Chapter 13

IT HAD BEEN a hectic day recording six Night Caps, catching up with correspondence, sorting her diary, and starting plans for the next transmission from the ski slopes of Austria. It should be a good show, staging an après-ski with the Brits who were happy about making fools of themselves abroad. Tessa would no doubt excel at chatting to them, and it could be a good idea to get her on a pair of skis too. With any luck she might go over a cliff!

Reining in the thought, Allyson gathered up her briefcase and coat and ran out of the office to her car. On the way up to town, still buzzing from her day, she called in at the women’s refuge, where she was welcomed with freshly brewed tea, kiddie-baked biscuits and the latest news on funding. She’d had so little time lately that she’d been unable to visit in person, but she’d been in regular contact by phone, getting updates on how they all were, often talking to the newcomers herself and trying to offer some comfort and sympathy. She understood that her being a celebrity made them feel special, which was probably one of the best parts of being famous, knowing that she could use it in such a worthwhile way. One of the worst parts was when she was hounded by the press, as she had been today, since their fascination with her private life was flourishing again, now that Tessa had left Bob.

Allyson wasn’t ready to deal with that. It was like a pile of smouldering ashes, still too hot to put her hands in to find out if there was anything left to be salvaged. She’d think about it when it had had a chance to cool down a little, and when she had a clearer idea of what she really wanted to save. In the meantime, she’d continue answering the probing calls from the press, who were all clamouring to know how she felt about Bob and Tessa’s break-up, with the maddening noncommittal response of no comment.

They were in Tessa’s hair too, of course, and Bob’s, but Shelley had been quick on the case regarding Tessa, bringing in a publicist to handle the calls, as Tessa had nothing like Allyson’s experience in dealing with the press. Allyson had no idea how Bob was coping with it, on any level, but according to that morning’s Mail he was still living in Peckham, and still out of work. So far he’d made no attempt to contact her, and though she wished that didn’t hurt, it did. However, she had no intention of initiating any contact with him, especially not after that fiasco with Hello!

Leaving her car at the refuge she hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of Mark’s office. She should be there in plenty of time, if the traffic wasn’t too bad, and she could do with these few minutes of peace to collect her thoughts. However, they had barely pulled away from the kerb when her cellphone rang, connecting her to a three-way call with Zac and Justine that took up most of the journey. And she’d only just clicked off that call when another came in from Shelley, pointing out the duplication of a celebrity guest who was being talked about for the ski programme, but was already pencilled in to appear on one of the regular shows the previous week.

It was a problem soon settled, for Allyson was willing to find someone else, and Shelley put forward a few suggestions that could easily work. The call then ended on a friendly note, but there was no mistaking the chill of politeness that had crept into their usual warmth. It was how their dinner had ended up last night too, after Allyson had confessed she was going to see Mark today, and Shelley had tried to disguise her resentment, not only at the meeting, but at Allyson’s reluctance to respond to Tessa’s split with Bob – and of course to the abortion too. But to Allyson it all felt like quicksand, something that would just drag her back into the horrible quagmire of pain and despair she was still struggling so hard to get out of, and now her grip was tightening on the lifeline Mark Reiner had thrown her, she wanted only to go with it.

After paying the driver she slammed the cab door closed and walked the few paces to Mark’s office. She couldn’t allow herself to second-guess any more about this meeting, because she’d lain awake half the night wondering about it, and about Bob, and where they all were in their lives, and when she had finally allowed a truth to emerge from the confusion, that if it weren’t for Shelley she’d be hoping very much that Mark had invited her here for reasons that weren’t entirely professional, she had immediately seen the danger and frogmarched her fantasies straight off to the dimmest and darkest cell of her overactive brain. However, they’d somehow contrived an escape, for she was much more nervous than she should have been as she walked up the stairs to his reception, and excited too, it had to be said – though the fall, if it came, would at least have the happy outcome of easing the tension between her and Shelley.

‘He’s down the corridor with the finance director,’ Corinne, his assistant, told her when she walked in. ‘I’ll let him know you’re here.’

As Corinne picked up the phone, Allyson could feel the flutterings in her heartbeat. She really was looking forward to this meeting.

‘He’s on his way back,’ Corinne said a few moments later. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘No thanks.’

Allyson wandered over to the window. Rush hour was already under way, though she was hardly registering it. In fact she had no idea how much time had passed before she became conscious of Corinne’s voice again, and realized she was talking to Mark.

Allyson turned round and was instantly aware of the way he seemed to dominate the room – and reach everything inside her with his magnetic dark eyes.

‘I’ve put the tickets on your desk,’ Corinne was telling him as he looked at Allyson. ‘Your flight’s at eleven in the morning, arriving in Paris around noon. Paul McKenzie’s joining you at the hotel tomorrow night.’

‘Great,’ he said. Then to Allyson, ‘Hi. Come in.’

He held open the door and as she passed she caught the warm, male scent of him. His tie was loose and his white shirt was crumpled. She was amused by the way she noticed those details, and felt agreeably disturbed by their impact. But sensing where her imagination was heading she brought it quickly to heel, and stopped at one of his guest chairs. ‘So you’re going to Paris tomorrow?’ she said chattily.

‘For the second time this week. We’re involved in a buy-out of one of the cable stations. Did Corinne offer you a drink?’

‘Yes. I’ve changed my mind, I’ll take a vodka martini.’

Noticing the way the corners of his eyes creased as he smiled made her smile too. ‘I’ll join you,’ he said.

As he fixed the drinks Allyson took off her coat and was about to sit down when he said, ‘If we’re having martinis we don’t need to be formal.’

So she went to sit on one of the comfy black leather sofas, and watched him until he brought the drinks over. There was something quite exhilarating about being here, and allowing herself to sink into the attraction, even though she knew very well that she was far too unsure of herself to permit the kind of thoughts she was having to become a reality. Nevertheless, they were enjoyable.

‘Thanks for coming,’ he said, as he sat down. ‘I know how busy you are, and I’m overdue for a visit to the studio. But it’s been kind of crazy these past few weeks. Anyway, here’s to you and your continued success.’

‘Thank you,’ Allyson responded.

As they drank she dropped her eyes from his, not wanting him to see how aware she was becoming of his body, but it was hard not to be when his proximity, coupled with those intensely knowing eyes of his, were dragging her shy and battered libido out into the light and giving it all kinds of ideas on how to get going again. In fact, it seemed so ready for the off that the sheer boldness of it was making her feel as light-headed as the vodka.

‘Did I remember to tell you, my family enjoyed meeting you on New Year’s Eve?’ he said.

The intimacy in his voice stole right into her. ‘I enjoyed meeting them,’ she answered, looking at him again. ‘And I’m sorry if I wasn’t, well,’ she gave a playful raise of her eyebrows, ‘quite myself.’

‘You’re going through a tough time. I heard about the spread in Hello!’

Allyson coloured, and felt ashamed for him to know that Bob had treated her so badly.

The phone buzzed on his desk and he reached behind him for the extension.

‘Tessa Dukes is on the line,’ Corinne told him.

His eyes moved to Allyson. ‘Tell her I’ll get back to her.’

‘She says it’s urgent.’

‘The answer’s still the same,’ he said, and hung up.

Allyson wondered who he didn’t want to talk to. Obviously it was a woman, and she wondered if it was the one he’d taken to the Clausonnes’ in France.

‘I need to ask you a favour,’ he said, his attention on her again.

Allyson looked intrigued.

‘Nick and I have a hotel in Ravello, Italy,’ he said. ‘The renovation is complete and it should be due to open sometime in March, enough time to get through the worst of its teething problems before the summer season starts. The favour I’m asking is if you’d consider making the hotel’s launch the subject of one of your programmes. From my point of view the publicity would be excellent, and from yours the party would be worth going to. The company publicists will draw up a list of who to invite, it should be suitably celebrity-heavy, and the setting on the Amalfi Coast is extremely picturesque.’

Allyson was laughing. ‘You’re asking me?’ she said. ‘You’re the boss. If you want us to go to Ravello then to Ravello we shall go.’

‘It’s not an order. It’s a request. As the producer you tell me if you’re happy about making it one of your programmes.’

‘I’d be very happy,’ she said. ‘Obviously I’ll need more information and we’d probably want to be involved in drawing up the guest list, but on the face of it it sounds absolutely perfect.’

Though he was still smiling, his eyes appeared suddenly darker as he looked at her in a way that seemed to be moving past the veneer of professionalism and politeness. ‘There’s something else I’m going to ask,’ he told her.

She waited, feeling a shortening of her breath and a wonderful anticipation tightening her insides.

‘Nick normally takes care of the hotels and restaurants,’ he said, ‘but he can’t get over in the foreseeable future. That means I’ll have to go to Italy to talk to the new manager and take care of the pre-opening business. As you’ll need to recce the place I thought we could go together.’

Allyson’s breath had stopped. Her eyes were now on her drink, as her heart succumbed to an extremely unsteady beat. This was clearly a romantic proposal and she wanted more than anything to say yes. But how could she when she knew how much it would hurt Shelley? ‘If … If you’re meaning what I think you might be meaning,’ she said, looking at him again, ‘then I’m afraid I can’t.’

He seemed neither surprised nor put out by her response. ‘Because of Shelley?’ he said. ‘Or because of your husband?’

‘Because of Shelley,’ she said frankly.

He picked up his drink and took a sip. His eyes remained on hers. Then after glancing at his watch he said, ‘There’s a painting I’m considering buying in a gallery a few streets from here. Are you free to come take a look?’

Surprised by the sudden change of subject, and slightly thrown, she shook her head. ‘I’m due at the children’s hospital in half an hour,’ she answered. ‘I go every Thursday.’ Then she added, ‘Why don’t you come with me?’

He gave it a moment’s consideration, then getting to his feet he said, ‘OK, let’s do that.’

Allyson could never have dreamt what a big deal it was for him to make the hospital visit, because, until he told her on the way there, she knew nothing about the daughter Nick and Claudia had lost to leukaemia at the age of three. It was clear from the way Mark spoke of it how deeply the death had affected him too, so Allyson wondered if this visit was going to be too distressing, since his niece had died less than a year ago. But he insisted they should go. He’d gained a lot of experience with sick children after all the time he’d spent with Michaela and the other kids who’d been in the hospital with her, so why not put it to some use?

And indeed, they’d only been in the cancer ward a few minutes before he had his jacket off and was down on his knees playing trains, making tours of dolls’ houses, getting shot at and keeling over, or being jumped on and brutally roughed up. Very soon Allyson was laughing along with the visiting parents at the children’s eagerness to claim his attention, and delight when they made him groan in pain or shoot back with gunfire.

Leaving him to it, Allyson went to talk to the nurses and various care-givers, most of whom she knew well from her many visits with Bob, and whom she felt to be equally as deserving of attention.

‘Because everyone thrives on praise and recognition,’ she explained to Mark when finally they left. ‘What the nurses and volunteers do for those kids is wonderful. They need to know they’re appreciated. We all need that, but what these people do really matters. It’s why I wanted to concentrate one programme a week on recognizing those who do things for others.’ She turned and smiled up into his face. ‘The soapbox goes everywhere with me.’

Laughing, he raised an arm to hail a passing taxi. ‘Where’re you going now?’ he asked, as the taxi pulled up.

She shrugged. ‘Home, I guess. Unless you’re free for dinner.’

‘I’m afraid not,’ he answered. ‘But I’ll take a rain check?’

‘OK.’ As she climbed into the taxi she was struggling with the disappointment that he’d said no more about Italy. Had he been free for dinner she might have returned to the subject herself, though to what end she couldn’t be sure, except maybe to hear him say that Shelley shouldn’t be a consideration. But even if he said it, Shelley still would be, so really there was no more to discuss, was there?

It was nine in the morning when Tessa rang Mark Reiner at his home in Eaton Square. ‘I waited three hours for you to call back last night,’ she told him.

‘I’m sorry, something came up.’

‘I know. It’s in the paper this morning, how you and Allyson visited the children’s hospital last night.’

He hadn’t seen the papers yet, but it didn’t surprise him. ‘What can I do for you?’ he said.

‘Your secretary tells me you’re going to Paris today.’

He waited.

‘When will you be back?’

‘Probably at the weekend.’

‘Great, because I’ve been invited to this charity dinner at the Inn on the Park next Thursday and I was hoping you’d come with me.’

‘I’m afraid that’s not possible. You should ask one of the directors to go with you, or a reporter.’

‘I’d prefer it to be you.’

He looked at his watch. ‘Tessa, I have to go,’ he said, ‘I’ve got a plane to catch.’

He put down the phone and walked along the hall to where he’d left his luggage, just inside the front door. He’d like to think he was wrong about this, and Tessa was being no more than a needy, slightly temperamental novice of an artiste. But if his suspicions were correct, and she had transferred her affections to him, then he was a very long way from being flattered. In fact, he was far closer to being angry and concerned, for it certainly hadn’t escaped his attention that her interest in him had neatly coincided with his in Allyson. Exactly what that meant he wasn’t yet sure, but he’d no doubt find out soon enough – just as Tessa Dukes would find out that he was no Bob Jaymes who responded to the tiresomely irrational whims of a teenage girl as though they were some kind of magic charm that was impossible to resist.

A week had gone by since Shelley had learned about the proposed programme in Italy, a week in which she had kept her distance from Allyson. She knew she should tell Allyson to go on the recce, that it was the only honourable course to take, but she just couldn’t make herself do it. To sidestep any attempts at confrontation, she made a great show of having far more pressing matters to deal with, which she did, for as the show’s editor she had eleven more programmes a month to get on the air than Allyson had. She was also still very much involved in Tessa’s progress as a presenter, which was why she was with her in her dressing room, late one afternoon, when Tessa took a call from Mark Reiner.

‘Oh, hi Mark,’ Tessa cried cheerfully. ‘How are you? Did you see the programme?’

Shelley couldn’t hear the response, but she saw the glow on Tessa’s face.

‘How was Paris?’ Tessa asked.

His reply was brief, because Tessa was talking again. ‘So when am I going to see you?’ she asked. ‘Tomorrow? That’s great. What time?’

Shelley continued to look at the script, slightly stunned by what she was hearing, if she was indeed reading it correctly. Surely Tessa Dukes wasn’t setting her sights on Mark Reiner? She suddenly turned cold as she remembered that was the precise phrase Bob had used when he’d told her Tessa had found someone else. But Mark Reiner? It didn’t sound very plausible, though Tessa was an odd fish and there was never any knowing what went on in her head. She had to be into self-delusion in a big way though if she thought she was going to get anywhere with Mark Reiner, for, Allyson aside, the man was just too sophisticated to be impressed by the likes of Tessa Dukes.

‘OK, well don’t forget to come and say hi to me,’ Tessa said, ‘I’ll pass you over to Shelley.’ She held out the phone. ‘Mark Reiner, for you.’

Shelley’s heart skipped a beat. This would be the first time they’d spoken since the day she’d all but begged him to see her, and she’d have preferred it not to be in front of Tessa. ‘Hello,’ she said coolly.

‘Shelley. I’d like to see you,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d come down there after the recording tomorrow. Will I catch you?’

‘Of course. Shall we roll out the red carpet? It’ll be your first visit.’

‘Keep it low-key. It’s a personal matter.’

After he’d rung off Shelley could feel an unsteady sensation swirling through her insides, then noticing that Tessa was watching her she picked up the script and said, ‘I think we’re finished here, don’t you?’

‘OK,’ Tessa answered. ‘But just before you go, did Allyson talk to you about the programme in Italy? The one Mark Reiner wants us to set in his hotel?’

‘Yes,’ Shelley answered. ‘What about it?’

Tessa shrugged. ‘I just wondered if we were going to be doing it.’

‘We’ve got the one in Austria to get through first. Is that all?’

Tessa nodded, then went to pick up the phone as it rang again.

Shelley returned to her office, slightly perturbed by Tessa, and extremely anxious about the personal matter Mark Reiner was coming here to discuss. She felt sure it was going to be about the programme in Italy, and she’d give almost anything to avoid it. However, she could be wrong, it could be about something else entirely, and knowing there was a danger she was going to drive herself crazy trying to guess what it could be, she tried to put it out of her mind.

However, by the time the next day’s recording began she’d been unable to stop herself exploring every conceivable possibility, from him inviting her to recce Ravello now that Allyson had turned him down, to him getting rid of her so he could hand the entire programme over to Allyson. The latter was nonsense of course, and she had no intention of subscribing to that kind of paranoia, though she had to admit that now the thought had entered her head …

But no, swinging back and forth between such sublime promise and destructive fear wasn’t only exhausting, it was degrading for a woman like her, who normally knew very well how to deal with men. And despite his apparent reluctance, and even attraction to Allyson, whilst on an upswing Shelley simply couldn’t be convinced that Mark Reiner’s interest in her was no more than the smoke of an extinguished candle.

After the recording she took advantage of Allyson’s absence in Austria by using her dressing room to touch up her make-up and change into something less formal than the suit she’d been in all day. It occurred to her, as she pulled on a pair of cream leather trousers and a black silk shirt, how much she would enjoy having sex with him, right here in Allyson’s dressing room. It would be a delicious payback, and a fabulously awkward spanner to throw into the works, should Allyson just happen to find out.

She was still enlarging on this particularly thrilling fantasy when Marvin rang to tell her Mark had arrived.

‘Could you show him down here?’ Shelley said.

Minutes later there was a knock on the door, and, with a calmness she was far from feeling, she called for him to come in.

‘Hi,’ she said, looking up from the pile of paperwork she’d provided herself with. ‘It’s usually noisy in the office straight after the recording, so I thought it would be easier for us to talk here. Did Marvin offer you some coffee?’

‘I’m OK,’ he said.

She waved him to a seat and wished she didn’t feel quite so uptight, or so desirous of pressing her body to his in order to attain the reassuring heat of his response. Smiling, she said, ‘So, you’re impressed with the way things are going?’

‘It certainly seems to be working,’ he answered. ‘The ratings didn’t go up any further this week, but the previous increase was good enough to sustain my confidence.’

She was picturing his long dark hair the way it was when it fell over his face during the vigorous throes of his lovemaking. ‘So Tessa was a good choice?’ she said.

‘Her novelty value appears to be paying off. The real test will come once that runs out.’

‘I think she’s good enough to keep it going. She gets better all the time.’

He didn’t argue with that, he simply took the conversation to where he wanted it to be. ‘Can I presume that Allyson’s spoken to you about the hotel in Ravello?’ he said.

As she nodded she could feel her insides tensing with a deeply unpleasant tightness. ‘It’s a good idea,’ she said mildly. ‘It should make an excellent programme.’

‘I’m glad you think so.’ He waited for her eyes to return to his. ‘I need to visit the hotel prior to its opening,’ he told her, ‘and I want to take Allyson with me. I think she’d come were she not afraid of upsetting you.’

Shelley could feel a slow paralysis creeping through her brain. Her smile had gone and the skin under her clothes cringed with the shame of rejection.

As though sensing how badly she’d taken it, his voice seemed much softer as he said, ‘This may be unnecessary, but I want you to know that I’m truly sorry if I led you to think there might be something between us. It wasn’t my intention, but I understand that you might have read it that way.’

Still she couldn’t speak. His chivalry in taking the blame, when she was the one who had done all the running, was making it so much worse.

He waited for a moment, then said, ‘I’d like you to tell Allyson that you don’t have a problem with her coming to Italy.’

The words were out before Shelley could stop them. ‘Has it crossed your mind that maybe she doesn’t want to go and she’s using me as an excuse?’ she snapped waspishly.

His eyes showed his regret that he was hurting her. ‘If she needed an excuse she’d have used her husband,’ he said.

‘From whom she is still very much on the rebound.’

‘I know.’ He got to his feet. ‘I hope when I next speak to Allyson she’ll tell me she’s coming to Ravello,’ he said.

Shelley remained where she was long after he’d gone, hot tears scalding her eyes, horrible emotions burning her heart. Of course she had no choice now but to tell Allyson she didn’t mind about Ravello. How clever of him to come here and ask, no, tell her in person. She couldn’t say no to that, could she? She couldn’t say no to anything, because if she did there was every chance she’d end up losing her job. And where would she be then, with no man, no best friend, and no Soirée? Oh God, she hated the world. Hated it. Hated it! And it was only by some miracle of supreme self-control that she stopped herself smashing the dressing room mirror in a fit of uncontrollable rage.

The sun was warm on her face, the breeze gentle in her hair as she stood on the balcony looking down over the clustered red rooftops of the villages below. They were surrounded by lushly ripening orange and lemon groves, that stepped down to the glittering sweep of an impossibly blue sea whose only movement seemed to be in the foam that swirled around the foot of the cliffs. Beside her, almost within reaching distance, were the proudly curved feathers of a tall, carefully tended palm; immediately behind her was the arched doorway that led back into her room, which was cool and airy, with white marble floors and elegant Italian antique furniture.

She’d always loved Italy, for its drama and romance, its artistry and its history, and as she stood there in the fresh morning air she was entranced by the feeling that in these next few days she was going to come to love it even more.

Her feet had barely had time to touch the ground from Austria before she’d taken off again to fly here. They’d arrived last night, in the dark, seeing little of the countryside as they’d driven down from Naples, and talked of previous experiences in Italy, but never of whom they’d been with. The general manager, Giovanni, and his wife had been waiting at the door of the magnificent rose-pink palazzo to greet them, making a big fuss of organizing their luggage, which had to be carried from a splendid courtyard along a narrow cobbled lane to the hotel’s front door. The smell of freshly applied paint assailed them as they walked in, along with the glossy, airy vision of an exquisite white marble floor, stark white walls, two polished mahogany reception desks and a new delivery of beautiful silk-upholstered sofas, in blues and creams and golds, that were yet to be arranged in the piano bar. This was at the foot of the marble steps that opened out of the lobby towards windows and a terrace that night had shrouded in darkness.

The recently appointed chef from Milan had prepared a light supper of baked sea bass and grilled vegetables, which they ate in the small staff dining room. Giovanni joined them and wasted no time in briefing Mark on the current state of affairs, which was fraught with typical Italian chaos, and some gloriously theatrical accounts of the tantrums being thrown by everyone from the landscaper to the interior designer. After a while Allyson left them to it, and followed Chiara, Giovanni’s wife, upstairs to her room. Everywhere there were gorgeous white arches, with rounded or pointed tops, gilt-framed mirrors, huge lustrous green palms and ferns still in their wrappings, ornate marble fountains yet to be filled and expertly restored antiques that ranged from elegant silk-upholstered chaises longues, to Renaissance-style cabinets containing alabaster and bronze sculptures.

Her room was one of the few that was ready, and though small, everything in it, from the all-white tiled bathroom with its gilt and brass fittings, to the pale lemon silk bedspread and dark walnut nightstands, bespoke an elegance of taste that could only have been acquired by hiring the most gifted designers. She was both pleased and disappointed to find she wasn’t sharing with Mark, for despite the yearnings of her body she doubted she’d have appreciated it if he had just assumed she would sleep with him.

Now, hearing a knock on the door, she went to open it and found a maid with a large tray of breakfast. In her broken English the maid said, ‘Mr Reiner say he will be joining you.’

Allyson stood aside and watched her lay the black wrought-iron table on the balcony and brush down the neutral-coloured chair paddings. The sun was bathing the terracotta tiled floor and rose-coloured walls and balustrades in a soft, crystalline light and the air was heavily scented with jasmine. When the maid left Allyson went quickly into the bathroom, brushed her teeth and slipped one of the thick white towelling robes over her pyjamas.

A sudden guilt smothered her tremors of anticipation. Shelley had sworn she didn’t mind, had insisted she come here, but Allyson knew her too well. She was hurting deeply. But when Allyson had tried to say sorry Shelley had backed away, insisting that she’d blown him up in her mind to be something he wasn’t, and that she was quite happy to let go. Allyson didn’t believe it, but she’d come anyway, and now she was wondering what kind of friend that made her.

The phone rang on the wall beside her.

‘Did the maid bring breakfast yet?’ he asked.

As her heart tightened her face broke into a smile, and she turned to the mirror as she said, ‘Yes.’

‘Then I’ll be right there.’

She hung up and took a breath to steady her nerves. Then she looked at herself again. She was probably imagining that the wretched lines around her eyes were fading, and the haunted look that had deadened her for months was now lit up with a radiance that made her want to laugh out loud. But who cared if she was imagining it, it was so wonderful to feel this alive again that she wasn’t going to deny it. And the added piquancy of desire, moving deliciously into her senses, was inciting the kind of reckless exuberance that made her skin glow and her heart race along with the fantasies of where the next few days would take them.

When he came he was dressed in casual chinos and a black open-necked polo shirt, and raised a droll eyebrow to find her still in pyjamas.

‘Good morning,’ she said, opening the door wide.

‘Good morning. Did you sleep well?’

‘Very.’ It felt so gloriously wicked and tempting being in the same room as him and a bed that it made her want to laugh. ‘Are you ready for coffee?’ she asked. ‘It’s outside.’

‘You pour. I need to make a quick call,’ he answered.

‘How do you take it?’ she asked, going out onto the balcony. For some reason she liked not knowing and having to ask.

‘Black. No sugar.’

She didn’t listen to the call, though guessed it was to his office. It would be absurd to wonder if it was to the mysterious woman who’d been mentioned in France, for he’d hardly be here with her if he was committed to somebody else. So she let that thought drift off towards the hazy horizon, and smiled happily to herself as she closed her eyes and listened to the church clocks all around the valley chiming out the half-hour.

When he joined her at the table he said, ‘I’ve asked the company publicists to fax over the provisional guest list. We can go through it while we’re here.’

‘Great.’ She passed him a coffee. ‘I’ve been having some thoughts on it, and I’ve left Justie and Zac making tentative enquiries to find out who’s free.’ Her eyes were drawn back to the spectacular view of mountains and sea. ‘I’ve got such a good feeling about this place,’ she said.

He was watching her with dark, humorous eyes, which made her laugh when she looked back at him.

‘Let’s just hope the paparazzi don’t find out we’re here,’ she said, ‘because the last thing we need is them chasing us about the place on those dangerous motorbikes, or climbing trees with their long lenses.’

‘We’ll only be here a couple of days,’ he said, breaking open a crusty roll, ‘so we should be safe. What’s on your agenda? I’ve arranged for a car and driver to take you around, by the way. Someone who knows the area and can give you all the information you need.’

‘You mean you won’t be coming with me?’ she protested.

He laughed. ‘Not every time. There are things here I have to attend to, designers to see, more staff to hire, papers to be signed, inspections to be completed. We’re about on schedule though, and Giovanni seems to have everything well in hand.’

‘So I can count on you for Pompeii and Capri?’

‘You can count on me,’ he grinned, then groaned as his cellphone rang.

It was Corinne, his assistant, with the messages that had come in overnight, then to take down his instructions on how to deal with them. He hadn’t finished the call before the phone rang inside the room. It was Chiara letting Allyson know that Domingo, her driver for the day, was ready when she was, and that there was a fax just coming through for Señor Reiner, which she’d send up to Allyson’s room.

An hour later, after a quick jacuzzi shower that did nothing to pummel any sobriety into her simmering state of excitement, she was walking along the cobbled lane with Mark to where the car was parked, in a small piazza in front of the church. He was going over the last-minute details on what she should see that morning, and where she should go, before meeting him down in the village’s main piazza for lunch – after which, if he could manage it, they’d go to Pompeii together.

‘What time shall we meet?’ she said, getting into the back of the Mercedes, and taking her straw hat and bag as he passed it in.

‘One. Did you remember your camera?’

‘It’s in my bag. By the way, do you speak Italian?’

‘Un peu,’ he answered, making her laugh. ‘How about you?’

She pulled a face.

‘Domingo’ll take care of you.’

He closed the door, then after a few words with the rotundly cheerful Domingo, he stood aside for them to begin the dangerous reverse back to the main road.

They began with a tour of the surrounding countryside, so that Allyson could search out some vantage points that would offer the best exterior shots of the hotel, and the ancient hilltop village that overlooked so much staggering beauty. She clicked away happily with her camera, hoping that the weather was going to be this gracious when they came to shoot, for though there was no great heat to the sun, its quality was so mistily beautiful as it streamed through the orange and lemon groves and bathed the ancient village walls in a glistening treacle of light that she could almost feel the cameraman’s excitement.

They returned to the small church piazza around eleven, and walked along past the hotel, down through the narrow, steeply sloping streets that led to the main square where tables and chairs were set up outside the cafés, and small tourist shops spilled their wares out onto the street. The magnificent duomo with its wide sweeping steps and decorated façade dominated the piazza, and the ancient stone arch and clock tower set at an angle beside it looked so inviting that she couldn’t decide whether to go and explore what was beyond straight away, or to wait for Mark to go with her.

In the end she got caught up in browsing through the garishly painted ceramics for sale, and the cleverly shaped lemon liqueur bottles that ranged from stars, to trumpets, to cottagey houses and thin, elegant pyramids. All the time she was scribbling notes, taking more photographs and then finally she drifted in through the arch under the clock tower, which turned out to be the entrance to the magnificent Rufolo gardens with their historic villa and glorious flowers and fountains. After taking her time to look around, she parked herself on a bench overlooking the sea, and, surrounded by vividly blooming flowers and exotic shrubs, she began working out a schedule for the programme. Happy Hour she’d already decided would be in the hotel’s piano bar. The filmed insert would be either Pompeii or Capri, she’d know once she’d done the recces. And the Night Cap could be done in the gorgeous little alcove she’d discovered here in the gardens which had a small fountain at the centre, lush green plants all around it and ancient circular stone walls protecting it. Would that give enough exposure to the hotel? She thought so, since the locale was every bit as important when it came to appeal, and stunning though the hotel was, and packed with facilities, no-one came on holiday without wanting to visit the historical sites or beaches nearby.

‘Did you know,’ she said to Mark later, as a waiter set two chilled glasses of local wine on the pink tablecloth between them, ‘that Wagner got his inspiration to write the music for Parsifal here, in Ravello? And there’s a Wagner festival every July? Do you like opera?’

‘Occasionally,’ he answered, taking the menus from the waiter.

‘We should use some extracts from Parsifal in the programme,’ she decided, giving a little wave to an elderly couple as they came into the umbrella-ed shade of the terrace. ‘So what have you been doing this morning?’

He grimaced. ‘Definitely not having as much fun as you,’ he responded. ‘We’ve just fired the chef and I had to wake Nick up in the middle of the night to tell him some of the rooms are too small.’

Her eyes rounded. ‘The chef first,’ she said.

‘What we had last night wasn’t up to standard,’ he explained.

‘But it was only a snack.’

He merely looked at her, allowing his silence to state the standards of excellence.

‘OK,’ she laughed. ‘So why did you have to wake Nick up? Couldn’t it have waited until he’d had breakfast?’

‘Sure, but waking him up presses home the importance. There’s nothing to be done now, but next winter there’ll have to be some major renovation, which will leave us with less rooms, but enough space for the average American giant to get in through the bathroom door. And believe me, at the prices we’ll be charging, we’re going to need to accommodate the Americans.’

Laughing again, she opened the menu and took a sip of wine. ‘What are you going to eat?’ she asked a few minutes later.

‘Spinach ravioli,’ he answered. ‘You?’

‘Parma ham and mozzarella.’

After they’d ordered they carried on discussing the hotel, then moved on to the programme, concentrating mainly on the logistics, as well as the cost, of getting so many names over to Italy.

‘The best answer,’ he said, as their food arrived, ‘is to charter a plane. And before you start reminding me about your budget, I’ll get the company publicists to cover travel expenses with theirs. I guess the crew will fly out a day early to get everything set up?’

She nodded, and ordered two more glasses of wine before the waiter went away. ‘You’d better organize for the interior designers to be on hand while they’re doing that, just to make sure everyone’s aware of what is and isn’t valuable. I’ll check out the storage and recording space while I’m here. Did you find out if Nick and Claudia are going to be able to come?’

‘It’s not looking likely, but things could change.’

As they ate their conversation meandered away from the programme, moving easily from one subject to another as they made each other laugh with all manner of stories, and, for Allyson, this journey of discovery into his character was so fascinating and exhilarating she could have continued it all day. It had been over twenty years since she’d last got to know a man this way, and there was so much she wanted to know about Mark Reiner that, in the end, he laughingly held up his hands, saying, ‘I refuse to believe I’m as interesting as you’re making me feel, so stop before it goes to my head.’

Laughing, she finished up her salad and reached for her empty glass.

‘More wine?’ he offered.

‘Oh God, I’d love more wine, but if I do I’ll never make it through the rest of the day.’

A teasing light came into his eyes. ‘This is Italy, siestas are permissible,’ he reminded her.

‘Permissible?’ she said, tilting her head to one side, and feeling glad that was the only response he could see. ‘I thought they were obligatory.’

The way he looked at her then caused her heart to float in the dizzying flirtation, while all kinds of sensations started igniting elsewhere in her body.

‘Nothing’s obligatory,’ he said.

She smiled and was trying desperately to think of a suitable double entendre when his cellphone abruptly rang, and rescued her from the brink of potential disaster.

She watched him as he listened to the voice at the other end. ‘That’s great,’ he said, starting to laugh. ‘Do it.’ He paused again and looked out across the square, giving Allyson the impression he was avoiding her eyes. ‘OK, I’ll see you when I get back,’ he said. ‘Mmm. Me too,’ and he rang off.

Resisting the urge to ask who it was, Allyson ordered a cappuccino and picked up her notes. ‘You know, I was thinking,’ she said, ‘this is going to be a pretty special kind of programme, and it seems, well, a bit exclusive and not very generous to keep it to ourselves. So maybe we should invite everyone else on the programme too. Obviously they’re not all going to be able to come, and they’re not all going to be able to stay at the hotel, but they do work incredibly hard and this could be a way of, well,’ she shrugged, ‘showing them they’re appreciated.’

He was nodding as he mulled it over. Then finishing his wine he said, ‘I’ll leave that one with you and your budget. Oh God, here come the roses,’ he groaned, as a pretty little gypsy girl came waltzing towards them with a basket of blooms.

‘I’ll take six,’ Allyson said, smiling at the girl.

The girl looked confused.

‘Sei,’ Mark translated, digging into his pocket.

‘I’ll get lunch,’ Allyson offered, ‘but you’ll have to lend me the money, because I didn’t find a bank on my morning travels.’

Laughing, he handed the gypsy girl a wad of lire, then signalled the waiter for the bill. When they were ready they walked back up to the hotel, dropped off the roses, then he drove them himself to Pompeii.

By the time they got there Allyson could have wished he’d dropped off his cellphone too, but she wasn’t going to let the constant interruptions spoil the experience, for she’d long wanted to visit this historical site and as they left the car and began walking towards the crumbling walls and damaged pillars that edged the tragic town, she could almost hear the silent echoes of terror that seemed to reverberate down through the centuries.

A gentle breeze carried the rank, earthy smell to her senses as they strolled along the worn cobbled roads and walkways, tramping the journey that nineteen centuries ago had been so carelessly and routinely taken by a people that were to meet such a terrible end. They walked through the ruined basilica, the central baths, the Samnite gymnasium and stopped at what had once been the majestic Temple of Apollo, where she allowed her eyes to travel slowly over the devastated majesty. A bronze statue of the god himself, now green with age, stood in front of an amazingly preserved portico and faced a bust of Diana across the weeded and dusty forum that had probably once been covered by marble or limestone. Worn steps rose from a travertine stone altar to aged marble pillars that now supported nothing, and a dais that was currently home to a museum glass case containing the grisly, fossilized remains of a human being whose bared, two-thousand-year-old teeth were in immaculate condition, and showed the agony of fear in his dying moments. It was moving in the extreme, and made her shudder with revulsion and horror at the way the hot ash had so well preserved such a private and perilous hour.

After a while they walked on, down what had once been a busy market street that still bore evidence of the trading and even the graffiti and advertising that were splashed in perspex-covered colour on the decaying walls. From there they wandered into the narrow residential streets where the remnants of two- and three-storey houses, all carefully dug from the smothering debris of the volcano’s eruption, stood deserted and shell-like, seeming somehow bewildered by the loss of enlivening crowds.

‘Look here,’ Mark said, drawing her over to a comparatively vivid wall painting. In the fading colours they managed to make out two children playing, some ancient script, and what seemed to be the feet of a galloping horse. Allyson looked around the dusty, dark room and stairway and tried to picture the family that had once lived there. Had they escaped, she wondered, or had they perished while attempting to flee the savage outpouring of molten lava and flaming rock?

They walked on, along the narrow streets with their raised stone crossings and deeply etched grooves that had once kept wooden carts on track. It was so peaceful and redolent of the burial ground it actually was. Yet it was somehow sinister too, in its reminder of the frailty and impermanence of human life.

‘You know, I had a past-life regression once,’ Allyson said, as she stopped to get a shot of the fearsome slopes of Vesuvius that towered over the town. Clouds of grey smoke puffed idly from its crater, a deceptively benign show from the madly boiling depths of the interior. ‘I did it for the programme.’

‘Oh?’ Mark said, settling comfortably on a bench and stretching out his long legs. ‘Did it work?’

‘Oh yes,’ she answered, coming to sit next to him. ‘It was amazing. It was like I was here, living that life all over again.’

‘You were here? In Pompeii?’ he said, surprised.

She nodded. ‘At the end, I was,’ she said. ‘It’s where I died, or, as they say, left that particular life.’

He glanced at her, waiting for her to go on.

‘I was a dancing girl,’ she said. ‘In Rome. I danced for the Emperor Titus. I was also his mistress.’

He looked at her again, apparently not sure whether he should be believing this or not.

‘My family lived in Pompeii,’ she went on. ‘My brother and two sisters. I was bringing them money and trying to persuade them to leave the town when the mountain exploded. Everyone knew it would explode, it had been rumbling and spewing out lava and rocks for days, but my family were amongst those who wouldn’t leave. And then it was too late. We tried to run, but …’ She paused for a moment, then said, ‘After I died, when I left my body, I could see the Emperor Titus in his palace in Rome, and do you know the most remarkable thing?’ Her eyes were trained straight ahead, but appeared to be seeing nothing of what was in front of her. ‘He looked exactly like you.’

Mark blinked, looked at her incredulously, then, instinctively knowing he was being had, he said, ‘So that’s what happened to you! I always wondered. You were a great mistress, but boy were you a lousy dancer.’

Allyson burst out laughing at the way he’d managed to get the last word, then picking up her camera and guidebook she walked on towards the Amphitheatre and Palestra Grande.

By the time they started back to the hotel it was already getting dark, and the effects of the Campari they stopped for en route were making her yawn as she said, ‘I’m thinking about dressing up Tessa and a couple of actors and recreating a street scene for the film insert. I’ll have to look into the cost.’

‘What about Titus and his dancing girl?’

She grinned. ‘What about them?’

‘Well, if you can improve on your act, I don’t mind stepping in to become the man I once was.’

A teasing light shot to her eyes. ‘Sounds more like a scene for siesta,’ she commented.

His eyebrows made a sardonic arch. ‘Now you’re talking,’ he responded.

Laughing, she rested her head against the back of the car seat and turned to look at her reflection in the window while allowing herself the heady delight of imagining where the evening might end. He surely had to know by now how willing she was to make love, that even sitting here like this was turning into an impossible feat of self-control, for her hands were longing to touch him and her lips were actually parting in a breathy anticipation of his pressing against them. Her heart turned over at the thought of his tongue entering her mouth, then his hands were blazing a trail over her breasts, his urgency was matching hers … The potency of the fantasy was so intense she actually moaned aloud and had to cover it quickly with a cough. She turned to look at his profile in the shadowy darkness and wondered if she should tell him what she wanted, or if she should wait for him to tell her?

Shelley regarded the outside of the pub and wondered what artless soul had named it the Romeo and Juliet. Garish coloured bulbs burned around the lavender window frames and though it was hard to tell in the darkness she was sure the jazzy brickwork was painted lime green. Not the kind of place she would normally be seen in, but when needs must …

Leaving the relative safety of her car, she locked and alarmed it, then blown about by a chafing wind she ran across the deserted South London street, towards the stained-glass doors. Warmth, and the smell of beer, assailed her as she walked in, along with the latest sound from a rock band she’d probably heard of, but wasn’t in the least bit interested in identifying. She looked around the dimly lit room which was a large, irregular oval, with triangular-shaped tables and chairs, and very few people. The bar was an island of tawdriness, with mock Shakespearean props, and posters of Gwyneth Paltrow and Joseph Fiennes plastered to the pumps.

Spotting the very person she was looking for, alone in a dark corner, she skirted a couple of budding Eric Bristows and headed towards him.

‘How did you find me?’ Bob said, looking up as she reached the table.

Shelley sat down and unfastened her coat. ‘It wasn’t hard,’ she said, lowering her voice as the music stopped. ‘I had Tessa’s old address, and there aren’t too many pubs in the area. I got you on my third attempt. What are you drinking?’

‘Coke.’

She looked impressed. ‘So you’re managing to stay off it.’

‘I wasn’t an alcoholic. I drank to …’

Shelley looked up from her bag. ‘It’s OK,’ she said, ‘you’re not the first man to hide from himself inside a bottle. What are you doing about a job?’

‘I’ve done a couple of pieces for one of the tabloids. Other than that I can’t get arrested.’

‘But you did,’ she reminded him.

He eyed her nastily. ‘What do you want?’ he growled.

‘Apart from a vodka tonic, I want to talk to you. Don’t worry, I’ll get it.’

He watched her at the bar, too depressed to notice the way she turned heads. Maybe he should have left Allyson for her, he wouldn’t be in the mess he was in now if he had.

‘So,’ she said, sitting down again, ‘you’ve been on my mind quite a bit since you came to see me, which is why I came to flush you out.’

‘Am I supposed to feel honoured?’

‘If you like.’ She slipped her wallet inside her slim leather bag, then picked up her drink. ‘Would I be right in thinking you’d go back to Allyson if you could?’ she said, coming straight to the point.

‘I’d go back to a lot of things if I could,’ he snarled. ‘Even you.’

She gave a mild flicker of her eyebrows and waited for him to swallow his venom. Then inwardly she smiled as he said, ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because I don’t think I played fair with you when you came to see me. Not that I care about you, you understand, but I do care about Allyson. And if I led you to think she wouldn’t take you back, then I’m sorry, because the truth is, I think she would. It’s going to take some working at, but despite what a stupid, insensitive, moronic bastard you are, I believe in her heart she still loves you.’

He was shaking his head. ‘I think there’s a much bigger chance she hates my guts,’ he said.

‘No. She doesn’t hate you. She’s just angry with you. If she hates anyone, it’s Tessa.’

‘She’s not the only one,’ he snarled. ‘What I wouldn’t like to do to that bitch for the way she’s screwed up my life.’

Shelley said nothing. It was typical of the Bobs of this world to absolve themselves of all responsibility, and blame the woman for their own spineless behaviour. ‘I think you should try talking to Allyson,’ she said after a pause.

He didn’t look convinced. ‘How can I? I’m still having to communicate through her lawyer.’

‘Because she’s protecting herself. You hurt her badly, surely you realize that, so you can’t blame her for putting up a defence.’

‘So what are you suggesting I do?’

‘Tell her you still love her, and ask her to forgive you. You might have to do it through the lawyer, but you know Allyson as well as I do. She’s got a very forgiving nature and despite outward appearances, I’m telling you she’s falling apart without you.’

‘What about Mark Reiner? I wouldn’t call seeing him falling apart without me.’

Shelley took a sip of her drink. ‘It’s all a front,’ she said, taking a chance he didn’t know Allyson was in Italy right now. The press hadn’t found out, so she couldn’t see how he would either. ‘She’s doing it to make you jealous.’

She watched him mull that over for a while and was about to speak again when he said, ‘Why don’t you tell her you’ve seen me and talk to her for me?’

‘Because then I’d have to admit I betrayed her confidence.’

He reached for his glass but didn’t pick it up.

‘Bob, look at yourself,’ she said, keeping her voice low and full of feeling. ‘You’re a mess and you know it. You’ve got no money, no job, no real home to go to. So don’t you think your pride’s a bit out of place? And that’s all that’s stopping you, isn’t it? You couldn’t stand it if she rejected you. But she won’t. You’re her husband. You’ve been the biggest part of her life for so long that the truth is, she’s lost without you. Like you are without her. You belong together, you two, and you know it.’

His upper lip curled in a snarl. ‘What’s in this for you, Shelley?’ he demanded. ‘You never do anything without there being something in it for you.’

Her lovely eyes narrowed as she regarded him, seeming to weigh up how much she should tell him. In the end she said, ‘All right, to be blunt, I’ve got three programmes a week to get out, with an increased workload since the international theme started, and I can’t go on carrying Allyson. That’s one reason. The other is, she genuinely does love you, though you sure as hell don’t deserve it. And I think these past few months have shown you just how much you love her too.’

He looked despondently down at his Coke.

‘You just lost sight of it for a while,’ she said comfortingly. ‘It happens to most of us. So think about it. Work out what you’re going to say and then contact her lawyer. Perhaps then you can both get on with your lives.’

After finishing his drink he put his glass back on the table and stared at it.

‘Come on,’ she said in the end. ‘Let’s get out of here and find a good restaurant. I’ll bet you can’t remember the last time you had a decent meal.’

‘You’re right, I can’t. And I never thought you’d be providing me with the next one.’

She laughed. ‘You see, Bob, you really never know who your friends are. Do you?’

By the time she dropped him back at his crummy little pad, much later that evening, fed and with some money in his pocket, she knew she’d successfully convinced him that he really did stand a chance of winning Allyson back. In fact Shelley was certain he would, because, knowing Allyson as well as she did, there was no doubt in her mind that nineteen years of marriage was going to mean a whole lot more to Allyson than a few heady days in Italy, however romantic they might be. And Shelley couldn’t even be persuaded they’d be that romantic, for when it came right down to it, Allyson, who’d never slept with anyone but Bob, just didn’t have what it took to satisfy a man like Mark Reiner.

‘Stand over there. No, not there. There,’ Mark said, trying to get Allyson in the right spot to be photographed outside Capri’s beautiful baroque cathedral, which sat at the heart of the entrancing leafy square with all its colourful cafés and bistros.

‘Are you trying to get it so that campanile is sticking out of my head?’ she accused.

He laughed. ‘Just take a step to your left. OK, that’s it! Now, smile!’

‘Smile!’ she scoffed. ‘Can’t you be more original than that?’

Mark lowered the camera and glared at her.

‘OK, OK,’ she cried. ‘I’m smiling.’

He took the picture, then turning the camera towards the vast, glittering expanse of the Mediterranean with Sorrento in the background, he took another.

‘Mm,’ she murmured, inhaling deeply of the wonderful spring blossom that was wafting from the trees. When she opened her eyes it was to find him watching her with that lazy, gently mocking humour she was coming to know so well. In its way it seemed to suggest he wanted to kiss her, yet he never did. Not even last night, when he’d walked her to her door and stood so close she could almost feel herself moving into him. But he had merely said goodnight, then waited for her to go into her room, before going off to his.

‘Do you want to go see Anacapri?’ he said, as she watched the funicular, stuffed with tourists, rising up over the cliffs from the harbour to the town.

‘Sure,’ she answered, and stepped jauntily back into the rear of their fantastic red open-topped taxi, a perfect relic from the Fifties that made her feel like Grace Kelly meandering around the steep winding roads with Clark Gable – or better still with Mark Reiner, whose bare, tanned legs and taut muscles were creating all kinds of havoc in the realms of bodily desire. She truly couldn’t remember ever feeling so turned on by a man before, though she realized that it was probably his casual acceptance of nothing physical that was inciting her to such an unprecedented pitch of lust. And as they were chauffeured through the lazy, but dazzling beauty of the island’s glossy white villas, towering green palms and spectacular views of the glittering blue sea and enticing coves, she was allowing herself to indulge in a fantasy so unspeakably erotic that it actually made her blush when she looked at him. Worse still, as he handed her out of the car, was the uncanny feeling she had that he was reading her mind. If he was, then she could feel only dismay that he continued to hold back, except of course they were a long way from the hotel and her visions didn’t include anything as tawdry as a quick tussle in the bushes; and even if they did she still had to wonder if the power of what was happening to her was driven by a need to get her own back on Bob. She didn’t think it was, but in all honesty, while she was so clouded by these glorious feelings of lust that were being met by intolerable frustration, it was impossible to know anything for certain.

They roamed around the small town of Anacapri, inspecting the endless T-shirt and shoe shops and stopping for coffee at a café overlooking the rather ordinary piazza.

‘I don’t think this island is going to work for the programme,’ she said, stirring the chocolate-covered froth of a cappuccino into the milky coffee. ‘Most of it’s stunningly beautiful, but it’ll take too long to get here, and the budget won’t stretch.’

Nodding, he said, ‘I guessed you might decide that, but it was worth coming, just to make sure.’

‘Of course,’ she responded. Then smiling she added, ‘I’m having a wonderful time. I feel as though we’re on holiday, don’t you?’

His eyes were dancing, but he only looked past her as their driver approached the table and asked what they would like to do next.

Mark looked at Allyson, and to her horror she felt her cheeks start to burn. Yes, that was what she wanted to do next, but surely she hadn’t said it aloud.

‘Maybe we go take a look at where Tiberius fling his wife over the cliff,’ the driver suggested with a grin.

‘No,’ Mark said, still looking at Allyson, ‘I think you can take us back to the ferry now.’

It was already dark by the time the ferry sailed into the harbour at Amalfi. They were leaning against the deck rail, huddled warmly in the sweaters they’d thought to take with them and gazing out at the glittering lights that shimmered like fireflies at the foot of the hillside. She was so aware of him standing there, right beside her, and so tensed by the desire that seemed to jolt like electricity between them, that she almost gasped when he slipped an arm around her and pulled her in closer.

For a moment she was rigid. Then she turned to look up at him, her hair blowing in the wind, the taste of the sea on her lips. He lowered his eyes to hers and gazed deeply into them. With all her might she willed him to kiss her. But he only brushed the hair from her face and hugged her.

They drove back to the hotel in silence, taking the dark, winding roads at a speed that made her urgency feel like a world-class sprinter in a race against no-one. He seemed in no rush to get there, and she wondered what would happen when they did. Tonight was their last before they returned to London in the morning, and she just couldn’t bear the idea of leaving without knowing what it was to make love with him.

When they got back Giovanni gave them their faxes and messages then went off to bed. Allyson’s were all from Zac and Justine, and Mark’s were from heaven only knew who. As they walked upstairs she resolved to tell him what she wanted. It just wasn’t something she could keep hidden any longer, and if she ended up making a fool of herself, then so be it.

When they reached her door he unlocked it for her, and she took a moment to summon her courage, before lifting her head to look into his eyes. ‘Mark,’ she said.

He raised a hand to her face, brushing his thumb over her lips. ‘Are you sure?’ he whispered.

‘I’ll go mad if you don’t,’ she answered.

As he continued to look at her, she drew his thumb into her mouth. The symbolic meaning of what she was doing inflamed them both, and suddenly his lips were on hers and he was pulling her to him with all the force she had longed for.

He took her into the room, closed the door and pulled her to him again. His mouth was tender and probing, commanding and harsh. He kissed her neck, and she unbuttoned her dress, letting it fall to the floor, then unhooked her bra. He slipped it down over her arms, then smoothed her surprisingly full breasts with his hands, teasing their tight, rosy nipples and watching the desire cloud her eyes. Then he undressed her completely and ran his hands all over her nudity in a way that almost sent her out of her mind with longing. She watched his face and felt the electric force of desire pulsing through her. And when he dropped to his knees and kissed her all the way down to her pubic hair, she felt the breathless might of exquisite, impelling sensations rushing her to a point where she cried out at the insistent mastery of his tongue.

The bed was just behind her and pushing her back he stood over her, looking at her, as he undressed himself. He lay down with her, pulling her to him and feeling her fingers grip the solid stem of his erection. The tenderness he felt curled through his heart, and was belied by the urgency of his need. He sensed the biting power of the need in her too and knew that whatever the truth of her feelings, in this moment she was his.

She lay over him and pushed her tongue between his lips. Her small body was light on his chest, her legs were open. He pushed himself into her, afraid he would be too big for her. Then his eyes closed as she sat up to take him fully. He watched her as she rode him, his eyes moving between her face and where their bodies were joined. He held her hands, entwining her fingers. Then feeling the mounting pressure inside her, he rolled her onto her back and entered her again.

She gripped his shoulders and stared up at his face. Then, as he looked at her too, she seemed to lose all sense of where and who she was as he began moving his hips in a way that touched every part of her, bathing her in sensations that were almost too powerful to bear.

‘Oh my God, my God,’ she murmured.

He drew her lips between his, then pushed his tongue into her mouth as he moved himself inside her with a rhythm and a force she could hardly bear. She felt so full of him, so overpowered and enrapt by him. He moved with exquisite slowness, then speed, with such expert knowledge of when she was at the brink, only to bring her back and exploit her again in a torrent of unbearable pleasure. Time and time again he took her to the point where she felt her entire body might explode with the ecstasy. She wanted to scream, to rage, to draw him in tighter and make him feel the immaculate pain he was inflicting on her senses, but she was so lost to anything beyond what he was doing, she could only cling to him and beg him for more, and yet more.

Then at last he let her fly, and as the climactic rush soared through him too he pressed his mouth needfully to hers, wanting her cries inside him as he was inside her.

They continued to hold each other long after their heartbeats were calm. Only their faces were apart, so that they could gaze into each other’s eyes. Though he said nothing he knew it was love that he felt for this woman, who was still so injured inside that she might be his for only one night.