TB B

by SJ

  ‘I think the ministering angel was already there,’ he said gently.

  Giovanni had let her relive the experience, knowing that she had to get it out of her system, and he shrugged at her words. ‘I heard all the commotion,’ he said. ‘That’s what alerted me that something was going on. And, when I got there, all I saw was someone—who turned out to be you—kneeling on the pavement and talking to someone underneath the cab…It didn’t take me too long to put two and two together,’ he added drily. He paused. ‘But I’m gratified to think that you were…pleased…to see me, Emily.’

  Emily looked away quickly. From the way he’d just said that, he’d made it clear that he was feeling slightly hurt about her secretive behaviour—and also that he probably didn’t believe her explanation about it. She sighed, wishing now that she had told him she’d be here again…Things would have been a whole lot easier for her!

  For a while they sat in silence while Emily sipped and sipped at the brandy. Giovanni had got it exactly right, knowing it was what she’d need to calm her. She couldn’t care less about her appearance, which seemed totally irrelevant now, the curious looks from one or two other drinkers passing her by unnoticed. She felt comfortable, relaxed—and sublimely at ease.

  But not for long.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d be here, Emily?’ he asked softly. ‘What was the real reason? Tell me the truth.’

  She waited a moment before answering. Then, ‘I…I don’t want to find myself in a position I might…regret…’ she began, and he frowned.

  ‘How so?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m afraid to get involved in something—or with someone—that might turn out badly,’ she said, wishing that the words would come more easily.

  ‘Why—don’t you trust me?’ he asked, and his tone was sombre.

  ‘I don’t think I trust myself—or fate—’ she said slowly. ‘And I’m unsure of…of…’

  ‘Of Italians?’ He finished the sentence for her. ‘Have you known many, Emily?’

  ‘Not many,’ she admitted, ‘and certainly not in a close, personal sense. But there is a cultural difference between us. Well, I think so anyway.’ She paused. ‘Your young men can be…impulsive sometimes and…and…’ She wanted to say audacious but that would be going too far. Giovanni had never been audacious with her. It was the wretched Nico who was in the forefront of her mind as she spoke.

  His expression had darkened as she’d been speaking, and he caught and held her gaze. ‘I think you should explain that,’ he said coolly.

  ‘OK, I will,’ Emily said, equally coolly. ‘You remember me telling you about Nico—Coral’s friend—the guy who stayed at our flat recently?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well, one evening I got home early from work—Coral wouldn’t be back until later—and Nico was there, resting for a couple of hours.’ She paused, feeling angry again at the way the man had behaved. ‘So I offered to make him some tea, and when I was in the kitchen he came in and…and…’

  ‘Go on,’ Giovanni said, frowning.

  ‘Well, let’s just say that he took advantage of me,’ Emily said. ‘And I told him that he was out of order. That his attentions were unwelcome.’ She grimaced. ‘He seems to think that he’s God’s gift to womankind and, worse, it didn’t occur to him that he was betraying Coral—who, after all, was putting herself out to see that he had a good time in London.’

  ‘What did he actually do?’ Giovanni persisted.

  ‘He put his arms around me and kissed me, full on the mouth. And invited me to “be nice”—which, to my mind, meant only one thing,’ Emily said flatly.

  ‘But it didn’t get any worse than that?’ Giovanni asked.

  ‘How much worse should it have got?’ Emily said, suddenly irritated at his reaction—which shouldn’t have surprised her, she thought. It confirmed her opinion that Italian men were passionate, intense—and ready to seize the moment.

  ‘But…there was no attempt to take it further?’ Giovanni went on. He paused. ‘I think I can safely say that, as a general rule, we are lovers of beautiful women.’

  ‘Oh, really? Well, that’s a comforting thought!’ Emily said crossly. He wasn’t taking any of this seriously, she thought, clearly giving the subject little significance. But it was significant to her.

  ‘I do believe that you are “lovers of women”,’ she said after a moment. ‘But what I don’t believe is that one woman—speaking generally, of course—would ever be enough…that you’re not really into long-term relationships—the sort which require loyalty, fidelity…and total commitment,’ she added, her eyes filling suddenly.

  ‘Oh, and you think that fecklessness is confined to our race?’ Giovanni asked scornfully. ‘Have a good look at your own social statistics, Emily. British marriages, relationships, have a very bad track record. If you’re making odious comparisons, you’d better be careful in your assumptions.’

  Emily realized that she was making assumptions—and her sense of justice made her hesitate. ‘Yes, well, I’m sorry if I’m jumping to conclusions,’ she said slowly, not wanting to admit that this was her own problem more than anything else. The dark-eyed, amorous Italians whom she had met did seem to have that special way with them which, at times, could be almost irresistible, their passionate instincts often equally matched by a caring, cherishing attitude which could melt the heart. They had the ability to make a woman feel she was a desired female who they wanted to love, admire and protect…Yet all the time she felt a nagging doubt that they could sustain that initial glow, that it was instinctive for the hot-blooded Italian to search out as many females as he needed to satisfy his carnal ambitions. And she was determined not to allow herself to become trapped by their powerful allure—a characteristic exhibited so captivatingly by the man at her side.

  No more was said for a while as they finished their drinks and presently, aware that Emily had regained total self-control, Giovanni stood up. ‘Come on. Let’s get you to the flat and a wash in some warm water.’ He glanced down at her. ‘It’s rather far to walk from here so we’ll get a cab.’

  ‘Maybe I should go straight back to the hotel,’ Emily suggested, and he shrugged.

  ‘Whatever you like,’ he said, ‘but I think it would be preferable for you to clean up and relax at my place first.’

  Emily stood up then, too, surprised at how strange her legs felt. ‘Yes, OK, we’ll do that,’ she agreed, thinking that, at the moment, if he suggested a trip to outer space she’d agree.

  He took her arm as they left the bar. ‘Besides,’ he said, ‘there’s someone there I’d like you to meet.’

  ‘Oh?’ Emily looked up at him, surprised. Then realization struck. The woman he’d been talking to had to be the woman in the picture! Emily hadn’t been close enough to have a good look, but it was obvious now, she thought. She was going to be introduced to that beautiful face—and Giovanni Boselli seemed to have no difficulty in bringing another woman into the equation.

  Well, there was nothing for it, she’d have to fall in with his plans now, she thought, as they sat together in the cab, which sped at breakneck speed through the teeming streets. When they eventually arrived at the flat it seemed even more auspicious than it had before, as they entered the coolness of the large hallway.

  ‘Ah, good, she’s back already,’ Giovanni said casually, seeing that his front door was wide open. ‘She said she wouldn’t be long,’ he added, ‘because we’re leaving the city in an hour.’

  As they went inside, a woman, hearing them come in, called from the kitchen, ‘Coffee!’

  Giovanni grinned down at Emily. ‘Good, just what you need,’ he said.

  Just then the woman entered the sitting room carrying a tray and, with a jolt of surprise, Emily looked across at the attractive dark-eyed face…but it was not the face in the photograph, she realized as a thousand thoughts formed in her mind at the same time.

  Giovanni gazed down at Emily. ‘I’d like you to meet my mother, Emilee-a
,’ he said softly, pronouncing her name in that special way of his, making Emily’s tongue go dry with desire. And to the woman he said, ‘And this is Emily, Mamma—you remember me telling you about her?’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  EMILY hoped that the look of total surprise wasn’t written all over her face. This was certainly the same woman she’d seen talking to Giovanni earlier—but it was his mother, not his girlfriend! She was good-looking, short and about sixty years old, Emily guessed, and she had obviously looked after herself, her overall appearance still extremely attractive. She was dressed in a sheer cream skirt and smart summer shoes, her loose lemon top setting off her black hair and dark complexion. And her large, bright gold hoop earrings glistened in the afternoon sunlight, adding to the glamorous picture she presented to the world. She had Giovanni’s searching eyes—which were raised questioningly now, as she stared at Emily, then at her son, then back at Emily.

  ‘What on earth has got you both into this state?’ she demanded, her English heavily accented. She turned to her son. ‘Giovanni?’

  Giovanni took a few moments to explain briefly what had happened earlier, and his mother put down the tray she’d been holding and came over to Emily, her hand outstretched.

  ‘Mamma Mia!… How terrible! How terrible!’ she exclaimed, then she broke into a smile. ‘I am Maria,’ she said, her voice warm, ‘and I am pleased to meet you…to meet another of my son’s many friends.’

  Emily smiled back in response, taking Maria’s hand lightly. ‘Thank you, Maria.’ She looked down at herself, then back at the woman. ‘I am sorry to be in such a mess,’ she said. ‘Maybe I can do something about it in a minute, before I go back to my hotel?’

  Giovanni picked up the tray with the two mugs on it. ‘Sit down and have a coffee first, Emily,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and make another one for myself,’ he added, as he handed his mother hers.

  Emily did as she was told, sitting down carefully on the pale chaise longue by the window—where she’d lain down once before, she remembered wryly. The room seemed vast in the daylight, she thought, glancing around her briefly, its tiled floor cool beneath her feet. And still there in the centre of the cabinet in front of her was that picture. Still smiling, those bewitching eyes sending out their message to any onlooker. This is my place; this is where I belong, it seemed to say.

  Maria sat down then, a little way from Emily, but looking at her with a rather inscrutable expression on her face. Neither spoke for a moment as they sipped their coffee.

  Then, ‘I can’t tell you how thankful I was when Giovanni suddenly showed up,’ Emily said earnestly. ‘I was the only person who seemed to be offering any assistance—and goodness knows, I could do very little. The way the poor girl was trapped made it impossible for me to find out if she was seriously injured, or even to put her into the recovery position.’

  ‘You have medical experience?’ Maria asked.

  ‘No, but after my mother died I attended several first aid courses,’ she said. ‘I wanted to have at least some understanding of what to do in an emergency.’ She didn’t add that it had been her father who was uppermost in her mind. What if he suffered something dramatic, as her mother had done, and she, Emily, was there and not able to help? She shuddered. ‘I’ll be having nightmares about that accident for a few weeks, I expect. I felt so utterly helpless,’ she added.

  ‘But, from what Giovanni said, you were not helpless. You did the only thing which was possible at the time,’ Maria said firmly. ‘You were the one who gave her courage and reassurance.’

  Emily took another sip of coffee. ‘Well, I felt a whole lot better when Giovanni took over,’ she said, ‘and it’s a good thing he was here in Rome.’ Not bothering to add that she’d thought he was miles away in the country somewhere.

  ‘Yes, well, if this had all happened tomorrow, instead of today, he would not have been in the city,’ Maria said. ‘He is taking me back home later…I travelled in to do some shopping today,’ she added, smiling.

  Just then, Giovanni returned with his coffee and sat down opposite them, and after a few moments Maria said, ‘Giovanni tells me you are in the travel business, Emily.’

  ‘Yes. That’s right.’

  ‘Do you enjoy that?’

  Emily hesitated. ‘Sometimes I do,’ she said. ‘But in every job there are highs and lows. I am not always thrilled to be away from home quite so much,’ she admitted.

  ‘So—what would you like to be doing-ideally?’ Maria asked, and Emily began to feel that she was being interviewed!

  Giovanni spoke for her. ‘What she would really like to be doing is painting her pictures, full time, Mamma,’ he said. ‘Emily is an amazing painter—in my opinion, professional.’

  Maria’s eyes had narrowed slightly during this conversation, and she was staring at Emily closely—and the girl was very conscious of the fact. Well, everyone knew what Italian mothers were like where their precious sons were concerned, Emily thought. No woman was ever good enough for them, and Maria probably feared that Emily had designs on Giovanni. She finished her drink and put her mug down on the little table beside her. Maria need have no worries on that score, she thought.

  Presently, Maria stood up, taking control. ‘Go into the bathroom, Emily, and have a warm wash,’ she instructed firmly. ‘Then we will see about your clothes.’ She put her head on one side. ‘I think we can sponge the dirt off—but all that blood will need a cold water soak, I’m afraid,’ she added.

  Emily turned obediently to do as she was told and Giovanni stood as well, barring her way slightly. ‘No, I think my en suite will be more suitable, Mamma.’ He pointed to a door along the hallway. ‘There’s the bedroom—with facilities,’ he said. ‘Make yourself at home, Emily.’

  Feeling as if she were in a strange kind of dream, Emily did as she was told. What was going on? She was supposed to be somewhere else, relaxing and admiring all those fabulous ancient paintings this afternoon, not here in Giovanni’s flat—with his mother in attendance. And not with her clothes in this state, either. She’d only worn this designer dress once before; she made a face to herself. Was it any good, ever, to make plans? she thought. Life had a will of its own—well, hers certainly seemed to have at the moment and you just had to go with the flow. Go where it took you.

  Giovanni’s bedroom was spacious and cool, the king-size bed neatly made, its white covers smooth and inviting-and for a heady moment, Emily felt like stretching out on it for a short nap! Instead, she pushed open the other door in the room, revealing the en suite bathroom, and gazed at it in admiration. There was a massive corner bath with shower, the glistening porcelain and gold taps almost blinding her as she looked around, and there were fluffy white towels in abundance everywhere. The place was to die for, and if all this belonged to her, Emily thought, this was where she’d be spending a lot of her time! She paused for a moment…Giovanni undoubtedly had good taste—not to mention very expensive taste.

  As she went inside, closing the door behind her, she suddenly noticed a long pink gossamer-like negligee hanging on a hook, and she caught her breath. That certainly did not belong to Giovanni! It was exquisite, and she let the fine folds slip between her fingers as she touched it gently. It was a young woman’s—obviously that young woman’s, who must have been staying here with Giovanni…So, that was what had brought him back…‘briefly’…he’d said!

  Going over to the basin, she glanced up at the shelf above, her eye immediately caught by the sight of an exotic flask of the most fashionable scent from one of France’s renowned perfumeries. And it was not for the Giovannis of this world!

  Emily sat on the edge of the bath for a moment. Why did all this matter to her? None of it was any of her business! And Giovanni Boselli was nothing to her—nothing at all! Who he chose to entertain at his flat was of no interest to her whatsoever! Then another thought struck her…Of course! This had to be Maria’s! That was it! Giovanni had mentioned once that his mother sometimes stayed at the flat.


  Presently, she rejoined the others and Maria looked appraisingly at Emily’s appearance. Somehow the girl had managed to make herself quite presentable again, had been able to sponge off most of the dirt from her dress.

  ‘That’s better,’ Maria said gently, ‘though there is still some work to be done on those blood stains.’

  Emily smiled. ‘My dry-cleaners have worked miracles in the past,’ she said. ‘I’ll be leaving this up to them.’

  ‘I’ll take you back to your hotel now, Emily-if that’s what you would like,’ Giovanni said, looking down at her, and she smiled quickly.

  ‘Thank you, yes, I don’t think I’ll be doing any sightseeing today after all,’ she said, thinking that an early night suddenly seemed very attractive. As Giovanni left the room for a moment, she turned to Maria, holding out her hand. ‘It’s been great to have met you, Maria,’ she said. She paused. ‘And I hope you don’t mind me mentioning it, but…the negligee hanging behind the door just now…is absolutely beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite so lovely.’

  Maria frowned, then shrugged slightly. ‘Lingerie? Oh, no, I have not left any lingerie here,’ she said. ‘In fact, I haven’t stayed here for months.’ She shook her head. ‘No, no—Rome is far too hot for me at this time of year.’