Australia’s Most Eligible Bachelor (10 page)

Outside the door of her suite, Corin tucked a breeze-ruffled curl behind her ear. “Sleep well. Lots to do tomorrow.”

They had returned from their stroll around the great
piazza
, along with the summer tourists enjoying the warmth and beauty of their surroundings, her arm tucked cozily in his. Now it was time to say goodnight.

“I can’t thank you enough for this trip, Corin.” She looked up to meet those brilliant, intense eyes. He had such an aura. She could only imagine it would increase with the years. “You and Zara have been wonderful to me.”

“You don’t think it’s because you’re easy to be wonderful to?” he asked with a smile. “You’re so receptive to new experiences, Miranda. You undoubtedly have an eye. I know you’ve added a considerable lustre to
my
stay. Now, goodnight. Breakfast at eight. Okay?”

“Fine. My first night in a huge canopied Venetian bed. This is such an alluring place!” She threw up her arms.

Did she know just how alluring
she
was? Corin thought as he moved resolutely away. All those fascinating changes of expression! Every minute he spent with her bound him closer and closer. It had taken all his resolve to walk away, pretending light affection, when he hungered to pick her up, take her to her Venetian bed and make endless love to her. She was twenty-one. Was she still a virgin? Had the usual experimentation gone on? Not with her Peter. He was sure of that. But with another intelligent, caring young man? Miranda wouldn’t settle for less. She was now very much a part of his life. He had no intention of letting her get away. But it would take time. Such was his high regard for her and her ambitions he was prepared to wait.

Only he was human, and he wanted her so much it was
pain
.

The bathroom of her suite was magnificent, lavishly covered in Italian marble. The finest bath and body products were to hand, and robe and slippers. Miranda took a quick shower and emerged glowing. She dried herself off, slipped on her nightdress and her own satin robe, then padded into the bedroom with the panoramic tiny terrace beyond. Truth be told, she felt too keyed-up to sleep. She had thought the warm shower followed by a quick cool blast would quell all the stirrings in her body. But just the opposite. This intense awareness of herself as a woman, the awareness of her body, had been brought about by Corin. His brilliant dark eyes as he had said goodnight had been hooded—just the broad, high sweep of his cheekbones. Was that to hide his thoughts? They had connected on many levels, but the physical one was definitely there. She had
seen
it. She had
felt
it when he took her face between his hands. So much was transmitted by touch. Whatever he felt, however, he wasn’t going to do a thing about it. In his position he would be weighing up the consequences. She wasn’t the only one with defence strategies. Did he consider a sexual relationship with her taboo? Technically she was his stepsister, wasn’t she? Was there a liability attached to having a physical relationship?

Feeling a wave of sweet melancholy, she picked up her crystal-backed brush to give her hair its ritual thirty strokes. Forget one hundred. Mentally she had long dreamed of Corin as her lover. Incredibly stupid of anyone to hanker for someone out of their reach. Her past lovers had been infrequent. Two, actually. Both fellow students, both in love with her, both very tender in their ministrations. She had wanted to know what making love was all about. She hadn’t found much of an answer in either short-lived experience. She had considered at those times she mightn’t be capable of giving herself completely to anyone. Look what had happened to her mother. She didn’t understand her mother’s life. It was crucial she understood her own.

That was when she casually looked up, glancing into the ornately carved pier mirror in front of her.

A man was staring back at her, his body as solid and impenetrable as a stone statue.

The level of shock was bottomless. She drew in a sharp breath that quivered like an arrow in flight. A judder racked her spine. Yet not a single word burst from her throat. No scream. No cry at all.

Somehow she kept upright, determined to stay that way. He was dressed very
oddly
. He might have stepped out of another century. Could it be some sort of fancy dress? Venice was famous for it. But even as she considered that she had to reject it.

Push back the panic.

He remained eerily still. Where had he sprung from? The terrace? Had he been hiding out there? Had he slipped in earlier in the night when the maid came in to turn down the bed?

“What are you
doing
here?” she cried as she spun to confront him. Aggression seemed the best way to go, though some part of her brain had signalled he meant her harm.

She required an explanation.

Only she was by herself.

Quite, quite
alone
.

How could that be? A kind of dread started cold in her veins. She had a well-organised mind. She was certain she wasn’t losing it. Her eyes darted all around the room. This was alarming. He’d had no time to get anywhere within a framework of seconds. There had to be a logical explanation. Yet her view of life as she had known it started to waver. The parameters were suddenly blurred. She leaned against the canopied bed. Had he stepped out of a parallel universe? Was there any such thing? Many people believed there was, but she was far too rational to believe in—

Ghosts?

The word presented itself, only it was seriously weird. She’d had more than a glimpse of her visitor. It couldn’t have been a trick of the light. More than a touch of dizziness beset her. The air had definitely chilled around her. Indeed, the opulent room was filled with an impenetrable thick silence, as if she had cotton wool stuffed into her ears. Except she could distinctly hear the tinkling of the chandelier above her head. Something had set the lovely crystal lustres in motion.

There was no breeze.

Sometimes life can depart from the easily explained.

It had to be a trick of the light. Her imagination. The legendary mystique of Venice at work?

She made a big effort to get control of herself. None of those explanations would wash. What she saw, she
saw
. No way was she crazy or mildly intoxicated. The walk after dinner had cleared her head in any case. Already a strong suspicion was with her. There just could be a paper-thin wall between this world and
that
. The majority of the population managed to keep it at arm’s length. But many learned people, academics and the like—one had to discount the fanciful—had theorised that ghosts
did
exist. And they were notorious for hanging around castles and palaces.

She was fairly sure now what her visitor was.

An apparition.

One she had done nothing to summon up. Her mind’s eye retained a snapshot of that long, narrow face, the black beard, the shoulder-length dark hair, the strange dress like a priest’s cassock. His hands, as white as his face, had been quietly folded. A glinting medallion hung around his neck. He hadn’t appeared hazy. Quite the contrary. He’d been substantial. Someone strong enough to materialise if only for a moment. Energy, perhaps? Something of a person that lingered in the atmosphere? She was striving to rationalise what she had seen.

Only she was certain she wouldn’t be able to sleep here. Imagine if he came back again? Imagine if he sat down on the side of the bed?

If anyone had asked her that morning if she believed in ghosts she would have laughed and quoted some lines from
Hamlet
:

“There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

She wasn’t laughing now. She was a quaking bundle of nerves.

Corin answered the phone almost immediately.
“Pronto!”

“It’s me,” she said at a rush, ashamed of the tremor in her voice. “Can you please come down to my suite?
Now!
”

His answer was sharp. “You’re okay? What’s happened?”

“I’ll tell you when you arrive.”

She needed his strong arms to enclose her. His powerful presence. At least whatever she had seen was long gone. How did ghosts come by their clothes anyway? she pondered weakly. Did they have access to communal wardrobes? She began to feel mildly hysterical. Jewellery pools? How did he manage to hold onto the medallion he wore around his neck?

What she had so briefly experienced had opened up a nest of snakes. She didn’t feel at all foolish. She had her wits about her. She had seen what she had seen for long enough to be sure.

Vast relief swept her as Corin strode in. His thick, lustrous hair was tousled into deep waves. He wore a white T-shirt and jeans, hurriedly pulled on.

“For God’s sake, Miranda, you’re as white as a sheet. What’s happened? Did something frighten you?” He looked at her, then beyond her, obviously searching the room, and then just as she had hoped he reached for her and drew her into his arms, clamping her close. “It’s okay. I’m here.” Solid warm flesh, strong arms, vibrantly male. She could feel the strength and power in him. The dizziness eased.

“And am I glad!” she muttered into his warm chest. “Listen, I don’t want to make an issue of it—wake up the manager, demand an exorcism—but I think I’ve had a visit from Signor Vivaldi.” She was capable now of attempting a joke.

He drew back a little so he could stare into her eyes. “What are you talking about? Did someone get in here?”

She shook her head. “Trust me. It was Signor Vivaldi. Only he wasn’t carrying his violin. Don’t let go!” she cried out as his grip slackened in his surprise.

“I won’t.” He sounded gentle, but perplexed. “Come and sit down.” He led her, still with his arms around her, to the sofa, upholstered in rich scarlet, amber and gold brocade to match the bedspread and the hangings around the canopied bed.

“Do
you
believe in ghosts, Corin?” she asked, staring into his eyes. “Serious question, here. And please don’t laugh.”

“Who’s laughing?” he answered soberly. Indeed, there was no trace of a laugh in his face or his voice. “Are you telling me you saw a ghost?”

“Right there in the mirror,” she said. “Go on. Take a look. You’re so tall and strong you’ll probably frighten him off.”

“More like he’d frighten
me
!” Corin rose to his feet, moving position so he could stare into the ornate antique pier glass.

“I confess I’m only getting a reflection of you,” he said. She looked profoundly shaken, but it was obvious to him she was trying hard to keep herself together. That impressed him. “The brain does funny things sometimes. Miranda,” he said very gently. “Both Zara and I saw our mother in all sorts of places for ages after she’d gone. On the landing. The stairs. The end of the hallway. The rose gardens especially. It’s grief. It’s trying to come to terms with it. The sense of loss drives you to conjure up the loved one’s presence.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Of course, Corin. I understand about you and Zara. I’ve had my own moments with my grandparents, but I knew them for what they were. I don’t know this guy. I’m pretty clear-headed. Strong-minded, if I say so myself. I wasn’t hallucinating. I’m not losing my marbles. I know what I know. I saw what I saw.”

Corin resisted any attempt to convince her she had to be mistaken. “Well, it wasn’t Vivaldi. He had
red
hair. He was called the Red Monk.”

“Then it was one of his cronies. The whole place is intrinsically spooky. It wasn’t my imagination. The whole experience was beyond eerie. He didn’t look particularly dangerous, but I don’t fancy seeing him again.”

“I bet you don’t!” Corin agreed on the instant. The weird thing was he believed her. Or believed her enough not to contradict her. “We’ll swap suites.”

Miranda reacted fast. “How do I know he won’t follow me to yours?”

“I wouldn’t blame him if he did.” His answer was wry.

“This isn’t a joke, Corin,” she told him sharply. “You have to stay with me.”

“What? Share the bed?” He had to try to inject some humour into a situation that was threatening to get out of hand.

“
You
can have the bed,” she said magnanimously. “I’ll sleep on this sofa. It’s big and it’s very comfortable. We might shift it closer to the bed, though.”

“So we can hold hands?”

“Do you believe me or not?” she challenged. “Or do you think this is some kind of idiotic ploy to entice you here?”

“Never occurred to me.” He kept his voice serious.

“If he’d been real I would have attacked him with my hairbrush. But there was no one. I suppose the fascination of Venice, apart from its beauty, mystery and exoticism, is that it’s tantalisingly spooky. Part of the mythology, isn’t it?”

He fetched up a sigh. “So my mother always said. As for me, I keep an open mind about ghosts. I have to admit it would take a lot to convince me. I do believe, however,
you
are convinced. Now, I have a suggestion. Why don’t I take you down to my suite? Let you see what you think?”

“No way!” She rejected the offer. “You have to stay here with me. The air changed, you know. It was like I had wads of cotton wool stuffed in my ears, except I could hear the tinkling of the chandelier.”

“It isn’t tinkling now,” he said somewhat dryly.

“Of course it isn’t!” She struck his arm. “He’s
gone
. Buzzed off. Maybe he has a full roster tonight? Some people are into the paranormal big-time. The thing is he looked just like he would have looked in life. Not some ectoplasm I could walk through. Stay with me, Corin. This is the most beautiful place in the world, but it
is
scary.”

He released a long groan, feeling the onset of a raging torrent of emotions. “How can I possibly sleep in the bed and leave you on the sofa?”

“The bed’s big enough for both of us,” she said, trying to persuade him with the appeal in her turquoise eyes.