Catherine George - Brief Encounter.pdf - Catherine George - SilverWitch

BRIEF ENCOUNTER

CATHERINE GEORGE

MILLS & BOON LIMITED

ETON HOUSE,18-24 PARADISE ROAD

RICHMOND, SURREY TW91 SR

CHAPTER ONE.

The entrance hall of the Villa Bellagio was a highceilinged room with

thin rugs on gleaming wood floors, exquisite wall frescoes and

chandeliers like great bouquets of fragile blossom fashioned from

Venetian glass. Silver-framed photographs of distinguished visitors to

the hotel stood on a grand piano in the corner, old, fragile porcelain

gleamed from glass cases, and sunshine warm and gold as honey poured

through glass doors open to a shady garden where a swimming pool

glittered like a jewel in its setting of sheltering evergreens.

But the most recent arrival at the hotel had no eyes for the beauty of

her surroundings. She stared at the receptionist in disbelief.

"My sister isn't here?"

"I regret not, sigriora : The receptionist smiled a little uneasily, and

handed over a letter from one of the pigeonholes on the wall behind her.

"Sophie left this for you, Miss. Maitland. When you have read it the

porter will escort you to your room."

Olivia opened the letter with foreboding, cold dismay hidden behind her

large sunglasses as she read Sophie's familiar scrawl.

Darling Liv, don't be angry with me for standing you up. It's only for

a day or two until you get to Pordenone. I had the chance of a little

holiday with my friend Andrea so I grabbed it. I know it means leaving

you on your own for a day or two until you get to the Villa Nerone, but

you do thingsqlike that all the time in your work anyway, and I've given

strict instructions to everyone at the Bellagio to look after you,

arrange a trip to Venice-anything you want. So till Saturday, ciao,

cara, lots of love, Sophie.

Olivia put the note away, managed a smile for the handsome young man

waiting with her luggage, then followed him from the hall through the

open doors, skirting the garden and 'the pool as they made for a

colonnade with stone arches open to the garden on one side, a two-storey

row of bedrooms on the other. Sophie's absence had come as such a shock

that Olivia felt suddenly weary as she climbed a flight of smooth stone

steps to the upper floor. The porter ushered her into a large, pretty

bedroom with a view of the pool from its trio of windows, told her tea

was available at one of the tables on the terrace, then smiled with

pleasure in response to her generous tip. Olivia closed the door behind

him, stared abstractedly at the delightful vista of pool and gardens for

a moment or two, then told herself t9 snap out of it. Sophie was no

longer a child. And from her letter she was obviously well and happy,

and would be in Pordenone in less than forty-eight hours. So for the

time being the obvious thing was to get on with the job and note down

first impressions of the Villa Bellagio.

In her capacity as a senior tour consultant for a specialist travel

agency, Olivia was on an expenses paid research trip to three hotels in

Northern Italy. This afternoon she'd arrived at Marco Polo airport in

Venice, picked up the car hired in advance from London, and driven from

Venice on the Treviso road to make her first stop at the Villa Bellagio,

where her sister was working as a receptionist during her summer

vacation from university. Sophie was reading French and Italian, and

had suggested the Bellagio to Olivia as perfect for the discerning

traveller, as well as for a little get together for the two sisters. Too

bad one of us preferred to take off with someone else instead, thought

Olivia wryly.

Postponing notes and unpacking, Olivia brushed her glossy short hair

into shape, decided both her face and her crisp cotton shirt and skirt

would do, and left her room to go in search of tea. This was served on

the terrace under a striped umbrella at a table with a pink linen cloth

and thin china, where she was provided with pots of hot water, slices of

lemon and a supply of tea bags of flavours varying from English

breakfast to the lesser known delights of strawberry and jasmine In the

warm afternoon sunshine, with the happy shouts of children splashing in

the pool under the eyes of their lazing elders, olivia began to unwind

as she sipped her tea, the shock of Sophie's absence gradually receding.

She was alone at the small cluster of tables, at a time when most people

would be changing for dinner, or still sunbathing round the pool. Her

professional concentration reasserted itself as she took note of the

statues and the great stone urns filled with hydrangeas like great

globes of coral against the blinding white gravel of the terrace. Sophie

was right, she decided. Villa Bellagio was a very beautiful place. And

now she was more in command of herself it was time to do her job and

begin her report on it.

Olivia refused offers of more tea from the hovering in the comments

section of the page, and put her book waiters and went for a stroll

round the pool, smiling away in favour of a long soak in the bath as she

watched a trio of tanned, excited children She was just emerging from

it, swathed in towels, splashing each other under the indulgent gaze of

their when the telephone rang. She raced to pick it up, then parents.

Although it was early evening by this time, slumped down on the bed in

relief at the sound of her the sun was still hot, and Olivia gave in to

temptation and stretched out on one of the

steamer chairs fa- "Sophie, thank heavens! Where on earth are y tigued

more by worry about Sophie's absence than"In Florence! Isn't it a

fantastic place? You always the journey from London. The Alitalia

flight had been swift and punctual, with breathtaking glimpses of made

me so envious about it, and now I've seen it glittering waterways and

gilded domes as they de- for myself-the statue of David's just as

incredscended towards Venice. Nor had the drive to the iblq- q"

Bellagio presented any problems, thanks to Sophie's Never mind David,

broke in Olivia sternly. Why clear directions. In fact, Olivia

thought, as she got up didn'h Lu ld mq q o qsbe Yre I left?" to make

for her room, normally she would be full of O, iv, on c you were coming

anyway, energy at this point. But it was useless to worry any and this

all happenedqa bit suddenly, so I had the time more about Sophie.

Nothing could be done until their coming to me, and I Il be seeing you

in a couple of, Saturday rendezvous at the Villa Nerone, the next stop

days, so I jumped at the chance. don' two. I m fine. And I'm not

alone." on Olivia's fact-finding mission. " ompany of yours So hie?"

When she returned to her room Olivia took out her Who is this c, p

"You'll find out on Saturday-Andrea's very keen notebook and recorded

her impressions on the decor, to meet you. By the way, I'I'll staying

with Andrea's which was simple but charming, with louvred shutters at

the windows and plain blue covers on the beds family tonight, so no need

to fret. I've told everyone, which, like the rest of the furniture were

reproduc- at the hotel to treat you like a queen, and make sure tions of

eighteenth-century design. No air- you have everything you wanqlqs you

wan on to! conditioning, she noted, but an electronic anti- will accost

you, I promise u mosquito device was provided, and the pretty little

Oops, there's my money gone. Ciao-" bathroom was generously supplied

with towels and all And before Olivia could ask any more questions the

shampoos and gels and shoe-cleaning sachets the the line went dead. She

put down the phone slowly, modern traveller expected. Despite its

general air of not nearly as reassured by Sophie's call as hoped. Her

antiquity the hotel was scrupulously clean and well- little sister, she

thought, eyes narrowed, was up to kept, Olivia noted in approval; also

the lamps worked something. But until it was possible to find out what,

and there was a small, well-stocked refrigerator dis- exactly, the only

sensible plan was to enjoy some of guised as a cabinet. Olivia wrote a

few words of praise the Bellagio's famed cuisine, have an early night

and a good sleep, and spend tomorrow in her long anticipated exploration

of Venice.

Olivia dried and brushed her leaf-brown hair into the cleverly cut

layers which framed her face, then applied a minimum of make-up with

practised speed. Used to dining alone in strange hotels, she wore her

usual type of clothes, a pine-green silk shirt with a tailored cream

linen suit, and tonight, with the excuse that her eyes felt dry and full

of sand after her intense concentration on the drive from Venice, she

added her dark glasses to counteract an unwelcome feeling of

vulnerability.

This was partly dispelled by her welcome to the dining-room. The head

waiter, who introduced himself as Carlo, ushered her to a corner table,

where he drew out a chair facing the floodlit garden before handing her

a large menu. He clicked his fingers and instantly a young waiter

arrived with grissini, the crisp bread sticks Olivia adored, plus a

basket of rolls, a dish of butter and some San Pellegrino water for her

to sip while she made her choice. Carlo withdrew to let her weigh up

the delights of scallops in the chef's special sauce or a plain tomato

and mozzarella salad to begin, and when Olivia looked up from her menu

she found the tables were filling rapidly, mainly with families and

couples, some of whom greeted her pleasantly as they took their places.

She chose the salad as prelude to Carlo's recommendation of a mixed grq1

of fish, which was quite superb, with sole, turbot, scampi and scallops

as the main attraction. The fish arrived sizzling at the table in its

own pan, to be filleted and served by Carlo himself, and Olivia ate with

enjoyment, taking mental notes of the simple, exquisitely prepared food,

though disappointing the waiter by her refusal of a pudding. She

elected to drink her coffee at the table, preferring to remain gazing at

the stars and the floodlit garden rather than venture alone into the

bar. She sipped slowly, savouring the sound of animated multilingual

conversation around her, then after a while, early though it was,

decided she had no alternative but to go to bed.

Olivia paused to look at some antique jewellery displayed in a glass

case then looked up involuntarily as a man with a hard, sunburned face,

and black curling hair in dire need of a barber, strode through the

entrance doors to be greeted by the manager himself at the reception

desk. The newcomer towered over Signor Ferrante, firing low-toned

urgent questions which the man answered by spreading his hands in wry

apology as he leaned up to mutter confidentially in the newcomer's ear.

Instantly the man swung round to stare at Olivia.

She turned on her heel, head in the air, and made for the double doors

which led to the colonnade, but before she could reach them the manager

hurried to intercept her.

"Signora Maitland, I am Enrico Ferrante, the manager of the Villa

Bellagio. I trust you enjoyed your dinner? ' Olivia inclined her head.

"I did, very much."

"Bene. I am so glad: He smiled politely, then gestured towards the man

who leaned against the reception desk, watching them. "Would you permit

me to introduce you to another guest? Mr. Hamilton is a countryman of

yours and would be most grateful for a few words with you:

Reluctant, but with no real reason to refuse, Olivia nodded graciously,

but stayed very deliberately where she was, making the impatient-looking

stranger cross the hall to speak to her.

"Miss. Maitland, allow me to present Mr. Max Hamilton." The manager

bowed, then withdrew with obvious relief.

"How do you do," said the man brusquely.

Olivia inclined her head, waiting impassively for the"few words' he was

so anxious to have with her.

"It was your sister I really wanted to meet," he said, looking down his

nose at her in a way which raised every hackle Olivia possessed. She

returoed the look with hauteur, glad he couldn't hear the alarm bells

ringing in her head.

"My sister?" she said glacially.

"Apparently she left last week on an unexpected trip," went on her

companion grimly. "Which happens to be one hell of a coincidence."

"I have no idea what you mean, Mr. Hamilton," said Olivia, incensed.

"Please explain yourself, and briefly, please. I've travelled here from

I'ondon today and I'm tired."

"I've travelled a hell of a sight farther than that, returned the man

without sympathy. "After an SOS from my brother's fiancee I've come

straight here from Qatar instead of going back to London as I intended."

Olivia frowned in astonishment. "What has all this to do with me?"

"Your sister's name is Sophie, and she has been working here as a

receptionist this summer, I assume?"

"Yes," she admitted reluctantly.

His lips tightened. "My brother's missing, and it's highly probable

your sister's gone off with him:

"This is outrageous," declared Olivia, bristling. "What possible reason

can you have for believing that?"

"They were seen leaving together. Besides, I'm told you expected to

find her here when you arnved," said Max Hamilton flatly, "and that her

absence came as a shock Io you:

"I admit I expected to find her here, but my visit isn't just a holiday.

I'm here on business, so Sophie's absence just means a slight change of

plan. She's meeting me on Saturday instead."

"Where?" pounced the man, bending towards her.

Olivia retreated a step. "I fail to see what our plans have to do with

you, Mr. Hamilton. I don't know your brother, and neither does Sophie.

You're very much mistaken. She's travelling with a girl called Andrea."

Max Hamilton's smile set her teeth on edge. "You got the sex wrong!

Andrea's the name my brother was landed with at birth, only he prefers

to answer to Drew. The stupid idiot's due to be married in two weeks'

time, and his bride-to-be is getting pretty uptight about his absence.

I've been sent to find him and bring him home."

Olivia stared at him stonily from behind the dark lenses, her brain

working at furious speed. If what this objectionable man said was true,

no wonder Sophie hadn't let her get a word in during their telephone

conversation. And she had a sinking feeling that it was the truth, and

the reason why Sophie had been so cagey-and Excited. Sophie was twenty

years old, very pretty and very clever, but common sense wasn't always

her strongest point.

At last Olivia shrugged coolly. "Even if what you say is true and I had

any intention of helping you, I can't, Mr. Hamilton. I have no idea

where Sophie is at this moment, only that she's meeting me on Saturday

at the hotel which is my next port of call. Goodnight." She turned

away, but Max Hamilton caught her by the wrist.

"Wait!"

Olivia stared in such outrage that he dropped her hand like a hot coal.

"I'm sorry," he said, with such an obvious fight to be conciliatory she

felt a twinge of amusement. "But surely you can appreciate what a

hellish spot Drew's put me in! '

"I can, ideed," said Olivia coldly. "But I refuse to believe that your

problem is anything to do with either my sister or myself."

Max Hamilton glared blackly at her, then let out a weary sigh and rubbed

a hand over his eyes. "L.ook, Miss. Maitland, could we have a quiet

drink in the bar and talk this over?"

"What you really mean is, will I give you the exact time and place of my

rendezvous with my sister on Saturday," she retorted.

"You'd be doing Sarah a good turn if you did," he said bleakly. "It cut

me up to have her crying her heart out on the line to Doha yesterday."

"Sarah being the abandoned bride?" said Olivia, winning herself another

black-browed scowl. "Mr. Hamilton, you have no proof that my sister is

with your brother. But even if they are together it's unlikely Sophie

knows about any wedding. If there's any leading astray involved, your

Catherine George - Brief Encounter.pdf

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