‘Well, excuse me!’ Ainslie retorted, but her sarcasm was entirely wasted.
‘You don’t have to apologise. They are not back till four—I can take you shopping … do something with your hair …’
‘I’m not talking about how I look,’ Ainslie spat, once she’d lifted her jaw from the floor. ‘You can’t just play around with people’s lives like that—you can’t just tell me what to do, what to say, what to wear! What on earth made you think I’d say yes!’
‘You have no job, no home, and no reference!’ Elijah retorted. ‘And, as you said to your lover this morning, you like the nice things in life—well, now you get to sample them!’
‘How dare you?’ Shaking, gibbering with rage, she grabbed an envelope out of her bag, ignoring Elijah’s raised eyebrows as she pulled away the wad of notes Angus had given her and thrust the reference under his nose. But Elijah just laughed mirthlessly as he read it.
‘I see there is no home number to contact …’ His cruel grin widened. ‘And so carefully worded too! You know, I admit to knowing nothing about children, but were I considering employing you on the strength of this I would be asking myself why the mother of the children is not so gushing in her praise—why I can only contact the father on his work number …’ His eyes challenged her to answer—only Ainslie couldn’t. Instead she spoke up.
‘You can’t railroad me into pretending to be your fiancée.’
‘You don’t know me.’ Elijah shrugged. Maybe he was going about this the wrong way, he conceded to himself. Maybe he should have sat her down, told her just how desperate he was. But panic was taking over at the thought of Guido with the Castellas, of them holding him this very minute, of them taking him. And they knew about the house transfer. It all blurred his sentences, until every word, every gesture, was driven by a panic no one must see. ‘I can be extremely persuasive when I have to be.’
‘I don’t mind helping out,’ Ainslie retorted. ‘I don’t mind working for you for a few days …’
‘You don’t mind?’ Elijah checked. ‘Don’t pretend you have options, Ainslie.’
‘Oh, but I do …’ She wouldn’t be spoken to like this. Snatching back her reference, she stuffed it in her bag, then headed up the stairs, taking them two, three at a time. ‘I’ve already booked a place at the youth hostel, and if I can’t get another job in the New Year then I’ll go back home to Australia.’ She was grabbing her clothes, shoving them into her backpack. ‘I helped you last night, Elijah, not the other way around!’ She turned to face him. The heating in the house had brought colour back to her face now, and two angry red spots were burning on her cheeks. ‘I might have been in a bit of a pickle, but I’d certainly have managed if you hadn’t come along—and, frankly, twelve hours in your company really hasn’t changed anything.’
Only it had.
Lugging her backpack down the stairs, Ainslie crashed past the pushchair, the jumble of toys, Maria’s and Rico’s shoes, and wrenched open the front door. The snow was really falling now. Earls Court Square was pretty in white, but far more attractive-looking through the glass window of a warm house. But anger kept the cold out—anger gave her the strength to somehow drag her backpack and case down the steps and onto the street. And hopefully it would propel her all the way to the youth hostel, away from this pompous, presuming man. Sure, he had problems—and, sure, she felt wretched for Guido. But it wasn’t her problem to solve—she already had enough of her own.
‘Ainslie.’
The snow seemed to catch the word, seemed to hold it in the air like a snowflake, soaring it, whirring it, circling it, till it landed wintry and lonely on her soul as he walked down the steps to join her.
‘You’ve got staff now—you’ve got someone to take care of Guido. Your things have arrived, and things are starting to sort themselves out.’
‘I am expected to have staff!’ Elijah retorted. ‘If I am to show this woman I am serious about staying here till Guido’s future is decided, then I need to have staff!’
‘And a fiancée too?’
‘Yes!’ His voice was urgent. ‘Yes, because that woman was two minutes away from deciding I was not suitable. Ainslie, I divide my time between cities, I have properties all over Europe, I fly first class the way most people take a bus. I dine in the best restaurants each night, with the world’s most beautiful woman …’ And so hopeless was his voice, so abject his misery, Ainslie knew that his impromptu list of credentials had nothing to do with showing off—quite the reverse in this case. ‘There are a lot of women who would be only too happy—’
‘I get the picture!’ Ainslie put up her hand to stop him. She didn’t actually want to think about his appalling reputation and the numerous women waiting in the wings. ‘If that is your life, Elijah, how on earth do you think you’re going to slot in Guido?’
‘I don’t know.’ His honesty touched her. ‘I don’t know if I am what he needs. I don’t even know if that is what I want. From the moment the hospital called me nothing in my world has made sense. All I know is that I have to give it a try. Maria died yesterday, and her last words were that she wanted me to take care of him—if I hand him over to his aunt and uncle now then that will never, ever happen.’
‘It won’t work.’
‘We can make it work,’ Elijah insisted. ‘If you help me I will help you too. I will give you a reference for anywhere—I don’t care if I have to say you worked for me all the time you have been in England …’
‘That would be a lie, though.’
‘So?’ He was standing in front of her in black jeans and a black jumper, his full mouth the only colour in his pale face. Flakes of snow had settled on his black hair and as surly as his response was, she actually understood. This man, who had come out fighting, would continue to fight—because he had everything to lose. ‘I need time. Time to think. If it is better for Guido to go with Rico’s family, if I see they would be better for him, I will accept that. If adoption is better than the home I can provide, then I will accept that too—but I have to do this for my sister, for Guido, for me. I will lie, I will cheat—I will do whatever it takes. But I ask you to believe my intentions are honourable.’
‘I’m not a good liar …’ Her teeth were chattering now.
‘I can lie for two.’
‘And—contrary to what you might think—I don’t cheat either.’
He gave just a hint of an ironic smile, his eyebrows raising just a fraction—but, staring down at her, Elijah didn’t care if she was actually a very good liar or was just deceiving herself. All that mattered was that she stayed.
‘I will pay you well—I will sort out that loan for you.’
It was irrelevant.
As they stood there staring, somehow both knew money wasn’t the issue here—that whatever force had first pushed them together was bigger than a pay cheque or a reference.
‘If her sister stays—’ she was shivering violently now as she spoke ‘—we’re going to have to share a bed …’
‘We will put pillows down the middle …’ His hands cupped her cheeks, a lazy smile blushing his lips as he eked out the same from her. ‘So that you don’t take advantage of me.’
He could have kissed her then—it felt as if he was kissing her. The caress of his words, his hands on her cheeks, the warmth between them—all defied the bitterness of winter. An outlandish pact was silently made as they stood there—as she glimpsed something, something indefinable, an almost intangible kindness behind that ruthless guarded face. A foretaste of how this man could be. And as he lifted her backpack, and took her case just as easily, and with the other hand held hers and led her up the steps, it was so much more than duty or money or fear that led her back to the house.
It was him.
‘Quel sembre volgore!’ Drumming his fingers on the couch, not only did Elijah run a bored eye over Ainslie—he spoke over her too.
In the middle of an exclusive London department store he had somehow found what was surely a Mil
an supermodel masquerading as a shop assistant, and the two of them had absolutely no qualms speaking in Italian and loudly tutting at Ainslie’s choice in clothes.
‘Vulgar?’ Dropping her jaw, Ainslie confronted him. ‘Did you just say that I looked vulgar?’
‘Those boots!’ Elijah flicked his hands at the offending leather. ‘And that coat, would, at a funeral, look vulgar!’
Staring at the ceiling-to-floor mirrors that showed her from every angle, reluctantly Ainslie conceded that he did have a point. The black coat with its nipped-in waist and the long flat leather boots had looked so tasteful, but combined … Well … Ainslie gulped as she caught her reflection from behind—despite being fully dressed, somehow she looked as if she had nothing on underneath.
Unbuttoning the coat with a sigh, for a crazy second she forgot why they were there, forgot the hell of the last twenty-four hours, and forgot where she was, who he was. With a cheeky grin Ainslie turned and flashed her fully clothed body at him.
He didn’t get the joke.
Ainslie stood as the personal service continued, as a woman dressed like a dental nurse came over and introduced herself as the manager of the beauty salon—only she spoke with Elijah.
Ainslie continued to stand and listen as Elijah told the woman what he wanted to happen with Ainslie’s hair.
‘I can talk!’ Ainslie interrupted furiously.
‘You don’t know what I want done, though.’ And he proceeded to dissect her eyebrows, her complexion, openly criticising everything, really, as if she were some donkey that needed to be groomed into a glossy racehorse.
‘What about the clothes?’
‘I’ll take care of that with Tania,’ Elijah answered, ‘now we’ve worked out what doesn’t suit you! And despite what she might say to you, my fiancée does not just need a trim!’ Elijah flashed Ainslie a quick warning smile as he spoke with the manager. ‘She needs it properly cut and styled—and please …’ He held up a wad of curls and examined the rather sun-bleached ends. ‘Can you do something with the colour too?’
She was determined to hate it!
She sat bristling with anger as her eyebrows were waxed, a face mask was applied, along with a hair dye, and her finger and toenails were simultaneously pummelled and painted—as half the salon set to work to transform her into a woman deemed worthy enough to wear his cheap ring.
‘The colour’s marvellous!’ The chief colourist beamed at the final unveiling. ‘It really suits you.’
Her naturally honey-blonde hair, which had spent way too long in the ocean and being dried by the harsh Australian sun, was now a much softer ash-blonde. The cut was just superb and, despite her best efforts not to, Ainslie couldn’t help but lean forward in her chair, pulling at one heavy curl and blinking her newly dyed lashes as it popped back into perfect shape beside a perfect eyebrow. As the make-up therapist pointed out, the dark grey eyeshadow and charcoal liner really did bring out the green of her eyes—and what was more, Ainslie realised, sucking in her lips, contrary to what she’d previously thought she did have cheekbones!
‘That’s better!’ Elijah barely glanced up from the newspaper he was reading as she came out of the salon.
‘I pass, do I?’ Ainslie retorted. But as always the last word went to Elijah.
‘Once you get some decent clothes on.’
And, loathsome as he was, he was right. In soft grey wool trousers, topped with the palest pink jumper which felt as blissful to touch as it was to wear, sitting in the lounge as they awaited Tony and Guido’s arrival, she felt horribly awkward, but really rather good.
Ainslie was appalled when Elijah caught her peering in her compact mirror, flicking back her hair, but he didn’t comment, just stared moodily out of the window till the rest of his waifs and strays arrived. Ainslie joined him to watch as they all spilled out of the car. Ms Anderson, carrying Guido, who was closely followed by a woman who must be her sister—and Tony, an absolute brute of a man, his chauffeur uniform way too tight for his huge frame, taking up the rear.
‘I should put up a sign to tell people I’ve had a change of career …’ Elijah sighed, and despite herself Ainslie giggled. ‘Let everyone know that I’m running a refuge for the homeless and displaced.’
Enid was nothing, nothing like her rather prim sister.
With a booming Northern accent she introduced herself, ruffled Guido’s hair and then headed for the kitchen.
‘Would you like me to show you your accommodation?’ Ainslie offered.
‘I’m sure I’ll find it!’
‘Or a cup of coffee, perhaps?’
‘I’ll bring you one through in just a moment.’
Elijah just laughed at her burning blush when Enid stalked off to the kitchen.
‘I was offering to make her one!’
‘Then don’t.’ He grinned. ‘Remember your place—and that is up here, with me!’
Loathsome snob, Ainslie thought, but didn’t say it.
As Tony dragged suitcase after suitcase up the stairs, assuring Elijah he’d soon be out of their way, Enid buttonholed Ainslie and asked to be taken through her routine.
‘We don’t actually have much of a routine.’
Ainslie’s eyes darted to Elijah, who was too busy playing with a grizzling Guido to notice.
‘I understand you haven’t established one with Guido yet,’ Enid said kindly. ‘I was talking more about meals, what sort of things you and Mr Vanaldi like to eat.’
‘We tend to dine out, though obviously we won’t be as much now …’ Ainslie said helplessly, praying he wasn’t allergic to nuts or had celiac disease or something dire. ‘Anything, really!’
‘I’m quite a plain cook,’ Enid warned her, standing up. ‘And there’s not much in the kitchen. I’ll see what I can manage to rustle up for tonight.’
‘This is like a nightmare,’ Ainslie whispered when she’d gone. ‘I don’t even know how many sugars you have in your coffee.’
‘Three.’ Elijah shrugged, watching as Guido stood on two fat legs and tottered over to Ainslie, holding his arms out to be lifted, which she did. Scooping him up in her arms and instead of, as she had been, trying to cheer him, she calmed him down, pulled him right into her and stroked his hair, soothed him with assurances after, Elijah realised then, what must have been another daunting day for Guido—meeting strangers, missing his parents.
‘You’re good with him.’
‘It’s my—’ Ainslie started, but didn’t finish. And it wasn’t because Enid came back into the room that her voice trailed off. Holding Guido, feeling him relax against her, Ainslie knew in her heart that this was so much more than a job.
Bravely, Ainslie thought, Enid had made spaghetti bolognaise for her and Elijah. But he simply fell on it. He mopped his plate with bread when he’d finished, then proceeded to tell her the plans for the funeral.
‘It was either Christmas Eve, or wait another week.’
‘What would you prefer?’
‘Neither …’ Elijah admitted. ‘But I chose Christmas Eve. It’s going to be hell either way, and I think it is better we get it over with, then do our best for Guido on Christmas Day.’
‘What did Rico’s family want?’
‘To know who was paying for it. Naturally Ms Anderson tried to rephrase it, but that was their main concern. I’ve booked a hotel for afterwards, and I’ve rung all the friends in Maria’s diary and replied to a few of her e-mails. One of the mothers from Guido’s playgroup rang by chance today, to speak with Maria …’ He faltered for just a second. ‘She had no idea what had happened.’
‘That must have been awful for you.’
‘I would prefer it if you didn’t answer the house phone. I will tell Enid also. I don’t want to put either of you through it. I ended up consoling her …’ He buried his face in his hands, the sarcasm, the jibes, the whole mask slipping as he let out a low rumble of a moan. ‘This is so wrong—it just all is so wrong. Like a mistake has been made.’
‘It has!’ Ainslie could hear his pain, feel it from across the table.
‘I went to ring her earlier.’ He looked up, strong features now hopeless. ‘I went to dial this number—to ask her what flowers she liked … That is crazy …’
‘It’s not crazy …’ She couldn’t just sit and watch him sink. On reflex she went over to him, stood where he sat, rested her hands on his strained shoulders. ‘You’re not crazy—it’s normal, I’m sure.’
‘I want to ask her what I should do …’ His anguish was there in each word, beneath her fingers his shoulders were rigid in her hands. ‘I want to know what she would want.’
She could see her own fingers, pale against his black jumper, digging in and massaging the knots of tension, could see them moving against her will, as if they belonged to someone else. Instinctively her hands moved, working each taut bundle of tension till she felt the release.
‘She already told you what she wanted.’
He nodded, taking solace in her words, taking solace in her touch—only for both of them it wasn’t over. She was aware now that she was touching him. Some bizarre out-of-body experience had seen her cross the room, only now her mind was back, registering the change of surrounds and her fingers that had worked his flesh so easily were moving clumsily now … she jerked away when Enid came in the room.
‘Ainslie …?’ The question in Elijah’s voice faded as he saw they had company.
‘Don’t mind me!’ The housekeeper smiled, taking the plates as, awkward, blushing, Ainslie stepped back.
But later, lying in the bath, staring at the still water as she lay motionless, Ainslie knew her blushes, her awkwardness, had had nothing to do with Enid entering. It had been the contact that had her reeling—her own boldness, her own knowing, which had propelled her like iron ore to a magnet. And it wasn’t a question of pleasing, Ainslie realised as still she lay. It wasn’t a question of being good enough. It was knowing that you were.
That with him, kissing him, touching him, it wasn’t about Elijah’s skill or experience, or any of the stuff she’d read about as she’d muddled through the maze of dating.
Celebration: Italian Boss, Ruthless RevengeOne Magical ChristmasHired: The Italian’s Convenient Mistress Page 34