A Dangerous Arrangement Read Free Page A

surface of the slim high-tech case.
    She waited at the curved wooden counter while the man opened a steel door and disappeared into the walk-in safe. On his return, he took a leather-covered journal from beneath the counter and entered in the item plus the date and time.
    â€˜Thank you.’ Marina took the pen he offered and signed her name next to the entry. ‘It’s insured of course, but I won’t take any chances with it.’
    â€˜Certainly, signora.’ The man spoke quietly as he closed the book and stowed it beneath the desk, the epitome of professionalism and discretion.
    In her room on the third floor, Marina swallowed two anti-inflammatory tablets and fetched the gel pack from the bar fridge. The Louis chair by the window afforded an uninterrupted view of the bridge, and she sat down, yawning as she rolled up her sleeve and wrapped the pack around her left wrist. The coldness burned her skin and she thought about getting up and wrapping it in a towel, but decided against it. The long-haul flight from Sydney a few days ago was still messing with her body clock.
    Taking a deep breath, she began her routine of circular breathing, using the technique a trumpet player had shown her years before. Back then he’d insisted it would help her with stage fright. Now, it was a part of her daily routine.
    Before long her eyelids began to droop and she snuggled deeper into the chair, surrendering to the wonderful drifting feeling that often precedes sleep.
    She sat straight, violin tucked beneath her chin, bow poised, eyes riveted on the conductor. Heat, as powerful as the Australian sun, beat down on her from the suspended stage lights. In her peripheral vision Marina could see the pale faces of the silent audience seated in the first few rows. Then the conductor cast one final look over the orchestra, and raised his baton…
    Marina’s phone blurted an alert, startling her from her slumber. Blinking against the beam of sunlight slanting through the window, she dug the device from her pocket and squinted at the screen.
    With a sigh, she called her voicemail.
    Did she really believe she’d get away with keeping this trip a secret?
    â€˜Hi, it’s Michelle.’
    Marina leaned forward. Her sister never phoned for a sisterly chat, only when she needed money, over and above what Marina already provided.
    â€˜Dad needs eye surgery.’ Her sister’s voice was so clear she could have been in the next room, not halfway across the world in Boston. ‘He has cataracts, on both eyes. Anyway, call me. You know what it costs to have surgery in this country.’
    Cataracts. Not life threatening but invasive enough to send a person blind if they weren’t attended to.
    Marina breathed a sigh of relief and keyed in a text to her sister. ‘I’m on tour, Michelle. I’ll call in the next day or so. Go ahead and organise the op. Don’t worry about the money.’
    Don’t worry about the money!
    Marina put a hand to her forehead. She could afford it, provided she kept her tenure with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra.
    And if she didn’t?
    There was no way she could afford to keep Michelle at home caring for their father with only a teacher’s wage to rely on.
    Marina dropped the phone in her lap and turned to gaze at the gondolas bobbing up and down on the water. Vlad was right. She should get out and do something. Sitting around the hotel room would achieve nothing. She had to stay positive. Her performance career wasn’t over yet.
    Curling her fingers into a fist, she prayed the rest time had been long enough.
    Her hands were her livelihood.
    Without them, she was nothing.

Chapter Three
    At six in the evening the Mercurial Hotel was a busy place. Porters manoeuvring trolleys threaded their way through the crowded lobby. Tourists, mostly families, formed an untidy queue outside the Canal Ristorante in the hope of securing a table for the early sitting.
    From his