A Mistress, A Scandal, A Ring. Angela Bissell

and decided to make an appearance ten minutes earlier than Rosa had recommended. If her host was a stickler for punctuality she’d rather be early than even a minute late.

      The villa was so big she took two wrong turns on her way to the formal dining room before she finally located it. Pausing in the hallway, she touched a hand to her hair, took a deep breath and then walked into the room. Rosa was there and Jordan smiled at her, then shifted her gaze to the long dining table—and the single place-setting at one end.

      Before she’d fully processed the implication of that single setting, Rosa said quickly, ‘Ho sento, molt. Senyor de la Vega sends his apologies. He must work late.’

      Her heart sank. After all the nervous anticipation, discovering she would be dining alone—again—was a huge let-down.

      Seeing Rosa’s anxious expression, however, she made an effort to resurrect her smile and said lightly, ‘That’s okay. Perhaps I’ll catch him later, when he gets home.’

      Rosa wrung her hands together. ‘I am afraid he is not coming home tonight.’

      She looked at the housekeeper in surprise. ‘He’s staying at work all night?’ she said, yet even as she spoke she knew it wasn’t inconceivable that someone like him would work through the night and into the weekend. He was a workaholic, and workaholics had only one priority.

      ‘He has an apartment above his office,’ Rosa said. ‘He stays there often. Senyor de la Vega works very hard,’ she added, and Jordan couldn’t tell from Rosa’s tone whether she admired or disapproved of her employer’s work ethic.

      She regarded the table again. Despite the fine china and the sparkling crystal, the gleaming cutlery and the beautiful vase of crimson calla lilies, the solitary setting looked rather forlorn at the head of the enormous table.

      ‘Rosa, would it be all right if I ate outside on the terrace?’

      Out there she’d at least have the birds and the crickets for company. And she could gaze out to sea and watch the sun as it sank below the horizon.

      The housekeeper smiled. ‘Sí. Of course.’

      An hour later Jordan sat on the terrace in the gathering dusk with a full tummy and a glass of white wine, watching the sky turn to lush shades of orange and purple. She could hear laughter and snatches of conversation coming from somewhere nearby. The feminine voice she recognised as Rosa’s; the male voices no doubt belonged to Alfonso and Delmar.

      She pictured the trio, enjoying their own alfresco meal, and the sounds of their banter sharpened the sense of isolation that had crept over her in the last hour.

      She took a gulp of wine. Was this what Xavier had intended all along? To isolate her?

      Suddenly his offer of hospitality didn’t seem quite so munificent.

      But why? Was he somehow testing her? Had he left her up here to see what she would do? What did he think she would do? Pocket the silverware? Slip some crystal into her bag? Snatch a priceless painting off the wall and hightail it off the estate before she was found out?

      More laughter danced through the still air and she swallowed another mouthful of wine.

      She knew this hollow feeling in her chest. It was loneliness. And she refused to let it suck her down into a place of misery. She didn’t do self-pity. Self-pity was a waste of time. She’d learnt that as a child in the wake of her mother’s departure, when she’d realised that crying under the duvet wasn’t going to bring her mother back. She had dried her eyes, got out of bed and focused on the parent she still had. She’d made herself indispensable to her father.

      Because if Daddy needed her then he wouldn’t go away. Wouldn’t leave her like Mummy had.

      Jordan shook off the childhood memories. It was history, and dwelling on the past was just another form of self-pity. The best medicine for the blues was to do something, and with that thought in mind she got to her feet, picked up her wine glass and went in search of the laughter.