Indiscretions - Elizabeth Adler [139]
“It may be cliché,” she’d replied gently, “but I mean it. We’ve been good friends from the beginning, Morgan—it would be nice if we could keep it that way.”
Still, she was relieved that he came rarely to the yacht, feeling oddly shy with him in her new role.
The message that Mr. McBain would be joining the Fiesta for a few weeks ran through the crew in minutes. The gleaming yacht was given an extra spit and polish for its master until its brasswork glittered in the sun and the crew, dressed in their crispest white shorts and shirts, caps gleaming with gold braid, awaited his arrival. The boat was quiet—the week’s complement of new guests was due to arrive late that afternoon, and Venetia, her heart pounding, pondered over what to wear. Showered and cool, with her blond hair freshly washed and left to dry in the sun, she chose a short, white cotton skirt and a big white shirt that she left unbuttoned, just clasping it at the waist with a wide leather belt. With her winter suntan topped up from her weeks in the Mediterranean and her hair brushed in a new shaggy style, she looked like a healthy young animal. It was time, she decided firmly, gazing at herself in the mirror, it was time for a bit of Jenny’s “action.”
The hours ticked by interminably on the strangely quiet boat. He was late, thought Venetia anxiously; perhaps he wasn’t coming after all. Oh, please God, let him come, please … she couldn’t bear it any longer, she must see him.
It was six-thirty when they finally arrived. Venetia heard his familiar deep voice and the sound of feminine laughter. Hurrying from her cabin she ran along the deck, almost colliding with them as she turned the corner. A beautiful tawny-blond woman stood with Fitz and a half-dozen other laughing guests who were still straggling on board.
“Venetia.” Leaving Olympe, Fitz took her hand in his. “How are you?” His dark eyes were concerned. “Not too overworked, I hope?”
Venetia felt herself blushing again. Oh, God, would she never outgrow that childish habit? Her hand trembled in his and she pulled it back hastily. “No, no, of course not. It’s what I’m here for.”
“Morgan told me he thought you were doing too much and should have more free time,” said Fitz, “and I agree with him. Let’s discuss it later, shall we? Meanwhile, we shall be dining out tonight, so there’s no need to consider us.”
Venetia’s heart sank. He was going out, with that gorgeous woman, she supposed.
“Very well,” she said in a small voice.
Olympe watched with interest the quiet exchange between Fitz and the lovely blonde with the fantastic legs. If there was a rival for Fitz’s attentions, then she’d like to know it. Olympe could sense a liaison almost before it happened, and there was something between these two, she was sure of it.
“Aren’t you going to introduce your friend, Fitz?” she called.
Anger sparked in Venetia. She wasn’t going to take a backseat just because this woman was here, she was going to fight for what she wanted, just as India had—and Jenny.
“I’m the chef on the Fiesta,” she announced loudly, “at your service.” She gave a mocking little bow and received a spontaneous round of applause from the guests crowding the deck. “If you wish anything special cooked, I’m the one to ask. My name is Venetia. Venetia Haven.”
“Haven?” Olympe stared at her with renewed interest. “Any relation to Jenny Haven?”
“Jenny was my mother.”
“Of course, there’s a very strong resemblance, isn’t there, Fitz?” And of course, too, she thought, this must be Paris Haven’s sister … ah, well. Olympe strolled off in search of her cabin, leaving Fitz on deck with Venetia. She couldn’t see this one being much of a rival. Venetia was young and very pretty, but she didn’t know how to play the game. Now, if it were Paris, the beautiful Paris …
“Right, Venetia,” said Fitz briskly, “then we’ll talk tomorrow. By the way, Morgan asked me to tell you that he’ll