Indiscretions - Elizabeth Adler [100]
Raymunda closed her eyes, pondering her next moves. There was lunch tomorrow at the Villa Osiris, with swimming and wind surfing … she knew Fitz had been told to rest, but surely he couldn’t object to that! And then there was tomorrow night. Her eyes flew open as Fitz pulled the car into the airport.
“What are we doing here?”
“I have to pick up someone—a friend of Morgan’s. I’ll be right back.”
Fitz slammed the car door behind him and Raymunda watched his retreating back, smoldering. They’d left the party to come and pick up some friend of Morgan’s? Damn it, there was enough staff on that yacht. Surely one of them could have done that?
Venetia stared out of the big plate-glass windows into the pouring night. Rivers of water ran along the gutters, and in the glow of the airport lamps and the flickering lightning she could see the ground steaming as it cooled. She’d left London in the fog and she’d arrived in the rain; maybe it was an omen and the elements were trying to tell her something. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come? Morgan seemed to have forgotten her. She glanced again at the big clock. She’d been here for more than an hour and the airport was almost deserted. She’d watched and waited while everyone else was met by laughing friends and swept off to their villas or hotels. What could have happened? Had she arrived on the wrong day? Or maybe they’d got the message wrong.
Fitz strode through the empty hall toward her. She was the only person waiting, but he would have picked her out easily in any crowd. She was taller than Jenny, her hair was a darker blond, and she wore it smooth and straight to her shoulders. She turned at the sound of his footsteps, looking at him with anxious blue eyes, and it was Jenny playing the waif in Big City Girl Dear God, thought Fitz, I hadn’t expected the resemblance to be quite this strong.
“You must be Venetia,” he said. Her face was London-winter pale and her hand cold in his, but her smile had all the charm of her mother’s. “I’m afraid Morgan couldn’t come. He sent me instead—I’m Fitz McBain.”
She stood, her hand in his, gazing into his dark blue eyes. Of course, she remembered his voice on the phone, deep and with a slight drawl.
“Oh, but I didn’t …” She stopped, confused.
“Didn’t what?”
“Well, oh … I didn’t expect you to look like this … you know, I always imagined you in a city business suit, jetting to important meetings, and …”
Fitz grinned. “And what?”
Venetia blushed. “It’ll only sound rude if I say it.”
“Tell me.”
“You’re younger than I expected.”
Fitz laughed and released her hand. “It’s an illusion. I’m forty-four, almost forty-five—pretty old by your standards. What are you? Seventeen?”
“I’m twenty,” she said indignantly. “Well, I’ll be twenty soon.”
“You must be a very tired twenty-year-old. It was a hell of a long journey. Let’s get you home to bed.” Fitz hefted her one suitcase and looked around in surprise. “Is this all you’ve got?”
“Oh, yes, I don’t need much—just shorts and stuff.”
Every other woman he knew traveled with at least six cases filled with clothes for every possible occasion. Venetia Haven was definitely different. Or maybe it was just that she was so young.
Raymunda sat up straight in her seat. Fitz was with a girl. Who the hell was she?
“Venetia, this is Raymunda Ortiz,” said Fitz, holding the door for her. “Raymunda, this is Venetia Haven, a friend of Morgan’s.”
“Oh, a little friend of Morgan’s.” Raymunda’s stare lost interest and Venetia felt the smile freeze on her face.
Fitz’s jaw set in a grim line as he pulled away from the curb. He hadn’t missed Raymunda’s “little” gesture. She’d looked at Venetia, simple in her blue cotton trousers, sweatshirt, and espadrilles, assessed her, and dismissed her as someone not worthy of her attention.
“Venetia is to be our new chef,” said Fitz, breaking the silence.
Raymunda glanced at him in amazement. They’d left