“Do you have enough room?” he asked when she sank into cloud-soft leather.
“More than enough.” She waved an imperious hand. “Drive on, McDuff.”
Tourists of all nationalities had made the arduous ascent to the mountaintop town of Ravello for centuries. First by donkey cart, then by motorized vehicles, they climbed roads so steep and narrow that traffic had to back up in both directions to let a tour bus pass.
The views alone were worth the nerve-bending trip and the reason Ravello had drawn so many artists over the years. Their ranks had included D. H. Lawrence, who wrote Lady Chatterley’s Lover while ensconced in a villa overlooking the sea, and composer Richard Wagner. Wagner’s works had become the centerpiece of the town’s annual music festival. The festival now drew thousands, according to the research Sabrina had done on the site.
Throughout the climb she caught awe-inspiring glimpses of sky and sea and rugged, rocky coast. The higher they went, the more stunning the vistas. Finally, Marco nosed the Rolls around the last steep curve and she caught her first view of the town itself. The twin towers of its cathedral dominated the jumble of whitewashed buildings perched high atop the cliff. Red-tile roofs and a profusion of flowering vines and trees added bright spots of color.
A sign indicated the town was closed to all vehicles except those belonging to residents and hotel guests. Another sign directed visitors to a parking lot at the base of the town walls. Marco bypassed the visitor lot and made for the main square. The Rolls bumped across the cobbled plaza crowded with tiny cafés, gelato stands and shops displaying beautifully crafted pottery.
The hotel Sabrina wanted to visit sat smack in the historic center of the town, almost in the shadow of the cathedral. When Marco pulled up at a facade adorned with weathered arches and belfry towers roofed in red tiles, a valet rushed forward to open Sabrina’s door.
“Good morning. Are you checking in?”
“No, we’re not staying,” she replied in her shaky Italian. “I’m Sabrina Russo. I have an appointment with your hotel manager.”
The well-trained valet switched to English as she swung out of the car. “Ah, yes. Mr. Donati, he says to expect you.”
He supported her while she balanced on one foot, waiting for Marco to retrieve her briefcase and the crutches from the backseat.
“Do you wish a wheelchair, madam? I have one, just here.”
“Thank you, but these are fine.”
When she had the crutches under her arms, he tugged open the hotel’s ornately carved door. “Please to go in and be comfortable. I’ll call Mr. Donati to tell him you have arrived.”
With Marco carrying her briefcase, Sabrina entered a lobby filled with light and terrazzo tiles and arches that opened on three sides to a courtyard with a magnificent view of the sea. In the center of the yard was a splashing fountain surrounded by lush greenery and tall palms nourished by the warm Mediterranean breezes.
They’d crossed only half of the lobby when a thin individual in a business suit and red-silk tie hurried out to greet her. He stopped short when he saw the man at Sabrina’s side.
“Your Excellency! I didn’t know…I wasn’t aware…”
Flustered, he smoothed a hand down his tie and bowed at the waist.
“Please allow me to reintroduce myself. I am Roberto Donati, manager of this hotel. We met several years ago, when you and your most gracious mother opened Ravello’s summer music festival.”
“So we did. And this is Ms. Russo. She’s come to survey your excellent establishment.”
Donati took the hand Sabrina extended, obviously wondering how an American businesswoman had hooked up with the local gentry.
“Would you care for an espresso or cappuccino before we begin?”
“Perhaps later,” she replied. “May I leave my coat and briefcase in your office while we tour the conference facilities?”
“But of course. Allow me to take them for you. And yours, Your Excellency.”
Before handing over the briefcase, Sabrina extracted a pen and notepad. She skimmed her notes on Global Security’s conference requirements and was ready when Donati returned with a folder.
“This contains our catering menus and the floor plans of our guest rooms and meeting facilities.”
Marco took the folder. “You have your hands full, Sabrina. I’ll carry this for you.”
“Thanks.”
With the men adjusting their pace to hers, she let Donati escort them across the open courtyard.
“Luckily, February is our off-season,” the manager commented. “I indicated in my initial e-mail that we have fifty-three rooms available the week you specified. We’ve had several cancellations, so the number is now fifty-six. I have assurances from the hotel across the square that they can accommodate the remainder of your conference attendees.”
“I’ll want to see those rooms, too, before I leave.”
“Of course. Once we finalize the meal plans, I’ll provide a revised estimate incorporating those room rates.”
“Hold on, I need to make a note of the numbers.”
When she fumbled with the pen and pad, Marco stepped forward. “Let me do that for you.”
She had to grin. “Doc, duke, chauffeur and secretary. You’re a man of many talents.”
His dark eyes smiled into hers. “Ah, but wait until I present my bill.”
Damn! The man could melt her into a puddle of want without half trying.
Heat spreading through her veins, Sabrina handed him the pad and glanced up to catch the manager watching them. His goggle-eyed stare gave way to a combination of speculation and calculation.
Uh-oh! Maybe arriving at the hotel in a vintage Rolls with His Excellency in tow wasn’t such a smart move. Good thing she had Donati’s original estimate in writing. He’d better not try to pad the final figure. Sabrina would hold his feet to the fire.
She and Marco departed the hotel after lunch on a gorgeously landscaped terrace overlooking the sea. During the drive back down to the coast, she mulled over the revised estimate Donati had provided.
“How does it look?” Marco asked.
“The numbers seem high at first glance. I’ll have to compare them to the final estimates from the other hotels.”
“I’ll call Donati and see if he can do better.”
“No!”
Her sharp negative drew a surprised glance.
“Thanks,” Sabrina said, tempering her tone, “but I prefer to handle these negotiations myself.”
“My
