by Helen Brooks
The last thought was one of panic and it worked like adrenalin straight into her wilting frame. She was the nanny, she was the nanny, that was all, and once the job got underway properly she would probably go for days—weeks if he was away on business—without seeing him at all. And to be fair he hadn’t twisted her arm; it had been her decision to come to Italy, she reminded herself quickly as he walked towards her. She just hadn’t expected everything to be quite so overwhelming.
The most overwhelming thing of all took her arm. ‘There are cocktails in the drawing room,’ he murmured easily. ‘Shall we…?’
Once she was seated on one of the magnificent antique French sofas that dotted the room—along with several Louis XIV armchairs and small exquisite tables and bureaus, any one of which would have cost a small fortune—Daisy carefully smiled her thanks at the bubble-gum-pink cocktail in a tall fluted glass which Slade handed her. The drawing room had an air of very genteel tranquillity, its high, ornate ceiling and wonderful decor imposing and elegant, and as Slade sat down in one of the armchairs opposite her he was very much the lord of all he surveyed.
Although he wasn’t. Not as far as she was concerned anyway! Her thoughts prompted her tongue into action. ‘Do you always dress for dinner?’ she asked tentatively, wondering how she could bring the conversation round to what she really wanted to ask.
‘No, not now,’ Slade said easily, settling back in his chair with one leg crossed over his knee and his hands relaxed on the arms of the chair. The very male pose did nothing to help her erratic heartbeat. ‘When my wife was alive she enjoyed all this sort of thing—her mother is a stickler for formality and Luisa had been brought up with a great deal of ceremony and protocol from when she was a babe in arms—but I prefer more relaxed evenings at home normally. Of course tonight is special,’ he added softly.
He was flirting with her. Daisy lowered her eyelids and prayed for the words to put him firmly in his place. She might as well have prayed for the moon. ‘I’m only here as one of your employees, Slade,’ she managed fairly coolly as she kept her eyes trained on the flamboyant glass in her hands. ‘But it’s very nice of you to make me so welcome.’
‘You are not just one of my employees, Daisy.’ The rich, slightly husky voice brought her head up to meet his measured gaze, and as he caught the defensive wariness in her eyes and the barely perceptible withdrawal of her body his tone was very even when he continued, ‘You are the most important in your role as nanny to Francesco.’
‘Right.’ She nodded cautiously. Yes, she could accept that—to a point. ‘So Angelica usually dines with you?’ she asked guardedly a moment later.
‘No, Angelica does not dine with me,’ Slade returned softly. ‘Angelica has never dined with me.’ He did not continue and his tone was not in the least embarrassed or awkward.
He was playing with her, like a cat with a mouse! Daisy could feel her cheeks burning but it was more with anger now than anything else. She looked straight into the ebony eyes and her voice was very clear when she said, ‘Then I think it is unwise that you have invited me to do so tonight, Slade. I would not like anyone in your household to get the wrong impression of why I am here, and human nature being what it is that could easily happen. We both know it would be ridiculous, but once seeds are sown…’
‘Ridiculous?’ The firm lips twisted wryly. ‘I fail to see why but we will pursue that another time. For now let me explain why it was imperative you dine with me tonight and that we start as we mean to carry on.’
Start as we mean to…?
‘My mother-in-law needs to understand that you are in authority as far as Francesco is concerned, and that you report directly to me,’ Slade said quietly. ‘Anything else is totally unacceptable. Now, Claudia is a strong woman and her position in this household has been less well defined than I would like. Angelica’s mother is in her employ, which does not help matters, but Angelica herself is too timid and nervous to command respect. You are English—’ his eyes glittered and his white teeth flashed as he allowed himself a brief smile ‘—and unknown to my mother-in-law; this is very good.’
‘Good’ wasn’t quite the word she would have chosen, Daisy thought drily. There were others far more suitable.
‘You have come here in a very different position to that of Angelica, and it is important this is made clear from the outset.’ He looked at her steadily, the dark face daring her to disagree.
And disagree she did. ‘Are you intending to give your mother-in-law the idea that there is more between us than mere employer/employee status?’ Daisy asked in a taut voice. ‘And I would like a straight answer, please.’
‘Certainly.’ And he had the gall to smile again, a fleeting, sexy quirk of a smile that had her stomach muscles contracting before she could control them. ‘I want her to see you in the role of trusted friend,’ he continued smoothly, before Daisy could spit out the hot retort hovering on her tongue. ‘That is most important. My trusted friend who has complete authority over the rest of the household when I am not here, including her grandson.’
Trusted friend. Yes, right, Daisy thought venomously. She had heard what he was proposing described in various terms before, and friend wasn’t a new one. Of course it was normally good friends—just good friends! That was how Ronald had explained his relationship with Susan at first before he had realised the game was up. Well, so was Slade Eastwood’s.
‘Forget it.’ It was cool and razor-sharp.
‘What?’
Daisy had risen to her feet as she had spoken and she had the gratification of seeing Slade completely taken aback.
‘I said, forget it,’ she said tightly, her eyes shooting gold sparks. ‘I’m not into whatever tawdry little affair you’ve got planned, Mr Eastwood, and I’m on the first plane home. Okay?’ She placed the glass on a table with icy composure.
‘Mr Eastwood?’ He too had risen to his feet, his dark face now expressionless and his voice very calm. ‘What happened to Slade?’ he asked laconically.
She’d hit him. One more cool, clever word and she would hit him, Daisy thought furiously. She gave him a look which would have felled a lesser man and turned to go, and then, as he caught hold of her arm with a sharp, ‘Now hold on just a damn minute’, her hand shot out all by itself and connected with the tanned skin of his face in a resounding slap that actually echoed in the disapproving hauteur of the room.
For a moment they stood perfectly still in a frozen tableau in which time didn’t exist, and although Daisy was immediately horrified by what she had done a little voice at the back of her mind—a voice which had been born in the caustic aftermath of Ronald’s desertion—was saying, He deserved it. He did. That will teach him he can’t have things all his own way.
Although Slade didn’t look too convinced. In fact he just looked blazingly, frighteningly mad, Daisy told herself shakily as the flood of rage and bitter hurt drained away, leaving her pale and trembling.
‘Sit.’ The tone was exactly the same as the one she had used with the pet dog she and her sisters had had as children but Daisy was too emotionally shattered to argue. She sat. And then, as she waited to be cut apart by the cold steel of his tongue, she was mortified to see the outline of her fingers on the side of his face. She had hit him! She’d really hit him.
‘Like to tell me what that was all about?’ It was icy cold and Daisy felt terrified, but she raised her chin as she met the power of the stony black gaze even though her face was as white as a sheet and she felt horribly sick.
‘I’m not here to have an affair with you,’ she stated shakily, willing herself not to cry.
‘Shouldn’t you wait to be asked?’
‘You…you said—’
‘I said I wanted Claudia and the rest of my household to respect you as my mouthpiece when I am not around,’ Slade said rigidly. ‘At least that’s what I heard myself say. What did you hear?’ he asked cuttingly.
‘You…you know what you were insinuating. And…and earlier…�
� She wanted to be as strong as he was, to lay into him with her tongue, to defend herself, but her lips were trembling so much she had to stop.
‘Earlier was a mistake which I thought we had both realised and acknowledged without the need for discussion,’ Slade said coolly, making her feel like the most boorish, asinine creature in the world. ‘But now you have brought it up, and at the risk of sounding coarse I will say in my defence that you were as…enthusiastic in the error of judgement as I was.’
She deserved it, Daisy conceded, her cheeks flaming scarlet. But it didn’t make it any easier to take.
‘And, for the record, I have never used my position or wealth to entice a reluctant female into a sexual relationship with me. Is that clear enough?’ he asked icily.
He was livid, absolutely furiously angry, Daisy told herself weakly, but the cool control was holding.
‘Is it?’ he pressed grimly, his coldness withering.
‘I…I thought…’
Her voice trailed away as he eyed her frostily. ‘I think we are both aware of what you thought, but I am not so short of female companionship that I am reduced to hiring someone for the role.’ He raised furious eyebrows as he finished.
‘No,’ she agreed miserably, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap. ‘No, of course not.’
There was another moment of silence, longer this time, and then his voice was different—softer, smokier—when he said, ‘He hurt you, didn’t he, this husband of yours?’
‘He is not my husband any more.’ It was said much too quickly and revealed plenty to the tall, dark man watching her.
‘This is good.’
In this particular instance she could agree wholeheartedly with him, Daisy thought bitterly. It was flipping fantastic.
‘But nevertheless it takes time to recover from such wounds,’ Slade continued quietly. ‘It is a painful time.’
Daisy nodded without raising her head. It wasn’t the wound of Ronald’s betrayal that was so hard to recover from, more the memory of a tiny sweet face that haunted her dreams and intruded on her days when she expected it least. But Slade Eastwood was the last man in the world she could talk to about Jenny. Jenny—so small, so beautiful and so completely hers.
‘And now the air is clear between us, yes?’
‘What?’ Daisy raised her head sharply. For the last agonising second or two she had been back in that hospital room and the pain was crucifying, but now Slade’s matter-of-fact voice brought her out of the darkness. After all that had happened—her accusations compounded by the unforgivable sin of striking him—he had dismissed their altercation just like that? She had expected hostility and dismissal at the very least.
‘You wish us to continue fighting?’ he asked with a touch of laughter at the back of his voice.
‘No, no, of course not.’ It was too breathless, too soft and feminine, and not the way to deal with this man.
‘Neither do I,’ he said with sudden devastating seriousness.
Did he do it on purpose, add that husky, smoky quality to his voice that was pure dynamite? Daisy asked herself silently. He was a sexy man, he was a very, very sexy man, but she was immune to his charm, she told herself forcefully. She had been immunised by an expert.
‘Now, Isabella has prepared us a delicious meal to which we shall do full justice,’ Slade said easily, as though they had been doing nothing more controversial all night than sipping cocktails and making small talk. ‘And then, once we have dined, you will have to excuse me. I have an…appointment in town.’
An appointment in town. A woman. It had to be a woman, and it was that same woman he had dressed up for—not her. Daisy felt mortified and utterly ashamed. Why would a man like Slade Eastwood be interested in someone like her, for goodness’ sake? She must be mad! Oh, why hadn’t she thought long and hard before sailing in with all guns firing? And that kiss earlier—it had been her response to what he had intended as nothing more than a friendly gesture that had sent things out of control. There would be beautiful women in their hundreds—beautiful, unattached, young women with no hang-ups and certainly no ex-husbands in the background—panting for a date with Slade Eastwood. And who could blame them?
She suddenly felt as old as Methuselah and it didn’t help the battering her self-confidence had taken in the last couple of years.
‘But first another cocktail, yes?’ said Slade smoothly.
Daisy forced her mouth to respond with a bright, ‘Yes, please,’ and even managed a fairly believable smile through the humiliation and shame. This would teach her, she thought fiercely as waves of hot chagrin crashed in over her head. If she wasn’t very careful she was going to grow into a crabby, awkward old woman and then Ronald really would have ruined her life.
And that mustn’t be allowed to happen. She almost nodded at the thought and stopped herself just in time, although the emphasis of the reaction stayed with her. Ronald was the past now. Not Jenny—Jenny would always be with her whatever the future held, secure in a special corner of her heart where she would stay forever beautiful and forever precious—but she had to go on and try and do more than merely exist.
‘Here.’ Slade handed her the brimming glass with a warm smile and the clean, sharp scent of his aftershave teased her senses for a second as he leant towards her.
‘Thank you.’ She took it quickly, too quickly—causing the liquid to spill over on to her dress.
‘Relax, Daisy.’ Slade’s voice was soft now, very soft and deep. ‘You must learn to relax, you know this?’
‘I…I’m all right.’ Her heart was pounding alarmingly in repudiation of her words.
‘No, you are not, not yet, but you will be,’ Slade murmured quietly. ‘Here at Festina Lente you will learn to hurry slowly, to take things easily, yes?’
Maybe. If he wasn’t around too much. Daisy nodded brightly. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘And you might even find you like Italy…and Italians.’
She knew exactly what he meant and there was absolutely no answer she could make but her face must have said it all, because in the next moment he smiled—a dry, cynical twist of a smile that wasn’t really a smile at all—and added coolly, ‘But I won’t hold my breath, eh?’
CHAPTER FIVE
THE next four weeks went far more smoothly than Daisy could ever have envisaged that first night.
The main reason for this was a catastrophic problem with Slade’s parent company in England which in turn affected his subsidiaries in the States and Canada, and the seriousness of the disaster had meant Slade’s presence was essential. He telephoned Festina Lente each evening, but other than preparing herself for the sound of that deep voice the days were tranquil.
The second reason for the harmonious and peaceful atmosphere which pervaded Festina Lente from May onwards was due to an incident which happened in the middle of Daisy’s first week, and just twenty-four hours after Slade had left for England.
Signor de Sica, Francesco’s young and enthusiastic tutor whom Daisy had liked on sight, was working with the child in the schoolroom—a room designated for the little boy’s lessons which was sandwiched between Slade’s massive study and the kitchens on the ground floor—and Angelica and Daisy had just returned from a pleasant excursion into the heart of Merano.
They had ostensibly been looking for ideas for gifts for Francesco’s birthday at the end of June, but the two women had spent half the morning chatting in one of the café terraces on the promenade bordered by the fast flowing Passiria river. Daisy had found Angelica far more relaxed away from the house, and the younger girl had been quite frank about her fear of Francesco’s grandmother and the pressure the other woman constantly brought to bear.
‘She is what you English call the…the dragon, sì?’ Angelica had confided quietly. ‘An’ my madre—my mother—she is anxious Signora Morosini not be upset. It make it very hard for me, an’ Signor Eastwood, he not understand.’
Daisy had nodded sympathetically. The devil and the de
ep blue sea! She could just imagine.
‘When Roberto ask me to marry him he say it good time for me to leave, sì? He no like me upset an’ my madre, she understand when Roberto talk to her. An’ now you here.’ Angelica had smiled happily.
Daisy had smiled back but now, as an imperious voice echoed from the hall into the kitchens where Angelica and Daisy had been having a coffee with Isabella before the other woman had hurried to answer the doorbell, she didn’t feel like smiling. Italian was a beautiful, soft-flowing language but there was something in this voice that was cutting, and she didn’t need Angelica’s, ‘It her, Signora Morosini,’ to tell her Slade’s mother-in-law had arrived.
Isabella came panting back to the kitchen a minute or two later. ‘She taking the bambino out,’ she announced in an undertone to the two other women. ‘She want you ready in five minutes, Angelica, and she want to see Daisy in the drawing room, sì?’
No. Daisy straightened her shoulders. Slade had already been eloquent on this very point. Apparently once she knew he was away, and in spite of all his orders to the contrary, Claudia Morosini would sweep into the house at any time of the day or night and take over, often dismissing Francesco’s tutor for the day—even a week wasn’t unheard of—and generally creating havoc. It unsettled Francesco and interrupted his schooling, and once the child was at his grandmother’s home he was spoilt outrageously, which usually resulted in tantrum after tantrum once he was home again and couldn’t have all his own way.
‘Francesco is not going out today.’ Daisy motioned to Angelica, who had been on the point of leaving the kitchen, to wait before she continued, her voice firm, ‘His father does not want his schooling interrupted and has told Signora Morosini she can see her grandson at weekends. Perhaps you will go and inform Signor de Sica his services are still required, Angelica, and I’ll explain to Signora Morosini.’