waiter and not Vidal made no difference. She had no right to come in here and issue orders concerning Suzanne’s conduct. No right at all.
She walked restlessly about the room. Celeste must have seen her from the window of her own hotel room, they both had that view from their window. Obviously the darkness had prevented her from recognising Vidal, but her own golden hair must have shown up very clearly in the moonlight. Thank God she hadn’t actually seen the person who was with her; there was no telling what she would have done if she had known that.
Suzanne was late down to breakfast the next morning. She had tossed and turned most of the night. She was feeling so indignantly angry that she had great trouble getting to sleep at all. Celeste’s reprimand had stayed in her thoughts late into the night until finally she fell into a restless sleep.
Celeste was just finishing her coffee when Suzanne arrived at their table. She looked at her stepdaughter critically. ‘That’s a pretty dress,’ she remarked coolly.
Suzanne sat down reluctantly; she had hoped Celeste would already have breakfasted. ‘You’ve seen it before. You paid for it.’
‘There’s no need to be bitchy, Suzanne. I only said what I did last night for your own good. My marriage will benefit you as much as it does me.’
‘Why?’ Suzanne asked sharply. ‘Because I’ll get you out of my life once more? You don’t know how much I wish for that, Celeste. If I’d realised just how obnoxious you were going to be I wouldn’t have agreed to come here at all. I’ve managed without you so far and I’ll do so again.’ She poured herself a cup of coffee. ‘I can’t wait for the day.’
‘No one forced you to come here, Suzanne. Luxury appealed to you, didn’t it?’
‘Yes, it did, I don’t mind admitting it. But I wish now that I hadn’t bothered—I can’t stand being here with you.’
‘Now that’s a shame, because I quite like you. You’re like your father in many ways.’
‘Will you leave my father out of this!’ Suzanne’s cup clattered down into the saucer. ‘I couldn’t give a damn what you do with your life, but leave my father out of it.’
‘All right, Suzanne, I will. We never liked each other, did we? Perhaps you were right and I shouldn’t have shut you out of our life together. We would maybe have been friends then. Well, it’s too late now,’ she crumpled her napkin and stood up. ‘I’ll be seeing Vidal this morning, so you please yourself what you do.’
‘Thanks.’ Suzanne obstinately kept her eyes downwards, helping herself to a piece of toast and concentrating on spreading it with butter. ‘I was going to anyway.’
Celeste laughed, looking beautiful and vital in a black and white spotted sun-dress. ‘That’s what I thought. I may be out all day, so it’s up to you what you do. As long as you don’t meet that waiter,’ she added darkly.
‘I’ll meet who I please, when I please,’ Suzanne looked at her defiantly. Celeste’s casual mentioning, of her expected meeting with Vidal only made her feel more angry and contemptuous. How could Vidal help but find the attractive and sophisticated Celeste more beautiful than she?
‘Not on my money you won’t,’ was Celeste’s parting shot.
Suzanne suddenly wasn’t hungry. Her appetite hadn’t been too great to start with, but now it was non-existent. She left the dining-room to collect her bathing things and then went to the pool, intending to spend the morning lazing beside the pool and bathing in the soothing water.
Carlo, the waiter, brought her out a long cool lime juice at her request, placing it on the low table beside her. ‘Miss Hammond,’ he began nervously. ‘Someone is asking for you in reception, someone of importance,’ he indicated her bikini. ‘It would not be proper to meet him dressed so.’
Suzanne’s eyes opened wide at Carlo’s tone of rebuke. It wasn’t usual for the staff at this expensive hotel to act in this way. Perhaps Carlo guessed that she wasn’t one of its rich patrons, but a masquerader. But even so … ‘Who is it, Carlo?’ she asked sharply, not a snob herself, but she didn’t welcome this boy’s familiarity either.
Carlo, one of the Italian staff at the hotel, broke into a spate of his own language, the pure complicated Italian that only they could speak. Suzanne understood little of it, although she knew a little of the language, once having shared a flat with a young Italian girl over here for her education. The only thing that seemed to make any sense out of this tirade was the name Martino. Suzanne sat up, her eyes bright and happy. She had seen Vidal Martino leave the hotel with Celeste earlier, but perhaps he had returned to see her.
‘Mr Martino?’ she said excitedly. ‘Is Mr Martino waiting for me in reception?’
‘Si, si,’ Carlo nodded vigorously, watching as Suzanne jumped to her feet, pulling on her bathing robe. ‘But, Miss Hammond, it—–’
Suzanne didn’t wait to hear any more but ran into the hotel, slowing down to a fast walk as she neared the reception area. Her face glowed and her eyes shone. Vidal had come back to see her, she felt sure of it. She knew he had checked out of the hotel at eleven o’clock, she had seen him leave, and she had also seen Celeste clinging to his arm. But he had come back to see her.
She looked around for him excitedly, coming to a shocked halt as she saw who was waiting for her. ‘Conte Martino!’ She said breathlessly.
HE walked towards her with those familiar long easy strides, completely male and dominant. He took her proffered hand, bowing low over her slender fingers. ‘Miss Hammond.’ Those icy grey eyes searched her startled face. Her hand was slowly released and he stepped back away from her. ‘You did not expect me,’ he surmised correctly. ‘Did the waiter not explain that I wished to see you?’
To see her! But why? Last night he had treated her with nothing but contempt, so what did he want with her now—not more insults, surely? ‘I—I thought you were—–’ She broke off in confusion. It sounded rude to say she had thought him to be someone else, even if it was true. She shook her head wordlessly.
‘You thought I was Vidal,’ he guessed correctly again. ‘But did the waiter not explain that it was Cesare Martino, and not Vidal?’
Suzanne put up a nervous hand to her disordered hair. It badly needed washing after her dip in the pool and at the moment surrounded her heart-shaped face in riotous curls. Oh, why hadn’t she stayed to listen to the end of Carlo’s conversation, for she felt sure now that he had been going to explain exactly who her visitor was. ‘He may have done,’ she said hurriedly, realising he was looking at her strangely for her prolonged silence. ‘He was talking in Italian at a very fast rate,’ she explained. ‘I’m all right with bookish Italian if it’s spoken very slowly, but anything else defeats me, I’m afraid.’
‘But surely he must have known this,’ the Conte said harshly. ‘All the non-English staff are requested to speak only English.’
‘Oh please, don’t be angry, Mr—Signor Conte,’ she amended hastily. ‘He was so excited, because you’re a count, I suppose, he just forgot for a moment.’ She looked down at her lack of clothing. ‘That’s probably
