He was strong. She was too. She did stand a chance of convincing him to slow down the drilling programme. Quisvada was also obscenely rich, and, though she disapproved of ostentatious displays of wealth, she couldn’t deny a certain curiosity in seeing how the other half lived. All in all, safe had never been an option for her. She needed a challenge like this. She needed to leave the Arctic Circle and test herself in the wider world, and she cared so passionately about the mine this was her chance to prove it. There was no doubt in her mind. She would make Quisvada listen.
Shifting her backpack into a more comfortable position, she continued on up the path, wondering about the fluttering in her chest. What did she have to worry about? She was in no danger from the count. He was hardly her type—
No man is your type.
Having run out of things to argue with herself for the moment, she stopped again. It didn’t help that she was overdressed. Her hectic decision to come here had ruled out sensible planning, so she was pretty much wearing what she had in Arctic Skavanga: boots, jeans, and the thermal vest she had stripped down to. There was even a heavy parka strapped to her backpack. Great, when what she needed here was a pair of shorts, a flimsy top, and an extra large tub of sunblock.
She wouldn’t have had to come if the count had been more reasonable. And was that the real reason, or was this the last-chance saloon for Eva Skavanga as far as men were concerned?
‘Meaning?’ she flashed out loud, then glanced around guiltily to make sure no one had heard her talking to herself. She really was wound up. Meaning, she reasoned as she plodded on, Count Roman Quisvada threw off the sort of confidence that said he would be very good in in bed... Now she had to take a moment to think about that.
Planting her hands in the small of her back, she was forced to accept that she wouldn’t know too much about being good in bed. She wasn’t completely innocent. She wasn’t exactly experienced, either. She’d had a few fumbles, none of which had encouraged her to try the experience again. She frightened men off. If they weren’t limp to begin with, they certainly were by the time she’d finished with them. And then somehow the time for experimenting passed her by. She got too old for it. She missed the boat. She told herself it didn’t matter. She just wasn’t interested in sex.
Until she met the count.
Allowing her backpack to slide to the ground, she rested her hands on her knees to catch her breath. Lifting her head, she weighed up the gates guarding his lair. They were big, but not so big she couldn’t climb over them. Chucking her backpack over first, she followed, scrambling up the ornamental ironwork like a monkey. They’d told her in the village that with the big wedding on it was unlikely that anyone would be home, which was great for her purposes. It gave her a chance to have a snoop around before the count returned.
She quickly spotted some cameras, but no alarms went off. Lots of people had cameras, but very few were switched on, she’d heard. Undeterred, she started to march up the broad, impressive drive. Bottle-green cypress trees stood on parade on either side, providing some welcome shade, while the neatly groomed gravel crunched beneath her feet. The palazzo was framed against a brilliant blue sky, and with its towers and crenellations, the count’s island home looked like something from a fairy tale. It certainly wasn’t what she had expected. Festoons of purple bougainvillea softened the walls and hung in swags around the windows, while more fringed the top of the impressive front doors. Colour was mostly grey in Skavanga, but here the blaze of colour was a huge assault on her senses—not unpleasant, though the count’s home was certainly a confident reflection of his power and wealth.
Even she had to admit his gardens were exquisite. Colour blazed at her from every side, and there was such an amazing variety of planting. How many people must he employ? she wondered as she ran her fingertips across the immaculate white wall. The count probably had homes like this across the world, she concluded, and none of them could mean as much to him as the simple log cabin she shared with her sisters on the shore of a frozen lake. That was where they had taken their holidays for as long as she could remember. There weren’t many luxuries, but she didn’t care. Thinking about the symbols that defined her, and those that defined the count, she realised they couldn’t be more different.
Having reached the entrance, she raised the heavy knocker and rapped forcefully on the door.
Silence.
Shading her eyes, she peered through the window. They hadn’t been exaggerating in the village when they said everyone would be at the wedding. The palazzo appeared to be deserted. Untying her neck scarf, she mopped the grit and sweat from her face as she decided what to do next. Maybe there’d be someone round the back...