not until I know when I will see you again.’

‘You do not want to see me again.’

‘Don’t tell me what I want!’ There was a spark in her eyes he hadn’t seen before, a hint of rebellion about that sharp chin he hadn’t seen since she was a child. Not that it would do her any good.

The driver uttered a few impatient words and she turned and let go with a torrent of French of her own before she turned back. ‘I don’t want to wait another twelve years to see you again, and I damn well won’t.’

‘Who can say how long it will be?’

‘So, what time do you leave? We could still meet for lunch if it’s late enough.’

‘No.’

‘Then maybe breakfast at your hotel?’

‘That is not possible. I leave mid-morning.’

‘Can’t you change it?’

‘I told you, I have business to attend to.’

‘And it cannot wait?’

‘No.’

Infuriating! He was like a mountain made out of a single piece of solid granite, She could pound her fists against his chest except she knew he would not feel a thing. ‘Then maybe I was too hasty before. Maybe I could come with you after all, even just for a day or
two. Like you say, the library will not expect me back immediately.’

‘I’m sorry, Gabriella, but I was too hasty with my invitation. I should have realised it would not work.’

‘But you asked me. Why would you do that? Why would you ask and then change your mind?’

‘Because it is pointless! Because I cannot do this—please do not try to make me.’

‘For God’s sake, Raoul, you blast into my life after a twelve-year absence and then you disappear before we’ve had a chance to get to know each other again. Can’t you at least offer me something?

‘But I am, Bella—I am offering you your freedom. Treasure it.’

And he turned and strode off into the wet, dark Paris night.

She watched him go, wishing she could run after him, knowing it would be a mistake. But what had he meant about offering her her freedom? Why should she treasure it?

Why couldn’t he at least have explained what he meant?

He dreamed of Katia that night, Katia emerging from the mist with all her grace and long, lithe limbs, her dancer’s eyes and beckoning smile. He dreamed of parties floating on a champagne cloud; he dreamed of laughter, dancing and sex that went long into the night and the following day, and then doing it all again the next. Until the mist turned dark and putrid and a mocking
smile became a call for help, became a scream, and he tried to make his feet move, tried to run …

He woke to a pounding heart, covered in sweat and tangled in sheets. It took seconds to realise the pounding was coming from the door and not only from his chest. Thank God! He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, snatching up his watch and throwing it back when he saw the time and realised it had taken him so long to get to sleep last night that he’d slept later than he’d intended. It was room service, no doubt, with his breakfast order, although why they had to make such a God-awful noise …

He called out that he was coming and lashed a towel around his hips, pulling open the door in the same movement. But it was Gabriella who fell into his arms, tear-streaked and brandishing a newspaper in one hand, and it took him a moment to remember, to work out how she’d found him. ‘Raoul, I’m sorry,’ she sobbed, clinging to him. ‘I’m so sorry. I know you’ll be angry with me, but I didn’t know who else to turn to.’

He put a tentative hand to her head, trying not to think too much about the push of her breasts again his chest or the fact his early-morning body had reversed its decision to relax. Hating himself that it had. ‘What is it, Gabriella?’ he asked gruffly, shifting slightly and still feeling a building sizzle of satisfaction in his veins, already half-knowing what the news must be.

‘It’s all over the papers,’ she sniffed, thrusting it into his hand. ‘It’s Consuelo. He’s been accused of using the foundation as a front for money laundering. He’s been arrested for fraud.’

Already?
he thought as his eyes flicked over the article, taking in the pertinent details. So it was done and she was safe. Surely Umberto would not quibble about the exact letter of his promise not being carried out? He’d done her a favour, after all, and if all went to plan Garbas would be locked up for a very long time and Gabriella could find and marry someone decent. ‘But what brings you here? What do you think I can do?’

‘We have to help him. It can’t be true. We have to—’

‘We?’

‘Surely you would help me?’

‘But if it is true, what they accuse him of?’

She blinked watery eyes up at him and exhilaration almost gave way to regret for causing her more tears after she had shed what seemed like an ocean of them. ‘What?’

‘If the police are right? That he has been using the foundation as a front?’

She buried her head against his chest again, as if to block out the truth. ‘But that would make him some kind of criminal.’

‘Then maybe, just maybe, you should brace yourself for that eventuality.’

She stilled in his arms. ‘You think there is a possibility?’

He shrugged, unable to prevent himself from stroking her back through her coat, trying to show indifference when all he wanted to do was tell her that he knew it to be true and that she had had a lucky escape. Could she not tell from the gravity of the reports that this was no frame-up? Then battling to care about Garbas and
whether he was guilty or innocent when she was in his arms this way, and so very beautiful, so very desirable …

With a groan, he hauled his libido and his thoughts back to where they should be.

‘The police must have evidence. They do not go around arresting people on such charges lightly, Bella.’

The use of her pet name sliced through her tears and through the dense fog that had occupied her mind ever since he had abandoned her last night, leaving her sleepless and unable to cope with this morning’s revelations.

And suddenly she was aware of so many other things—of the spring of chest hair under her fingers; of the broad width of naked chest that lay heated under her cheek and pressed against her breasts; of the rough towel that was the only barrier separating them.

‘You called me Bella,’ she said, lifting her head to look up at him. ‘I thought you hated me.’

He stroked her hair back from her face. ‘I could never hate you.’

And she smiled. ‘Nor me you. I think we are destined to be friends for ever, Raoul.’ Even though, with his warm, firm flesh under her hands, she wished it could be more.

He kissed the top of her head. ‘I believe so. I’m sorry I was so—abrupt last night, Bella. There are things you do not understand.’

‘I would be happy to try, if only you would let me.’

He let her go and turned away, so suddenly that she was left to find her balance in a world that had somehow subtly shifted while she was in his arms. ‘I should
get dressed,’ he said, opening his wardrobe. ‘So, what do you intend to do?’