The Venetian's Proposal

‘No. I work for Westlake Business Solutions as a conference organiser.’

‘Sounds very impressive. Are you good at your job?’

‘Yes.’

The gleam in his grey eyes showed his appreciation of her answer before he asked, ‘What qualifications are necessary for a job like that? Apart from looks?’

As he added the rider there seemed to be a slight edge to his voice. Or was she just imagining it?

She answered briefly, ‘No qualifications as such.’

‘Then what do you need?’

‘A knowledge of how business works, a flair for judging what different clients want, and a certain originality. The ability to speak at least one extra language fluently is useful.’

‘And do you? Speak another language, I mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do go on,’ he said smoothly.

She shrugged slender shoulders. ‘On the whole it’s just hard work. Organising accommodation, conference facilities, a supply of suitable food and drink etcetera, and making sure everyone’s happy.’

‘Which I’m sure you do wonderfully well.’

This time there was no doubt about the edge, and, biting her lip, she remained silent.

‘So where do you organise these conferences?’

‘Worldwide…Tokyo, Sydney, Atlanta, Quebec, Paris, London.’

‘That must involve a great deal of travelling.’

‘Yes, it does.’

‘And a good chance to meet people? The business delegates, for example?’

Disconcerted by his manner, and feeling a growing tension, she answered awkwardly, ‘I usually only get to meet the people actually attending the conference, if things aren’t going smoothly.’

‘And of course you make sure they are?’

‘As far as possible.’

Apparently sensing her discomfort, he sighed, and, leaning back in his chair, shook his head ruefully. ‘Forgive me. I hope you’ll accept my apologies?’

‘For what?’

He gave a charming grimace. ‘I shouldn’t be grilling you about your life and work. You’re on holiday and the sun’s shining.’

The feeling of tension disappeared as though it had never existed.

And perhaps it hadn’t. Maybe it had been all in her mind? Something to do with his resemblance to Jeff? Or the fact that for the past three years she had avoided socialising in this way, and so had lost her ability to mix and relax on a personal level?

‘What do you have planned for the rest of your day in Innsbruck?’ His low, clear voice broke into her thoughts.

‘As much sightseeing as possible.’

‘Alone?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘As my business is now successfully underway, and I’m alone too, perhaps you’ll allow me to show you around?’

Her heart picked up speed and began to beat a tattoo against her ribcage while she decided what her answer should be.

She found him a fascinating and disturbing man. Disturbing not only because he reminded her of Jeff, but in a way she was unable to put her finger on.

Yet though her time spent in his company hadn’t been altogether comfortable—and perhaps it was her own reaction to his explosive sex appeal that had caused her discomfort—she knew she didn’t want it to end.

To hide the excitement that had suddenly made her feel like a girl again, she answered carefully, ‘Thank you, that would be very nice.’

Whether he was amused by her primness, or pleased by her acceptance, she wasn’t sure, but his white, even teeth flashed in a smile.

It was the first time she had seen him smile, and it added a thousandfold to his already considerable charm.

Dropping some schillings onto the table, he said, ‘Then let’s go.’

She gathered up her bag and jacket and they left the sunny courtyard, his hand at her waist.

Just that casual touch made her heart beat in a way that it had never done before. She had loved Jeff deeply, but they had been brought up together, he had been part of her life, so it had been a gentle, familiar caring. A feeling of warmth and safety rather than a mad excitement.

‘Innsbruck is a compact city as far as sightseeing goes,’ Dominic Loredan remarked as they emerged into the street. ‘Almost everything of interest is here in the Altstadt—unless you’d like to see the Olympic ski jump, or the Europabrucke, Europe’s highest bridge? Though tomorrow, if you head south on the motorway, you’ll cross it.’

‘I think, as time’s limited, I’ll stick with the historical part.’

‘Then I suggest we start with the Hofburg Palace and the Hofkirche Chapel… That is, if you haven’t already seen them…?’

‘No, I haven’t,’ she said, no longer caring overmuch what she saw. Just being with this charismatic man was enough.

‘They’re just across the way from each other…’

His mouth was fascinating, she thought. It was a mouth that was at once coolly austere and warmly sensual. A clear-cut mouth that sent little shivers down her spine…

‘Then later I’ll take you up to Schloss Lienz for dinner.’

She dragged her gaze away from his mouth and, feeling her colour rise, echoed, ‘Schloss Lienz?’

‘The schloss dates from the sixteenth-century and has quite a turbulent history. To begin with it was a fortress, then it was used as a royal hunting lodge, now it’s a first-class restaurant. From the terrace, which seems to hang in space, there’s a superb view over the city.’

‘It sounds wonderful.’ Glancing down at the faint marks still visible on her dress, she added, ‘Though I’ll need to get changed first.’

‘So will I. Where are you staying?’

‘At the Bregenzerwald.’

‘What a coincidence!’

‘You mean you are?’

‘Room 54.’

Hardly able to believe it, she marvelled, ‘I’m in room 56.’

‘Well, well… It seems coincidences are like swallows; they come in pairs…’

The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of excitement. Nicola hadn’t known this kind of happiness for over three years.

She found that Dominic Loredan was an easy and interesting companion, who proved to have an extensive knowledge of the city, an appreciation of beauty, and a dry sense of humour when pointing out the more droll aspects of the scenery.

When the pair had finally finished traipsing around the cobbled lanes of the old town, and seen most of what was to be seen, warm and a little dusty, they took a horse-drawn carriage back to their hotel.

Leaving her at her door, Dominic asked, ‘How long will you need? An hour? Half an hour?’

Not having expected to dress up for dinner, she would have to go down to the car for her main suitcase. Even so…

‘Just long enough to have a shower and get changed,’ she answered quickly, begrudging even this amount of time spent away from him.

‘Good.’ Grey eyes smiled into green. ‘I’ll give you a knock in about half an hour.’

As she looked up at him he brushed her cheek with a single finger, and while she stood mesmerised, he bent his dark head and touched his lips to hers, a thistledown kiss that turned her knees to water and melted every last bone in her body.

Totally bemused, a hand to her lips, she watched him disappear into his own room. Then, like someone under a spell, she went into hers and gently closed the door.

CHAPTER TWO

FOR a little while she stood quite still, feeling again that most fleeting of caresses. Pulling herself together, she went to pick up her car keys.

Frowning, she stared at the empty space where she remembered them being before glancing around. Instead of lying on the chest of drawers, the keys, with their rental tag, were on the dressing table.

Perhaps she was mistaken? Maybe that was where she had left them? Or possibly one of the chambermaids had come in and moved them?

Whichever, the important thing was they were still there. So long as the car hadn’t been stolen it wasn’t a problem.

Stolen…

The implications of that thought made Nicola check her overnight case. A quick glance through the contents showed her passport and spare money were untouched, and so was her grandmother’s jewellery box, which held most of the things she treasured.

Holding her breath, she released the catch and opened it. Everything seemed to be there. A small string of pearls Jeff had bought her for a wedding present, her grandmother’s locket, the keys to John’s house in Venice…

With a sigh of relief, she closed the lid and replaced the box.

Then, picking up the car keys, she took the lift down to the car park and hurried over to the blue saloon. Releasing the central locking, she moved to lift the lid of the boot.

It refused to budge.

Another press of the key released it. Which undoubtedly meant that it hadn’t been locked in the first place.

Oh, but surely she’d locked it?

Or had she?

She lifted the boot lid, half expecting to see her case gone, but it was still there, exactly as she’d left it.

No, not exactly.

As if someone had closed it in a hurry, caught between the two zips where they met in the centre, was a small piece of material.

Opening the case, she looked inside. Once again nothing was missing. Everything seemed to be as it should be, apart from that tell-tale scrap of ivory satin that had been caught in the zip.

Eager to be off that morning, she had wasted no time in packing, so perhaps she had left that bit of nightdress hanging out?

But wouldn’t she have noticed it?

Apparently not.

The only rational explanation had to be her own carelessness.

Yet the three things—the keys being moved, the car being unlocked, and the material caught between the zips—made a logical sequence that was very hard to dismiss.

Except that in the long run it made no sense.

If someone had got into her room and, finding the distinctive rental-tagged keys, gone to the trouble of locating the car and searching her case, wouldn’t they have taken everything worth stealing? Including the car?

Instead there was nothing missing and the keys were still there. Which seemed to prove the whole thing was just a strange coincidence.

And coincidences did happen. Dominic Loredan being in the same hotel and having the room next to hers was proof of that.

Her thoughts having flown back to Dominic and the evening ahead, she lifted out the case, locked the car and hurried over to the lift.

Once in her room, having showered in record time, she donned fresh undies and a smoke-grey silk chiffon dress that Sandy had nagged her into buying, saying, ‘You never know…’

It was a romantic dress, with a cross-over bodice, a long, swirling skirt and a matching stole. Shaking out the stole, which was lined with scarlet, Nicola hesitated, still unsure.

But recalling how, when she had hesitated at the colour, Sandy had exclaimed crossly, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! You can’t go on wearing widow’s weeds for ever’, she made up her mind to take it.

Placing it on a chair with her small evening bag, she stood in front of the mirror to take up her thick, naturally blonde hair.

As she held the smooth coil in place on top of her head and began to push in the pins her eyes were drawn to her wedding ring.

Her task finished, she studied the thin gold band. Married for barely a year when Jeff was killed, she had now been a widow for considerably longer than she had been a wife.

As John had said, anyone who had lost a loved one needed to mourn, but no one should mourn for ever.

Maybe the time had come to let go of the past.

Slipping off the ring, she put it carefully with her other treasures.

Anxious to look her best—for the first time in more than three years—she picked up her cosmetic case and turned back to the mirror.

With somewhat darker brows and lashes, and a clear skin, she needed very little in the way of make-up. A dab of powder to stop her small straight nose from shining, a touch of green eyeshadow and a light coating of pale lipgloss and she was ready.

A knock made her snatch up her evening bag and stole and hurry to open the door.

Looking devastatingly handsome in a black tie and evening jacket, Dominic Loredan was waiting.

His gaze travelled over her from head to toe and back again, making her feel oddly shivery, before he remarked evenly, ‘You really are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’

Just for an instant she had the odd impression that his words hadn’t been intended as a compliment.

Perhaps he read the uncertainty in her face, because he took her hand and raised it to his lips.

The romantic little gesture and its accompanying smile smoothed away the impression, as the sea smoothed away footprints in the sand.

Her heart lifting, she returned his smile. ‘I’m afraid I forgot to thank you for a lovely afternoon.’

Taking the stole from her, he put it around her shoulders and offered her his arm. ‘The evening should prove to be even better.’

His sleek white sports car was waiting in the car park, its hood back, and in a matter of minutes they were making their way out of the city. Though the sun had gone, the air was still comfortably warm, and in the low-slung seats they were shielded from too much wind.

Soon they began to climb steadily, the view changing with every horseshoe bend. Stands of trees set in sloping green meadows… The flash of water and a roadside shrine bright with flowers… Wooden chalets, with a steepled church perched high on a bluff above them… Then, set against the magnificent backdrop of mountains, a turreted castle.

‘The Schloss Lienz,’ Dominic said.

‘It’s a real picture-book place,’ she remarked delightedly.

‘I’m pleased you like it,’ he said gravely, as he took the winding road up to the schloss. When they reached it they drove through an archway into a vast cobbled courtyard. Set around it were metal sconces holding long torches that looked like enormous bulrushes.

Having helped Nicola out, he handed the car keys to a hovering attendant, and it was whisked through another archway, out of sight.

At this height the alpine air was appreciably cooler and fresher as she stood staring up at the grey stone walls towering above them. Seeing her slight shiver, Dominic thoughtfully adjusted her stole higher on her shoulders.

‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him, suddenly feeling cosseted and cared for, a feeling she hadn’t experienced for a very long time.

At the entrance to the schloss they were greeted by a thick-set man with blond hair, who was, Nicola discovered later, the Baron Von Salzach.

In heavily accented English, he said, ‘Good evening, Dominic. It is nice to see you again. Mrs Whitney, welcome to Schloss Lienz. If you will follow me, you have a table on the terrace, as requested.’

‘Thank you, Franz.’

Their host led the way to the end of a large flagged hall and through a carpeted, chandelier-hung dining-room, where a quartet of musicians played Mozart and most of the well-dressed clientele seemed to be in decorous groups.

As they followed him Nicola noticed that several of the women with middle-aged escorts gave Dominic a second surreptitious glance, and her an envious one. As they reached a long, curving flight of stone stairs, Franz said, ‘Please be careful. The steps are old and worn in places.’

The stairway led up to a flagged open-air terrace, which held only a handful of widely spaced tables, four of which were already occupied.

‘Out here it’s somewhat less stuffy,’ Dominic remarked sotto voce.

His sidelong smile convinced her he wasn’t referring to the temperature.

When they were seated at a table set with gleaming crystal and a centrepiece of fresh flowers, the Baron said, ‘I hope you will enjoy your meal,’ clicked his heels, and departed.

Intrigued by the glowing charcoal braziers standing at intervals along the waist-high outer wall, Nicola remarked, ‘They look so wonderfully appropriate.’

‘As soon as the sun goes down they’re necessary to keep the air comfortably warm,’ Dominic explained. ‘Though before they were installed, a couple of years ago, the hardy diner would risk pneumonia for the sake of the view.’

Gazing at the wonderful panorama of Innsbruck spread below them in the wide, flat valley of the Inn, she said, ‘If you want my opinion, it was well worth the risk.’

‘When all the city lights start to come on, you’ll find it’s even better.’

As they ordered and ate a superb dinner she found he was right. In the blue velvet dusk the glittering lights turned the twenty-first century into a fairy tale. While at the castle itself the lanterns on the terrace and the flaring torches in the courtyard below gave the scene a medieval feel.

Though he drank little himself, Dominic kept Nicola’s glass topped up with an excellent Riesling that was light and subtle and easy to keep sipping.

Caught up in the magic of the moment, a magic that had a lot to do with the schloss but even more to do with her companion, she failed to notice just how much she was drinking.

During the meal he had steered clear of anything remotely personal, so it came as a complete surprise when, reaching across the table, he lifted her bare left hand and remarked, ‘You’ve taken off your ring.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘I—I’m not sure,’ she stammered, shaken both by his touch and his question. ‘The time just seemed to be right.’

Something in his look made her go on to explain, ‘I suddenly realised I’d been a widow for longer than I’d been a wife.’

Releasing her hand, he queried, ‘How long were you married?’

‘Not quite a year…’

Perhaps it was too much wine that loosened her tongue, or maybe, at long last, the time had come when she felt it a relief to be able to talk about the past.

Whichever, she found herself opening up to a perfect stranger in a way she hadn’t been able to open up to anyone, except John.

‘Jeff and I had a traditional white wedding on my twenty-first birthday.’

‘But you’d lived together before that?’

‘Virtually all our lives… Oh, I see what you mean. No, we hadn’t lived together in that sense.’

Seeing his slight frown, she explained, ‘Jeff’s parents were my parents too. My foster parents. They had been my grandmother’s friends for a number of years, and they took care of me while she was in hospital and after she died.’

‘How old were you then?’

‘Just turned five.’

‘And your husband?’

‘He was a few months older, and their only child.’

‘They never tried to officially adopt you?’

‘I think they would have liked to. They had hoped for more children, but they were well past middle-age when Jeff was born, so they would have been considered too old.’

‘You had no grandfather?’

‘He’d died the previous year.’

‘What about your natural parents?’

‘I’d never known them, and one day, having realised that most of my peers had a mummy and daddy, I asked my grandmother why I didn’t. She sat me on her knee and gave me a cuddle while she explained that mine had gone away. Because of something one of my little friends had said, I translated “gone away” as “gone to heaven”, and over the years my foster parents, no doubt thinking it was for the best, allowed me to go on believing they were dead.

‘Then when I reached sixteen, perhaps as an awful warning, they decided I was old enough to know the truth. My natural mother, whose name was Helen, was my grandmother’s only child. From the age of thirteen she’d been a bit wild, and she was barely sixteen when she discovered she was pregnant.

‘It seems she wanted to have an abortion, but my grandmother was horrified and insisted on her going through with the pregnancy.

‘She hated the whole idea of motherhood, and even before I was born blamed me for spoiling her life. When I was only a few weeks old she disappeared, leaving my grandmother to take care of me.’

‘Your grandmother must have been quite young when she died?’

‘She was in her middle fifties. She had some kind of minor operation that went tragically wrong.’

Running lean fingers over his smooth chin, Dominic remarked thoughtfully, ‘So, with having the same parents, you and your husband must have been brought up like sister and brother?’

Made a little uncomfortable by the bluntness of the question, she answered, ‘We were always very close. Though we spent most of our time together—we even went to the same school—we never argued or fell out… I can’t ever remember not loving Jeff, and it was the same for him.’ Smiling fondly, she added, ‘He once told me he’d loved me since I was a scrawny five-year-old with big solemn eyes and a pigtail.’

‘Didn’t close friends think it strange that you never quarrelled like other siblings?’

She answered truthfully, ‘I don’t recall having a really close friend, apart from Jeff, until I got to college. As children, our parents didn’t encourage us to mix much, and really we never seemed to need anyone else.’

‘What about when you grew into adults?’

‘You mean did we stay friends?’

‘I mean when did you become lovers?’

‘Jeff wanted us to sleep together as soon as I’d turned eighteen.’

‘But you didn’t?’

She shook her head. ‘No… Though after he’d died I almost wished we had. It seemed such a waste of three years… But although our parents were kind, they were quite strict and God-fearing, and they seriously disapproved of anyone having sex outside marriage.’

‘So what happened?’

‘Jeff suggested we should get married, but we were due to start college and neither of us had any money. Eventually he decided to approach our parents and tell them we loved each other and wanted to be together.

‘When he did, they said if we waited until we’d finished college—to be sure we weren’t making a mistake—they would give us their blessing and pay for a white wedding and all the trimmings. That way they could be proud of us.’

Seeing Dominic’s expression, she admitted, ‘It must seem terribly old-fashioned, but we’d been brought up to respect their wishes, and living under their roof meant accepting their standards. Apart from anything else they’d been very good to me, and I didn’t want to let them down, so finally we promised to wait.’

His grey eyes intent, Dominic asked, ‘Surely a promise like that went by the board once you got into student accommodation?’

‘The college was only just down the road, and in the circumstances it seemed sensible to keep on living at home.’

Dominic’s flicker of a smile said it all.

Disturbed by that smile, she found herself defending the decision. ‘It was what our parents wanted us to do. They said some of the students were a wild bunch and we’d be better off at home.’

‘I would have bet on it.’

Before Nicola could make any comment, he pursued smoothly, ‘So you finished college and had a white wedding… Then what?’

Unused to dissembling, she spoke the exact truth. ‘I moved into Jeff’s room.’

‘Didn’t you find being under your parents’ roof somewhat…inhibiting?’

She had, more so than Jeff.

A little defensively, she explained, ‘It wasn’t how I would have chosen to do things. We’d both graduated with honours—Jeff in Design Engineering, me in Modern Languages and Business Studies—but neither of us had managed to get a job… In any case our parents, who had lived in rented accommodation all their lives, wanted us to stay with them until we could afford to start buying a place of our own, and Jeff was in agreement…

‘I know that must sound a bit staid and unexciting…’

His voice almost angry, Dominic said, ‘It sounds soul-destroying.’

Nicola flushed painfully.

Watching her colour rise, he apologised. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made a remark like that.’

As lightly as possible, she said, ‘That’s all right. And it wasn’t really so bad. At least Jeff and I were together…’

Then, wistfully, ‘Though it would have been nice if we’d ever been able to move into a place of our own…’

‘So you never succeeded in getting away?’