Dark Fate

She wasn’t surprised, but the threat made her angrier. ‘Go away,’ she said, opening the door wide.

‘And I would have to break the news to your friend Jamie that you’re my wife, wouldn’t I?’ he murmured, then got up, walked past her, his eyes on her every step of the way, making her body shudder.

She slammed the door shut on him, shaking so much that she sank down on the floor, her eyes shut, rocking herself like a distraught child, dry sobs in her chest.

Her bath was cold when she remembered it. She had to run some more hot water into it to make it bearable. She only spent a short time in the lukewarm water, towelled herself and put on her robe, lay down on her bed, trying desperately to think.

She had to confess the truth to Jamie, and she knew he would be sympathetic; he’d understand why she had fled, why she had lived a lie for two years. But she still couldn’t bear the thought of talking about it. The past was an unhealed wound; it would hurt too much to tell Jamie about it.

But what was she going to do about tomorrow? Be on the quay with Jamie, let Domenico take her to this Palladian villa he had inherited? But would he ever let her leave again?

Her only chance was to stick to Jamie like glue while they were at the villa. Whatever Domenico tried to do she wouldn’t let him separate them, or, at least, she would always keep Jamie in sight and make sure Jamie could see her all the time.

The trouble was, she knew how Jamie could be once he was looking at a strange garden, especially an old garden which would no doubt have some old and possibly forgotten, or rare, species in it; he would be too absorbed in plants and trees to notice what was happening to her.

Another, even more disturbing thought hit her. What if other members of the Alessandros clan were living at the villa? They were such a close family, always visiting each other.

What if his father was there?

Ice trickled down her spine.

She could not face Giovanni Alessandros. The very prospect was a nightmare. Two years ago he had tried to kill her, and she was afraid that if he thought she was coming back into his son’s life he might try again.

CHAPTER THREE

JAMIE explained to Terry, the tour organiser, that they would be going off separately next day, taking great pride in explaining where they were going.

Terry frowned at him. He had constantly stressed security while they were travelling around Italy, but since they had reached Venice he had seemed less concerned about that, claiming that Venice had the lowest rate of crime in Italy because criminals found it far too much of a problem to get away after committing a crime. Unlike most cities in the world, Venice suffered from little urban theft; muggers and pickpockets rarely tried their luck. Without roads, they had to rely on boats for an escape, and the police could soon catch up with any boat, however fast, in these waterways. The local police had the advantage of knowing everything there was to know about the local waters, and in such a small city most people knew their neighbours far too well for anyone to get away with a life of crime for long.

Now, though, Terry looked uneasy. ‘Sounds a bit fishy to me. What did you say this chap’s name is? Did he give you any proof that he owned a Palladian villa on the Brenta? Far-fetched story, isn’t it? Have you any idea how much a place like that is worth? He’d have to be as rich as Croesus.’

Jamie looked startled. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. But come to think of it, he dressed as if he had money. His shoes were handmade, I’m certain of it. I coveted them, anyway, I noticed how good they were, and I know I could never afford to buy shoes like that; they must have cost a fortune.’ He made a wry face. ‘But then I spend most of my time wearing wellington boots! I take your point, Terry, but I don’t think there’s much doubt he has money, wouldn’t you say so, Saskia?’

She didn’t reply, but that didn’t matter because it was a purely rhetorical question; Jamie didn’t wait for her to say anything, he just went on thoughtfully, ‘Although, I have to say, it was odd, getting into conversation with him out on the terrace; I mean, he went out of his way to talk to me.’

‘There you are, then!’ Terry said, and Jamie looked uncertainly at him.

‘I remember now, he came and sat at my table, when there were plenty of other tables free. Mind you, he said it was because he noticed I was reading a book on Italian gardens, and maybe it was. After all, why should he lie to me? What would be in it for him?’

Terry looked pityingly at him, sighed heavily. ‘Well, Jamie, I can think of several motives—Venice is the safest city in Europe, but now and then a conman does slip through their net, and if he’s talking of taking you off alone with him, in his boat, you could end up anywhere.’

‘Oh, that’s ridiculous!’ Jamie broke out, laughing. ‘Why on earth would he want to kidnap me?’

Terry looked at Saskia, his eyes sly. ‘Maybe it isn’t you he’s interested in?’

She went pink, her nerves jumping and her eyes opening wide, startled by his shrewd guesswork.

Jamie looked at her, too, his face changing. ‘Saskia? Oh, that hadn’t occurred to me. Mind you, I did notice him staring, but...well, that isn’t unusual, especially in Italy. Italians always notice pretty women.’

‘Italians notice women, period!’ Terry said. His eyes slipped down over Saskia again and she quivered with distaste, looking away. She had thought for an instant that he might know something about her and Domenico, but now she saw that that wasn’t it at all. Terry had a nasty mind. No Italian had ever looked at her with that expression; their admiration was usually warm and open, it didn’t make her feel sick, the way she felt now with Terry staring at her like that.

‘You think he’s hoping to impress her with his money?’ Jamie asked.

‘Let’s just say I wouldn’t trust him,’ Terry shrugged. ‘After all, a rich man would surely get a local expert to design his rose-garden! Someone from around here would know local conditions better than you could, however good you are, and I’m not being rude, Jamie. Just that a local would know what grows best here, what never thrives, what the weather does at various times of year, and so on, now, wouldn’t he?’

Jamie reluctantly had to agree. ‘Yes, you’re right, I suppose so, but we do specialise in roses, as I told him; we have a huge variety of them in stock, and we do get orders from the continent all the time, especially from France, where they’re very fond of English roses even though they grow some marvellous roses themselves.’ He frowned, silent for a while, then his face cleared and he burst out, ‘No! You know, I do think you’re wrong; I don’t believe he was just interested in Saskia, because he invited me to see his villa before she arrived! He had never set eyes on her until then.’ He beamed at Saskia. ‘Mind you, he could be trying to pick our brains without having to pay us a penny. If he takes us round his gardens as tourists we can’t charge him for any advice he gets from us. You know how mean people can be about paying for advice! And the richer they are, the more they hate parting with money!’

‘Well, I hope you’re right,’ Terry said flatly, sounding unconvinced. ‘In your place, though, I’d think twice about taking him up on his invitation.’

Jamie frowned while he finished his main course, a dish of calf’s liver fried with fresh leaves of sage, served with onions.

‘That was delicious!’ he said to the waiter as the man whisked away his plate, looking cross because Jamie was the last at table to finish that course.

The waiter mumbled a reply and Jamie suddenly did a double take, catching his arm. ‘Giorgio! You were serving tea on the terrace this afternoon, weren’t you? Did you notice the man who joined me at my table?’

‘Signor Alessandros?’ The man shrugged. ‘Yes, signor.’

‘You know him?’ asked Jamie eagerly.

‘But, of course, signore—he owns this hotel!’ said the waiter, sniffing.

Saskia drew a shaken breath.

Terry sat up in his chair, staring at the waiter. ‘Signor Alessandros?’

‘He owns the hotel?’ repeated Jamie, his face incredulous. ‘Are you sure?’

The waiter nodded vehemently. ‘Very sure, signore. He bought it last year; he lives on the mainland, opposite Venice, in a very beautiful, historic house on the Brenta canal, and is often here, in the hotel. I have served him many times.’

Terry was scowling. ‘If you had told me his name was Alessandros, I’d have known who he was,’ he said, his face envious and faintly resentful. ‘I haven’t actually met him myself, but of course I’ve heard of him—he owns a number of hotels we use, his family own a hotel chain with hotels all over Italy; he must be one of the richest men in the country.’

‘Well, I’m relieved to find I was right to trust him!’ Jamie said cheerfully, drinking some of his red wine.

‘Good heavens, yes,’ said Terry, staring at him in a puzzled way. ‘You’re very lucky to be invited to his home! I can’t get over it. You say he just came over and introduced himself? It’s amazing. I tell you what, I’ll get down early tomorrow morning and see you off, just to check that it is him—I’d know his face anywhere; I’ve seen pictures of him in Italian papers a hundred times.’

Saskia gave him a dry look. Now that he believed Jamie had really met Domenico, Terry was eager to scrape acquaintance too. She wasn’t surprised; she had met that attitude far too many times during the years she’d spent with Domenico. Money had that effect on people; it drew them like a magnet.

Terry caught her cynical glance and went an ugly red. ‘Well, time to make my little talk to everyone,’ he said hurriedly, getting up. ‘I must get my notes for tomorrow, to check our itinerary. Excuse me.’

When he had gone, Jamie grinned at her. ‘I think he’s jealous; he’d have liked to meet Mr Alessandros.’

‘I think you’re right,’ Saskia said, smiling back at him.