The straps of her sandals had almost rubbed her feet raw in places, but she absolutely refused to take them off. She would sooner cripple herself, she decided with a perverse kind of determination, than admit to Fausto Cabrini that he had been right.
She was close to the point of submitting, though, and kicking off the wretched things when the path led out unexpectedly into a brightly sunny clearing amid the trees. At the back of the clearing stood a small, three-storey building—and in the open doorway, arms folded, silently watching her, a tall, dark figure in a pale blue shirt. 'So you made it,' he remarked, barbed amusement in his voice. 'I was just about to send out a search party.'
'No need, I assure you. I'm perfectly able to look after myself.'
He threw her a darkly disbelieving look. 'I doubt, signorina, that that has ever been truly put to the test. But now that you're here, let me show you what I brought you for.' He stepped out of the doorway and came towards her, and automatically she moved away. If he noticed, he made no sign of it, but turned to look up at the little building with its typically Italian ochre-painted walls, green-shuttered windows and sloping, red-tiled roof.
'This used to be the wash-house for the estate in the days when the old baroni used to rule the roost around these parts. They got the water from the lake, then heated it in the huge wood-fired boilers on the ground floor. On the first floor was where everything was actually washed, and then—' he pointed upwards '—it was hung out on the roof to dry.'
Tanya raised her eyes to follow his pointing finger and suddenly it dawned on her that there was something very strange about the roof. There were not in fact three storeys at all. but two—only the roof was raised above the top of the house a good four metres, like a kind of canopy, giving the appearance of an additional floor. What she was looking at was a sort of ingenious raised drying green, open all sides to the winds, yet conveniently protected from the rain.
He dropped his arm and turned to her. 'I'll show you inside.'
She followed at a safe distance. With all the shutters closed the building would be dark inside, and though she knew beyond the slightest doubt that Fausto Cabrini was not the type of man to make grubby sexual overtures, she instinctively felt that the greater the distance she kept between the two of them the less vulnerable she would somehow be.
But, almost as though he had anticipated her thoughts, he crossed at once to the windows of the empty room he had led her into and pushed the shutters open wide. Then he leaned with his hips against the wooden windowsill, his dark head framed in bright sunlight, and gazed round at the bare floor and freshly plastered walls. 'As you can see, I've recently had the whole place converted. I plan to use it as a guest-house eventually. This will be the reception-room. Through there—' he nodded towards the door behind her '—is the kitchen. And there's a bathroom at the other side. Another bathroom and two bedrooms upstairs.' He pushed back the sleeves of his light blue shirt and folded his strong, tanned arms across his chest. 'So, Tanya, what do you think of it?'
It was the first time he had ever used her name and there was something oddly intimate about the gesture now. Almost as though he had reached out and touched her. She dropped her eyes hurriedly from his face. 'What am I supposed to think of it?' she countered half defensively.
'Whatever you please. But as a designer you must surely have some kind of opinion?' He stressed the word scornfully, apparently finding her claim to such a title quite ridiculous.
She resisted the urge to come back at him with some equally cutting barb of her own and instead answered coolly, matter-of-fact, 'It's a well proportioned room and it seems to get plenty of natural light. It could be nice.'
The dark-tanned face broke into an almost boyish grin. 'How very low key. I fear you will never succeed in selling your services if you insist on adopting that sort of approach.' Then, before she could point out to him that selling her services to him was actually the last thing on her mind, he moved away from the window and out into the hall again. 'Let's see if the upstairs rooms manage to fire you with a little more professional enthusiasm.'
He waited for her at the foot of the narrow, wooden staircase and stood aside to let her go ahead of him. She walked past him quickly, as though terrified that some part of their anatomies might accidentally touch, and almost sprinted up the stairs. The top landing was in darkness, and as he joined her there he leaned past her suddenly to switch on the light. She shrank back against the wall as for a moment it seemed as though his arm might brush against her breast. But he didn't touch her—though, as he smiled with what looked like mock-apology, he did seem dangerously close. 'I'm sorry, I should have switched the light on from downstairs. You might have tripped.'
She swallowed hard, hating herself for her discomfort, hating him even more for so obviously enjoying it. Then she breathed with relief as he moved away from her at last and pushed open one of the bedroom doors.
'This will be the master bedroom,' he explained, throwing open the shutters and turning round to look at her. 'The other one's slightly smaller. And the bathroom is situated between the two of them.' He waited, watching her. 'Well?'
'Well, what?'
'You tell me you're a designer. Do you think you can decorate this house for me?'
'Are you asking me?'
'Not exactly.'
'Telling me?'
He nodded. 'That's right.'
'But why would you want me to do it when you obviously have so little faith in my abilities?' That was something he had left her in no doubt about.
He shrugged. 'If you make a mess of it, I can simply rip the whole lot out and start again.' His voice carried an edge of almost calculated callousness. 'On the other hand, when you're lucky enough to have a designer in residence, it seems a bit silly not to make good use of her.'
This time Tanya could not resist the urge to pounce on him. 'You make a habit of using people, don't you? I've noticed it's something you like to mention quite a lot.'
'Of course.' He hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his linen trousers and looked across at her, quite unabashed. 'We all use each other, Tanya, whether we choose to admit it or not. We rely on each other's talents and abilities—even on each other's ambitions and aspirations to some extent. I use you. You use me. That's what makes the world go round.'
The black eyes held her tawny ones for a long moment, and the sense of unease that had steadily been growing inside Tanya since they had left the villa was suddenly almost unbearable. For some inexplicable reason, she felt trapped by this man. Cornered. As though by being in this place with him she was somehow putting herself at his mercy. It was ridiculous, of course, but no amount of telling herself that could change the way she felt. She forced herself to reply calmly, 'I would have expected a man like you to claim that it was money that made the world go round.'
'No, Tanya, money simply oils the wheels.' He regarded her for a moment longer, then remarked quite unexpectedly, 'Obviously you disagree. So what would you say makes the world go round?'
She might have said love, but she knew that he would only laugh at her. He had this ability to make everything she said sound both naive and trivial. And she doubted very much in any case if he really had a clue about the meaning of the word. Love would not be a part of the sexual dimension he had spoken of. So she shrugged. 'You're the one with all the answers, not me.'
'Not all the answers—but enough to get by.' Then abruptly he straightened and started to walk towards the door. 'I'll just show you quickly round the roof.'
He led the way up a narrow iron staircase and pushed open the door at the top. 'Watch your feet,' he advised, stepping nimbly over the storm-step that separated the top of the staircase from the outside roof. Then, in a gesture that seemed totally spontaneous, he held out a helping hand to her. Equally spontaneously she accepted it—and his touch was like raw fire against her unsuspecting flesh. With a gasp almost of horror she quickly snatched her hand away.
He gave her a cool look and a
hint of sardonic humour flashed in the dark eyes. 'I forgot. You don't need any help.'
'Not from you I don't!' she shot back, furious at her own craven response. Why did she find it so difficult to treat him with the contempt that he so fully deserved? What was it about the wretched man that so unsettled her whenever he was near?
He had crossed to the waist-high iron railing that enclosed the roof area, and as he moved a shaft of sunlight fell across his shoulders and half-clad arms. Involuntarily Tanya felt her eyes drawn to the bronzed and strongly muscled forearms that the rolled-back sleeves of his shirt revealed—and snatched them away as abruptly as she had snatched away her hand. He glanced at her over his shoulder. 'Of course, if you make a decent job of it, I'm quite prepared to pay you the going rate.'
Tanya sniffed. Trust him to waste no time in returning to the subject of money! And trust him also to make the assumption that her good will could be bought. 'If you're trying to fire my enthusiasm with bribes, forget it,' she answered him, bridling visibly. 'Unlike you, Signor Cabrini, financial reward has never been my primary motivation in life.'
He swivelled round to look at her. 'Then you're fortunate. That attitude is one that very few are able to afford. It is also, alas, the sort of attitude that lands people in all kinds of financial trouble. Then they have to rely on people like me to bail them out.' The allusion to her father was not hard to detect. If she wanted to trade insults, he clearly had no compunction about giving as good as he got. He added maliciously, 'And I don't remember you exactly turning up your nose back in Sussex when the big money was being handed out.'
Tanya's cheeks were burning with outraged anger now. 'My interest in what went on that day was purely for my father's sake. In spite of the fact that you keep on insisting otherwise, I had no personal stake in the proceedings at all. Not everyone is driven by the narrow self-interest that so obviously drives you.'
He ignored her taunt and came straight back on the attack instead. 'You're trying to tell me that if your father went under financially it would make no personal difference to you? Wouldn't you rather miss the easy, comfortable life-style he's always given you? Wouldn't you find it rather difficult to give up all the little luxuries?' Scorn dripped from his every syllable. 'I find your protests difficult to swallow, I'm afraid.'
'Well, you're wrong!' Why was he always attacking her? 'Of course I'd miss all these things you mention. I'm not going to deny that. But it wouldn't be the end of the world for me. I'm still young enough and fit enough to make my own way in life—'
'To find another man to keep you, you mean,' he cut in cruelly, the dark eyes sending a bitter challenge across the narrow distance that divided them.
'That isn't what I mean at all!' If she had been a man, she would have struck him then. 'What I mean is, if my father went broke, it would be a tragedy for him, but not for me. He would never recover. I could. And, all along—whether you want to believe it or not—it's my father that I've been worried about.' And she knew it was the truth, in spite of him.
'Well, well. You're all heart, aren't you?'
'At least I'm human, with human feelings, which is more than you appear to be.'
'You're one of life's takers, Tanya, that's what you are. That's why I'm going to take such pleasure in squeezing every last drop of hard work out of you. You'll learn how it feels to contribute for once. I'm going to teach you what it means to pull your weight.'
She was boiling inside. One more word from him and she would explode. 'I've already heard your threats!' she stormed at him, the words spitting from her lips like poisoned darts.
They were mere pinpricks. He smiled. 'And listened to them well, I hope.'
She glared at him, hardly trusting herself to speak.
'To return to specifics, I'd like you to start work on the wash-house as soon as possible. Since the money that I offered doesn't interest you, you will no doubt be eager to get started for your father's sake. But, whatever your motivations, you'll have plenty of time. I won't be needing you in the office all day every day.' His tone was as hard and unyielding as the expression on his face. He paused. 'Which reminds me—did you sort things out with your relatives in Austria?'
'I phoned them as you instructed me.' And had explained, without going into any of the reasons why, that she would not be able to spend the summer with them, after all.
'And your father? Did you call the clinic to let him know you're here?'
'I did.' Perhaps, she was beginning to think, she should have submitted a written report.
'Did you also tell him why?' He had stepped forward and was standing almost right in front of her, hands thrust in his trouser pockets.
'Of course not!' She thrust her own hands into the pockets of her slim white skirt, deliberately facing up to him. 'I think my father's health is already quite precarious enough without confronting him with that sort of bad news over the telephone. I intend to tell him about the icon next time I see him. There isn't any rush, is there?' Her stomach was churning with anger now.
'No rush. I have you here with me, after all, to take the icon's place.' He smiled at her briefly, a harsh and humourless smile, then glanced down quickly at his watch. 'I have to get back to the office now. I suggest you stay and have a closer look round here.' He started to move away.
Suddenly Tanya could no longer contain the rage and frustration that were bubbling inside. She turned on him. 'This whole situation is ridiculous, you know! You can't keep me here against my will! What if I just decide to go? What if I just get on a plane and fly back to England and to hell with you? There isn't a damned thing you could do about it!' She flung the challenge at him like a physical assault—then clenched her fists tightly at her sides and waited for him to retaliate.
His response came at her with the speed and the force of a shot from a gun. 'I wouldn't do that if I were you. Stamping your feet and demanding your own way isn't going to get you anywhere for once.' A fire of anger more than equal to her own blazed in the dark eyes. 'Take my word for it, you'd be well advised just to do exactly as I say.'
But she would not let go. Like a Pekinese snapping at a stallion's heels, she started to follow him to the door. 'You don't scare me! What could you do if I refused to stay? Destroy my father? Withdraw the loan? You may be a bastard, but I can't believe that even you are quite as big a bastard as all that!'
He swung round on her then, his face pale with fury beneath the darkness of his tan. 'Don't push me, Tanya, I'm warning you. You'll only be sorry if you do. And don't try to run out on me either—not unless you want to see me bring your father to his knees. For, believe me, I'd do it without a second thought.' He fixed her with a vicious look. 'If you want to find out if I'm serious or not, just try me.'
She stepped back, suddenly chilled by the appalling certainty that he meant every heartless word he said.
The cruel message in the deep, dark eyes left her in no doubt of that. Her tongue felt like cold clay in her mouth. There seemed to be nothing left for her to say.
Half-stunned, she watched as he stepped out through the door, then paused to deliver his parting shot. 'Be ready to leave at seven-thirty sharp for our dinner appointment in Milan.' He cast a scathing glance in the direction of her feet. 'And do me the favour of removing your shoes on your journey back to the villa, please. I prefer my escorts not to have their feet covered in sticking plaster.'
He was gone before she could reply—with the last word as usual, she fumed.
The front door slammed and she peered down on a fresh wave of resentment to see Fausto Cabrini emerge from the house and quickly cross the little clearing back to the wood. Again that uneasy voice of warning stirred deep in her soul. Make no mistake, it seemed to be telling her—beware! This man is capable of inflicting the most deadly wounds.
CHAPTER FOUR
After Cabrini had gone, Tanya quite happily spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the old wash-house and its surroundings more thoroughly. One thing was for sure, the desi
gners who had converted the old building had done an inspired job. By the time she finally closed the front door some hours later, her head was buzzing with ideas. Within the next two weeks, she promised herself, she would sketch out a few of those ideas for Cabrini to approve.
Tanya got back to the villa about half past five. The aquamarine dress was hanging, neatly pressed, from the door of the wardrobe in her room and Emma had placed a big vase of fresh flowers on the little table by the window. Gratefully Tanya sank down on the bed and stretched her arms above her head. All the walking she had done, plus the early start and the general excitement of the day, had tired her out. She would close her eyes and rest for a couple of minutes, she decided, before running a bath and starting to get ready for the evening ahead. Half past seven, Cabrini had said. She had loads of time.
The next thing she knew the telephone was ringing in her ear and she sat up with a start. The room had grown dark. My God, she thought in sudden panic, what time is it? She groped for the blue phone, somehow guessing who would be on the other end, and spoke into it as brightly as she could, praying he wouldn't be able to detect the husky tones of sleep still in her voice.
'I'm sorry to disturb you.' She had been right, it was Fausto Cabrini's cool, sarcastic tones that answered her.
'I hope I didn't get you out of the shower this time.' She pulled a wry face to herself. If only he knew the truth— that she had been sound asleep! 'I'm afraid I'm not going to be ready for half past seven,' he went on. 'I seem to have been tied up on the telephone all afternoon and I'm going to need another quarter of an hour.' He paused.
'Oh, that's all right,' she assured him, desperately groping for the light switch so that she could see what time it was.
'I'll meet you downstairs at a quarter to eight. Just help yourself to a drink while you're waiting.'
Fat chance of that! She put the phone down and succeeded at last in locating the button on the bedside lamp. Squinting anxiously at her watch, she saw with mingled horror and relief that it was ten past seven. That gave her just over half an hour to shower—no time for a bath now—wash and dry her hair, put on her make-up and get dressed. The last thing she wanted was to keep the great Fausto Cabrini waiting again. It had taken her long enough to live that first time down!
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