‘I will,’ she said, with no idea how much of a haven it would one day become.
‘Would you like to stay the night?’ he asked.
‘Are we allowed?’
He furrowed his brows and twisted his mouth as if deep in thought. ‘Err … yes.’
She laughed. ‘In that case I’m going to have a bath.’
He grabbed hold of her arm. ‘Before or after we christen the bed?’
‘Before,’ she said.
‘Nooo.’
‘Yes. I want to be pink and glowing and smelling of those gorgeous toiletries I spied in the bathroom.’
She searched for, and found, some fluffy white towels and a lavender-coloured silk robe.
‘There’s food,’ Bobby called out, ‘and wine.’
Addison had clearly not only ensured the place had been spring-cleaned but had also provided everything they might need. She took a long breath and let it out slowly. How had she managed to land in paradise?
She ran a bath and sat on a stool, watching as the water filled up.
The bath was gorgeous, with gold clawed feet and gold taps. Real gold, she thought. She opened the glass cupboard, took out bottles of scented oils, rose, neroli, eucalyptus, and poured them liberally into the bath. As the fragrant steam began to rise, so did her hopes for the future. Bobby had pretty much said he loved her. She dared not look ahead too far because life could be contrary, but still couldn’t help picturing herself with him and evensaw a brood of children. Marriage wasn’t something she had longed for, had never been what she’d aspired to; she was going to be somebody in her own right, after all. But maybe, just maybe, she might make an exception for Sir Robert Beresford, Baronet, and then she called herself an idiot and slid under the water.
After a while she climbed out, dried herself and towelled her hair. Putting on the silk robe, she went to find Bobby and saw him, apparently asleep, on the sofa with his head resting on the back of it. She allowed her robe to fall open and then she straddled him. His eyes remained closed as she moved back and forth, feeling him grow harder beneath her. The slightest hint of a smile told her he was feigning sleep. She undid his shirt and kissed his chest then raised herself up so she could undo the buttons and pull down his trousers. He wore nothing underneath and she stared at him, not expecting that. Still he did not open his eyes. With a bit of effort, she eventually managed to lower herself onto him and moved slowly at first, enjoying the feeling of power, and then faster and faster while he continued to fake sleep. She finished quickly, heart racing, her breath short. She’d never experienced anything like that before. It had thrilled and shaken her and she felt invincible to have takenhim, but then his eyes flew open.
‘And now, in punishment,’ he said, and still inside her he rolled them both onto the floor and then he finished too.
Swimming in the afterglow of it, she laughed and laughed until she was nearly crying.
‘I knew you were awake,’ she said.
‘Yes, but I wanted to surrender.’
‘Robert Beresford. Who would have thought it?’
‘What?’
‘That you’d let a mere girl be the boss.’
‘Nothing mere about you, my darling. And I rather like you being the boss.’
‘I love you, Bobby,’ she said.
The next day, Anya playing on her mind again, she met Bobby’s friend at the British Hotel on the Grand Harbour for high tea. He rose to his feet as she approached and took her hand. He was older than Bobby, maybe thirty-five, taller too and darker-skinned with curly brown hair and kind amber-coloured eyes with flecks of gold in them.
‘I’m so pleased you decided to come,’ he said, shaking her hand. ‘Ottavio Zampieri.’
‘Riva Janvier.’
They took their seats and a waiter was instantly there with a menu. As they ordered tea and cakes, she looked Ottavio over. Well-heeled but with a slightly dishevelled look, he wasn’t unattractive. Then she turned to the stunning view of the Grand Harbour, golden and glowing in the late-afternoon sun.
‘Have you been here before?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘No. You have an unusual name, if you don’t mind me saying, Mr Zampieri.’
