Indiscretions - Elizabeth Adler [19]
“Oh, damn it!” Angry tears stung India’s eyes. She loved that car. She hated anyone else touching it. God knows what state it would be in; the towing trucks were notoriously “uncareful” with illegally parked automobiles. “Now what shall I do?”
“Let’s go.” Aldo took her arm again and led her across the street to where his black VW Rabbit waited beneath a prominent no-parking sign.
“I don’t believe it!” gasped India.
Aldo shrugged.
“They’re doing the left-hand side first tonight,” he explained. “They’ll be back later for those on the right.”
“Just my luck! Still, if it hadn’t been me it would have been you, and that would have been worse. Imagine having drink spilled all over you by some careless female at a party and then having your car towed away as well.”
“Imagine! There probably would have been nothing for it but to retire to the country, to a life of solitude, far from the pressures of city life.”
India laughed as he helped her into the car and closed the door. Yes, she definitely liked Aldo Montefiore.
LONDON
Morgan McBain was enjoying himself. This evening, which he had expected to be at the least boring or, even worse, stiffly British and boring, had turned out to be a winner.
His hostess, on whose right he was sitting, had a witty charm that amused him, and the lovely girl on his left was a complete mystery. More so because he kept having this odd feeling that he must have met her before and just couldn’t remember where. Vennie. The lovely Venetia.
“It’s such a pretty name—Venetia—and so unusual.”
Her soft hibiscus-pink mouth parted in a tantalizingly familiar smile and her enormous gray-blue eyes held a glint of amusement.
“It’s my mother’s idea of a romantic joke. I’m named after the city where I was conceived, Venice—either in a suite at the Cipriani or in a gondola, she’s never been quite sure which.”
Morgan’s deep laugh rang through the room. “Whichever, the result was worth it. I just hope for their sake you have no brothers.”
“Two sisters … you’re not going to believe this … Paris and India.”
“And the locations?”
“Oh, India’s is the best, we always think—a houseboat on a lake in Kashmir. And Paris was the Ritz. She says it’s because of being conceived practically next door to Chanel’s atelier that she’s destined to be a great couturier.”
“And is she?”
Venetia shrugged. “It’s difficult, but Paris works hard, and when you have as much talent and dedication as she does, then one day you must succeed. Don’t you agree?”
Morgan decided against telling her that it didn’t always work that way. “And you, Venetia—what’s your talent?”
“Oh, me … I’ve done nothing, just school and then a cooking diploma. I have no talent, really.”
“But the food was delicious and everything looked so beautiful. That’s a talent, Venetia.” He wanted to add that she was also breathtakingly lovely, but it was too soon.
“And what about you, Morgan McBain, where were you conceived?”
Venetia’s eyes danced with amusement. She liked being here with Morgan, it was almost as if they were having dinner alone; the rest of the table seemed excluded from their private conversation and Morgan McBain’s gaze left her feeling elated. His skin looked so firm and tanned and his shoulders so broad beneath that wonderful dinner jacket. He was the most physical man she had ever met.
“I was conceived and born in a trailer on a drilling site in the flattest, most barren stretch of land in Texas. My father was wildcatting for oil and my mother, who adored him, refused to leave his side when I was on the way, even though conditions were primitive. She died two weeks after I was born. She had worked alongside him, helped him … he always says that without her he never would have made it.”
“Morgan, I’m so sorry.” Venetia was embarrassed that she had asked.
“It was a long time ago. And she was right, my father did make it. He never married again,” he added with a wry grin, “though I’ve had the most glamorous selection of women who just longed to become my momma!”
“Wait