by SJ
‘Well?’ Emily said at once. ‘How did it go—what’s the matter with Steve?’
‘He’s asked me to forgive him, wants to know whether we can get back on track.’
This was news indeed! As far as Emily knew, there’d not even been a phone call since the split. ‘I don’t…believe…it,’ she said slowly. ‘What did you say to him?’
‘Well, my first instinct was to say that I’d have to give it a great deal of thought,’ Coral said, ‘but I couldn’t do that, Ellie. Because all I wanted was to put my arms around his neck and hug him, tell him it would be all right-that we could make it all OK.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘You know, I’ve never stopped loving him, not really. I tried to hate him, and for a while I think I did, but when all is said and done we go back too far. And he said he was sorry so many times, over and over again, that I had to tell him to stop.’
‘He was the one at fault,’ Emily reminded her gently.
‘In the sense that he was the one who did the dumping,’ Coral admitted. ‘But there’s more to it than that, Ellie.’ She hesitated. ‘I was more than half to blame—I did sometimes take Steve for granted, began to treat him like a convenient sort of…well…friend. Knew he’d always be there, be the same, so our whole relationship became rather mundane.’ She got up and went over to the window. ‘Last year he wanted us to be more committed to each other—to get engaged—and I put him off.’
‘Why—why did you do that?’ Emily asked. ‘Were you having doubts?’
‘No—no, of course not,’ Coral replied. ‘It was because…because it was just at the time that Marcus—you and Marcus—finished.’ She turned to glance at Emily. ‘How would you have felt with me flashing an engagement ring in your face? So I told Steve there was no hurry, and we could wait a bit. And then, somehow, we just went on as before.’
Emily was horrified to think that her problems had upset things. ‘You shouldn’t have turned Steve down, Coral,’ she said slowly. ‘Not for my sake. It could have been the worst mistake you’d made in your life.’
Coral’s face broke into a wide grin. ‘Well, I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘We sat in that bar today, holding hands and looking at each other like a pair of love-struck teenagers…He’s my sort…that’s all there is to it. And I was happy to tell him that.’
Emily breathed a long sigh of relief-and happiness for Coral. In her opinion, she and Steve had been like a pigeonpair from the word go—that was why it had been so staggering when they’d parted. She went over to Coral and hugged her. ‘So—you’ve obviously forgiven him,’ she said teasingly.
‘We’ve forgiven each other,’ Coral said simply. ‘But we’re not rushing things.’
‘Very wise,’ Emily said.
‘No—we’re going to take it easy—for at least the next week!’
Two weeks later, Giovanni arrived back in London, his longing to see Emily again almost overwhelming. It was Monday morning and he knew she’d be in the office…unless they’d sent her somewhere abroad. He kept his fingers crossed against that possibility as he waited for her to answer her mobile, and the sound of her voice sent his spirits soaring. She was in England—and only a ten minute walk away!
‘Emilee-a,’ he said breathily and, despite having given herself a good talking-to all the time they’d been apart, Emily felt a surge of excitement as she heard him.
‘Oh…Giovanni…’ she began. ‘You’re back.’ Well, he’d told her what his plans were on the phone a couple of days ago. He’d been ringing her frequently while he was back in Italy, keeping her up to date with Rupert’s progress and other less important things, and each time Emily had managed to keep their conversations brief—either saying she was busy or just going out or just getting into the shower—any excuse not to let that seductive voice knock her off balance. And Giovanni was well aware what was going on…They were playing a discreet cat and mouse game, this woman and him—and the only effect her attitude had was to make him double his efforts, increase his determination to capture this provocative female, because he knew he wanted her more than anything else he’d ever wanted in his life. He had this instinctive feeling that they could be sublimely happy together…He knew he would love her for ever and could make her happy. All he had to do was convince her of the fact. And to make her love him.
‘I certainly am back,’ he said, ‘to find plenty of work here waiting for me.’
‘Your time is going to be precious, then,’ she began, and he cut in.
‘There will always be time to speak to a beautiful woman,’ he said.
‘And I’m sure there are plenty of those near you right now,’ she said lightly.
‘Hmm. Not so you’d notice,’ he replied, thinking that there wasn’t a woman within a mile who could compete with Emily. He hesitated, but only for a second. ‘Can I see you tonight?’
Emily bit her lip. She’d tried to cool her feelings for Giovanni during the time he’d been back in Italy, had made a determined effort to keep busy with other things, other thoughts. She and Coral had managed to give the flat a good clean—something which didn’t often happen, she admitted, because they never seemed to be there together long enough with the time to do it. Emily had also started on another painting—although that didn’t always stop her thinking. In fact, it was often the perfect opportunity for introspection and, as she’d worked her brush delicately over the canvas, her mind had been constantly tormented by the recollection of those few moments on the river. Giovanni’s magnetic animal energy as his lips had locked onto hers, the demonstration of his physical need for her, had shaken her equilibrium. And the short-lived incident had left her vulnerable and open, hinting as it did of undreamed-of passion. She knew that, despite all her reservations, she was longing for something else, something even more beautiful with Giovanni. She had been kissed many, many times before, but not like that. It was the air of breathless intensity enveloping them which had excited her beyond all imagining. How was this all going to end? she asked herself hopelessly. How could she end it?
‘Um…sorry, I’m busy tonight,’ she murmured in answer to his request. ‘I’ve promised to help Coral with something.’
There was a pause. ‘Oh, well, never mind,’ Giovanni said, clearly disappointed to be turned down. ‘But are you going to be busy every evening? Can I see you tomorrow or Wednesday?’ He’d wait for ever, if necessary, he thought grimly.
‘Well, OK—Wednesday, then,’ Emily said, trying not to sound hard-to-get, even though that was her intention. She could not be ungracious or unkind. He didn’t deserve that. But how could she make him get the message that she was afraid to trust him? Or that she wouldn’t be prepared to share him with any passing female who crossed his path? Her eyes hardened as she remembered that seductive negligee hanging up in his bathroom. ‘Shall we meet outside my office at six-thirty?’ she said briskly. ‘Will you have finished work by then?’
‘Wednesday at six-thirty,’ he agreed at once. ‘I can tell you all the plans for my mother’s surprise party,’ he added.
Emily shut her mobile and stared out of the window for a moment. Of course, that party. Now he was going to involve her properly, make her part of this family occasion, draw her in like a fish on a hook. Sighing deeply, she picked up her lists and started to type. She was not going to Italy, she thought, to a party or to anything else. Not with Giovanni Boselli. No, no, no. It would just prolong the agony.
On the Saturday evening three weeks later, Giovanni drove slowly along the winding drive which led to the imposing building set into the gently sloping hillside. Emily caught her breath as she gazed in awe. She’d had no idea of exactly what Giovanni’s family home might look like, and what she was seeing took her completely by surprise. The setting was spectacular enough, but the dwelling itself was magnificent to look at, its creamy high stone walls glinting in the rapidly setting sunlight and surrounded by acres of private olive groves. Emily looked across at Giovanni as he brought the car to a standstill outside the huge
pillared entrance.
‘Is this…is this really your “place in the country”?’ she asked. ‘Or are we just passing through?’
He looked back at her, his dark eyes unusually thoughtful, and his voice as he answered held a trace of caution. ‘Well, yes, this is the family bolt-hole,’ he said briefly. ‘The one I’ve always looked upon as my home.’
The ‘family bolt-hole!’ Emily thought. It was a palace—by anyone’s standards! She took a deep breath. ‘It’s fantastic, Giovanni,’ she said softly. ‘Why would you want to live anywhere else in the whole world?’
He smiled quizzically at that. ‘Come on,’ he said.
‘You’re probably tired and looking forward to dinner. I told
them when to expect us.’
They got out of the car and went up the stone steps into the massive tile-floored entrance hall. The tall shuttered windows all around led Emily’s stupefied gaze to the vaulted ceiling above and she had difficulty in keeping her jaw from dropping as she took it all in. This was the home of very wealthy owners, she thought. Giovanni had never even hinted at such prosperity.
Just then a pretty Italian woman approached them and Giovanni said, ‘Ah, Rosa—this is Emily. Would you show her where she’s going to be sleeping, please?’
‘Of course, Giovanni,’ the woman said, gazing up into his eyes in the sort of way that spaniels did to their owners. She smiled at Emily, taking her small case from her and ushering her towards the wide curved stone staircase. So there was staff in attendance, too, Emily thought—but anywhere this size would certainly need it!
Alone, Emily stared around the large room she’d been allocated, then went slowly across to the window, whose shutters were wide open, allowing her a breathtaking view of the scene in front of her. In the distance was the uninterrupted countryside, and surrounding the house were serried ranks of olive trees and grapevines. Almost directly below her window was the swimming pool. It was flanked by a series of bay trees and tubs of flowers and generously supplied with sun loungers, wooden tables and chairs and umbrellas—though these were closed now and the October air felt distinctly chilly as Emily turned away thoughtfully.
Someone had already switched on the lamps by the side of the double bed and, as Emily slowly unpacked the few things she’d brought with her for the weekend, she felt somehow uneasy—and distinctly irritated. In falling in—reluctantly, and after much persuasion—with Giovanni’s insistence that she should come to this event, she felt she’d been caught on the wrong foot. Why hadn’t she been given some idea of the sort of place she’d be coming to? Who else would be coming to the party, had she brought the right dress to wear—would she fit in with the obviously moneyed gathering? Emily cringed as she thought of her humble little flat, how Giovanni had sat at the minute dining table. His place in Rome had been fantastic enough—goodness only knew—but this was something else! And had he deliberately not told her about it to impress her? To sweep her off her feet? Because it certainly seemed like that to Emily. He’d never given her any idea of the opulence of his family home. Were they aristocracy, the Boselli family? Was there an illustrious Count somewhere amongst their forebears?
She finished unpacking her case and laid out her clothes anxiously. This evening was no problem—because she’d been told that it was to be just her and Giovanni here—so her cream trousers and purple shirt would do, she thought, though she knew she’d be glad of her favourite goanywhere wrap later. It had been a birthday present from her father a couple of years ago, and Emily knew it had cost him a great deal of money because stitched in one corner was the tiny revealing logo of the famous fashion house that had designed it. The fabric was of sheer fine wool, with a pearl background and narrow, pale, multishaded stripes. And, delicately hinting at every colour in the rainbow, it always teamed happily with everything Emily wore.
But as for tomorrow night’s big party—the one which Maria, apparently, wasn’t aware of—Emily hoped that the dress she’d brought would be suitable for the occasion. It certainly wasn’t new because she’d only agreed to come here two days ago, and there’d been no time to go shopping for something else. It was a raw silk number in a luminous jewel-green, low-necked and with a threequarter length hemline. Its exquisite, simple cut and shape was perfect to display Emily’s dainty waist and hips and, as she hung it carefully on a hanger, she couldn’t help smiling to herself. It was the only designer dress she’d ever bought—or was ever likely to buy, she thought—and the only person who knew the charity shop it had come from was Coral, who’d promised not to tell. Admiring it again, Emily wondered who else had owned it-and why they’d not kept it for ever…Maybe the wearer had put on some weight! Well, she’d never get rid of it, she thought as she went into the bathroom. Anything of that quality should be cherished.
Presently, there was a discreet knock on the door. Giovanni stood outside. ‘Everything OK, Emily?’ he asked, glancing down at her, his eyes softening. She always looked so good, he thought instinctively. ‘Have you everything you need?’ he enquired.
Together, they went down the staircase and Giovanni said, ‘We’ll have dinner on the patio—they’ve put the heaters outside…’ He cupped his hand under her elbow as they negotiated the last few steps, and Emily looked up at him.
‘Where is Maria tonight?’ she asked curiously. So far, she’d only met Rosa.
‘She’s being entertained to dinner by some friends,’ he said briefly.
As they sat at a table on the patio a stout Italian woman appeared with wine in an ice bucket. She smiled cheerfully at Emily as she put it down in front of Giovanni, who immediately started to uncork the bottle. He introduced them casually.
‘This is Emily,’ he said, glancing up, ‘and this is our irreplaceable Margherita, Emily, who’s been keeping us all too well fed for as long as I can remember.’
Margherita raised her eyes extravagantly at Emily, murmuring ‘Allora,’ before departing to bring in their dinner.
Presently, after they’d eaten the delicious meal, Giovanni poured their coffee and glanced briefly across at Emily, who he’d been aware was unusually quiet this evening.
‘Is anything wrong, Emilee-a?’ he asked. ‘Are you feeling OK?’
Emily looked back at him steadily. ‘I’m feeling perfectly well, thanks,’ she said, ‘but slightly confused, that’s all.’ She paused, trying to find the right words. ‘I had no idea of the sort of place I’d been invited to and…it’s taken me by surprise.’
Giovanni sighed and leaned back in his chair. ‘Yes, I know…I apologize, Emily,’ he said slowly. ‘But it’s very difficult to explain to people. Well, let’s say I always find it difficult,’ he added. Emily raised her eyebrows as he went on slowly, ‘Do you know…have you heard of the Antonio chain?’
Interrupting him, Emily answered at once. ‘You mean the Antonio…the famous couturiers?’ she said. ‘But of course I have.’ Every woman knew the company whose modern but untrendy designs were coveted by thousands of devoted clients.
‘Well—that’s us. That’s the family. The business—and the burden.’ He waited a moment before going on. ‘It all began a long time ago with my great-grandfather, Antonio, who was not only a talented artist but also a shrewd businessman, and he had the good sense to fall in love with, and marry, an accomplished seamstress.’ He paused. ‘Like many successful companies, it started in a very small way, with just the two of them to begin with, but it grew steadily over the years, becoming what it is today.’ Giovanni drank from his cup, not looking at Emily, who was in a state of mild shock as she took in what he’d said. Antonio was best known for the quality of fabrics they worked with, together with their unique simplicity of style-and prices which were not totally out of the question for those with a steady income.
‘Strangely enough,’ Giovanni went on, putting down his cup, ‘we have not been very successful on the family front. Antonio had two sons—one of whom died young, which eventually left my grandfather and his wife to carry the
baton. Then they produced my father and his brother, Aldo—but, as you know, my father, too, died far too young, leaving me virtually holding the reins—with my dear Mamma very much in the front seat, of course.’ He smiled.
‘What’s happened between you and Aldo?’ Emily asked bluntly, feeling that she was entitled to ask whatever questions she liked.
Giovanni pursed his lips. ‘A few years ago, Aldo acted shamefully…very dishonourably…over a certain matter with a competitor. There was great deal of harm done at the time,’ he added. ‘Our small team of directors wanted to vote him off, and out, but…I…persuaded them that Aldo was still part of the bloodline and that he should stay and be paid a small salary, and the firm pays his children’s school fees. He only plays a nominal part in the business now, and has little say in important decisions. Anyway—’ Giovanni shrugged ‘—I suppose it’s inevitable that Aldo should resent me because my father left all his possessions to me, making me the majority shareholder. So what I say goes.’
‘Where does everything all happen?’ Emily asked curiously. ‘Where is the factory, the workshops…?’
‘Oh, well, in the very early days it actually functioned from here, from this place,’ Giovanni said, ‘but for many years we’ve rented design and factory space in the indus trial estate outside Rome. There’s plenty of room for everyone there.’
Emily sat with her hands in her lap and looked across at Giovanni. ‘But…why all the secrecy?’ she asked. ‘Why wait until now before letting me know what company I’ve been keeping lately?’ She shook her head briefly. ‘Shall I drop a deep curtsy—or provide a roll of drums?’ she added sarcastically.
Giovanni almost shouted in response. ‘No! That is just the point, Emily! Oh…It is so much worse having to admit to a rich dynasty than to admit to having nothing! What should I say to anyone? Hi, I’m Giovanni Boselli and I’m part of the Antonio fashion chain and I’ve inherited its fortune—plus the responsibility of carrying it on for the rest of my life.’