A Spanish Inheritance. Susan Stephens
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and he blocked her path. ‘My driver will take you wherever you want to go.’
‘Look, I’m sure you mean to be kind—’
His impatient gesture sliced through the air. ‘Kindness is not an issue. My only concern is to prevent you from making another mistake.’
I wasn’t aware I’d made a first until I met you, Annalisa thought, watching his jaw tighten as if he couldn’t quite believe one person could provoke so much aggravation in so short a time. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she insisted firmly. ‘It’s an easy swim.’
‘I don’t have time for this,’ he rapped, directing a level stare at her. ‘And my invitation was not a suggestion,’ he added pointedly. He turned abruptly to indicate a narrow track that cut a snaking path up the cliff.
The silent instruction made his autocratic air all the more intolerable. But with someone like Ramon Perez planted in the way Annalisa knew she had no alternative but to follow orders…for the moment.
Her mouth tightened angrily as she marched past him. But she was angrier at herself than with her forceful neighbour. There was just no excuse for going into battle unprepared. If she had only apologised for trespassing on his land, accepted his offer of some dry clothes and a lift home, the whole incident would have been over by now. Instead of which— Her stomach lurched as he strode ahead of her. Drinking in the wide spread of his shoulders and the taut power of a most agreeable back view, she was forced to concede that there were some things that made up for an attack of hurt pride.
It wasn’t the climb that tightened Annalisa’s stomach in knots, but the growing suspicion that with each step she was leaving the simple charm of the shoreline behind and entering some exclusive territory. The natural disorder of scrub and sand and pebbles gave way to steps that looked as if they had been swept recently, and the handrail had been painted in a shade that blended perfectly with the surroundings. This impression of affluence was only confirmed when they reached the top of the steep climb and a stout manservant, dressed from head to toe in a crisp white uniform, hurried forward.
Maybe he had been on sentry duty for hours, she mused, seeing the canary-yellow and white beach towels stacked on his outstretched arm.
Ramon acknowledged the man with a courteous nod. ‘Please escort Miss Wilson to a guest room, Rodriguez. And see that she receives some refreshment before she leaves.’ He swivelled round, appraising Annalisa at a glance. ‘I’m sure Margarita will be able to find something suitable for you to wear.’ And, swiping a towel off the pile, he draped it around her shoulders.
‘Thank you,’ Annalisa said, struggling to ignore the flash of sensation that rushed through her when his hand brushed her naked skin. She drew the towel tightly around her to ward off the cold hand of disappointment. He might be the most infuriating individual she had ever encountered, but he was also the most intriguing. And the way his voice had softened when he said ‘Margarita’ suggested this woman meant a great deal to him— Now she was being ridiculous! She’d only known him for five minutes and already her imagination was running riot!
He dipped his head briefly, signalling an end to the encounter. ‘Adios, Annalisa.’
Shading her eyes with her hand, Annalisa watched him power away towards an imposing white mansion. She felt sure that the home and lifestyle of Ramon di Crianza Perez were as different from her own as it was possible to imagine. But in some unaccountable way she felt the need to prove herself to her proud Menorcan neighbour.
A discreet cough distracted her. She turned and flashed a quick smile at the manservant. But he had no time to waste on pleasantries. Having caught her attention, he was already making for the house, using short rapid strides that suggested he had far better things to do.
As she climbed the central marble staircase of the villa behind her surly guide, Annalisa shot some anxious glances at the closed doors. She felt sure everyone living in such a place would have to be as self-possessed as Ramon, and looking like a beached mermaid was not the best time to cannon into some elegant presence.
The grand house was completely silent. Maybe it was empty. But when the manservant opened a door leading off the first-floor landing, and showed her into a stunning room overlooking the sea, she knew there had to be someone in residence.
For bush telegraph read bush fire, Annalisa thought, spying the jug of freshly squeezed orange juice and the bowl of plump ripe figs. And an outfit had already been laid out on what looked very much like a priceless Louis Quinze chaise longue. The slim sofa was covered with the finest brocade in a delicate shade of powder blue, and its single arm was intricately carved and ornamented with gold leaf.
Margarita had a figure not dissimilar to her own, Annalisa realised as she picked up some sapphire silk Capri pants. A thrill ran through her as she read the label. She had never come close to wearing anything so exclusive. An ivory silk casual top by the same designer lay beside some flesh-toned underwear, still in the fuchsia-tinted tissue paper in which it had been packed in the boutique. The flimsy thong and bra were composed of so fine a fabric it brought the blood rushing to her cheeks. Margarita must be quite something, she thought, spotting some dainty cream leather mules lined up neatly on the floor.
Waiting until the door closed, Annalisa quickly stepped out of her damp bikini. There was a full-length cheval-glass in one corner of the room and it was too tempting not to steal a glimpse at herself as she dressed. Slipping into clothes like these was almost a sensual experience, like stepping into another world. But now what? she wondered, gazing around the fabulous room.
There wasn’t long to wait before she found out. A tap on the door brought the answer. A young girl dressed in a maid’s uniform stood waiting on the threshold.
‘The car is outside when you are ready, Señorita Fuego Montoya,’ she announced in halting English.
‘Wilson. Señorita Wilson,’ Annalisa corrected gently, smiling at her. ‘But you can call me Annalisa if you like.’
‘Sí, Señorita Fuego Montoya,’ the young girl said, colouring up.
She doesn’t understand, Annalisa realised, hoping the shock of hearing her late father’s name wrongly applied to herself didn’t show on her face.
‘Are you ready, señorita?’ the maid pressed, hovering uncertainly on the threshold.
‘Yes. Thank you,’ Annalisa said, reminding herself to add Spanish lessons to her list of things to do. ‘And I’ll return the clothes—’
‘Oh, no, señorita,’ the girl exclaimed, holding up her hands to emphasise the point. ‘Señora Margarita intends you to keep them.’
‘But I couldn’t possibly,’ Annalisa protested.
The maid shrugged, as if the generous gift was of no consequence. ‘The señora has many such outfits, señorita.’
Wealth like this was hard to imagine… And yet she should try, Annalisa reminded herself. Quite out of the blue she had recently inherited a considerable chunk of land in Menorca, and even though she had precious little cash to throw around right now, if she sold the estate designer outfits like these would be well within her reach. ‘I should still like to thank Señora—’
But the girl had already started towards the staircase, and with a brief wave of her hand indicated that Annalisa should follow.
For just a beat Annalisa hesitated. If only her Spanish had been stronger she might have been able to ask the maid to arrange a brief meeting with Margarita. Then she could have explained her intrusion face to face, as well as thank her for the clothes. But for now she had no answer to the dilemma.
Annalisa frowned. Everything connected with Menorca seemed to have a dilemma attached to it as far as she was concerned. And the whole point in taking a sabbatical from the small law practice where she worked as a solicitor had been to resolve dilemmas, not create more. She had come to the island to uncover the truth about her Spanish father, not to involve herself in the lives of the island’s super-rich. Her mission was to discover what had prompted an elderly Spanish grandee to leave