The Secret Heiress (13 page)

“You’ve never been in love?”

Ariadne gazed into his eyes. “No. Have you?”

He reared back in his seat. “I thought I was a couple of times. A long time ago. But I think it was more of a case of being in lust. Both times.”

They both laughed.

“Aha! So you’ve played around a lot,” she said teasingly.

“Not really,” he replied. He reached over and gently squeezed her hand. “I do know I’m glad I took you out for your birthday.”

Ariadne relished the feel of his hand on hers, and she stole a glance at them. His was sunburned, with its long masculine fingers, and hers, so pale and slender and delicate.

The waiter appeared. “Would you like to see the dessert menus?”

Matt looked at her questioningly. “How about it, birthday girl?”

“Oh . . . I shouldn’t. Really.”

Matt studied the dessert menu for a moment. “Why don’t you bring us some of the chocolate mousse cake? We’ll split it. And two espressos.”

“Very good.”

“You are a very bad boy and a psychic,” Ariadne said.

“Why?”

“Bad because of all those calories you’re tempting me with, and a psychic because you know that I’m a closet chocoholic.”

“The calories won’t hurt you, and since you’re a chocoholic, you need your fix. So I’m really a saint.”

After they shared the cake and Matt paid the check, they rose from the table to leave. He helped her into her coat, and put his on while Ariadne wrapped her scarf around her neck and pulled her watch cap on.

When they stepped outside, they were surprised to see that a foot of snow had fallen and it was still snowing, much more heavily than on the drive down. Matt took her arm, and they walked slowly along the sidewalk. In places it had been cleared, but long stretches were deep with snow.

At the corner, they were about to turn toward the parking lot when Ariadne slipped on a patch of ice. “Oooooh!” she shrieked, then laughed as Matt grabbed her before she fell. He held her arms with his hands, steadying her, and drew her closer to him. They stood face-to-face, and Ariadne’s smile abruptly fell away when she saw the unmistakable longing in his eyes. She held his gaze, hoping that he recognized the willingness she felt.

Matt leaned down and hesitated a moment, then kissed her on the lips, slipping his arms around her and hugging her against him gently. She returned his kiss, tentatively at first, then with more passion as she relaxed in his embrace. Her mind whirled with conflicting feelings, with doubts and questions, but there was no confusion about what she wanted at this moment: him.

From down the street came the sound of applause and loud whistling. Matt drew back, and they both turned toward the noise. A group of teenagers pulling sleds was watching them.

“Wee-uuuuw!” one of them called. “Go to it, man!”

Matt looked down at Ariadne, and they both laughed. “I didn’t realize we had an audience,” he said softly.

“Neither did I.”

He put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. Together they walked out of the splash of light spilling from the streetlamp and on toward the parking lot.

 

 

 

 

A
ngelo Coveri’s villa rose from the shoreline in ocher neoclassical splendor above the verdant growth of lovingly tended gardens. Up its walls climbed a variety of vines, and roses scented the air nearly year-round. Below was a boathouse, built along the same neoclassical architectural lines of the villa. Its roof served as a terrace overlooking the lake, and Angelo’s two boats were housed beneath.

The stately villa had been the site for many a festive occasion, most of them centered around Bianca’s growing up. Today was an exception, however, as Adrian discovered after he drove up the well-raked pea gravel drive to the house and brought his Aston Martin sports car to a stop. He fully expected Bianca to rush out of the house and greet him, or perhaps Angelo.

He started up the marble steps to the grand entrance hall, but the front door opened before he reached it and Giulia, the housekeeper for many years, came down the steps toward him.

“Ciao! Mr. Single,” she exclaimed, happily smiling. “So good to see you.”

They exchanged kisses on each cheek in the continental manner, and she held him at arm’s length, looking him up and down. “Still, you are the most handsome man,” she said.

“And you, Giulia, are
bellissima
. The most beautiful woman in all of Italia. Maybe the most beautiful woman in all the world.”

“Ah,” she said, “you flatter me, you naughty young man.” She shook a finger at him. “Come in, come in,” she said, waving her hand toward the door.

Following her up the steps, he asked, “Is Angelo here?”

“Ah, yes,” she said. “Thanks be to God.”

“Why?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

They reached the door and went into the magnificent marble entrance hall. Giulia put a finger to her lips. “I say nothing. I know nothing. Understand?”

“Yes,” he said, but he wondered why Giulia was so closemouthed. She was virtually family, and was privy to all the family secrets.

“Follow me,” she said. “They are in the gray salon.”

Their footsteps echoed in the marble hallway as she led him to the main reception chamber, a room built of many gray marbles, decorated with early Roman and Greek statues and busts. He could hear voices as they approached the room, and when they reached the door, he saw Bianca standing at a desk, scribbling on a piece of paper. A courier was waiting at her side.

“Here we are,” Giulia said in a whisper. She tapped Adrian on the back. “I will leave you to her and see you later.”

Adrian nodded and smiled.

“I think that does it,” Bianca said. She handed the courier a padded envelope that appeared to contain a small box.

“
Grazie,
signorina,” the courier replied. He sketched a salute and, nodding at Adrian and Giulia, left the room.

“Oh, Adrian,” Bianca cried. “I’m so glad to see you.” She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly to her. He saw that there were tears in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Across the room, he heard the rattle of a newspaper and saw Angelo pushing himself up out of an armchair. “Adrian,” he said. “Good to see you.”

“Good to see you, Angelo,” he replied. He turned his attention back to Bianca. “Now, what’s with you?” He thought he knew the source of her woe, but he wanted to let her tell him.

“Oh . . . ,” she began in a murmur, “I’m . . . I’m returning my engagement ring to Harry Winston.”

“Oh, no,” he said, hugging her and stroking her back. “Don’t you think that’s premature?”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “It’s a lost cause.”

“Are you sure about that?” Adrian asked.

“Yes,” she said, pulling away from him. “Niki’s seen to that.”

“Come,” Angelo said. “Have a seat, Adrian.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Bianca said. “I’m so . . . so preoccupied that I’m afraid I’m not a very good hostess.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Adrian said to her. They crossed the room and sat with Angelo near the French doors that led out onto a terrace overlooking the lake.

“Would you like something to drink?” Bianca asked. “Coffee, anything?”

“No, thank you,” Adrian said. He watched as she wiped her eyes with a Kleenex. “Are you sure about this, Bianca?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.” Her voice rose in volume as she became angry. “It’s that damned Niki,” she railed. “She’s nothing but a tramp. A common whore! If she wants to steal Frans from me, and he falls for her, so be it.” She glared at Adrian with a tormented but furious face. “I hate her. And I hate him,” she cried. “I hate them both!”

Adrian was relieved to see that she was angry. He knew that she was far from recovering from the loss of Frans—if their affair was really over—but it was better to be angry than to wallow in a pit of despair over him. “You have every reason to,” he said. “What happened is terrible, but don’t you think that Frans deserves a break?”

“A break!” She looked at him as if he were crazy.

“He’s brokenhearted, Bianca,” Adrian said. “I really believe that. You’ve got to remember the circumstances. He didn’t—”

“Oh, damn it!” Bianca cried. “If only we hadn’t gone to that damned birthday party together. Once we were there, I knew she had her eye on him, but I never imagined . . .” Her voice became choked, and Adrian took one of her hands in his.

“I had a long talk with him, and Frans is . . . well, he’s really beside himself over this whole thing.”

“Are you sure about that?” she asked.

Angelo, who had remained silent during their exchange, cleared his voice. “It’s better this way,” he said quietly. “It breaks my heart to see you suffer, Bianca, but if Niki could so easily seduce this young man, then he wasn’t worthy of you.” His voice suddenly became harsh. “You would be a prize for any man, and if he chose to throw you away, then he’s stupid and—”

“Oh, Dad,” she said, “I love you and appreciate what you have to say, but it really doesn’t help any.”

Angelo sprang to his feet. “If that’s the way you feel, Bianca—that I’m not really any help—then I’ll go out for a walk. You and Adrian can hash this out.” He headed for one of the open French doors and exited in a huff.

“Damn!” Bianca swore.

“Let him cool his heels,” Adrian advised. “He’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“See what a mess that prick has caused? He and that bitch!”

“Don’t you think you could at least talk to him?” Adrian asked. “He’s really going crazy not being able to see you.” While most people thought the relationship was completely inappropriate, Adrian found that he liked Frans, and he truly believed that the young man was deeply in love with Bianca.

“Oh, no,” she retorted. “I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t stand the thought of him even touching me after being with that . . . that bitch.”

“Frans didn’t know that Niki put ecstasy in his drink, Bianca. You know Frans doesn’t do drugs.”

“I know that,” she replied, “but that doesn’t excuse his behavior.”

“He hardly knew what he was doing,” Adrian said, “and I believe him when he says nothing like that would ever happen again.”

Bianca gazed into his eyes. “Why did he let her into the cottage to begin with?” she asked.

“She’s your boss,” Adrian replied. “She told him she wanted to talk to him about a job opportunity, and he was worried that he might get you into trouble if he didn’t let her in. She even brought the doctored drinks with her.”

“Yeah, right,” Bianca said sarcastically. “That’s so lame.”

“Come on,” Adrian went on soothingly. “Won’t you at least see him? Hear what he has to say?”

Bianca looked away from him. She wanted nothing more than to see Frans, to talk to him, to touch him, to feel his arms about her, but she wasn’t ready yet. She didn’t know if she would
ever
be ready.

 

The three young tourists were attractive, well dressed, and already well tanned when they drove up to the Sunset Hotel in Gustavia, the small town of several hundred inhabitants that is the capital of St. Barth’s. They climbed out of their rented Suzuki Samurai and retrieved a minimal amount of luggage from the car’s backseat and storage compartment, then registered at the hotel.

Outdoorsy types, the man at the reception desk thought. With their lean, tanned bodies, they weren’t office drones enjoying their first foray into the sun this winter. Their reservations were in order, and he checked them in quickly, wishing them a wonderful stay on St. Barth’s.

“Thank you. I’m certain it will be,” the young lady, Viv, as the young men called her, said in a British accent as she took the arm of one of the young men.

Upstairs in their room, the trio unpacked the few belongings they’d brought, showered, and left the hotel.

In their rented Samurai they drove straight to the little hospital. Viv checked to make certain the revolver she’d put in her tote bag was still there. She slipped a long bright red wig and two blond ones out of the tote, tossing a blond one to Doug in the backseat and handing the other one to Tyler. She put the long red one on, adjusting it slightly in the rearview mirror. Satisfied, she put on a pair of large-framed sunglasses.

“All set?” she asked the young men.

Tyler pulled his revolver out of the waistband of his trousers, where he’d placed it against his spine. “Just about,” he said, putting it in a side pocket of his sport jacket. He donned the curly blond wig and the sunglasses he had put in his sport jacket. “How’s this?”

“Great,” she said. “We’ll all look ridiculous, but that’s beside the point. We’ll be harder to ID.”

Doug patted his sport jacket, where his revolver was placed in the inside pocket over his heart. “I’m ready.”