Bride By Choice Read online

  ‘You’ll be a statistic in the missing persons’ column in a minute,’ Helen warned.

  Her sisters exchanged significant looks, understanding that Elena (who had always been ‘difficult’) might be a little sensitive just now.

  Turning away from them she edged her way up to Lorenzo, until she got close enough to mutter. ‘We have to talk.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry-’

  ‘You’re going to be.’

  ‘It just happened.’

  To the delight of her whole family she put her hands on his shoulders, gazing up into his face with an utterly charming smile. ‘You’re a scheming rat,’ she murmured.

  ‘I didn’t mean it to be like it was.’

  ‘Have you told my family the truth?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. Because if you do, you’re dead.’ She glided away, still smiling. Lorenzo gulped.

  The folding doors between the two main rooms had been pushed back, creating one large room, connected to the kitchen by a hatch, through which Mamma passed enough food to supply an army. Pride of place was given to a variety of meat courses.

  Everyone wanted to talk to Lorenzo, which saved Helen from having to do so. She needed time to compose her thoughts. Memories of the things she’d said tonight flitted through her horrified brain. She’d actually told him that her parents were trying to arrange their marriage. And he not only hadn’t warned her, but he’d joined in her vilification of Lorenzo Martelli.

  To cap his iniquity he’d tricked her into accepting his kiss, and actually kissing him back. At this point her thoughts became lost in disorder. Warmth rose in her and she had a horrible feeling that it was showing in her cheeks.

  Great! Now he would see her blushing, and that would make him even more full of himself. She looked at him angrily across the table, and found that he was watching her, as she’d feared. But not as though he were pleased with himself. There was a question in his eyes, and his lips wore a half smile that she would have found delightful under other circumstances.

  It was all part of the trickery, she warned herself. Having insulted her, he was now bent on winning forgiveness on easy terms. Well, he could think again!

  Lorenzo was talking about his family back in Palermo. Helen gathered that his father had died some years earlier, but his mother was still alive, although in frail health.

  ‘She called me last week,’ Mamma said, ‘to say you were coming. And I told her you would always be welcome in our home.’

  ‘Well, you’ve certainly made me welcome tonight,’ Lorenzo assured her with his charming smile that took in everyone at the table.

  ‘Do you have any brothers and sisters?’ Carlotta wanted to know.

  ‘Two brothers, Renato and Bernardo, both older than me. No sisters, but a sister-in-law. Renato has recently married an English woman called Heather, and their first baby is due later this year.’

  Poppa was frowning. ‘I didn’t know your parents had three sons,’ he said. ‘I thought it was only two.’

  ‘No, there are three of us.’ Lorenzo’s smile was still perfect, but Helen detected a fleeting tension in him, and noticed how adroitly he turned the conversation.

  He was wonderful in company, Helen realised. He could be ‘man-to-man’ with her father and brothers, while charming Mamma and making her sisters laugh. In no time at all he had them all on his side, which struck Helen as a really dirty trick.

  The most difficult part of the evening was that for once she had her parents’ total, unqualified approval. They had picked out a suitable husband, and instead of arguing she had moved to first base in a couple of hours. In this atmosphere it was impossible to tell them that their choice was a devious, unscrupulous deceiver who ought to be hung up by his thumbs until he promised never to approach a woman again.

  Lorenzo, watching her, read her thoughts with tolerable accuracy, but he was too much occupied with getting his bearings to worry about the retribution awaiting him. As a Sicilian he was used to large gatherings, but it was taking all his presence of mind to hold his own in this one. Apart from brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles, there were also a couple of Mamma’s nieces with their husbands. Of these, the one who stuck in Lorenzo’s mind was Giorgio, because he disliked him so much.

  Giorgio was a huge man with a spiteful face and a bullying nature. He was also blatantly on the make, and lost no time in telling Lorenzo about his family back in Sicily who’d been trying to sell their produce to Martellis for years, but had been scandalously rejected. He implied that now he expected this injustice to be put right.

  Lorenzo fenced with him and escaped as soon as he could, giving a huge sigh of relief. That was one more reason to be glad he wasn’t marrying Helen Angolini. Even if she hadn’t rejected him first.

  To be fair, he was beginning to understand her feelings. The men of the Angolini family were of a type that was becoming outdated even in Sicily where tradition still prevailed. In this household male superiority was still taken as the norm. Only the younger women, who spent their working lives outside in a different world, questioned it. The men, enclosed in the haven of Little Italy, thought nothing had changed.

  The dinner was superb and Lorenzo was able to praise his hostess’s cooking with real pleasure. She smiled and accepted his tribute with a few words, but when her husband intervened to say that Angolini meats were second to none she retired and let him take the credit.

  Lorenzo tried again, but this time it was Giorgio who butted in, interrupting Signora Angolini in a way that nobody would have been allowed to do with his own mother. Mamma’s reaction was to rise with a smile and a nod to her daughters to help her clear away. After that the party broke into two groups, women washing up and making coffee, and men gathering to talk.

  The evening culminated in a grand family toast to Lorenzo, and an invitation to supper whenever he wished. At last the family began to drift off to their own homes, in some cases just across the street. The party was over. Poppa yawned. He had to get up early next morning.

  ‘Time for me to go,’ Lorenzo said heartily.

  ‘No, no, you stay a while,’ Mamma protested. ‘We’re all going to bed, but Elena can make you some more coffee.’

  ‘Yes, do stay,’ Helen said affably, but with her hand implacably through Lorenzo’s arm. ‘We have a lot to talk about.’

  He gave her a hunted look.

  The younger girls drifted off to bed. Mamma and Poppa beamed and departed. Helen surveyed her prey.

  ‘You are Lorenzo Martelli,’ she said through gritted teeth.

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted.

  ‘And you’ve been Lorenzo Martelli all this time?’

  ‘Well, it’s not something that comes and goes,’ he said defensively. ‘I’m kinda stuck with it.’

  ‘You were Lorenzo Martelli while we were talking at the hotel?’

  ‘As far as I know.’

  ‘And you were Lorenzo Martelli when you kissed me?’

  ‘Guilty!’

  ‘Even though you knew I disliked you?’

  ‘You disliked some guy who doesn’t exist,’ he protested. ‘That wasn’t me.’

  ‘It sure was. I disliked Lorenzo Martelli then and I dislike him ten times more now that I know he’s a devious scoundrel without a shred of honour. Shall I tell you what I’d like to do to you?’

  ‘I think I’d rather you didn’t.’

  ‘Kissing me like that was a dishonourable act, and if I told Poppa the full truth you’d be mincemeat.’

  ‘Not if he wants you to marry me,’ he was unwise enough to say. ‘All right, all right!’ He backed off fast. ‘Whatever you were going to do, don’t do it. I shouldn’t have stolen that kiss, and I’m sorry, but I got carried away by your beauty and-’

  ‘I’m warning you, Martelli, don’t insult my intelligence. You should be ashamed of yourself. No gentleman would do what you did.’

  ‘I’m not a gentleman,’ he protested quickly, evidently seeing this as some sort of de
fence. ‘I never pretended to be one.’

  ‘You got that kiss from me by false pretences.’

  ‘You’re right. How about I give it back?’

  ‘Come one step closer and you’re dead.’

  ‘Aw, now look, that kiss wasn’t a one-sided business. You kissed me back.’

  ‘It’s a lie! Nothing on earth would persuade me to kiss that man.’

  ‘Will you quit talking about me as though I wasn’t here? And don’t tell me I don’t know when a woman’s kissing me.’

  ‘That will be your experience talking, I suppose?’ she asked, her eyes kindling. ‘Your vast experience?

  He took a nervous step behind a chair. ‘Fair to middling,’ he said self-consciously.

  ‘Hah!’

  He rallied his forces, such as they were. ‘May I ask what you mean by “Hah!” in that voice?’

  ‘Never you mind.’

  ‘You don’t know what you mean by it, do you? When a woman knows she’s talking nonsense she says “Hah!”’

  ‘Oh, really? Well, consider this. Everyone in the street saw us kissing, and that makes it a very public thing. I can’t tell them I didn’t know your name because that would bring shame and disgrace on my parents, my brothers, my sisters, my nephews and nieces, my aunts and uncles, their aunts and uncles, their ancestors, their cousins and the whole shooting match going right back to Sicily. What’s more, my mother is dying to tell Aunt Lucia in Maryland, who will certainly pass it on to Aunt Zita in Idaho, who will telegraph it to Los Angeles. This is a Sicilian family. Today Manhattan. Tomorrow the world. Do you realise,’ she demanded, incensed, ‘that now they’ll expect me to marry you?’

  ‘No problem. I can take care of that.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I swear I’ll never propose. My solemn word, so you’re quite safe. And to make doubly sure, I’ll talk to your parents and tell them I’ve decided I don’t like you very much.’

  ‘After what they saw in the street?’

  ‘I’ll tell them you’re a lousy kisser-don’t throw that!’

  He ducked as a book came flying past his head and struck the wall with a loud crack.

  ‘Out,’ she told him.

  ‘Shouldn’t we fix our next date? They’ll expect it-’

  ‘Out!’

  He got as far as the door before saying, ‘Are you spending the night here?’

  ‘No, I’m going back to my apartment.’

  ‘Then shouldn’t we be leaving together?’

  Helen breathed hard. ‘Signor Martelli, if you’d been listening to a word I said, you’d know that I would prefer not to share the same planet with you, never mind the same cab.’

  ‘I know,’ he said gravely. ‘I’m not keen on you either, but we have to make these sacrifices.’

  ‘Who’ll know if we leave together or not?’

  ‘Anyone who’s standing at their window.’

  The appalling truth of this hit her like a sledge-hammer. ‘Which means the whole street,’ she groaned. ‘I’ll call us a cab.’

  When she’d finished making the call he was holding up her coat, and Helen put her arms in the sleeves, accepting the inevitable. They had to leave together, or there would be talk, and there’d already been too much of that.

  Luckily the cab appeared quickly and they both behaved with perfect propriety. Lorenzo gave her his arm down the steps of the building, which were slippery from frost. She allowed him to show her to the vehicle and open the door for her. She never looked up but she was burningly conscious of many pairs of eyes watching from above.

  As the car’s tail lights disappeared around the corner Mamma Angolini dropped the curtain of her bedroom window, and heaved a sentimental sigh. ‘Did you see the way he handed her in?’

  Poppa, standing beside her, frowned, ‘But what were those noises earlier?’

  ‘Oh, that’s nothing,’ she told him cheerfully. ‘They were just having a lovers’ tiff.’

  In the back of the cab Lorenzo said placatingly, ‘Why don’t we stop for a drink somewhere, and straighten this out?’

  ‘There’s nothing to straighten out,’ she said coolly. ‘I’ll drop you off at the Elroy and go on alone.’

  ‘I see,’ he said glumly. ‘The frozen mitt treatment.’

  ‘You’re lucky it’s not the frozen sock-on-the-jaw treatment.’

  She should have known better. He stuck out his chin, pointing to it hopefully.

  ‘Oh, stop it,’ she said, trying not to smile. He was wicked and irresistible.

  ‘No, go on, thump me if it’ll make you feel better.’

  She abandoned the struggle not to laugh, clenched her fist and punched his chin very, very gently. Another mistake. He seized her hand and kissed it.

  The swift action took her by surprise, invading her senses before she could suppress the memory of that other kiss, full on the lips, by a young man who kissed subtly and with intent. It all came back to her now, so that although his lips were moving across her hand she seemed to feel them on her mouth. She must tell him now, coolly and primly, that this must stop at once.

  But she felt neither cool nor prim. She felt as though waves of warmth were laving her, and thoughts of wine and roses were going through her head.

  Just when she was starting to panic, he stopped, releasing her hand suddenly and abandoning her to a sense of loss that sent warnings jolting through her. Basta! Enough!

  ‘There’s Elroys,’ she said, with relief. ‘Don’t worry about my parents. I’ll call them tomorrow and explain that you and I won’t be seeing each other in future.’

  ‘But what about our wedding?’ he asked, sounding hurt.

  ‘I shall tell Momma that we decided against it.’

  ‘After what she saw?’

  ‘We got carried away. On reflection we realised we were mistaken.’

  In the semi darkness of the cab she could see his teeth gleam. ‘About what?’

  ‘About-about being carried away.’

  ‘I don’t mind if you want to carry me away. We could-’

  ‘Now you cut it out,’ she flashed. ‘That innocent little boy charm may floor my mother but it leaves me cold.’

  ‘I was afraid it did,’ he said mournfully.

  The cab drew to a halt. ‘Goodnight, Mr Martelli. It was a pleasure meeting you and I wish you every success.’

  ‘No, you don’t. You wish you could boil me in oil.’

  ‘I was giving you the polite version.’

  ‘In that case, thank you, Miss Angolini, for a lovely evening. I hope our paths cross again one day.’

  She returned his smile with deadly intent. ‘Not if I can prevent it,’ she said. ‘Goodnight. Sleep well.’

  She watched him go into the hotel and vanish from sight. That was that. Somehow she would contrive not to see him again.

  She gave the driver the address of the apartment on East 77th Street that she shared with Dilys.

  Her friend was home ahead of her, dressed for bed. ‘So how was your evening?’ she asked. ‘I saw you talking to the life-guard. Any good?’

  ‘’Fraid not,’ Helen said, yawning. ‘Handsome on the outside, but nothing to him. Boring really.’

  Next morning Helen found a message to report to Jack Dacre.

  ‘I’ve got a new assignment for you,’ he said, ‘and seeing as how you and Signor Martelli have already broken the ice, I know you’ll enjoy it.’

  ‘Really?’ Helen was holding herself in neutral.

  ‘I want you to look after him. Apparently his English isn’t as good as I first thought. He admits that a lot of the time he’s only pretending to understand. He’s happier in Sicilian dialect, which I gather you speak, so you can act as his interpreter. That way you can keep an eye on his other dealings. It all works out very well.’

  ‘Especially for Lorenzo Martelli,’ Helen murmured wrathfully as she knocked on Lorenzo’s door.

  It opened apparently of its own accord. She walked in and found him tucked behind
the door, regarding her with apprehension.

  ‘Will you stop playing the fool?’ she said, half laughing, half exasperated.

  ‘It’s nice to see you.’

  ‘You’re just up to your tricks again. Pretending your English is no good, when I know it’s perfect.’

  ‘Is true, is true,’ he clowned in excruciating stage Italian. ‘Me no spikka da English.’

  She just looked at him, trying not to smile, but it was hard to be severe when the dancing light in his eyes was tempting her to dreams of delight.

  ‘I’ve been detailed to assist you,’ she said, trying to sound business like. ‘Shall we discuss the programme for the day?’

  ‘Why don’t you show me the sights?’

  ‘Mr Martelli, I’m a busy woman.’

  ‘OK, OK,’ he said in resignation. ‘It was worth a try. Here’s a list of places I have to visit. There are no other hotels in New York, but several restaurants.’

  ‘None of these are Italian restaurants,’ she objected, studying the list.

  ‘Of course. That’s the idea. I’m out to make converts and Italians already know that Martelli produce is the best.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have asked.’

  ‘True. As a good Sicilian, you should have known.’

  ‘Lorenzo-’

  ‘I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it. Let’s go.’

  Over the next few hours she began to give him a grudging respect. Lorenzo was a first-class salesman who used his charm to get himself into the customer’s good graces before knocking him for six with the quality of his product. By the evening he had a solid wad of orders, all of which he’d promised to fulfil by the next day, having taken the precaution of hiring a warehouse and filling it in readiness.

  ‘And I’m exhausted,’ he complained at last. ‘Let’s go in here and relax.’

  The place he’d chosen at random was called Fives, and it overlooked the Hudson. Darkness had fallen and lights glittered along the river, entrancing Helen, even though she was used to such views. Tonight all her senses seemed heightened. Even edge was a little clearer, each colour a little sharper.

  She felt good. It had been a pleasant day with a delightful companion, for when Lorenzo wasn’t being maddening he was amusing. Recently her life had been all hard work and not enough laughter, she realised.