Indiscretions - Elizabeth Adler [50]
Morgan turned back to the bar and ordered a Scotch. He was an experienced enough traveler to know better than to drink when flying, but he suddenly felt left out and lonely. It wasn’t that there was any shortage of women in his life. He met them all the time. In whichever city he found himself there were half a dozen pretty girls he could call, and a dozen charming hostesses only too willing to invite him to dinner. He attended balls in Monaco and galas for the opera in New York. He played tennis with actresses in Los Angeles and took finicky Paris models to dinners they ignored, in elegant nouveaux restaurants that all seemed to offer the same menu, and, more often than he cared to remember, he ate lonely meals in air-conditioned hotel suites that could be in Frankfurt or Abu Dhabi in their anonymous similarity.
He’d bet that that bunch of skiers over there would have more fun in the next week than he’d had in the past five years.
Life, decided Morgan, knocking back the Scotch, had become very boring. Except for Venetia Haven. In the three months since he’d met her he’d found himself making deliberate excuses and even detours so that he could spend time in London. He had often been able to manage only one night in the city, and it had meant a hell of an early start the next morning, but she was worth it. He’d take her to dinner in some quiet little restaurant she knew and they’d hold hands in the candlelight and he’d find himself unable to stop just looking at her. He didn’t see the resemblance to her famous mother so much, perhaps because Jenny was a bit before his generation; what he saw was a delicately boned, blond girl with eyes that changed their depth of color with her change of expression, lighter and sparkling when she was interested, grayer when she was tired, and deeper with a touch of violet when she was moved by tenderness.
Vennie was a girl determined to establish her independence and yet the same girl whose lips trembled under his when he kissed her … and that’s all he’d done so far, kiss her. Because if it became anything more, with a girl like Vennie it would be a commitment, one he wasn’t sure he wanted to make. He knew that she enjoyed being with him and not just with Fitz McBain’s son. Vennie never demanded to be taken to the most expensive restaurant or club; she was happy with the neighborhood bistro if that was what he felt like, where the lights were comfortably dim, the wine list surprisingly good, and the food adventurous.
A message in French that all flights were subject to long delays crackled over the speakers and was greeted with derisive laughter and cheers by the skiers. Suddenly Morgan felt even more alone in the midst of the busy airport. Making his way briskly back to the VIP lounge, he closed the door on the crowded scene. A half-dozen men read newspapers or dozed on comfortable sofas in the quiet, green-carpeted room. A few others caught up with paperwork or made conversation over a drink. A steward came forward to offer the latest information on the storm and the anticipated length of the delay. At least another two or three hours. If Mr. McBain preferred, he could arrange a hotel room.
“I’ll tell you what I’d like to do,” said Morgan, handing him the ticket and boarding pass. “Change my flight to the next one for London, will you, and get me a telephone. I have to make an international call.”
The steward plugged in the phone next to him and Morgan picked up the receiver and dialed. He wondered if Venetia enjoyed skiing.
The bitter wind had turned the sleet into stinging droplets of ice that reddened Venetia’s cheeks as she battled her way from the car park, laden with her food hampers and baskets. Reaching the shelter of the towering office block she dumped her baskets on the floor of the elevator and shook the melting ice from her hair, drying it with the end of her long woollen scarf. Muzak and warmth enveloped