Summer Holiday

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  “Perhaps you might make room in your life for both.”

  She gave him a half smile. “I might if I believed it carried potential for prolonged results. As much as I live in this place where standards are sometimes . . . relaxed, I find I have little time for dalliances or trivial flings, if you will.”

  His eyes twinkled. “I would imagine you are propositioned at every turn.”

  She laughed. “Mmm. Not at every turn. Every second turn, perhaps.”

  His smile broadened. “And now you are being too modest.”

  Mercy. It was as though she were metal filings and he was a giant magnet. Tessa made a concerted effort to refrain from swaying closer to him. “Once people realize you are the store’s owner and that you’ve been helping me with that infernal scavenger hunt, I’ll be accused of all sorts of nefarious things.”

  “Then we shall endeavor to protect your reputation. We are, in a sense, family. My brother Matteo is married to your Aunt Valentine’s cousin.”

  Tessa laughed. “Yes, but Eva isn’t my relation. She’s Val’s maternal cousin. Val is my father’s sister.”

  He waved his hand. “Details. We are family and as such are entitled to a familiar relationship.”

  “Wonderful. You’ve not heard of nepotism?”

  He tipped his head back and laughed. “Ah, my dear, the very word originates in Italian. Nepotisme. Privilege granted to nephews of popes.” He leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “Nephews who were reported to actually be illegitimate sons.” He raised an eyebrow, and she couldn’t help but laugh with him.

  His gaze flicked to her mouth and returned to her eyes. “You were employed at the store long before I purchased it,” he murmured. “As you said yourself, our connection is tenuous, at best. We are associated enough to be seen together around town, but not so much that your work will be affected by my position.”

  She exhaled slowly. “I do appreciate your cooperation.” She attended a Tesla demonstration once, and the charged air she’d felt then mirrored the tension she felt now between her and the handsome Italian. She shifted away slightly. “I also hope that my dissatisfaction with my coworker and superior does not color your impressions unnecessarily.”

  “On the contrary. I shall be ever more determined to view them with objectivity and professionalism.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “I am, however, not likely to form an opinion much different than yours. You’ve a good head of common sense upon your shoulders, and you forget, I’ve seen that treasure hunt list.”

  She studied him for a moment and finally dared give voice to the question that had nagged her since last night in the carriage. “Forgive me, but why are you doing this?”

  “Helping you?”

  “No, this.” She waved a hand at the department store, which stood tall and easily visible along the promenade, despite being nestled some distance away between the Middle and North Piers. “You could have any sort of life. Why take on a bankrupt department store?”

  He sobered, his expression as serious and contemplative as she’d seen yet. “This is the life I want. I’ve played enough.”

  “You are an original, to be sure. I don’t know too many men who would willingly pick up a bundle of problems when he had the option of a life of leisure.”

  He smiled tightly. “Too much leisure is not good for anyone.”

  “And you’ve grown weary of it?”

  He exhaled and turned his face toward the water. “I’ve grown weary of who I am with too much of it, especially when those around me are engaged in purposeful activity.” He smiled a bit. “Even my mother fills her time with good deeds for the archaeological community when not in Egypt.”

  Tessa bit her lip before daring her next comment. She really knew nothing of the man, and insulting him could be to her detriment. “But such a large business? It is Sommerpool, of course, but the D&M is still quite a large machine. Are you certain . . .”

  He looked at her, maintaining the half smile. “Certain I am qualified for the task?”

  She flushed. “I do not mean to insult or show disrespect—”

  “Oh, no, no, no, my dear, new friend Tessa. You are not suddenly allowed to become subservient or apologetic. I forbid it.”

  Her lips twitched in a reluctant smile. “Very well, if you forbid it, I shall remain humbly insubordinate.”

  He nodded. “Good. But your question is valid, and I am aware that hundreds of people depend on the employment the store provides. I take the responsibility very seriously, despite my annoyingly carefree nature, which I’m certain the good Doctor Freud would attribute to a defense mechanism of some sort.”

  She laughed. “And have you met the good doctor? He traveled through London not long ago. I admit I am curious about his methods.”

  “I have met him—some time ago in the early days of his practice. He said something about the influence of a strong mother and may have mentioned Oedipus, but I was very young, so the memory is rather muddled.”

  She laughed again, charmed despite her best intentions. “I do not suppose Oedipus is the optimal model for comfortable familial relations, but given what I’ve heard of the contessa, you do come from good stock.”

  He nodded with a smile. “That I do. Incidentally,” he added, “only recently Freud abandoned his hypnosis phraseology and instead terms his procedures psychoanalysis. If you mention that in elite circles, you are sure to draw admiration for being very much in the know.”

  “Aha! Thank you for that. I shall remember it when faced with some of my snobbier customers. I’ll drop it in casual conversation and act as though I have firsthand knowledge.”

  “Snobby customers, hmm?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Some of the worst. But most ladies I see each day are perfectly lovely.”

  He studied her, and she again felt the subtle pull. “You enjoy your work.”

  She nodded. “I do. More than the customers, though, I enjoy working with the employees. I find I quite enjoy helping them handle their issues and concerns and being someone in whom they can confide.”

  “You manage people well.”

  She considered prevaricating, knowing it was the properly feminine thing to do, and then remembered his earlier comment about speaking plainly with him. “I do. I manage the shopgirls very well. I’ve even extended help to other departmental managers who come to Mr. Gibbons for advice, wondering how he handles his little realm with such success. To my eternal gratitude, he points them in my direction and gives me proper credit for my accomplishments.”

  David smiled. “He is a good man, then.”

  “A very good man.” Tessa felt the surprising sting of tears. “I shall miss him dreadfully. I never knew my grandfather, and he has been very much like one for me.” She closed her eyes and turned her face to the breeze with a quiet sigh. “He is responsible for the fact that I can even approach Mr. Blight with any sense of confidence in my abilities. Because of his training, I am qualified.” She blinked away the moisture in her eyes.

  David motioned to the sky. “The wind does kick up a bit. Quite makes one’s eyes tear up.”

  She nodded and laughed with a sniff. “What a kind friend you are.” She grimaced. “Especially as my employer! It will never do to be so emotional concerning work. Mr. Blight will call me ‘hysterical’ and have me locked away ‘for my own good.’”

  David pursed his lips in a smile. “Only shopgirls are emotional? He’s clearly never met an Italian man.”

  She laughed again and lightly tapped his arm. “A kind friend indeed—one of your many gifts, I suspect, Conte Bellini. You likely find friends wherever you go.”

  Chapter Four

  Friends.

  David handed Tessa a cup of Italian ice from a vendor on Middle Pier later that afternoon. Matteo often teased his wife, Eva, about her declaration that they were “the best of friends” in the early days after their first meeting. Their attraction had been instant, the pull undeniable, and she had since adm
itted as much—usually after giving Matteo a good whack for making her blush.

  And now another Englishwoman held an Italian count in her thrall and proclaimed them fast friends. He supposed it put her at ease to convince herself the tension wasn’t there, that they weren’t circling each other like wary opponents in a game. David was forced to admit to himself that, for the first time, he felt unsure around a woman.

  He could never remember such an anomaly occurring in his life.

  The difference, he realized after spending several hours with her on Sommerpool’s piers and promenade, was that he cared about the outcome. He wasn’t simply on a conquest. He had the distinct and uneasy feeling in the lower regions of his heart that if he made a misstep, if he somehow ruined the association with Tessa Baker, he would live to regret it.

  He knew, as one who had met more people in the course of his adult life than he could number, that she was somehow different. She was a shopgirl from modest means, who possessed a granite core of confidence to rival a queen’s. Every now and again, he caught glimpses of her insecurities, but she seemed to muscle them into submission with sheer will. She shook off concerns or talked through a problem to several possible solutions. Then she seemed satisfied and again at peace.

  “Thank you.” She smiled and accepted the ice. “You’ve bought me enough treats today to last a lifetime. Now, we call this Italian ice, but you shall truly be the judge.”

  A soft breeze had blown all day, carrying wisps of her hair tickling across her nose and eyes. Her hat was becomingly perched atop that rich honey hair, and he fought the impulse to remove the hat and shake loose the coiffure. He wanted to see the tresses dance in the wind, uninhibited by pins. Her white blouse was tucked neatly into the small waist of a light linen skirt that was well suited to the warm summer air.

  He wanted desperately to kiss her.

  She took a small spoonful of ice and smiled at him, one brow raised. “Well?”

  He blinked. “Yes?”

  “You are woolgathering! Give it a taste, and then your honest opinion, if you please.”

  He cleared his throat. “You’re speaking of the ice.”

  “Yes, the ice.” She frowned. “You seem flushed.”

  He shoved a spoonful of the ice in his mouth, where it melted rapidly on his tongue. “Mmm.” He nodded, surprised. “Quite good, actually.”

  “Well!” She beamed. “There’s a point scored for Sommerpool.” She turned and studied the crowded pier, and he studied her.

  Truthfully, he’d always considered Matteo a bit addlebrained to insist he’d fallen in love with a woman he’d known for so short a time. Eva was lovely, to be sure, but such haste was unlike Matteo. He realized now he owed his elder brother an apology.

  “We may actually see a band performance this evening with an illumination show since the evening trains will bring in large numbers of holiday folk.” She glanced at him with a smile. “Most Sundays see limited performances, but we are on the eve of holiday week. And the crowds! You’ve never seen the like.” She paused. “Well, you do spend time in Venice, especially during Carnival, yes?”

  He nodded and told himself to focus. He was getting clumsier by the minute, finding himself awed into awkward silence. She was growing more comfortable in his presence, and he was reverting to some gawky youth.

  He shoved another spoonful of ice in his mouth. Pull yourself together, man! “Yes,” he finally managed, “and the Biennale always draws in the masses.”

  “Oh, my ‘cousin’ met your brother at the Biennale, isn’t that so?” Her eyes widened slightly. “Valentine told me about their adventures. I admit it sounds too fantastical to be real—rather like an adventure novel with a heavy splash of romance.” She laughed. “Truth is always stranger than fiction.”

  He finished his ice, and she indicated she was done as well. He took her glass cup and small spoon and, with his, returned them to the vendor with a smile of thanks.

  “It bears the Italian stamp of approval, then?” the man asked him with a broad grin.

  “Indeed, it certainly does.” David smiled at the man’s delighted chortle and returned to Tessa. He withdrew the ridiculous scavenger hunt instructions from his inner coat pocket, scrambling to remember how to be a sophisticated, urbane European nobleman and grateful beyond measure to have something to turn his focus. Perhaps the idiot Mr. Blight deserved a wage increase.

  “Oh!”

  David looked up. “What is it?”

  Her nostrils flared, and her hands found their way to her hips before she took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders. “It is my competition, Mr. Welsey.”

  A man of average height wearing a smart suit and hat approached them, a wide smile on his face. “Miss Baker,” he said, removing his hat with a flourished bow. “I wonder if you’ve also found our required list of items quite daunting? I shouldn’t be surprised if you are overwhelmed. I know I am.” He placed a dramatic hand on his heart, his entire form emanating clear contradiction to his words.

  “Quite the contrary, Mr. Welsey,” Tessa said. “I find it to be less demanding than at first glance. But then, I have an advantage, as most people I meet are inclined to be useful and pleasant when I petition for assistance. I suspect it is more of a challenge for you, what with your obsequious and yet condescending manner.”

  David raised a brow, impressed.

  Mr. Welsey’s eyes narrowed. “Did you practice that soliloquy, Miss Baker?”

  “No need, Mr. Welsey. Some of us manage effective communication quite easily.”

  “Ha. Ha. Ha.”

  David chalked another point in Tessa’s favor as her nemesis proved her statement beautifully.

  Mr. Welsey motioned over his shoulder with his thumb, a smirk settling back into position. “You’ve seen our tails, no doubt?”

  Tessa frowned.

  “Right there.” He pointed. “And there. Mr. Blight’s own spy network. Give the Yard a run for their money, I daresay.”

  “And a pity he must employ them at all. Some of us behave with integrity.”

  Mr. Welsey laughed. “You would shorten or otherwise alter that list by any means necessary if you could. Those spies are in place to keep us honest.”

  Tessa exhaled through her nose.

  “Who’s the nabob?” The man jerked a thumb at David.

  Tessa’s eyes widened before she recovered herself. “Where are my manners?” She smiled widely. “Conte David Bellini, my coworker, Mr. Grover Welsey. Mr. Welsey, the count is here on holiday, visiting with my family.”

  To his credit, Mr. Welsey closed his mouth quickly after it dropped open. David extended his hand with a smile and narrowed eyes.

  “Mr. Welsey, a pleasure.” He applied more pressure to his grip than was customary, satisfied only when the other man flinched the slightest bit.

  “Count, the pleasure is mine.”

  David finally released his hand and held up the scavenger hunt list. “How fortuitous that I came to town in time to aid Miss Baker’s quest. We have been good friends for an age, and when I heard how exhaustive this list is, in addition to a very busy upcoming workweek, it was my pleasure to offer assistance. Which, I understand, is acceptable to the quest master himself.”

  Welsey nodded, but added, “Mr. Blight may have issue with Miss Baker’s clearly unfair advantage, however.”

  “What do you mean, Mr. Welsey?” Tessa asked. “If anything, I am at a disadvantage because of my department’s demands in the coming days. As I understand it, the Carriage Wheel and Axle Department does not see triple the customer volume as does Linens, Gloves, and Ribbons.”

  Spots of color appeared high on the gentleman’s cheeks. “Plenty of carriages require maintenance with the increased traffic strain! I mean that, with a count at your side, you’re likely to secure everything on the list without issue!”

  Tessa stepped toward Mr. Welsey, and for a moment, David pitied the man. “I plan to secure everything on that infernal list without iss
ue whether accompanied or alone, Grover! Furthermore, I do not see that acquiring those items would be any different for a count or a pauper. ‘A stray bolt from beneath the Ferris wheel?’ One needn’t be nobility to find that.”

  Mr. Welsey also leaned forward. “I retracted the invitation to use my Christian name,” he hissed. “And we shall see what Mr. Blight has to say about your help!” He cast a glare in David’s direction and left, walking stiffly down the pier toward the beach.

  “Retracted the invitation?” David asked, watching the man retreat.

  “Ugh. Yes, after cornering me in the stairway one afternoon with propositions I soundly refused.” She glared at Welsey’s back.

  David felt a surge of anger. He’d not crushed the man’s hand nearly enough. “You do realize that as your next of kin I’m obligated to call him out.”

  The tension lifted, and Tessa laughed. She swayed into him, grasping his arm. “You are not my next of kin!”

  He looked down at her face, which was upturned in genuine amusement. His lips twitched. “Then Max is responsible for it.”

  She shook her head, her eyes still bright with laughter. “Max doesn’t know, and furthermore the situation is handled. Rest assured, I can manage that one.”

  She shifted, but he grasped her hand before she could move it away from his arm. “Are there others not so easily managed?”

  She sighed. “There are always . . . It is a common occurrence for a shopgirl. Men assume that because many girls are obliged to supplement their income just to survive that all working girls provide additional services.”

  He paused, searching for language that was absent several colorful words he wanted to use. “So, am I to assume that you have been propositioned on multiple occasions?”

  “Yes. It has become a matter of course.”

  “But surely not at the store. Tell me that Mr. Weasel there is the only one.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “It would be a lie. And all the shopgirls—every one of them in my department and several others—have been aggressively cornered at one point or another. Some in the store, others, well, a dark corner or a lonely stretch of road.”