Название | Barbara Taylor Bradford’s 4-Book Collection |
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Автор произведения | Barbara Taylor Bradford |
Жанр | Зарубежные любовные романы |
Серия | |
Издательство | Зарубежные любовные романы |
Год выпуска | 0 |
isbn | 9780007536245 |
Astounded though she was, Francesca was thrilled and excited. She was on the point of accepting when she saw the impossibility of the situation. Her excitement ebbed away. She swallowed. ‘I’m afraid I can’t,’ she began, and said no more. She bit her lip, knowing she had no alternative but to explain her refusal, lest he be offended. This was the last thing she wanted.
‘You see it would be very difficult to go away without telling my father, and he’d be … well … er … er … You know. I mean, he might think it a bit funny.’ She could not go on, and she looked at Victor helplessly, embarrassed by her admission that she was still obliged to inform her father about her movements, that she needed his approval.
Victor stared at her aghast. She had misunderstood him, and his motives. Jesus Christ! Seduction was the last thing on his mind. He must clarify that, set her straight before the discussion went any further. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m trying to proposition you!’ he exclaimed fiercely. ‘Because I’m n –’
‘Of course I don’t!’ Francesca cried with the same vehemence, sharply cutting him off. ‘It never entered my head.’ Her gaze was cool and her manner haughty. ‘Nor would my father think such a thing. He brought me up to have a sense of right and wrong, and he trusts me implicitly. It’s just that, well, I’ve never been away with a –’ She cleared her throat. ‘What I’m trying to say is that Daddy is rather old-fashioned, and he would think it quite improper for me to take a holiday alone with you.’
‘I can’t say I blame him,’ Victor replied, adopting the lightest, most dismissive tone he could. He lolled back in the chair, and his smile was rueful as he went on, ‘I guess it wasn’t such a good idea after all.’ He shrugged, attempted nonchalance. ‘No harm done, I sincerely hope.’ Then he felt a need to explain himself further. ‘And again, I hope you didn’t misinterpret the invitation, take it the wrong way. It simply struck me, suddenly, that the mountain air would do you good, since you’ve been so sick, and, to be honest, you would’ve been great company for me. I hate travelling by myself. I get pretty lonely. And we have become close buddies this past week.’ When she was unresponsive, he pressed, ‘Well, we have, haven’t we?’
‘Yes,’ she murmured, crushed and let down. I’m just a surrogate Nicholas Latimer, she thought miserably. A bloody chum. How could I have possibly imagined otherwise?
‘Hey, don’t look so glum.’ Victor was laughing, visibly relaxing. ‘It’s not the end of the world. And I understand why your father would be against it. After all, you’re only nineteen, Francesca. I keep forgetting that. Mind if I help myself to another cognac?’
‘Please do.’ Bridling at his reference to her age, she continued, ‘I’d like one too, please.’
‘Sure.’
Francesca put her elbows on her knees and dropped her chin into her hands. Her face was thoughtful, brooding. So badly did she want to be part of Victor’s life, to spend time with him on a one-to-one basis, she was now prepared to accept the relationship on any terms. More precisely, his uncompromising terms. She would settle for a platonic friendship. If they could only be buddies, as he phrased it, then so be it. She focused on the trip to Klosters. I’m going with him next week, come hell or high water, she made up her mind. I must, to cement our friendship. But how to accomplish this without dissembling? She was incapable of lying to anyone, particularly her father. I don’t have to lie, she thought, I can simply go, without telling him. But this would be deceitful. It was another form of lying in a way, and if he ’phoned the house and she was not there he would be concerned, if not, indeed, disturbed. Francesca knew she could not inflict this kind of worry on her father. He had enough to contend with. Somehow Daddy must be circumvented, she told herself.
Victor handed her a brandy snifter, interrupting her thoughts with, ‘Here you are.’
‘Oh, thanks. Cheers,’ she said abstractedly, and took a large swallow.
‘Hey, you’re meant to sip that, otherwise you’ll get loaded,’ he warned mildly.
‘No I won’t. I’ve got a hollow leg.’
‘That makes two of us.’ He chuckled and so did she. Yet there was a flatness to her laughter and he caught the shadow in her eyes. He studied her. Was she embarrassed because she had been forced to refuse his invitation? A hundred to one she is, old buddy, he answered himself.
‘Look here, Francesca, I hope you’re not worrying about Klosters. I’m not offended. Let’s forget it. I want to do some hard skiing, and that wouldn’t be much fun for you, even if you’re a crack skier. I start at dawn, finish at dusk, and you’d probably hardly have the stamina to keep up with –’
‘Skiing,’ she repeated, not permitting him to finish.
‘Sure. Why do you think I’m going to Klosters?’
Francesca sat very still. An extraordinary idea took hold. It filled her with a joyful optimism, since it might be the solution she had been seeking. Be cool, be casual, be sophisticated, she cautioned herself. Don’t rush in like a silly schoolgirl. She had no wish to sound forward, or presumptuous, and so she began to structure her next sentence with immense care. Aware that he was waiting for a response, she toyed with her glass, took a sip of the cognac, gaining time. She ignored his question, and asked, ‘Would you really be lonely going to Klosters on your own?’ She was pleased her voice was controlled.
‘Sure I would. I told you, I’m used to travelling tandem with Nicky. Besides, I’ve discovered I never have much fun by myself. I like to share places, the scenery, good food and wine, experiences in general.’ He eyed her with curiosity, wondering why she had been prompted to ask the question. Hadn’t he made himself clear initially?
‘So what you actually want is a replacement for Nicky?’
‘If you want to put it that way, yes, I guess I do,’ he admitted. ‘But naturally it would have to be the right person … Listen, I wouldn’t just pick anybody … at random. That’d be asking for trouble.’ He was filled with wariness, alarmed she might have someone in mind. Her brother for instance. He was not open to suggestions about travelling companions. He said quickly, ‘That’s why I invited you. We’re compatible, we get along, we understand each other.’
She said, with a faint smile, ‘Oh I know we do, Victor.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Unless I’m wrong, what you’re saying is that the person you go with is as important to you as the place, perhaps even more so and –’
‘You’ve got it.’ He looked at her oddly. ‘I’m puzzled. What’s all this leading up to, Francesca?’
‘Bavaria.’
‘Bavaria?’ he echoed with a puzzled frown. ‘You’ve lost me.’
Francesca shifted in the chair. A calm smile dimpled her mouth. ‘If you changed your plans and went to a place called Königssee I could go with you. Unless there’s someone else you’d like to invite to Klosters, instead of me. And if there is, I do understand, really I do.’
‘There isn’t anyone I’d even consider, let alone ask,’ he assured her truthfully. ‘But I don’t get it, Francesca. If you can go to Königsee with me, why can’t you go to Klosters?’
‘Very simply because I don’t need my father’s approval to go to Bavaria. My cousins Diana and Christian live there, and I have an open invitation to visit them any time I wish. The skiing is superb, well into spring, and there’re some marvellous ski runs, as well as a number of fine old inns. Diana would know the best, and she could book you a suite at one of them. Naturally, I’d have to stay with my cousins. But don’t you see, my father couldn’t possibly object. I’d be … I’d be very