They were all taking coffee, sitting around the big main room.
Anna was the nearest, turning to her as Vicky came through the door.
“Are you feeling better?”
Vicky struggled to keep the brittleness out of her voice.
“Yes, thank you. The fresh air certainly works wonders.”
She shot a nervous glance towards Carl, but there was not a trace of emotion on his face or in his voice.
“Good,” he said. “Like some coffee?”
He was acting so normal it annoyed her. He didn’t seem to have been affected by what had happened on the terrace as she had. Vicky sank quickly into a chair.
“Yes please.”
The coffee pot was on a tray in front of Anna, who proceeded to pour.
“Black or white?”
“White, please.”
As Anna leant forward and handed her the cup their eyes met. There was no doubting the distrust in the woman opposite.
Vicky pressed her lips tightly together and sat back, crossing her legs, quite aware that her dress had slipped back and revealed a little more leg than she otherwise would have allowed.
Still irritated by his indifference she left it where it was.
Damn him! It might help to unsettle him if he was genuinely attracted towards her.
Anna smiled. “Now, what would you like to do tomorrow? As our guest we must see that you are kept happy.”
“If it’s all right with you perhaps some sunbathing and,” she added as matter of factly as she could, “a trip to the shops?”
“Of course,” Anna answered sweetly. “The best time for shopping is in the evening. We will all go.”
Carl bent forward and placed an empty coffee cup on the table.
“Tomorrow evening?” His face darkened. “I’m afraid I can’t. I've a business meeting in Ventimiglia. Won’t be back until late. Perhaps some other time.”
Vicky’s heart sank.
Abruptly, he stood up.
“If you’ll excuse me, I've some business to attend to with some of my guests.”
He turned to Anna. “Afterwards I shall go to the studio.”
He bent forward and gave Anna a brief kiss then turned to Vicky.
“Goodnight, Miss Norwood.”
Vicky lifted her face. But instead of the peck she half expected on her cheek, Carl merely gave her a nod, and left the room. His apparent indifference stung her.
How she managed to sit out the next five minutes, making polite conversation with Anna, she never knew. The latter had a face that smiled, thought Vicky, but her eyes never showed warmth.
Feigning casualness, she brought the conversation round to painting.
“Does Carl often work at this late hour?”
Anna smiled knowingly – and immediately Vicky regretted having asked the question. She could have bitten off her tongue. It had revealed her continued interest in him.
“Frequently. Even right through the night on many occasions.”
Vicky lifted an eyebrow.
“Doubtless, there’s a lot of money to be made. I mean, this place...” She waved her hand expansively. “... the estate – everything. It must cost the earth. Or is it all inherited wealth?”
For the very first time something like fear flashed across Anna’s face.
Mr McKinley – Carl’s father – has been very successful. His prints are famous in both Italy and America. Carl is fast gaining a reputation in his own right.”
“Are any of these pictures by one of them?” Vicky waved a hand at the covered walls.
Anna threw back her head and chuckled.
“Good heavens, no. Neither father nor son will allow any of their own works to hang here. Apparently that’s common among a lot of artists.”
Deliberately lying, Vicky asked, “Where is the studio? On the top floor of the villa?”
Anna studiously kept her eyes on the empty cup as she poured more coffee.
“Why, no – you must have seen it. The beach cottage.”
Vicky feigned surprise.
“Oh that? I thought it was to do with storing beach.stuff. I tried the door. But it was locked.”
“Nobody is allowed in there,” Anna said quickly, “except at the McKinley’s express invitation. They guard their current works and keep them as secret as any plans for a new car design.”
“Good heavens.” Vicky allowed herself a chuckle. “You’re not serious.”
“I am,” Anna said, looking steadily back at Vicky.
“We’ve had break-ins and all sorts of goings-on by reporters, dealers and the like. If they can find out what Carl or his father are currently working on, and photograph it, they can rush out cheap prints – like pirating DVDs and CDs. It’s quite a lucrative industry.”
Vicky couldn’t resist saying innocently –
“I’d no idea. That would explain the high walls and the guards on the gates of the estate?”
“Precisely.” Anna sounded cautious. “The McKinley’s prize their seclusion beyond everything. Carl’s father, incidentally, is something of a recluse. Hardly ever goes out.”
Vicky enjoyed thrusting the knife in.
“I’m very unlucky then, that he’s away on a rare business trip, I suppose?”
Watching her squirm, Vicky found very satisfying.
“You must realise,” Anna said, her tone icy, “if you don’t know already, that apart from his other work Mr McKinley senior is a world renowned portrait artist. It is therefore necessary for him to visit famous clients in their own homes – in various parts of the world.”
“I see.”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Miss Norwood, I think I’ll retire. It’s been a busy day. Do ask the servants if you need anything more. Goodnight.”
Vicky inclined her head and smiled, a smile that drained away after Anna had left the room. After a while, she followed. When she shut the door of her bedroom she virtually collapsed on to the bed. The strain overtook her, physically and mentally, and she felt exhausted.
Hot tears swelled up uncontrollably in her eyes, and coursed down over her cheeks. She hammered her fist on to the coverlet and choked back a sob.
So much had happened in such a short time that her distraught mind was unable to cope.
First the loss of her ‘mother’, then the journey, followed by that unexpected, wild moment on the beach. She had felt nothing like that with Clive, or indeed any of the other men she had ever met in her life. But from his subsequent behaviour, despite the physical evidence of his arousal, she’d obviously meant nothing to him.
And if that indifference wasn’t enough, there was his involvement with Anna. She felt the resentment grow.
Then there was fear.
There was no other way of looking at it, but they were intent on keeping her here whether she wished to leave straight away or not. She was a prisoner. His prisoner.
She sat up, her face caught in the shaft of moonlight like a marble sculpture, and as icily cold.
Somehow she would teach them all a lesson.
And especially Carl McKinley.
Finally she slept, lying curled up on top of the bedclothes. Asleep, she was totally unaware that she was clutching the pillow to her breast, pressing it ever tightly as she gently moved her cheek against its surface.
In her troubled dreams a wild sea stormed onto the beach where she stood. In front her, at the waters edge, was the dark figure of a man with his back to her, legs apart as he faced into the storm. Always it seemed he was on the point of turning. Of facing her.
But he never did.
Vicky woke with a headache and a great depression. The fiery resolve of the night before had departed, leaving her washed out.
As she dragged herself from the bed, pulling the nightdress off over her head and dropping it on to the floor, all she wanted to do was go home – immediately.
Forget it all. Forget him.
Especially forget him.
The first burst of icy-cold water from the shower made her yelp. In seconds, she was wide-awake. In minutes, clean and refreshed, her resolve was back again, fed and reinforced by an acute sense of physical well being.
Her blood fairly tingled in her veins, as she vigorously towelled herself. Her spirits were now so much better. And the episode on the beach had left her feeling different physically. As though she was more of a woman than she had ever been.
She selected a black satin bikini from a drawer discovered there when she was unpacking. It was more daringly cut than anything she possessed, and was, she guessed, for use by guests.
Over the top she buttoned a simple loose, kaftan, and slipped her feet into high-wedged casuals. She filled a wicker bag with suntan oil, a book, some tissues and other sundry items, and made her way down the stairs.
The table in the dining room was laden with rolls and various jams and marmalades.
Anna was already seated and eating.
“Good morning,” she smiled amiably. “Did you sleep well?”
“Very well, thank you.”
Vicky sat down in a chair opposite.
A maid hovered close by with hot coffee and milk. She nodded, and the huge continental breakfast cup was filled.
“I see that you’re determined to get a tan,” Anna observed, slipping a portion of buttered croissant into her mouth.
Vicky nodded. “Right after breakfast I’m out on the terrace.”
“You’d do better to get into a suntrap on the beach,” Anna suggested. “I always brown quicker down there.”
Vicky wondered what had prompted such helpful advice from her rival. Rival! She smiled at the idea and it pleased her to see Anna frowning with bewilderment.
Further talk was interrupted by the arrival of Carl. Silently, he appeared in the doorway, dressed in dark trousers and jacket, with a white open necked linen shirt, and carrying a newspaper.
“Good morning,” Vicky said pleasantly, wiping her lips with her napkin.
He merely grunted acknowledgment as he sat down, and the maid moved in and poured coffee without prompting. He busied himself with his breakfast, not glancing at anyone.
“Anna said that the best place to get a tan is on the beach,” Vicky said conversationally, “and not by the side of the pool.”
Carl grunted again, and picked up his newspaper.
“There’s more reflection from the sea and sand,” he said dismissively, “but make sure you don’t burn.”
He folded the newspaper and placed it directly in front of him, the conversation as far as he was concerned over.
Vicky stiffened at his rudeness, and immediately propped her elbows on the table as she held the big cup, two-handed.
“I’ll do that – take care I mean. I want to be at my best when I do meet your father.”
Carl looked up, shooting a glance across at Anna, who said quickly –
“Ah, yes, of course, your reason for being here in the first place.” She stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, I've things to attend to.”
Anna made her way around the table to behind Carl, placed her hands on his shoulders, and leaned forward to kiss him briefly on the side of his cheek.
“See you tomorrow, darling. Ciao.”
She glanced towards Vicky and smiled.
“Lunch will be as yesterday. Outside at one o’clock.”
Her footsteps echoed across the hall and down a corridor. A door opened and closed, leaving her alone with Carl.
“Are you away from the villa overnight?” she asked.
Carl nodded and murmured, “Yes” without his attention leaving the newspaper as he continued to eat.
The silence was almost physical, accentuated by the sound of the slow lazy roll of the waves coming through the open windows.
Alone with him and for the first time without other distractions, Vicky began to perceive the sheer animal magnetism of the man – his physical stature, face lean and hard, but with eyes that could soften in an instant.
He really was a handsome devil, pity he was such an egotistical bore.
“I walked past the studio yesterday,” she said brightly. “I was wondering could I see...”
“No.” His voice was sharp.
“I don’t like people in there,” he added, seeing the startled look on her face.
Vicky lifted her chin, eyes flashing as she protested.
“All right! There’s no need to snap at me like that. Good heavens! What do you keep in there? Dead bodies?”
She hadn’t meant it, so why on earth had she said it?
For a split second he stared at her in utter disbelief, then threw his head back and roared with laughter.
Relieved, but annoyed, Vicky sat watching him. Then something snapped. She stood up, slammed her napkin on to the table and made for the French window.
“In that case, maybe I’ll go and look for myself.”
Instantly,he leapt up, reached her, his arm shooting out, hand closing around her wrist like a band of steel. For a few seconds she tried to wrestle free, and he had to catch the other arm. But it was useless. His sheer strength held her with ease.
For the first time Vicky was made devastatingly aware of the physical vulnerability of women. Powerless to stop him, he brought her face to within inches of his own.
She could feel his breath on her, warm from the hot coffee. His eyes roamed unashamedly around her face, dropped to her lips, then looked back up, taunting, playing with her.
Was he going to kiss her?
Vicky could feel her heart thumping in her chest. He drew her even closer to his lips that were now parting and exposing even white teeth.
Less than half an inch from him, he held her steady.
“Now listen to me, Vicky,” he whispered softly, “I would view that as a terrible abuse of my hospitality. If I catch you trying to take a look – you’ll be in trouble.” He grinned. “And I don’t mean a hundred lines for you to write out, either!”
The mouth that was playing with her, teasing her, could contain itself no longer. It closed down over hers.
Just as Vicky felt all restraint slipping away, Carl suddenly pulled free, and held her at arm’s length.
Shocked, her eyes flew open.
Although he was grinning, he couldn’t disguise the working of his chest.
“You have been warned!”
He picked up his newspaper, gave her one last infuriating little smile and left the room.
Vicky slumped back into her chair, and watched him, tripping down the stone steps and striding purposefully from her view.
Anger, at herself, especially with her body, which was so out of step with her mind, because it ached for him to touch her again, caused her to violently smack the table with the palm of her hand, making a loud crash.
“Damn! Damn! Damn him!”
But there was no denying her feelings. She wondered, fleetingly, at the warning she had been given: the promise of trouble – what form it would take?
The blood rushed to her cheeks and her neck turned a bright red as her imagination ran riot, then filled with the humiliation of it all.
Just who did he think he was, ordering her around like a schoolgirl, with threats of punishment – or something..?
But she had to sit for a little longer, feeling dizzy, as her mind lost its battle, and her racing blood told her that it might well be worth the risk of looking around the studio – and facing Carl’s displeasure, in whatever form it might be dispensed.