Laura's Locket (2 page)

His face stared back at me!

My heart leapt. I blinked and he was gone. I blinked again. Had I imagined it? Not likely. Maybe he changed his mind?

The restaurant door opened and an elderly couple walked in. My heart dropped.

Get a grip!
It had only been a chance meeting. The probability of bumping into him again was so remote it didn’t bear thinking about. Yet, deep down, I hoped we would.

* * *

The next day we were on the train to Pompeii. It was the first item on our to-do list. Soon we were standing in the once-thriving hub of that dead city—the Forum—an ancient plaza that had hummed with people, now eerily silent as the shadow of Vesuvius fell over the ancient temple of Saturn.

I stared up at it in horrified fascination.

Being winter, few tourists were about. I tried to visualise the terrified chaos of the people who had once lived here. The preserved casts of children and even infants who had died that day two thousand years ago brought tears to my eyes.

I thought of Naples where our plane had landed. It was situated at the base of the deadly mountain. ‘You know if Vesuvius ever erupts again, Naples will become the next Pompeii.’ I said.

‘Great!’ Beth glared up at the volcano. ‘Better not happen while we’re here.’

‘When was the last time it did?’ Angie asked.

I flipped through the pages of our tour booklet. ‘1940s.’

‘Seriously? That’s not that long ago.’ She stuck her face right up against the glass barrier where a whole family group was preserved. When she drew away, an impression of her forehead and nose remained for a brief moment.

‘That’s so sad,’ I said. ‘Those poor people didn’t make it out.’

‘Gives me the creeps,’ Beth said, pulling her red coat tighter and buttoning it up. ‘Wanna leave for Positano tomorrow?’

‘No!’ I said too quickly. Philippe’s face appeared in my mind and I wondered where he was and what he was doing? If we left now, I might miss a chance meeting. My friends looked at me, then at each other and shrugged.

That night, we dined again in the same restaurant. My eyes lingered on the window, but I didn’t see his face. Nor did I glimpse him in the streets. It began to rain, and as we ran through the hotel entrance, it was pelting down.

* * *

Tap! Tap!
The sound woke me.
Tap!
I sat up, rubbed the sleep from my eyes and checked my watch. One a.m. The sound came from the direction of the glass balcony doors. The moon was full, and by its light I caught the glint of something hanging in the window. It appeared to be attached to a dark object stuck to the glass. The wind outside buffeted it against the pane. That’s what was making the tapping sound.

My heart jumped i
nto my throat. Was it a cat burglar?

I pushed aside the feather quilt, threw on my dressing gown and padded to the balcony. I stood and debated whether to open the doors and retrieve the object.

Tap! Tap!

Curiosity won. I turned the handle, opened the door enough to retrieve the object, and quickly shut it again. I held a white card from which dangled a spiral seashell, on a silk ribbon. Its pearly surface caught the glint of moonlight.

I switched on my bedside lamp.

Laura,

We met yester
day on the street and I would

like to see you again.

I’m downstairs in the lobby.

Please
come!

Philippe

My
stomach clenched. How did he know where I was staying? Had he followed us? Maybe Beth was right, and he was in the mafia, or… or some kind of psycho.

I groaned inwardly and sent up a silent prayer.
Please, don’t let him be a stalker!
Well, there was only one way to find out.

I promised Mum and Dad, and my aunt, I wouldn’t go anywhere alone. Did the hotel foyer count? I’d still be in the same building, so technically I wouldn’t be on my own, and there were bound to be night staff around.

I dressed in minutes, opened my bedroom door and crept out into the lounge. Beth’s door was slightly ajar as I tiptoed from the suite.

Philippe stood facing me when the elevator doors opened. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of him. His shoulder-length blonde hair was tied back with a black ribbon, and the black leather jacket emphasised his wide shoulders.

He took my hand, kissed it and said, ‘Thank you for coming. I know it’s very late for you,’ as he led me into the grand lobby where soothing, romantic music was piped through the speakers. No one else was about except the night clerk at the reception desk, who glanced up briefly as we strolled past.

C’mon, Laura, find your tongue!
‘Ah, don’t you sleep?’

‘I had… work to complete. Can I get you a drink?’ he asked, indicating a plush, brocaded seat for me.

‘No, thank you.’ My heart hammered in my chest, but I tried to appear calm. I smiled and kept my hands behind my back so he couldn’t see how nervous I was. ‘How did you know my hotel?’

He sat opposite me. ‘A close friend owns several here. I simply asked him to find out where a beautiful girl called Laura and her two friends were staying.’

‘All that trouble, to find me? Why not slide your card under my door?’

‘You may not have seen it till the morning, and I couldn’t wait.’ His smile was devastating, and it took a while before my pulse returned to normal. He was so self-assured and thought nothing of waking me at one in the morning. Were all European men like that?

‘How did you get up there?’ I asked. ‘It’s four storeys up.’

‘My secret.’ He sat back in his chair and smoothed back his hair like a preening cat, his sensuous lips curled in a smile.

My heart lurched into my mouth as the thought of him being a cat burglar entered my mind. What if he regularly scaled walls and climbed along rooftops to enter the rooms of rich tourists?

‘Are you a cat burglar?’ The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them and I clamped my hand over my mouth.

He laughed, a genuine deep-throated chuckle. ‘No, I promise you I am not a cat burglar or any such thing.’ He stopped and regarded me a while. ‘Your candour is refreshing.’

A polite way of putting it! I have a habit of saying what other people only think.
‘Who are you, Philippe? What is your last name?’

‘Reynard. My home is in Paris. A friend asked me to join him here for a few days and I wasn’t going to come, but now… I’m glad I did.’ He gazed at me so intently, my stomach bunched into knots.

‘We’re, ah… leaving in a few days.’ I wasn’t sure whether to tell him our next destination.

‘Amalfi Coast?’

I’m sure my jaw dropped. ‘How did you know?’

‘Sorrento’s usually the starting point for most tourists on their way there. Positano, is it?’ He leaned forward and eased the wooden coffee table that separated us out of the way with his foot.
It must be lighter than it looks,
I thought. ‘Where will you be staying?’ he asked.

‘I really shouldn’t tell you. I… know nothing about you. I shouldn’t even be sitting here with you.’

He chuckled again. ‘Quite right to be cautious.’ Then he sobered and grasped my hands in his. ‘But you have nothing to fear from me. I would never hurt you!’ There was such earnestness in his voice and eyes, I wanted to believe him… did believe him.

‘We’re staying at the—’

‘Tell me the night before you leave. That way we must keep seeing each other until then.’ Philippe had released one of my hands and lightly pressed a finger over my lips. He then slowly traced the outline of my mouth, his eyes holding mine captive as every nerve in my body tingled.

I was lost for words. No, mesmerized. How could a girl not be flattered, when the best looking guy she’s ever seen was asking her out? And he was a man: elegant, charming and sophisticated, and so unlike the boys I’d known in high school. I guessed he was at least in his mid twenties. I glanced at his mouth and wondered what kissing him would be like; how his lips would taste.

He inhaled long and deep, then gave me a broad smile. Had he read my mind? I averted my eyes and pulled my hand from his grasp as heat flooded my cheeks.

The piped music in the foyer now swelled, as though on cue, and a mellow male voice began to sing. Philippe stood and offered me his hand. I accepted, and we danced, arm in arm, swaying to the music. He held me tighter with each new tune. I inhaled the spice and leather of his scent and brushed my cheek against his.

My heart fluttered as the dreamed-of holiday romance had begun. I wanted to enjoy it; for my sensible side warned me this couldn’t last. He lived in France and I lived in Australia. This was probably as much a holiday romance for him as it was for me. Another thought occurred to me—maybe he did this often, with other tourist girls. Maybe he was married with half-a-dozen kids.

‘Anything wrong?’ He pulled back and gazed down at me.

‘I… I don’t know you, Philippe. Are, um… are you… married?’
Please, God, don’t let him be married!

‘Ah, so that’s what’s worrying you.’ He chuckled. ‘No, I’m not. No woman has a claim on me.’

It was a strange way to assure me, yet instantly I relaxed and rested my head on his shoulder.

‘That’s better,’ he murmured in my ear, then brushed my hair aside. His cool lips skimmed the length of my throat.

A warm sensation rippled through me and as we continued to sway to the rhythmic sounds of the piped music, our bodies seemed to meld into each other. A perfect fit. We were the only two people in the world, and when the music stopped, we continued to the music within us. And we talked. He was interested in everything about me—my education and friends. Did I have a boyfriend back home?

‘Not a steady one,’ I replied. Apart from one I’d dated in my senior year, I’d never been that keen on the boys in my school. They were so immature.

‘I’m a portrait artist.’ He stopped and gazed intently at me. ‘Let me paint you, Laura. Beauty such as yours should be immortalized.’

My breath left me and I longed to say yes. Yet, an inner voice whispered caution. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Promise me you’ll think about it.’

‘Okay.’

‘Now I’ll take you back to your room. I’ve kept you up long enough.’

‘I’m not tired.’ I could have stayed in his arms all night.

‘You will be in the morning.’ He trailed his hand slowly down the side of my face and neck as his eyes held mine. His head suddenly swiveled to the side and he frowned.

‘What is it?’ I asked.

‘Nothing. I… thought I heard something.’ Whatever it was, it had altered his mood. ‘Come. Back to your room.’ Philippe took my hand and escorted me to the door of my suite. ‘Meet me tomorrow night?’

‘Same time?’

He shook his head. ‘I have a confession. I only asked you at such a late hour to see if you’d come, and you did.’ He gave me a slow, seductive smile.

‘Only out of curiosity,’ I replied in response to the slight smugness of his tone.

‘Curiosity satisfied?’ He leaned toward me, his gaze riveted on my mouth.

My throat dried. ‘Um… I’ll let you know tomorrow night.’

Philippe chuckled. ‘Does eleven suit?’