THERE were undeniably some advantages to her ‘engagement’ to Silas, Julia reflected as their chauffeur-driven limousine swept them down toward Positano, and first-class travel had to be at the top of the list.
Julia knew that many people found Silas dauntingly formidable. His unemotional practicality had certainly irked her over the years, but there were times when a practical man was a bonus and this was definitely one of them. She considered herself to be a modern, independent woman, but she had certainly enjoyed having nothing to do other than sit back and relax and admire the awe-inspiring Amalfi coastline.
Silas, predictably, had been working, his BlackBerry handheld PDA device in constant use as he phoned and e-mailed, while the chauffeur with true Italian élan and a breathtakingly macho disregard for the coaches lumbering the other way.
‘Relax,’ Silas had murmured at one point, when she had audibly drawn in her breath, sure that they would go over the cliff. ‘He knows he won’t get a tip if we don’t survive.’
It had astonished her that he had noticed her apprehension. He certainly hadn’t been looking at her. She knew that, because every time she had looked at him he had been totally focused on e-mailing.
What would it take to shake Silas out of that cool, distancing manner of his and into the heat of raw human passion…or rather who would it take? She would certainly need to be a very strong woman, and a very determined one. What would he be like as a lover? Experienced, certainly, and knowledgeable about what pleased a woman for sure. Silas set high standards for himself, and his skills. And a woman would be able to trust him to take care of everything there was to be taken care of. Silas would have a clean bill of health and an awareness of what could be safely risked and what could not. He would take due care to make sure that his lover experienced the maximum amount of pleasure without inflicting on her any kind of pain.
Physically, perhaps, but what about emotionally? Was Silas, with his cool distance from the rest of the human race and their untidy emotions, capable of understanding what it meant to be hurt emotionally?
‘I’ve e-mailed your grandfather, apologising for not asking his formal permission for our engagement. I told him that your impetuosity overwhelmed us.’
‘My impetuosity?’ Julia challenged him.
Silas smiled at her.
‘Well, he would hardly be likely to believe me if I said it was mine, would he?’ I’ve also e-mailed my mother, and the New York society columns.’
‘Have you told her that my impetuosity is to blame as well?’ Julia asked wryly.
‘My mother doesn’t need an explanation.’
Whilst Julia was silently digesting his comment, Silas added, ‘You’re going to need an engagement ring, but, I’ve suggested to your grandfather we wait until you can return to New York with me.’
‘Silas, I don’t want a ring.’
She might just as well not have spoken.
‘It seems appropriate to me that you should wear the Monckford diamond.’
‘What?’ Julia stared at him. ‘You mean the one the Sixth Earl fought that duel over?’
‘Actually, it was his wife’s honour over which he fought the duel, but since it was the fact that she was foolish enough to be wearing the ring when she went to meet her lover, yes, I do mean that one. Traditionally it was the family betrothal ring, so it seems fitting that you should wear it now.’
Julia took refuge from her own chaotic thoughts by saying crossly, ‘I thought you were supposed to run the Foundation, not spend your time trying to repossess every bauble the family ever owned.’
‘The Monckford Diamond is hardly a bauble. In fact, it is an extremely rare and historic stone.’
‘Thank heavens I don’t have to wear it permanently. If it looks anything like it does in the Countess’s portrait, it must be incredibly ugly,’ Julia could not resist saying disparagingly.
Silas had always incited her to this kind of angry tit for tat, as though somehow they both had to try and outdo one another. But, no matter how much she goaded him, Silas never reacted with a satisfactory show of emotion.
They had reached Positano, its rows of pastel-washed buildings clinging to the steep hillside whilst the Mediterranean lay blue and calm below them.
No wonder artists and poets had fallen in love with this place, Julia reflected as she gazed out of the car widow in silent appreciation. And no wonder too that the Silverwoods had wanted to come here, to the place where they had first met, to celebrate two such special family events.
As regular visitors to Positano, the Silverwoods had a favourite hotel where they always stayed, and Julia had managed, after some incredibly difficult negotiations, to ensure that they would have the exclusive use of a private dining room there, that opened out onto a terrace overlooking the sea, for the celebratory meal. Not unnaturally, the manager of the hotel had demanded a large fee for the use of both dining room and patio, at what was virtually the height of the summer season.
Privately Julia was not sure she would have chosen such an exclusive and expensive venue for the celebration of an eighteenth birthday, and during initial discussions she had recognised that the Silverwoods’ teenage son was not as excited about the prospect of the double celebration as his parents. Diplomatically she had suggested to her clients that they might think about throwing a more robust type of event exclusively for their son, so that he could celebrate his coming of age with his friends.
The car turned in to the entrance to the Arcadia hotel, past the discreet plaque that bore the legend ‘Leading Hotels of the World’. She already knew that the Arcadia had been built in the eighteenth century as a private villa, and had been opened as a hotel in the early 1950s. Its rooms were apparently still furnished as though it were a private home, with carefully chosen antiques and objets d’art, and certainly the reception area bore out this description.
They were shown almost immediately to their suite, and Julia caught her breath as she saw the views from the windows. The hotel must surely command some of the best views in Positano, Julia decided as Silas tipped the porter.
‘This is heavenly,’ she murmured appreciatively, unable to take her eyes off the sparkling blue of the Mediterranean.
‘What’s the plan of action for tomorrow?’ Silas asked, merely glancing briefly at the view as he reached for his BlackBerry.
‘The family will have already arrived today, and by tonight so will most of the guests. For tomorrow, we’ve organised the hire of a private yacht that will take everyone to Capri, where they will have lunch. Then tomorrow evening there will be a champagne reception at the hotel. Some of the guests won’t make it in time for the Capri trip, so the following day those who wish to do so can go to Amalfi. For those who don’t, a buffet lunch will be provided at the hotel, with the main event—the formal dinner—taking place that evening.’
‘And that’s it?’ Silas asked her.
‘That’s it,’ Julia agreed, straight-faced. ‘Except, of course, for the flowers, and the hairdresser, and the food, and of course the wine, plus getting the presents here, et cetera, et cetera.’
He had put down his BlackBerry and come to study the view. There wasn’t very much room on the small balcony, which meant that he had to stand behind her, so close that she could feel the heat coming off his body.
‘I think tonight we’ll dispense with the separate sleeping arrangements.’
‘What?’ Julia started to turn round and then stopped as she realised that turning round would bring her body to body with him.
‘This really is a wonderful view,’ she blurted out in panic.
‘Wonderful,’ Silas agreed kindly.
He had put his arm around her—both arms, in fact, Julia discovered.
‘I don’t think this is a very good idea,’ she warned him in a wobbly voice.
‘No? Are you sure?’
His mouth was brushing hers. How could such a cool and remote man have such a warm and sensual mouth? Like fire under ice, or her favourite dessert, hot sauce on cold ice cream. Mmm, delicious…Just like the feel of Silas’s mouth on her own, in fact. Mmm.
As she sighed her appreciation of his kiss, she moved closer to him and put her own arms around his neck.
His tongue probed her lips, slowly but oh, so deliberately, letting her know that he would not stop until she had given him what he wanted. Her body shivered with pleasure as she let him thrust firmly between her half-parted lips. Oh, but he was good. Or was it just that it was just so long since she had last been kissed? Her whole body had become the ice cream now, melting in the heat of the deliberately slow and sensually symbolic thrust of his tongue within the eager wetness of her mouth.
His hand claimed her breast, moulding it firmly and then caressing it rhythmically, his fingertips teasing her nipple before his hand slid back so that this palm was rubbing erotically against it, the caress repeated so firmly and insistently that her whole body began pulse to the rhythmic movement of his hand. Instinctively she wanted to return the intimacy of his touch, to hold the stiff hot flesh of his erection in her hand so that she could explore its veined hardness and see his pleasure whilst she did so.
It had been so long since she had last had sex. She had truly believed that she wasn’t bothered, but now she realised that she must be, because she was already aching with frantic need for Silas.
Silas!
Abruptly she broke the kiss.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘We shouldn’t be doing this…’
‘Of course we should,’ Silas told her promptly. ‘We’re engaged.’
When she looked at him, he added softly, ‘And, more importantly, you want to.’
‘Do you?’
The way he looked at her as he took hold of her hand and placed it against his erection made her heart turn over inside her chest.
‘What do you think?’ he demanded.
Julia was too caught up in the discovery that his bank account wasn’t the only thing about him that was larger than average to make any kind of response.
A part of her was thinking that this couldn’t be her, actually thinking of having sex with Silas, but another and much more assertive part was saying it would hate her for ever if she didn’t allow it to satisfy the fiercely urgent need that had taken hold of her.
Even so…she had her responsibilities…
‘I ought to go over to the hotel and just check…’
‘How do I know that isn’t just an excuse to sneak off and indulge your shoe habit?’ Silas teased her.
She had a shoe habit? She didn’t remember. In fact she couldn’t think of anything other than what it was going to feel like to lie naked under Silas whilst he filled her with his gorgeous thick strength until he had satisfied the ache that was pulsing from her clitoris right up to her womb.
‘Okay, come on,’ Silas announced, his voice suddenly crisp. ‘Let’s get unpacked, and then go down and get some dinner.’
Unpacked? Dinner? There was only one hunger she wanted to satisfy right now. And as for clothes…
Silas watched her with a small satisfied smile. She wanted him and she wanted him badly. That was good. Establishing a sexual bond with her prior to persuading her to marry him might not have been part of his original game plan—sexual satisfaction within their marriage hadn’t been particularly high on his original list of priorities—but a plan could be adapted. Why shouldn’t he make use of such an excellent opportunity, especially when doing so would be very pleasurable for them both? And not just pleasurable in the short term, but potentially very pleasurable in the long term as well, bonding Julia to him in a way that could only be beneficial to their marriage.
The truth, if he was honest with himself, was that the speed and intensity of his arousal had caught him totally off guard. He prided himself on his sexual self-control, but right now he could feel himself straining and pulsing with his need to push slowly and deeply into Julia’s wet heat until she had taken all of him, and then, equally slowly, to ease himself out again before thrusting slickly back in, slowly and deeply, until she raked his back with her nails and held him in her, whilst she moaned her pleasure and urged him to move harder and faster…
Abruptly he made himself think of something else. He might have decided to marry Julia eight years ago, but since he hadn’t spent those years fantasising about having sex with her, he saw no reason why he should allow himself to do so now.
He was suddenly and uncomfortably aware that if he hadn’t already been planning to marry Julia, then the intensity of his physical desire for her might have been a problem. And there was no place for problems in Silas’s life—just as there was no place for situations he could not control.
His mother was a shrewd and emotionally strong woman, but as a young widow she had bowed to the pressure put on her by her late husband’s financial advisers and accepted the Foundation’s trustees’ insistence on helping her to shape and direct the way in which Silas was groomed to take on the role which would one day be his almost from the day of his birth.
The burden of being responsible for the future of the Foundation and its billions of dollars was not one that could be taken on lightly. Her husband, Silas’s father, had died before his twenty-fifth birthday, and these trustees even then had already been in their late middle age, considering the heat and excitement of youthful passion something to be deplored and strictly controlled. Through their guidance and teaching Silas had not just learned how to protect the Foundation, but had also absorbed almost from his cradle certain old-fashioned attitudes to life. Silas had, in short, been raised to put the Foundation first, to exercise self-control, and to be practical and unemotional. The trustees were all dead now, but he knew how much they would have approved of his decision to make Julia his wife. He saw what he had learned from the old men who had been his male role models as an asset, and indeed it was one he fully intended to pass on to his own sons.
Julia watched him, wondering what he was thinking and if he was as astonished and bemused by what was happening to them as she was herself.
That was the trouble with Silas: one could never tell what he was thinking.
She picked up her bag and searched for her mobile. She hadn’t had time to charge it before leaving Majorca, so she had switched it off to preserve what was left of the battery.
Her fingers closed over her phone and she extracted it from the bottom of her handbag and switched it on, making a small moue as she saw how many messages she had to check through.
‘You should upgrade to a BlackBerry,’ Silas told her as he observed what she was doing.
‘I should. But right now the business isn’t making enough money for that.’
Silas frowned. ‘I saw Blayne using one.’
‘Oh, yes, Nick’s got one. But then he does a lot more travelling than anyone else.’
She started to check though her messages, slightly alarmed to see how many there were from her client.
As she played them her alarm became anxiety, and then dismayed disbelief. Switching off her mobile, she turned to Silas.
‘I’ve got to get over to the venue. There’s been some kind of mix-up and I need to get it sorted out asap.’
‘What kind of mix-up?’ Silas demanded.
‘When the client asked to look over the private dining room the hotel told her that the booking for the celebratory dinner party had been cancelled. Of course she immediately got in touch with Lucy, and both she and Lucy have been trying to get hold of me to find out what’s going on. I’ve got to get over there. There’s obviously been some mistake. I made the booking myself, and there’s no way I would have cancelled it—not after all the trouble we had persuading the hotel to let us have exclusive use of the room and the terrace.’
‘Can’t you phone them?’ Silas asked.
Julia shook her head.
‘I could, but I’d much rather go over and sort things out in person.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Silas told her.
‘Thank you, but no.’ Julia refused his offer firmly. ‘This is my problem, not yours. There’s obviously been some kind of mix-up, and hopefully it won’t take too long to get it sorted out.’ She was still wearing the clothes in which she had travelled, and she felt grubby and tired, but her own comfort would have to wait.
Half an hour later, having decided it would be simpler and quicker to walk to the hotel venue, Julia was standing at the reception desk trying to sound calm and professional as she explained who she was and asked to see the hotel manager. Her hope was that she would be able to sort out whatever the problem was prior to announcing her presence to the clients.
However, when she saw the dubious look the immaculately groomed receptionist was giving her, she couldn’t help wondering whether it might have been wiser to have taken the time to shower and change, instead of panicking and rushing over here. But of course it was too late to worry about that now.
She was kept waiting in the hotel’s reception area for well over fifteen minutes before the hotel manager finally emerged from his office to beckon impassively to her to come forward.
There was no way she intended to discuss the situation in such a public arena, with the reception desk between them and her very much the supplicant on the wrong side of it. So, as diplomatically as she could, Julia curved her mouth into what she hoped was an appealing smile and asked softly if they might talk somewhere more private.
For several perilous seconds she thought that he was going to refuse, but eventually he pursed his lips and said brusquely, ‘Very well, then. Come this way.’
The office to which he showed her was much the same as its counterparts all over the world. A large desk dominated the small space, and the chair he waved her into was slightly uncomfortable and too low, whilst his own gave him some extra inches of height he did not in reality possess.
Prêt a Party secured its business by word of mouth, and no matter how frankly she might express her opinions in her personal life, in her professional life Julia had taught herself to speak with a honeyed careful tongue and to use tact and diplomacy at all times. Especially these kinds of times.
As soon as she was seated she smiled and offered a calm apology for the inconvenience being caused by what was obviously a mix-up of some kind before insisting firmly, ‘Obviously there has been a clerical error somewhere, because I can assure you that I have not cancelled our booking. You will remember, I know, our negotiations when the original booking was made—’
‘Indeed I do. And I also remember it was agreed that you would pay a holding deposit of one half of the estimated bill for the evening.’
‘Of course. And I explained your requirement to our clients, who agreed to your terms.’
The manager’s mouth thinned ominously.
‘But you did not abide by those terms, did you?’
Julia frowned, but managed to stay calm.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand. What do you mean?’
‘I mean that you did not forward the sum agreed to us, and, what is more, you ignored the several e-mails I sent to you requesting it—including my final e-mail warning that if payment was not immediately forthcoming the booking would be cancelled.’
‘No—there must be some mistake,’ Julia protested.
‘I have copies of the e-mails here—and I have shown them to your clients.’
Julia couldn’t understand what had happened. She could clearly remember receiving the Silverwoods’ cheque and passing it over to Nick, who dealt with the accounting side of the business. After receiving the Silverwoods’ cheque Nick should have paid it into their bank account and then issued a cheque to the hotel: that was the way in which they worked. Right now, though, what was more important than discovering who had been at fault was ensuring that her clients’ event ran smoothly, and as they had arranged.
She would have to throw herself on the hotel manager’s mercy—even if right now he looked far from showing her any.
‘I can only apologise again,’ she tried softly. ‘Obviously there has been some mistake…’
‘There has been no mistake here,’ the manager told her coldly. ‘We have e-mailed your accounts department on several occasions, requesting payment of this deposit, and yet we have not once received a reply.’
Small cold fingers of despair gripped Julia’s stomach. ‘There has obviously been a communication breakdown at our end,’ she told the manager, as calmly as she could. ‘And of course I apologise for that. As soon as I return to London I shall look into it to find out exactly what has happened. But in the meantime I know that both of us will want to do everything we can to ensure that Mr. and Mrs. Silverwood’s celebration is everything that they want it to be.’
The hotel manager gave a dismissive shrug.
‘As to that, I have already told them that it is impossible for us to allow them to have exclusive use of the dining room now. And, even if it was, we have not made the necessary arrangements in the kitchen. We cannot simply provide a meal such as they had requested at such short notice.’
Julia was beginning to feel slightly sick. The origination of this event and its smooth running was her responsibility and hers alone. The Silverwoods had come to them on the recommendation of a friend, and right from the start Mrs. Silverwood had made it plain exactly what she wanted and how important the event was. To have to tell her now, at this late stage, that not only could they not have the dining room but also that it was not possible to organise the meal she had planned in such minute detail would not just damage Prêt a Party’s reputation—more importantly, it would ruin what should have been a very special event.
Julia did her utmost to put across to the manager all of this, and to appeal to him to think not so much of her error but instead of the unhappiness it would cause their mutual clients if the dinner could not go ahead.
‘The hotel is full, and we have many people here who have already booked tables in our dining room. It is, after all, one of the most famous assets of our hotel. Everyone who comes here wants to dine in it and look out over Positano.’
‘Signor, please.’
‘No. I am sorry, but it is just not possible.’
The hotel manager wasn’t just standing up now, he was also moving purposefully towards the door, obviously intent on getting rid of her. However, before he reached it it suddenly opened inwards, and a very upset and determined Mrs. Silverwood was pushing her way past the receptionist who had tried to stop her from entering the office.
‘Julia, what on earth is going on?’ she demanded immediately. ‘You assured me that the dining room was booked for our exclusive use, but Signor Bartoli insists that it isn’t.’
Silas looked at his watch. He had showered, redressed, dealt with his e-mails and right now he was more than ready for his dinner. Julia had been gone for over an hour—more than enough time in which to sort out a minor misunderstanding.
It took him fifteen minutes to walk to the hotel venue, and precisely fifteen seconds to persuade the harassed-looking receptionist to admit him to her manager’s office.
Silas could hear the raised voices even before she opened the door—chief amongst them the hotel manager’s.
Julia was standing in a corner of the room looking trapped and white-faced as he harangued her, whilst another woman, whom Silas assumed must be Julia’s client, sat sobbing on a chair, demanding to know why her party had been ruined.
‘Signor Bartoli?’
As all three occupants of the room turned towards him Silas looked first at Julia. She looked shocked and very worried, her eyes widening as she saw him.
The hotel manager looked as though he were about to burst a blood vessel, his face red with angry frustration, whilst Julia’s client looked as any woman would having discovered that a year’s worth of careful planning was in ruins.
‘Who are you and what do you want?’ the enraged manager demanded. ‘If you are yet another person here to insist that I throw my guests out of their own dining room in order to accommodate a party that has not been paid for, then—’
‘I am the Honourable Julia’s fiancé,’ Silas answered him calmly, shamelessly making use of Julia’s title. ‘Perhaps we might talk with one another man to man, signor? You are a businessman, but I am sure that you are also a very reasonable and compassionate man,’ he added, taking advantage of the momentary silence he had created to remove his chequebook from his pocket.
‘I am also sure that it is possible for us to reach a mutually acceptable solution to this present impasse. Mr. and Mrs. Silverwood have only the very happiest memories of your hotel, signor, and I am sure we would both want them to continue to feel that way. Mrs. Silverwood has set her heart on celebrating here. I am sure that it is not beyond your power to grant her this very special desire, despite the misunderstanding that has occurred. Naturally, I am prepared to make full recompense to you for the inconvenience this misunderstanding has cost you. Furthermore, I am sure that a man such as yourself has the skills to explain the situation to those guests who are not taking part in the celebrations, and I am equally sure that they will very generously agree to eat their dinner somewhere else in order to accommodate Mr. and Mrs. Silverwood. In fact, I have already spoken to the manager of my own hotel, the Arcadia, on this very subject, and he has confirmed that your guests may dine there—at my expense.’
Without turning his head to look at Julia, Silas told her, ‘Perhaps Mrs. Silverwood would like to a have a restorative glass of champagne, Julia, whilst Signor Bartoli and I discuss this matter further.’
It was ten o’clock, and Silas had warned Julia that if she took longer than ten minutes to shower and change then he was going down to dinner without her.
She had managed it in eight minutes flat, and now they were seated opposite one another at a table in the restaurant, having just ordered their food.
‘You can’t believe I did what?’
‘You know what I mean! Paying Signor Bartoli an extra twenty thousand euros on top of the bill to change his mind and let Mr. and Mrs. Silverwood have the dining room after all.’ She gave a small disbelieving shake of her head.
‘What went wrong?’ Silas asked her.
‘I don’t know,’ Julia admitted. ‘Our system is that our clients pay all the bills we incur on their behalf themselves, via us. That way we keep our own overheads down and they get to see exactly what the costs are. All we charge them for is our professional services as organisers.’
‘Surely when you received those e-mails it must have alerted you to a potential problem.’
‘Well, yes, it would have done if I had seen them, but I didn’t—’ She broke off to smile at the waiter as he brought their first course.
Her stomach was still churning with anxiety-induced adrenalin. The scene in the hotel manager’s office had left her feeling so physically and emotionally on edge that the last thing she wanted to do was eat. She didn’t want to tell Silas that, though.
It was bad enough that he had witnessed her humiliation and been obliged to rescue her from it, without letting him see how stupidly upset and shaken she still felt.
Silas had scant tolerance of other people’s emotional vulnerability, and that was an aspect of his personality that had always made her feel defensive and wary. He always seemed so invulnerable, which highlighted her awareness of her own weaknesses. He seemed to think that in paying the hotel manager to change his mind he had solved the whole problem, but Julia was now sick with worry about how on earth she was going to repay him. The business certainly could not do so. Lucy had confided worriedly to her that they were barely breaking even, never mind making any profit. Julia had no money of her own, and whilst her stepfather was a relatively wealthy man Julia could not imagine asking him to give her twenty thousand euros.
Silas watched her pushing her soup round and not drinking it for several seconds before demanding, ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. I’m just not hungry.’
‘It’s over twelve hours since you last ate. How can you not be hungry?’
‘I’m just not. But I am tired. In fact, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go up to…to bed.’
Silas gave a small shrug.
‘If that’s what you want to do, go ahead.’
It was his dinner he wanted, not her company, he assured himself, as Julia pushed back her chair and stood up. And that sharp little knife-twist he could feel, of something that was almost pain, wasn’t a pain at all. It was just a pang of irritation caused by Julia being Julia.
Julia stared at the figures she had written down on the piece of paper in front of her. Her head was beginning to ache and she felt sick. No matter how much she juggled with the figures, there was just no way she was going to be able to find twenty thousand euros. She didn’t like to go into debt and didn’t even possess a credit card—but nor did she in the way of savings, either (she bought too many shoes!). Her family was wealthy but their money was all tied up in property—such as the Estate at Amberley and the London flat where she lived—assets that were supposed to be preserved for future Earls and so weren’t hers to sell. Perhaps she would have to try and raise a loan—but it was not as if she had any property to borrow against.
Silas picked up his wine glass and looked sombrely at the contents. It held a robust, energetic rioja, with a good parentage, that should have tasted warm and well rounded instead of slightly sour. Or was it his mood that had turned sour and not the wine? Why should that be? Not, surely, because Julia had left him to eat alone? Silas often ate alone. In fact he preferred to. He glanced down at his plate. His steak was cooked just as he liked, but he might just as well have been eating sawdust, he realised, as he pushed his plate away from himself and signalled for the waiter.
As the hotel lift took him up to the suite, he wondered what the hell was happening to him? Why hadn’t he simply stayed where he was and finished his meal? Why had both it and the evening lost their flavour and become flat and unappealing without Julia’s presence?
Engrossed in the figures in front of her, Julia did not hear the outer door open, or see Silas walk in until he was virtually standing in front of her.
‘What’s this?’ he demanded, picking up the piece of paper and studying it.
‘Nothing,’ Julia fibbed, but Silas wasn’t listening to her. He stared at the small, worried little sums, written down over and over again, and something inside him that he hadn’t known was there moved a painful little notch, like the cranking of some long-unused mechanism, its movement all the more agonising because of that.
‘You don’t seriously think that I expect you to repay me, do you?’ he demanded sharply.
‘Why not? Someone has to,’ Julia told him. ‘And I know that Lucy can’t. The business is barely breaking even, and if the business can’t repay you, then naturally I feel morally obliged to do so myself. Because I dealt with the Silverwoods’ event.’
Her eyes widened as Silas suddenly screwed up the piece of paper with an almost violent movement of his hand and threw it into the wastepaper bin.
He had no real idea quite why Julia’s comment should affect him so strongly, nor why he should feel so enraged because she didn’t realise that he didn’t want to be repaid.
‘You’re my fiancée, remember? The money I gave to the hotel manager I gave because I did not wish to see my fiancée being harassed and distressed. Therefore it was for my benefit as much as anyone else’s. There is no reason for Lucy to know about it and even less for her to pay me back,’ he told her grimly.
‘But our engagement isn’t real,’ Julia pointed out. ‘And even if it were I’d still want to repay you.’
Silas looked at her. ‘Why?’
‘Because I would. Because I don’t like what it does to a relationship when one person uses the other—financially or in any kind of way. How could you respect me? How could I respect myself if I let you carry me financially? I can’t match you for money, Silas, but if we were really a couple I would want to match you in respect and…and…all sorts of other ways…’
Silently Silas digested what she was saying. She had surprised him he admitted. How could this young woman who had admitted openly to a constant need to buy shoes also manifest such a deeply ingrained sense of responsibility and pride? And how could he not have known that she did?
‘Since your clients insist they sent you a cheque, and moreover the cheque has been cashed, it seems to me there must have been some kind of accounting mistake. The money must be in Prêt a Party’s accounts somewhere. Who deals with the day-to-day finances of the business?’
Julia exhaled slowly, and then told him reluctantly, ‘Nick.’
‘Blayne?’ Silas demanded sharply.
Julia looked away, reluctant to admit to Silas that she was beginning to remember some odd and very worried comments Carly had made before she had left Prêt a Party to marry Ricardo.
Could it be that Nick was doing something fraudulent with the company’s money?
Julia was reluctant to speak openly to Silas about her burgeoning suspicions in case she was wrong. Nick might have threatened to punish her for refusing his sexual advances, but there was no way he could have carried out that threat by allowing the booking to be cancelled. The timing simply wasn’t right. Unless he had somehow or other tampered with her e-mails…But that would mean that Nick was stealing from his own wife, and why on earth would he do that?
And then she remembered that Nick had wanted to come to Positano with her.
‘Now what’s wrong?’ Silas queried, as he watched the way her expression changed and anxiety shadowed her eyes.
‘I was just thinking about Nick,’ Julia said.