Her Italian Boss’s Agenda Page 4

  ‘I shall just have to guess. Now, let’s eat.’

  Breakfast was grapefruit, cereal and coffee, which suited him exactly. While he was eating she relented enough to put the red roses in a vase, but seemed content to leave the cards unopened.

  Could any woman be so truly indifferent? he wondered. Were her admirers really surplus to requirements?

  Or was this another facet of her personality?

  But she was a witch, he remembered, a strega magica, changing before his eyes to bemuse and mystify him. And he had no choice but to follow where she led.

  CHAPTER THREE

  O VER coffee he said, ‘Considering the mess I made of your car last night, you’d have been quite justified to have abandoned me to my fate.’

  ‘Yes, I would,’ she said promptly. ‘I can’t think why I didn’t.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re a warm-hearted, forgiving person?’

  She considered this seriously before dismissing it.

  ‘That doesn’t sound like me at all. There must be some other reason.’

  ‘Maybe you preferred to keep me around so that you could inflict dire retribution?’

  ‘That sounds much more like me,’ she said triumphantly. ‘How did you come to have such a nasty accident?’

  ‘I forgot that the English drive on the wrong side of the road.’

  His droll manner made her laugh again, but then she said, ‘You really do spend most of your time in Italy, then?’

  ‘A good deal. I’m at home in many places.’

  ‘And you’re part of Leonate, and that’s why you’re over here?’

  ‘Uh-huh!’ he said vaguely.

  ‘And then you have to report back?’

  ‘I shall certainly describe what I find, but I think, for the sake of my dignity, I’d better leave yesterday’s events out of it. I wasn’t trying to trap you. I just acted on impulse. I have a peculiar sense of humour.’

  ‘I have no sense of humour at all,’ Olympia said at once.

  ‘That would account for it,’ he said. ‘I’ll make a note of that for my report.’ He pretended to write, reciting the words slowly. ‘No-sense-of-humour-at-all.’ He seemed to think for a moment before adding, ‘Problem-to-be-considered-at-later-date. Suggest-dinner. Then-duck.’

  ‘Get outa here,’ she said, laughing reluctantly.

  ‘Do you mean that literally?’

  ‘No, I guess you can finish your breakfast first.’

  They shared a grin, and he wished Luke could have been here to see him now. Luke often accused him of having no sense of humour, and that was true enough-with any other woman.

  But this one brought laughter welling up inside him, filling the world with light and warmth. It was strange that she could be a witch as well, but he would solve that mystery later. Or maybe he would never solve it. For the moment he just wanted to be here.

  ‘So what do you say?’ he asked.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About dinner. Shall I duck, or make a reservation at the Atelli Hotel?’

  She was impressed by the name of London’s newest luxury hotel.

  ‘That sounds delightful,’ she said. ‘But only if you’re well enough to go out.’

  ‘I’m fine now. We’ll have to see about the cars this morning. Where do you take yours for repairs?’

  ‘There’s a good place about a mile away. Are you sure about paying?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ he said firmly. ‘Enough of that. Aren’t you going to open those Valentine cards?’

  He had resolved not to ask, but his will, so often a source of pride to him, seemed suddenly to be pitifully weak.

  ‘I guess I might,’ she said casually.

  The first one was an elaborate confection of red satin and lace which had clearly cost a fortune. The message inside read,

  I’ll never forget. Will you?

  He glanced at her face, but beyond a faint smile it revealed nothing.

  Slowly she opened the other two. Both were large with pictures of flowers. Neither bore a name or a message.

  But her face changed as she looked at them, growing soft, tender, with a smile that was pure delight. When he spoke to her she didn’t hear him at first.

  ‘I’m sorry, what was that?’ she asked, sounding as if she’d been awoken from a dream.

  ‘I said, you obviously know the two guys who sent those cards.’

  ‘I know who sent them, yes,’ she agreed, hoping he wouldn’t notice how she’d changed the words.

  ‘And they must feel fairly sure that-I mean-’

  ‘They’re both people I’m very fond of, and they know that.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I figured. But doesn’t it get a bit complicated?’

  ‘Why should it?’

  ‘Well-do they know about each other?’

  ‘Of course they do. What do you take me for?’

  He was beginning to wonder.

  ‘Which one of them sent the flowers?’

  Olympia shrugged mischievously.

  She made no further comment, but when she rose to go to the kitchen she lingered a moment to caress the velvety roses and inhale their scent with her eyes closed and a look of exhilaration on her face.

  ‘I’ll go and get ready,’ he said abruptly.

  When the bedroom door had closed behind him she slipped into the bathroom and took out her cellphone, which she’d made sure of taking with her. Before dialling she turned on the water so that there was just enough noise to muffle her words.

  She heard the ringing tone, then a familiar male voice. ‘Hallo!’

  ‘Dad? They’re beautiful.’

  ‘Ah, they got there.’ His voice faded as he turned away and she heard him say, ‘They arrived OK,’ followed by a woman’s squeal of excitement.

  ‘And the cards,’ she said. ‘They’re both lovely, but you shouldn’t be so extravagant.’

  ‘We couldn’t decide between them, so we sent both.’

  ‘You’re mad, the pair of you.’ She chuckled. ‘What other parents send their daughter Valentine cards?’

  ‘Well, like we said, darling, you changed the world, being born like that, when we’d given up hope. Here, your Mum wants to talk.’

  Her mother’s cheerful voice came down the line. ‘Do you really like them, darling?’

  ‘It’s lovely, Mum-as always. But what about you?’

  ‘Oh, I got roses too.’

  ‘So I should hope.’

  ‘And next year-maybe there’ll be a real young man.’ Her mother’s voice was hopeful. ‘Oh, I know you said never again, but your father and I are keeping our fingers crossed.’

  ‘Don’t hope for too much, Mum. You married the only decent guy around. After Dad they broke the mould.’ Then an imp of mischief made her add, ‘Actually, there’s one here now.’

  ‘You mean a man who stayed the night?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In your bed?’ Her mother sounded thrilled.

  ‘Mum! You’re nearly seventy. You’re supposed to be old-fashioned and puritanical and tell me to save it for marriage.’

  ‘Your Dad and I didn’t. Anyway, one must move with the times.’

  ‘Yes, he was in my bed, but don’t get too excited. There’s only one bed in the apartment and he had a concussion so I looked after him, and that’s all.’

  ‘Is he good-looking?’

  ‘That really has nothing to do with it.’

  ‘Oh, nonsense dear! It has everything to do with it.’

  ‘Well-all right, yes, he’s good-looking.’

  ‘As how?’

  ‘He’s in his late thirties, tall and-well, his eyes are-really quite something.’

  ‘What did he think about your cards and flowers?’

  ‘He was-interested.’

  ‘You didn’t tell him they were from your parents, did you?’

  Olympia chuckled. ‘Nope. You taught me that much savvy.’

  ‘That’s right. Keep him guessing. Oh, this is lovely. I must te
ll your father. He’ll be so excited.’

  ‘Mum, you’ve got a wicked mind.’

  ‘Of course, dear. It makes life so much more interesting. Are you going to see him again?’

  ‘We’re having dinner tonight.’

  ‘Harold!’ her mother shrieked. ‘Guess what!’

  There was an indistinct mumbling, followed by her father’s bellow of, ‘Best of luck, darling!’

  She hung up feeling happier, as she always did when talking to her parents. She could never quite figure out how those two had come this far without discovering that love and marriage were snares for fools. She only prayed that they never did discover it.

  For herself, it was too late to forget what she had learned. The finer feelings were not for her. There was ambition, and there was having a good time. Tonight she was going to enjoy them both. Jack Cayman was charming company, although it was true, as she’d told her mother, that his good looks were an irrelevance.

  But what really mattered was that he came from the centre of power; he would know Primo Rinucci and could tell her how to aim for her goal. Tough times and hard work lay ahead, but a person could have some fun in the meantime, couldn’t she?

  She had a small twinge of conscience that perhaps she was being unfair to him, but only a small one. This was how the game was played.

  She was really looking forward to dinner that evening.

  As he gathered his things together, ready to leave, Primo was aware of an extra presence inside his head. He knew it was his conscience, hurling abuse at him, but as it grew more troublesome it was developing a personality uncannily like his brother’s in his more disagreeable moods. It even looked like Luke. He began thinking of it as Lucas.

  You ought to be ashamed of yourself, it informed him sharply.

  ‘It’s just a joke that got a little out of hand. I’ll tell her the truth when the moment’s right-say, about the second glass of champagne. Now shut up!’

  As he emerged he found Olympia looking worried.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right to drive?’ she asked. ‘Why not call the hire company from here?’

  ‘No need. I’ll see you tonight, wearing my glad rags. Goodbye for now.’

  To his relief the car’s damage was no more than an ugly dent, and it still moved well enough for him to get back to the hotel.

  Lucas howled at him all the way.

  This isn’t the way to behave. What would Mamma say?

  She’s always telling me I should do something stupid. Well, I’m doing it. And how!

  He’d said ‘glad rags’ so Olympia chose a floor-length velvet dress in dark green with a tight waist, clinging hips and a dramatic neckline. Her necklace and earrings were gold, and dainty high-heeled sandals gleamed on her feet.

  She’d bought the whole outfit in anticipation of some future celebration-promotion?-but tonight was the start of a new life, and it would do fine.

  She spent a long time getting her hair right. She didn’t want to be the stern Miss Lincoln tonight. In the end she drew it back more loosely than usual, then twined it into long braids that she wound around her head, giving a softened effect.

  When he arrived his eyes flickered over her just enough to be subtle and flattering. He said nothing, but he smiled.

  She allowed her own eyes to do the same. In his bowtie and dinner jacket he was more handsome than he had any right to be.

  Downstairs he handed her gracefully into a new car.

  ‘The hire firm actually let you have another?’ she asked in disbelief.

  ‘I talked them round. What about your garage?’

  ‘The damage isn’t too bad. I told them to send the bill to me, as we agreed.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll transfer the money into your bank on Monday morning.’

  ‘No need. Just give me a cheque.’

  He murmured something non-committal and slid away from the subject. It was dawning on him that he wasn’t cut out for a double life. There was so much to remember. He would get her bank details from the firm and deposit the amount in cash so that he wouldn’t have to give a name. Tonight he could have taken her to dine at the hotel where he was staying, but they knew him as Primo Rinucci, so that was out. When the bill for dinner came he would pay it in cash and brave the puzzled stares.

  And in future he would ‘go straight’. It was less tiring.

  They swept into the Atelli, arm in arm, and were ushered to their table. It was good to be treated like a queen, she thought. This man knew how to entertain a woman and make her feel valued.

  It flitted briefly across her mind that if only he were Primo Rinucci, how perfect everything would be. But she shut off the thought. That way lay weakness. Tonight was ‘time out’ with a delightful acquaintance. No more than that.

  When the wine had been poured and the caviare served he raised his glass to her and she raised hers back.

  ‘To a great evening and no strings,’ he said.

  Such an unnerving echo of her own thoughts gave her a jolt.

  ‘No strings,’ she said slowly.

  ‘We’re going to enjoy ourselves, and to blazes with the rest of them.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ she said.

  Solemnly they chinked glasses.

  Over caviare, she asked, ‘What part of the country do you come from?’

  ‘North London. I’ll probably go back there for a visit. My father’s dead but some of his relatives still live there.’

  ‘How come you live in Italy?’

  ‘I go back and forth. I have some Italian family and I’m just as much at home in either country, although Italy’s warmer, especially Naples.’

  ‘Naples,’ she said, relishing the word. ‘I’ve always liked the sound of it. It conjures up such pictures.’

  ‘Urchins and cobbled streets?’ he teased. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for the romantic myth?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ she said quickly. ‘Myths merely get in the way of reality.’

  ‘Maybe one can have too much reality,’ he suggested.

  But she shook her head decidedly.

  ‘No. Reality is what counts.’

  Once he would have said the same, but now reality was seeming less important by the minute. What mattered were the spells being woven in the air about them. And what was reality, anyway?

  ‘I expect you’ll see Naples soon enough,’ he said.

  ‘I wish I could.’ She sighed.

  ‘If you want to get anywhere in the firm, you need to be familiar with everything. Perhaps you should start learning Italian.’

  ‘What do you mean, start?’ she demanded, offended.

  ‘Beg pardon, ma’am. How advanced are you?’

  She responded with a flood of Italian words, not all of which were accurate, but it was still a pretty good effort. He was impressed.

  ‘How was I?’ she asked.

  ‘Not bad at all. You’ve been working hard.’

  ‘You bet I have! Not just since I knew about the take-over, but before that, since the first deal. I knew your firm was going to be important to us, and I wanted it to be me that did the wheeling and dealing.’

  He was amazed at the intensity in her voice and the flashing of her eyes. Here was no ordinary ambition. There was a driven quality to her.

  ‘Leonate had better look out,’ he said. ‘Before they know it you’ll have taken over. Perhaps I should warn them.’

  ‘No need. I can make my point for myself.’

  ‘I’ll bet you can,’ he said with a touch of admiration. ‘The question is, would they be wise to take you on?’

  She laughed, but then sighed.

  ‘It’s easy to talk, but I thought the prize was within my grasp this time, and look what happened.’

  ‘Curtis?’ He shrugged. ‘A minor prize. But now there are others, bigger, more glittering.’

  ‘Exactly,’ she said, brightening again. ‘It’s just a question of making the right moves and convincing the right man.’

  ‘And
who is the right man?’

  She took a deep breath. Her eyes were gleaming with the thrill of the chase.

  ‘Primo Rinucci,’ she said.

  He stared, jolted out of the happy dream that had begun to swirl around him.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Primo Rinucci. He’s the power in Leonate Europa, even I know that.’

  ‘Yes, but-you hate him.’

  ‘How can I when I don’t know him?’

  ‘Well, you sure gave a good imitation of it yesterday. “To hell with Primo Rinucci” was the kindest thing you said.’

  She made an impatient gesture as if to say this was an irrelevance.

  ‘That was just talk. Now it’s time for serious business.’

  ‘And he comes under the heading of serious business, does he?’

  ‘Winning him over does, although it’s going to be harder than I thought, since he isn’t here.’

  ‘That would make it more difficult,’ he agreed solemnly.

  ‘I suppose he didn’t bother to come to England himself because we’re not big enough to take up his attention.’

  ‘You’re not doing very much for my ego,’ he complained.

  ‘I didn’t mean-’

  ‘Of course you did. Be brave. Admit it. You reckon Signor Rinucci hasn’t got time to inspect his English acquisition, so he sends the small fry, like me.’

  ‘Not at all,’ she said quickly. ‘He sent you because you’re an Englishman and therefore better able to understand what you find here.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am. That was a very clever recovery. You don’t mean a word of it, of course, because if you thought I mattered a bean you’d be trying to impress me instead of waiting for my boss.’

  She laughed and didn’t deny it.

  ‘I wouldn’t get far trying to impress you now, would I?’ she teased. ‘It’s too late. You already know the worst of me. But he doesn’t.’ She looked at him in sudden anxiety. ‘You won’t tell him, will you?’

  ‘What, that you abused him?’

  ‘No, that I’m lying in wait for him. I don’t want him to be one step ahead of me, always knowing what I’m doing, do I?’

  ‘No, you don’t want that,’ he agreed awkwardly.

  ‘So you won’t tell him about me?’

  ‘Not unless he asks me direct questions,’ he said ‘which I’m sure he won’t.’