The Italian's Christmas Secret. Sharon Kendrick
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my goodness—look at the floor!’ she said, aware of the faint look of incredulity which Matteo Valenti was slanting in her direction. ‘We’re ruining your floor.’
‘Don’t you worry about that, my dear,’ said the woman in her warm West Country accent. ‘We get walkers coming in here all the time—that’ll soon clean up.’
‘We’d like to use your phone if that’s okay,’ said Matteo, and Keira watched as the woman looked at him, her mouth opening and closing comically as if she’d only just realised that she had six feet three inches of brooding masculine gorgeousness in her house, with melting snow sliding down over his black cashmere coat.
‘And why would you want to do that, dear?’ questioned the woman mildly.
Matteo did his best not to flinch at the overfamiliar response, even though he despised endearments from complete strangers. Actually, he despised endearments generally. Didn’t they say that you always mistrusted what you weren’t used to? Suppressing a frustrated flicker of anger at having found himself in this intolerable situation, he decided he needed to own it. Better to calmly spell out their needs, since his driver seemed incapable of doing anything with any degree of competence. ‘Our car has become imbedded in the snow just down the road a little,’ he said, directing an accusing glare at the woman who was currently pulling off her bulky waterproof jacket and shaking her short dark hair. ‘We should never have taken this route, given the weather. However, what’s done is done and we can’t do anything about that now. We just need to get out of here, as quickly as possible, and I’d like to arrange that immediately.’
The woman nodded, her bright smile remaining unfaltering. ‘I don’t think that’s going to be possible, dear. You won’t get a rescue truck to dig you out—not tonight. Why, nothing’s going to get through—not in these conditions!’
It was the confirmation of his worst fears and although Matteo was tempted to vent his rage, he was aware it would serve no useful purpose—as well as insulting the woman who’d been kind enough to open her house to them. And she was right. Who could possibly get to them tonight—in weather like this? He needed to face facts and accept that he was stuck here, in the middle of nowhere—with his incompetent driver in tow. A driver who was staring at him with eyes which suddenly looked very dark in her pale face. He frowned.
Of all the females in the world to be stranded with—it had to be someone like her! Once again his thoughts drifted to the luxurious party he would be missing, but he dismissed them as he drew in a deep breath and forced himself to say the unimaginable. ‘Then it looks as if we’re going to have to stay here. I assume you have rooms for hire?’
The woman’s wide smile slipped. ‘In December? Not likely! All my rooms are fully booked,’ she added proudly. ‘I get repeat trade all through the year, but especially at this time of year. People love a romantic Christmas on Dartmoor!’
‘But we need somewhere to stay,’ butted in Keira suddenly. ‘Just until morning. Hopefully the snow will have stopped by then and we can get on our way in the morning.’
The woman nodded, her gaze running over Keira’s pale cheeks as she took the anorak from her and hung it on a hook. ‘Well, I’m hardly going to turn you out on a night like this, am I? Especially not at this time of the year—I’m sure we can find you room at the inn! I can put you in my daughter’s old bedroom at the back of the house. That’s the only space I have available. But the dining room is completely booked out and so I’m afraid I can’t offer you dinner.’
‘The meal doesn’t matter,’ put in Matteo quickly. ‘Maybe if you could send something to the room when you have a moment?’
Keira felt numb as they were shown up some rickety stairs at the back of the house, and she remained numb as the landlady—who informed them that her name was Mary—opened the door with a flourish.
‘You should be comfortable enough in here,’ she said. ‘The bathroom is just along the corridor though there’s not much water left, and if you want a bath, you’ll have to share. I’ll just go downstairs and put the kettle on. Make yourselves at home.’
Mary shut the door behind her and Keira’s heart started racing as she realised that she was alone in a claustrophobic space with Matteo Valenti. Make themselves at home? How on earth were they going to do that in a room this size with only one bed?
She shivered. ‘Why didn’t you tell her that we didn’t want to share?’
He shot her an impatient look. ‘We are two people and she has one room. You do the math. What alternative did I have?’
Keira could see his point. Mary couldn’t magic up another bedroom from out of nowhere, could she? She looked around. It was one of those rooms which wasn’t really big enough for the furniture it contained. It was too small for a double bed, but a double bed had been crammed into it nonetheless, and it dominated the room with its homemade patchwork quilt and faded pillow cases on which you could just about make out some Disney characters, one of which just happened to be Cinderella.
There were no signs of Christmas in here but on every available surface seemed to be a photo. Photos of someone who was recognisably Mary, looking much younger and holding a series of babies, then toddlers, right through gangly teenagers until the inevitable stiff wedding photos—and then yet more babies. Keira licked her lips. It was a life played out in stills. A simple life, probably—and a happy life, judging by the smile which was never far from Mary’s face. Keira was used to cramped and cluttered spaces but she wasn’t used to somewhere feeling homely—and she could do absolutely nothing about the fierce pang of something which felt like envy, which clutched at her heart like a vice.
She lifted her eyes to meet Matteo’s flat gaze. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘Spare me the platitudes,’ he snapped, pulling out the mobile phone from the pocket of his trousers and staring at it with a barely concealed lack of hope. ‘No signal. Of course there isn’t. And no Wi-Fi either.’
‘She said you could use the landline any time.’
‘I know she did. I’ll call my assistant once I’ve removed some of these wet clothes.’ He loosened his tie before tugging it off and throwing it over the back of a nearby chair, where it dangled like some precious spiral of gunmetal. His mouth hardened with an expression of disbelief as he looked around. ‘Per amor del cielo! Who even uses places like this? We don’t even have our own bathroom.’
‘Mary told us we could use the one along the corridor.’
‘She also told us that we’d need to share a bath because there wasn’t enough hot water!’ he flared. ‘Sharing a bath? Not enough hot water? Which century are we supposed to be living in?’
Keira shrugged her shoulders awkwardly, suspecting that Matteo Valenti wasn’t used to the vagaries of small-town English landladies, or the kind of places where ordinary people stayed. Of course he wasn’t. According to her boss, he owned luxury hotels all over his own country—he even had some scattered over America, as well as some in Barbados and Hawaii. What would he know about having to traipse along a chilly corridor to a bathroom which, like the rest of the house, obviously hadn’t been modernised in decades?
‘It’s an English eccentricity. Part of the place’s charm,’ she added lamely.
‘Charm I can do without,’ he responded acidly. ‘Good plumbing trumps charm every time.’
She wondered if he was deliberately ignoring something even more disturbing than the bathroom facilities...or maybe she was just being super-sensitive about it, given her uneasy history. Awkwardly she raked her fingers through her spiky hair, wondering what it was which marked her out from other women. Why was it that on the only two occasions she’d shared a bed with a man, one had been passed out drunk—while the other was looking at her with nothing but irritation in his hard black eyes?
He was nodding his head, as if she had spoken out loud. ‘I know,’ he said grimly. ‘It’s my idea of a nightmare, too.