LITMIR.BIZ

      After a taxi had dropped her off outside the hotel, Petra made her way into the lobby. With the rest of the day to herself there were any number of things Petra knew she could do.

      The complex had its own souq, filled with craftspeople making and selling all manner of deliciously irresistible and traditional things, or she could leave the hotel and enjoy a gondola ride through the man-made canals that bisected the complex, or walk in the tranquillity of its gardens. And of course she could simply chill out if she so wished, either by one of the several stunningly designed pools, including a state-of-the-art ‘horizon pool’, or even on one of the private beaches that belonged to the complex.

      The pools and beaches were reached via a man-made ‘cave’ below the lobby floor of the hotel, where it was possible to either walk or be taken in one of the resort’s beach buggies.

      Once there, as Petra had already discovered, a helpful employee would carry her towel to the lounger of her choice, and position both it and her beach umbrella for her before summoning a waiter in case she wanted to order a drink.

      Nothing that a guest might need, no matter how small—or how large—had been left to chance in the planning of the complex or the training of its staff. Petra had travelled all over the world, both with her parents, her godfather, and on her own, and she had already decided that she had never visited anywhere where a holidaymaker’s needs were catered for so comprehensively and enthusiastically as they were here.

      But of course she was not here on holiday—even if her closest girlfriends at home had insisted on dragging her round some of London’s top stores before she had left, to equip her with a suitably elegant wardrobe for her trip.

      Baring in mind her own innate modesty, and the country she was travelling to, Petra had eschewed the more outré samples of resort wear her enthusiastic friends had pointed out to her—although from what she had seen of her fellow holidaymakers’ choice she could have chosen the briefest and most minimal bikini and still have felt comparatively over-dressed compared with some of them.

      Instead she had opted for cool, elegant linens and discreet tankini beach sets, plus several evening outfits including an impossible to resist designer trouser suit in a wonderfully heavy cream matt silk satin fabric, which the salesgirl and her friends had tried in vain to convince her she should wear with simply the one-button jacket fastened over her otherwise naked top half.

      ‘You’ve got the figure for it,’ the salesgirl had urged her, and her friends had wickedly agreed. But Petra had refused to give in, and so a simple cream silk vest with just a hint of a pretty gold thread running through it had been added to her purchases.

      A rueful smile quirked her mouth as she remembered the more outrageous of her two friends attempts to persuade her to buy a trendy outfit they had seen in a London department store: a fringed and tasselled torso-baring top, with a pair of matching lower than hip level silky pants which had revealed her belly button, claiming mock innocently that it would be perfect for her to wear in a country that celebrated the art of belly dancing.

      Petra had known when she was being wound up. Her smile deepened as she instinctively touched her smooth flat stomach with her fingertips. Hidden beneath her clothes was the discreet little diamond navel stud she had bought herself just before she’d left home to replace the one she had been wearing whilst her recently pierced flesh had healed up.

      No one, not even her friends, knew of the uncharacteristic flash of reckless defiance which had led to her having her navel pierced the very day after her godfather had finally ground down her opposition and persuaded her to come to Zuran.

      Secretly Petra had to acknowledge that there was something dangerously decadent and wanton about the way the tiny diamond she had bought for herself flashed whenever it caught the light, but of course no one was ever likely to see it, or to know of her rebellious emotional reaction at having to give in to her grandfather’s desire for her to visit his country.

      Thinking of her grandfather made Petra frown. Just how serious was his heart condition? She had assumed from her uncle’s original calm, almost casual reference to it that it was not a particular cause for concern.

      Was he as ill as her aunt seemed to believe? Or was it simply a ploy, a means of manipulating her and putting pressure on her? Petra was fiercely determined that she would not give one inch to the despot who had caused her mother so much pain, and she was convinced that he was playing the kind of cat and mouse game that her mother had often told her he was an expert at, using his supposed poor health as a means of keeping her in dark about his real plans for her. Naturally such behaviour on his part had put her on her mettle and alerted her most defensive and hostile reactions. But what if she had been wrong? What if her grandfather was genuinely very ill?

      Although it would have been impossible for her not to be emotionally touched by the warmth of her aunt and uncle’s reception of her, and their concern that she might be disappointed at being deprived of what they seemed to assume was a much longed for meeting with her grandfather, Petra’s antipathy towards her grandfather had been intensified by his emotional manipulation and had caused her to harden her heart even more against him.

      She had every right to both mistrust and dislike him, she reassured herself. So why was she feeling somehow abandoned and rejected—excluded from the anxious family circle which had gathered protectively around him? Why did she feel this sense of anxiety and urgency to know what was going on? Why did she feel this sense of pain and loss?

      Her uncle or her aunt would ring her at the hotel if they thought it was necessary; she knew that. But that wasn’t like being there, being part of what was happening, being totally accepted.

      A family walked past her in the foyer, on their way to the piano lounge, its three generations talking happily together. A deep sense of anguish welled up dangerously inside Petra. Grimly she tried to suppress what she was feeling. She had always been too vulnerable to her emotions. Her

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