get my—’
‘Pardonez-moi, mademoiselle, but I’m afraid I have bad news. Due to thick fog over Leeds tonight many flights have been cancelled, and the remaining ones are being diverted to Heathrow. I’m afraid there are no seats available on any UK flight with any airline at the moment.’
Kate felt the air whoosh from her lungs and the ground tilt a little beneath her feet as she took in this information. It felt like absorbing a physical blow.
‘But that can’t be right, surely? There must be something…’
‘I’m afraid not, mademoiselle ,’ the concierge murmured gravely. ‘I have checked with all the airlines. Of course,’ he added doubtfully, glancing at her very obviously un-designer jumper, ‘if it is urgent I could possibly look into a private charter…?’
Kate shook her head, swallowing back the hysterical bubble of laughter that rose inside her. Dominic was notoriously relaxed when it came to expenses, but she suspected that even he might balk at private jet hire. And, since most weeks she struggled to afford petrol for her ancient car, it certainly wasn’t going to come out of her own pocket.
‘Very well, mademoiselle .’ The concierge gave a little bow. ‘I am sorry not to have been able to help. If there’s anything more I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to call down to Reception.’
‘Thank you,’ Kate murmured faintly, shutting the door behind his departing back and leaning against it for a moment while she struggled to control her desolation.
She wanted so much to go home—back to Alexander. Dominic had given them all a week off to enjoy the considerable luxury of the hotel and explore the city, so their scheduled flight home wasn’t until Friday. She hadn’t argued because, she now realised, deep down she’d secretly hoped that she’d be with Cristiano.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She turned round abruptly, gritting her teeth as a crashing wave of homesickness and despair washed over her, not knowing what to do now. Cristiano was at the window. He had pulled the curtain back and was standing by the doors to the balcony, the lurid lights from the square outside casting hollows beneath his cheekbones and making his olive skin look strangely bleached of colour.
‘So, it looks like you’re not going home after all,’ he said, without turning round to look at her.
‘You don’t have to sound so pleased.’ She hated the bitternessand misery in her tone, but was suddenly too tired to hide them any more. Too tired to pretend.
He dropped the curtain, so his face was suddenly plunged into shadow again.
‘I don’t want you to run away until we’ve had a chance to talk.’
‘What about?’
Oh, God. For the first time it occurred to her that he might somehow have already found out about Alexander. Nausea rolled through her. She wanted to sink down onto the bed, but knew she’d feel at a disadvantage with him towering over her, so settled instead for perching on the edge of the dressing table. Her heart was battering against her ribs as he came towards her, and she searched his face for clues.
There were none. Apart from a muscle flickering in his lean, tanned cheek it was very still and completely blank.
‘The night we spent together.’
She gave an anxious laugh. ‘I don’t know why. It clearly didn’t make it onto your list of top ten one-night stands, so unless you need the details to put in some kind of no-holds barred, X-rated autobiography there’s really not much point in going over it.’ Nerves were making her talk too much, too fast, and tears stung at the back of her eyes. ‘It’s funny,’ she went on. ‘Although on some level I understand that when you sleep with a man who is known throughout the world as a heart-breaking, womanising playboy you can’t exactly expect flowers and a card on your anniversary, it would at least be nice to think that he’d recognise you again. Especially after—’
She stopped, suddenly breathless. An image,
‘Pardonez-moi, mademoiselle, but I’m afraid I have bad news. Due to thick fog over Leeds tonight many flights have been cancelled, and the remaining ones are being diverted to Heathrow. I’m afraid there are no seats available on any UK flight with any airline at the moment.’
Kate felt the air whoosh from her lungs and the ground tilt a little beneath her feet as she took in this information. It felt like absorbing a physical blow.
‘But that can’t be right, surely? There must be something…’
‘I’m afraid not, mademoiselle ,’ the concierge murmured gravely. ‘I have checked with all the airlines. Of course,’ he added doubtfully, glancing at her very obviously un-designer jumper, ‘if it is urgent I could possibly look into a private charter…?’
Kate shook her head, swallowing back the hysterical bubble of laughter that rose inside her. Dominic was notoriously relaxed when it came to expenses, but she suspected that even he might balk at private jet hire. And, since most weeks she struggled to afford petrol for her ancient car, it certainly wasn’t going to come out of her own pocket.
‘Very well, mademoiselle .’ The concierge gave a little bow. ‘I am sorry not to have been able to help. If there’s anything more I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to call down to Reception.’
‘Thank you,’ Kate murmured faintly, shutting the door behind his departing back and leaning against it for a moment while she struggled to control her desolation.
She wanted so much to go home—back to Alexander. Dominic had given them all a week off to enjoy the considerable luxury of the hotel and explore the city, so their scheduled flight home wasn’t until Friday. She hadn’t argued because, she now realised, deep down she’d secretly hoped that she’d be with Cristiano.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She turned round abruptly, gritting her teeth as a crashing wave of homesickness and despair washed over her, not knowing what to do now. Cristiano was at the window. He had pulled the curtain back and was standing by the doors to the balcony, the lurid lights from the square outside casting hollows beneath his cheekbones and making his olive skin look strangely bleached of colour.
‘So, it looks like you’re not going home after all,’ he said, without turning round to look at her.
‘You don’t have to sound so pleased.’ She hated the bitternessand misery in her tone, but was suddenly too tired to hide them any more. Too tired to pretend.
He dropped the curtain, so his face was suddenly plunged into shadow again.
‘I don’t want you to run away until we’ve had a chance to talk.’
‘What about?’
Oh, God. For the first time it occurred to her that he might somehow have already found out about Alexander. Nausea rolled through her. She wanted to sink down onto the bed, but knew she’d feel at a disadvantage with him towering over her, so settled instead for perching on the edge of the dressing table. Her heart was battering against her ribs as he came towards her, and she searched his face for clues.
There were none. Apart from a muscle flickering in his lean, tanned cheek it was very still and completely blank.
‘The night we spent together.’
She gave an anxious laugh. ‘I don’t know why. It clearly didn’t make it onto your list of top ten one-night stands, so unless you need the details to put in some kind of no-holds barred, X-rated autobiography there’s really not much point in going over it.’ Nerves were making her talk too much, too fast, and tears stung at the back of her eyes. ‘It’s funny,’ she went on. ‘Although on some level I understand that when you sleep with a man who is known throughout the world as a heart-breaking, womanising playboy you can’t exactly expect flowers and a card on your anniversary, it would at least be nice to think that he’d recognise you again. Especially after—’
She stopped, suddenly breathless. An image,
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