They walked the gardens of the Schönbrunn Palace, then returned to the hotel and luxuriated in the depths of the black ma
rble bath, complete with Christmas bubbles scented with marzipan. Then their dinner was brought and served by a butler so stately that Gabe blinked.
‘He looks more dukelike than me,’ he said as the man made his dignified exit, and Etta gurgled with laughter.
Conversation flowed—easy talk, with both of them skirting any conversation that would remind them this was the end. Course followed course. Pheasant, goose ravioli, boiled beef and then gingerbread mousse. Each and every dish complemented the one before, and when it was over they stood by the window and gazed out over the still busy streets, illuminated in gold and white.
‘Happy Christmas, Etta.’
‘Happy Christmas, Gabe.’
As he took her hand to lead her to the bedroom it occurred to him that it had been. It had been the interlude he’d needed before harsh reality set in.
But now he needed to face his parents and set about carving out a new life.
* * *
Etta shifted on the bed, fought the idea of waking. She wanted to stay asleep, meshed in drowsiness, her mind and body still ensconced in the memories that fizzed and bubbled. The night had been magical—a magic wrought of Christmas and happiness, passion and sweetness and love.
Her eyes sprang wide in shock... Love?
Oh, no. No, no, no, no. Etta forced herself to remain still, to keep her breathing even as panic threatened to engulf her. This could not have happened.
It dawned on her that a noise had awoken her—it was still pitch-dark outside but a faint buzz provided a welcome distraction from the enormity of her stupidity. Until her brain and her ears connected. Oh, God. Was it her phone? Where was her phone? The phone she faithfully placed next to her bed every night. In case Cathy needed her.
Panic swarmed her brain cells as she scrabbled on top of a gold leaf cabinet. Not there. Scrambling out of bed, she tried to think... It must still be in her bag, probably nearly out of charge...
She ran into the enormous lounge, tried to recall where she’d dropped her bag, found it on the sofa and fumbled the phone to her ear.
‘Cathy? Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine, Mum. Actually I was worried about you. But I’ve just realised the time—did I wake you up? Sorry... I miscalculated the difference. We tried you twice yesterday. I wanted to tell you about...’
Etta sat perched on the chaise longue, listening to the babble of her daughter’s conversation, and relief washed over her. Cathy was safe. But what if she hadn’t been? What if she had been trying to get hold of her and it had been an emergency? What if the unthinkable had happened and Tommy had tracked her down? What if Cathy had needed her?
Guilt slammed into her, caught her breath.
‘Mum? You sure you’re OK? Your Christmas sounded pretty good... What’s the plan now? Is the fake-girlfriend gig over?’
‘Yes.’ Etta forced brightness into her voice. ‘It’s over. I’ll be flying out of Vienna today. I’ll be in England when you get back, and we’ll work out where to meet.’
She couldn’t risk going home yet—there had been no sign of Tommy in Vienna, but there had been enough publicity that he would know exactly where she was.
Cathy’s sigh carried down the phone and across the miles with gale force. ‘Mum. Please. Let’s drop the cloak-and-dagger stuff. We’ve already missed Christmas together. Let me meet Dad, let him into my life, and it will all be fine.’
The words sounded so reasonable but Etta knew she was wrong. ‘I can’t do that, Cathy. Your dad is dangerous and abusive.’
There came the memory of pain, physical and mental, of the sensation of worthlessness, the belief that she deserved to be hurt, the twisted certainty that Tommy loved her—would love her if she could only be less useless. She could not let Cathy be sucked into that vortex in her need for a father. A need she understood all too well.
‘So the “cloak-and-dagger stuff” continues. In the meantime enjoy the rest of the cruise and I’ll call you later.’
‘Fine.’ Cathy gusted out another tornadic sigh.
‘I do get how you feel, Cathy, and I love you lots.’
‘Love you too, Mum.’
Etta disconnected and tried to think—she was an idiot, a fool, a disaster zone. Once again she’d allowed herself to get sucked in. Gabe might not be Tommy, but that wasn’t the point. The problem here was Etta—she couldn’t handle relationships of any sort—not even a fling. Instead she flew out of control, lost perspective. Last time the cost had been her self-respect and her family. This time she might have lost her daughter.