Swept Away!: Accidentally Expecting! / Salzano's Captive Bride / Hawaiian Sunset, Dream Proposal. Lucy GordonЧитать онлайн книгу.
Champagne had arrived and he turned to lift two glasses, one of which he handed to Ferne, saying, ‘It’s all settled, then. Here’s to our reunion!’
A young girl detached herself from the swooning crowd on the beach and asked him for an autograph, handing him her lipstick so that he could write his name on her back. Beaming, he obliged, then gave Ferne a questioning look.
‘No camera today? Not like you.’
‘I left it in the hotel.’
‘You? The lady who never moves without her camera? Well, well.’
His look was heavily significant, clearly meant to recall the last time she had turned her camera on him. She faced him back, her eyes full of anger.
Dante watched them and said nothing.
Having established the scene, Sandor didn’t linger over the champagne. Indicating the crowd, he said modestly, ‘You see how it is—wherever I go. I’ll leave now, and see you at the villa this evening.’
He strode away, pursued by adoring fans, plus Gino.
‘So that’s him,’ Dante said. ‘He’s exactly as you said, except worse.’
‘I don’t know what’s going on here,’ she said wildly. ‘When we last met, he couldn’t find words bad enough for me.’
‘But that was three months ago, and he did pretty well out of it. He’s a bigger star now than he was before, thanks to you. So clearly he wants to shower you with his favours. Tonight you’ll be his honoured companion.’
‘Are you trying to be funny?’ she asked stormily. ‘Do you think that’s what I want?’
He gave a strange smile. ‘Let’s say I’m interested to find out. I didn’t mean to offend you. Let’s get going.’
It was late afternoon when they reached the Palazzo Tirelli, a magnificent edifice. Grander still were the ruins that lay nearby, dating back nearly two-thousand years. Ferne could just make out a film crew looking them over, making notes, rehearsing shots.
Gino came to meet them and show them over the place with its long, wide corridors and stone arches. In every room he was able to describe some notable historical episode, which sounded impressive until she saw Dante shaking his head.
Their rooms turned out to be on different corridors, the only ones left, according to Gino. His manner was awkward, and Ferne guessed he was acting on instruction.
At supper she was seated next to Sandor, with Dante on the opposite side of the table several feet down. There were about fifty people at the long table, most of them film crew and actors. Everyone was dressed up to the nines, making her glad she’d chosen the softly glamorous dress of honey-coloured satin that paid tribute to her curves, yet whose neckline was high enough to be tantalising.
‘Beautiful,’ Sandor murmured. ‘But why aren’t you wearing that gold necklace I gave you? It would go perfectly with that dress.’
‘I’m afraid I’d forgotten it,’ she said.
His self-assured smile made her want to thump him. She glanced down the table to see how Dante was taking it, but he wasn’t looking at her.
He was having a good evening. Dinner jacket and bow-tie suited him, as the ladies nearby made clear. Ferne would have signalled her admiration if she’d been able to catch his eye, but he seemed happy with the full-bosomed creature who was laughing so uproariously at his jokes, that her attractions wobbled violently in a way that Ferne thought extremely inappropriate.
For a moment, she was nostalgic for Dante’s jokes; sharing laughter with a man brought a special closeness. It was something she’d never known with Sandor, and it meant that she was always on Dante’s wavelength, always inhabiting his world, even when they were bickering. In fact, the very bickering was a sign of that closeness, because they could always trust each other to understand.
As Dante had predicted, Sandor treated her as his honoured guest.
‘I owe you so much, Ferne. If it hadn’t been for what you did for me, I’d never have got the next step up.’
‘That’s not what you said at the time,’ she observed wryly.
‘I didn’t appreciate your skill in turning a difficult situation into something that would benefit me.’
She stared at him, wondering how she’d ever taken this conceited booby seriously.
‘Sandor, what are you after?’ she demanded.
He regarded her soulfully. ‘Destiny works in mysterious ways. We were fated to meet on that beach. Everyone was staggered by those pictures you took of me. Between us, we produced something of genius, and I think we could be geniuses again.’
She stared at him in outrage. ‘You want me to…?’
‘Take some more, as only you can. We’ll go out to the ruins, and you tell me exactly how you want me to pose. I’ve been working out in the gym.’
‘And I’m sure you’re as fit and perfect as ever.’
‘What did you think when you saw me today?’ he asked eagerly.
It would have been impossible to tell him the truth, which was that he had seemed ‘too much’, because her ideal was now Dante’s lithe frame.
To her relief, the maid appeared to change the plates for the next course. For the rest of the meal she concentrated on the elderly woman on her other side.
Afterwards the great doors were opened onto the garden, where coloured lights hung between the trees. People began to drift out to stroll beneath the moon. Sandor drew Ferne’s arm through his.
The crowd congregated near the ruins, where blazing lights had been switched on, illuminating them up to the sky. The director, an amiable man called Rab Beswick, hailed Sandor.
‘I like this place more every time I see it,’ he said. ‘Just think what we can make of these…’ He indicated several walls, some of which stood at right angles to each other with connecting balconies.
‘Just the right place to make a speech,’ came a voice behind them.
It was Dante, appearing from nowhere.
‘Antony was known for his ability to make the right speech at the right time,’ he said. ‘And his genius for picking the place that would be most effective.’
The director looked at him with awe.
‘Hey, you’re Italian,’ he said, as though nothing could be stranger than finding an Italian in Italy. ‘Are you an expert about this?’
‘I’ve made a particular study of Marc Antony,’ Dante said.
‘Well, I’d be glad of anything you could tell me.’
‘Let’s not get carried away,’ Sandor interrupted peevishly. ‘This film isn’t meant to be an historical treatise.’
‘Certainly not,’ Dante said suavely. ‘Its selling point will be the personal charms of Signor Jayley.’
From somewhere there was a smothered choke. Sandor turned furious eyes in a vain attempt to detect who was making fun of him. Unable to locate a suspect, he turned back to Dante.
Which was what Dante had intended, Ferne thought. Whatever was he up to?
‘Height is always effective,’ Dante continued smoothly. ‘If Antony was to make a great speech up there, silhouetted against the sky—’
‘That’s not in the script,’ Sandor said at once.
‘But it could be written in,’ Dante pointed out. ‘I’m not, of course, suggesting that you yourself should go up there. That would be far too dangerous, and naturally the film company won’t want to risk their star. A double could be used for the long shot.’