Читать книгу Spanish Escape - Maisey Yates, Carol Marinelli - Страница 10

CHAPTER TWO

THE SOUND OF seagulls and the distant throb of music didn’t wake Raúl from his slumber; instead they were the sounds that soothed him when he was startled in his sleep. He lay there, heart pounding for a moment, telling himself it was just a dream, while knowing that it was a memory that had jolted him awake.

The gentle motion of his berthed yacht almost tempted him back to sleep, but then he remembered that he was supposed to be meeting with his father.

Raúl forced his eyes open and stared at the tousled blonde hair on his pillow.

‘Buenos días,’ she purred.

‘Buenos días.’ Raúl responded, but instead of moving towards her he turned onto his back.

‘What time do we leave for the wedding?’

Raúl closed his eyes at her presumption. He had never actually asked Kelly to join him as his guest, but that was the trouble with dating your PA—she knew your diary. The wedding was to be held this evening in the Scottish Highlands. It was nothing for Raúl to fly from Spain to Scotland for a wedding, but Kelly clearly thought that a few weeks out of his office and in his bed meant she was automatically invited.

‘I’ll speak to you about that later,’ Raúl said, glancing at the clock. ‘Right now I have to meet with my father.’

‘Raúl…’ Kelly turned to him in a move that was suggestive.

‘Later,’ he said, and climbed out of bed. ‘I am supposed to be meeting with him in ten minutes.’

‘That wouldn’t have stopped you before.’

He took the stairs and walked up onto the deck, picking his way through the debris and the evidence of another wild Raúl Sanchez Fuente party. A maid was already starting the mammoth clean up and she gave a cheery wave to Raúl.

‘Gracias,’ she said as he gave her a substantial cash bonus without apologising for the mess. She did not mind his excesses—Raúl paid and treated her well, unlike the owners of some of the yachts, who expected her to work without complaint for very little.

Raúl put on his shades and walked along the Puerto Banús marina, where his yacht was moored. Here, Raúl belonged. Here, despite his decadent ways, he fitted in—because he was not the wildest. Raúl could hear a party continuing on, the music throbbing, the sound of laughter and merriment carrying across the sparkling water, and it reminded Raúl why he loved this place. Rarely was it ever silent. The marina was full of luxurious yachts and had the heady scent of filthy money. Ludicrously expensive cars were casually parked, all the fruits of serious wealth were on display here, and Raúl—dishevelled, unshaven and terribly beautiful—blended in well.

A couple of tourists stumbling home from a club nudged each other as Raúl walked past, trying to place him. For he was as good-looking as any film star and clearly he was someone. People-watching was a regular activity in Puerto Banús, for amongst the tourists and locals were the rich, the famous and the notorious too.

Raúl scored two out of three—though he was famous in the business world.

Enrique, his driver, was waiting for him, and Raúl climbed in and gave a brief greeting, and then sat silently as he was driven the short distance to the Marbella branch of De La Fuente Holdings. He had no doubt as to what his father wanted to discuss, but his mind was going over what Kelly had just said.

‘That wouldn’t have stopped you before.’

Before what? Raúl asked himself.

Before he lost interest?

Before the chase had ended?

Before she assumed that a Saturday night would be shared?

Raúl was an island.

An island with frequent visitors and world-renowned parties, an island of endless sun and unlimited luxury, but one who preferred guests not to outstay their welcome, only allowed the superficial. Yes, Raúl was an island, and he intended to keep it that way. He certainly didn’t want permanent boarders and he chose not to let anyone get too close.

He would never be responsible again for another’s heart.

‘I shan’t be long,’ Raúl told Enrique as the car door was lifted and he climbed out.

Raúl was not looking forward to this conversation, but his father had insisted they meet this morning and Raúl just wanted it over and done with.

‘Buenos días.’ He greeted Angela, his father’s PA. ‘What are you doing here on a Saturday?’ he asked, because Angela usually flew home to her family for the weekend.

‘I am trying to track down a certain Spaniard who said he would be here at eight a.m.,’ Angela scolded mildly. She was the one woman who could get away with telling Raúl how it was. In her late fifties, she had been employed by the company for as long as Raúl could remember. ‘I’ve been trying to call you—don’t you ever have your phone on?’

‘The battery is flat.’

‘Well, before you speak with your father I need to go through your diary.’

‘Later.’

‘No, Raúl. I’m flying home later this morning. This needs to be done now. We also need to sort out a new PA for you—preferably one you don’t fancy!’ Angela was less than impressed with Raúl’s brief eye-roll. ‘Raúl, you need to remember that I’m going on long service leave in a few weeks’ time. If I’m going to train somebody up for you, then I need to get on to it now.’

‘Choose someone, then,’ Raúl said. ‘And you’re right; perhaps it would be better if it was someone that I did not fancy.’

‘Finally!’ Angela sighed.

Yes, after having it pointed out to him on numerous occasions, Raúl was finally accepting that mixing business with pleasure had consequences, and sleeping with his PA was perhaps not such a good idea.

What was it with women? Raúl wondered. Why, once they’d made it to his bed, did they decide that they could no longer both work and sleep with him? Raúl could set his watch by it. After a few weeks they would decide, just as Kelly now had, that frequent dates and sex weren’t enough. They wanted exclusivity, wanted inclusion, wanted commitment—which Raúl simply refused to give. Kelly would be found another position—or paid off handsomely, if that was what she preferred.

‘All your flights and transfers are arranged for this afternoon,’ Angela said. ‘I can’t believe that you’ll be wearing a kilt.’

‘I look good in a kilt.’ Raúl smiled. ‘Donald has asked that all the male guests wear them. I’m an honorary Scotsman, you know!’ He was. He had studied in Scotland for four years, perhaps the best four years of his life, and the friendships he had made there had long continued.

Bar one.

His face hardened as he thought of his ex, who would be there tonight. Perhaps he should take Kelly after all, or arrive alone and get off with one of his old flames just to annoy the hell out of Araminta.

‘Right, let’s get this done…’

He went to walk towards his father’s office but Angela called him back. ‘It might be an idea to have a coffee before you see him.’

‘No need,’ Raúl said. ‘I will get this over with and then go to Sol’s for breakfast.’ He loved Saturday mornings at Sol’s—a beautiful waterfront café that moved you out quickly if you weren’t one of the most beautiful. For people like Raúl they didn’t even bother with a bill. They wanted his patronage, wanted the energy he brought to the place. Yes, Raúl decided, he would head there next—except Angela was calling him back again.

‘Go and freshen up and I will bring you in coffee and a clean shirt.’

Yes, Angela was the only woman who could get away with speaking to him like that.

Raúl went into his own huge office—which was more like a luxurious hotel suite. As well as the office there was a sumptuous bedroom, and both rooms were put to good use. Heading towards the bathroom, he glanced at the bed and was briefly tempted to lie down. He had had two, possibly three hours’ sleep last night. But he forced himself on to the bathroom, grimacing when he saw himself in the mirror. He could see now why Angela had been so insistent that he freshened up before facing his father.

Raúl’s black eyes were bloodshot. He had forgotten to shave yesterday, so now two days’ worth of black growth lined his strong jaw. His usually immaculate jet-black hair was tousled and fell over his forehead, and the lipstick on his collar, Raúl was sure, wasn’t the colour that Kelly had been wearing last night.

Yes, he looked every inch the debauched playboy that his father accused him of being.

Raúl took off his jacket and shirt and splashed water on his face, and then set about changing, calling out his thanks to Angela when he heard her tell him that she had put a coffee on his desk.

‘Gracias!’ he called, and walked out mid-shave. Angela was possibly the only woman who did not blush at the sight of him without a shirt—she had seen him in nappies, after all. ‘And thanks for pointing me in this direction before I meet with my father.’

‘No problem.’ She smiled. ‘There is a fresh shirt hanging on the chair in your office also.’

‘Do you know what it is that he wants to see me about?’ Raúl was fishing. He knew exactly what his father would want to discuss. ‘Am I to be given another lecture about taming my ways and settling down?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Only now did Angela’s cheeks turn pink. ‘Raúl, please listen to what your father has to say, though. This is no time for arguments. Your father is sick…’

‘Just because he is ill, it does not necessarily make him right.’

‘No,’ Angela said carefully. ‘But he does care for you, Raúl, even if he does not easily show it. Please listen to him… He is worried about you facing things on your own…’ Angela saw Raúl’s frown and stopped.

‘I think you do know what this is about.’

‘Raúl, I just ask that you listen—I can’t bear to hear you two fighting.’

‘Stop worrying,’ Raúl said kindly. He liked Angela; she was the closest thing to a mum he had. ‘I have no intention of fighting. I just think that at thirty years of age I don’t have to be told my bedtime, and certainly not who I’m going to bed with…’

Raúl got back to shaving. He had no intention of being dictated to, but his hand did pause. Would it be such a big deal to let his father think that maybe he was actually serious about someone? Would it hurt just to hint that maybe he was close to settling down? His father was dying, after all.

‘Wish me luck.’ Raúl’s voice was wry as, clean-shaven and bit clearer in the head, he walked past Angela to face his father. He glanced over, saw the tension and strain on her features. ‘It will be fine,’ he reassured her. ‘Look…’ He knew Angela would never keep news from his father. ‘I am seeing someone, but I don’t want him getting carried away.’

‘Who?’ Angela’s eyes were wide.

‘Just an old flame. We ran into each other again. She lives in England but I’m seeing her at the wedding tonight…’

‘Araminta!’

‘Stop there…’ Raúl smiled. That was all that was needed. He knew the seed had been sewn.

Raúl knocked on his father’s door and stepped in.

There should have been flames, he thought afterwards. Or the smell of sulphur. Actually, there should have been the smell of car fuel and the sound of thunder followed by silence. There should at least have been some warning, as he was walked through the door, that he was returning to hell.