by Lucy Gordon
‘Of course.’
‘Have you got the number that man in the disgusting jacket gave you to ring when you’d settled the date?’
‘Of course.’
‘Fine. Tell them we’ll travel in two days. We’ll sort out the final details tomorrow. Goodnight.’
He left without another word.
Olympia stood watching the closed door, feeling more confused than she’d been in her life. He threatened her peace, and she’d told herself that the time had come to escape him. But somehow he’d wrested control from her. The trip to Naples would be on his terms.
She’d outwitted him-and then she hadn’t.
Suddenly the future was more exciting than it had ever been.
As he’d said it was all systems go in the office next morning.
‘How can you leave so soon, when you’ve barely got here?’ Olympia protested.
‘But I’m only obeying orders,’ he said innocently. ‘Just a humble cog in the Leonate wheel, doing as I’m told, that’s me.’
‘Why don’t I find that convincing?’
‘Maybe you’re just not a very good judge of character,’ he said simply.
From then on packing and making arrangements about her apartment occupied all her time, and when she finally closed the door to start the journey to the airport she hadn’t seen him for two days. She had to take a taxi. He didn’t even bother to collect her.
She was glad of the time apart. It gave her a breathing space to get her ideas together and remind herself what really mattered. He was attractive, no doubt about it, but so what? She could enjoy a flirtation without compromising her mission, couldn’t she?
But then these cool thoughts would be invaded by memories that were anything but cool: the way he’d held her in his arms, the fierce crushing kiss with a hint of some suppressed feeling that might have been desperation, the skilled movements of his lips, knowing so well how to incite her to respond.
He knew her too well. He could speak to her in a silent language they both understood. He was dangerous. She must escape him.
But she was glad with all her heart that he was coming with her.
He was waiting at the airport, greeting her with an air of tension that puzzled her.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
‘Fine, fine. Just not too keen on flying.’
In fact he was an excellent traveller, but he’d just completed what he promised himself would be the last, the very last piece of trickery.
Realising that his ticket would be provided in the name of Cayman, he’d intercepted it when it had been delivered to the office the previous day, then booked himself another ticket in his true name and got to the airport early to collect it.
Now he was vowing that it would all soon be over. Safe in Naples, he would confess everything to Olympia over a glass of wine. They would share a laugh, and she would forgive him.
Eventually.
And he would never tell another lie as long as he lived. His nerves couldn’t stand it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘T HERE it is,’ he said as the volcano came into view in the distance. ‘That’s what you’ve been watching for, isn’t it?’
‘Vesuvius,’ she said ecstatically. ‘How fierce and magnificent it looks.’
The plane turned and now the lights of Naples were below them, like arms curving around the bay. Another few minutes and they were down.
Then they were in the taxi, climbing the hill to the Vallini, the grandest hotel that Naples had to offer. As soon as she stepped through the door she was enveloped in luxury. Uniformed staff murmured, ‘Signorina,’ as they ushered her to her suite.
There she found a double bed of antique design but modern comfort, a marble bathroom and a sitting room with a balcony that looked out over the bay.
‘I’ll leave you for a while,’ he said, ‘while I check my apartment. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.’
When he’d gone she had a long soak in scented water while the hotel laundry service pressed the creases from the black dress she’d worn to the nightclub. A hairdresser arrived and dressed her long black hair in elegant sweeps, some wound about her head, some falling.
It was a magical evening. He led her downstairs to his low slung sports car.
‘Let me show you a little of my town,’ he said.
They drove for an hour through narrow cobbled streets. Once she caught him stealing a smiling glance at her and knew it was a reminder of how he’d once teased her about ‘urchins and cobbled streets’.
‘But where are the urchins?’ she asked at last and they both laughed.
They dined at a tiny trattoria, saying little. He forbade her to speak English and she struggled through the evening with her basic Italian.
‘You’re doing well,’ he said. ‘The more you practise it the better.’
‘When do I start work?’ she wanted to know.
‘Let’s enjoy a few days holiday first. Once I’ve introduced you to Enrico you’ll be swallowed up.’ After a moment he added delicately, ‘And, of course, there’s the other introduction you want.’
‘Oh, yes,’ she murmured. ‘Him.’
For a moment she’d wondered who he meant.
‘Yes, him,’ he said, eyebrows slightly raised. ‘Primo Rinucci. The man this is all about.’
‘Well, there’s no rush, is there? Let’s not talk about him tonight. I don’t want to think about work.’
‘I’ll swear it’s years since you last said that.’
‘Yes,’ she said in surprise. ‘It is.’
She wondered how anyone could think of work in this colourful place. Looking through the window by their table, she saw couples strolling through the narrow streets, lost in each other. It had been raining earlier and the blurred reflections of lights gleamed on the wet cobbles, giving a misty edge to the world. No, tonight she didn’t want to think of work, or anything except the man with her.
She listened for the voice telling her to beware because he endangered her ambitions, but somehow it was muted. She would listen to it another time.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.
‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’
‘Then don’t tell me. I’ll work it out.’
‘I wonder if you will.’
‘I will, strega. I will.’
‘Strega?’
‘There are still gaps in your Italian. Look it up.’
‘Tell me.’
‘No.’ He shook his head, his lips pressed firmly together. ‘But I’ve thought of you as strega since the first day.’
‘Is it a nice thing to be?’
‘It changes. Mostly it leaves me not knowing what to think.’
‘And that annoys you?’
‘Only sometimes. At others-’ He let the implication hang in the air.
‘Tell me,’ she begged again, but he only shook his head.
He drove slowly back to the hotel and saw her up to her suite.
‘Go to bed and sleep well,’ he said. ‘I’ll call early tomorrow.’
‘Come for breakfast.’
‘All right. And we’ll plan the day. There’s a lot I want to show you. Look-’
He led the way out on to the balcony where a brilliant full moon shone down over the bay. She stared out over the dark water, unable to believe such beauty.
His cellphone rang and he muttered something rude, turning back into the room to answer it. The next moment she heard his shocked exclamation.
Hurrying back into the room, she saw him standing with the phone to his ear, his eyes wide, his jaw gaping.
‘What is it?’ she asked urgently.
‘OK, Cedric,’ he said into the phone. ‘Look, don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault. I’ll take care of it. Don’t blame yourself. I’m coming. Just hang in there.’
‘You’re going back to England?’ she asked.
‘Only for a couple of days. Do you remember a man called Norris Banyon?’
<
br /> ‘Yes, he ran the accounts department, but he left suddenly a couple of weeks ago. I never liked him.’
‘With reason, it seems. He was fiddling the books for years.’
‘But how could he get away with it? Leonate had a firm of accountants swarming all over the books before you made your offer. They said everything was all right.’
‘Yes, but Banyon had had time to cover his tracks, and he was there, day by day, thinking on his feet, always ready with an explanation for any question they raised. But as soon as the deal was concluded he left, taking a large sum with him. And, of course, the minute he was gone it began to unravel.
‘Is it disastrous?’
‘No, it won’t bring us down or anything. But Cedric blames himself.’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘No, it isn’t. I have to go back to calm him down. I’ll get some more accountants in-a different firm this time-and they’ll sort it out. Then I’ll cheer poor old Cedric up. Since his wife died last year he’s been alone. He has no children or close family, so there’s nobody at home to help him cope.’
Olympia stared. She hadn’t known Cedric’s wife had died.
‘That’s really nice of you,’ she said.
‘Well, Cedric-er-did me a big favour recently.’ He cleared his throat awkwardly.
‘I’ll come too.’
‘Better not,’ he said quickly.
‘But I was his assistant. I can help with this.’
‘He’d hate for you to know. I’ll be back in a few days, when I’ve hired the new auditors. Until then, enjoy being a tourist and get to know my city.’ He looked at his watch. ‘There’s a plane at dawn. I’d better go now.’
‘You mean this minute?’ she asked, horrified.
‘I don’t want to go but I think I must.’
‘Of course. Give him my love.’
But she could have wept with disappointment. Something had started to happen, something that wasn’t supposed to happen, and which she’d foolishly resisted. Now she was no longer resisting and she could see the road stretching out ahead, uncertain but inviting. Just not yet.
He hesitated over saying goodbye, holding her hand in his. At last he laid a gentle kiss on her mouth and hurried away. From the balcony she could see him leave the hotel, get into his car and drive away down the hill.
She looked back at her suite, the epitome of luxury, a symbol of the place she had wanted to be. But there was nobody there with her.
She thought of Cedric, too uptight to talk about his loneliness with the people he’d known for years. But Jack had known and responded with kindness.
He called her on the evening of the next day, telling her that things weren’t as bad as they’d sounded, and he’d persuaded Cedric to stop beating his breast.
‘I’ll be with you soon,’ he said. ‘How are you occupying your time without me?’
‘Reading dictionaries,’ she said.
His voice reached her down the line, warm and amused, thrilling her from a distance of a thousand miles. ‘So now you know what strega means. Do you like it?’
‘Yes, I think I do. It could be interesting. But I won’t know until you come back.’
‘It’ll be as soon as I can manage. And when I’m there we have a lot to talk about.’
‘I know. Come back soon.’
When she’d hung up she sat looking at the phone, seeming to hear his voice in the air about her. For a moment the sensation was so strong that she nearly reached out, sure that she could touch him.
There was a suspicious wetness in her eyes and on her cheeks. She brushed it away, then went to bed and lay awake dreaming about him.
She whiled away the time by exploring Naples, but after the first day she was so footsore that she hired a car.
She went out into the countryside, stopped to eat at small inns and drove back as late as possible, trying to convince herself that she was having a good time. The land was beautiful, the bay was astonishing, but it was all wrong because he wasn’t here.
She’d told herself that she must run from him, but running was useless. He could give her the kind of feelings she’d sworn never to know again, and to rejoice in them. That knowledge would be waiting around every corner.
And he knew. Of course he did. He’d played along with the joke, waiting for her to get over her fantasies and reach out to the real man. It had happened, and all could be well, except that it had happened in the wrong way, at the wrong time, when he wasn’t even here.
Perhaps she’d needed him to go, so that the ache of missing him told her what she wanted to know. But why, oh why, didn’t he come back to her now?
Meanwhile she tried to occupy herself with being a tourist, but wherever she went she was thinking of him, planning how to tell him that she’d changed. How they would laugh together at the way she’d been overcome by her feelings! And then-
Every day she lunched at the trattoria where they’d eaten during his few brief hours here, at the same table if possible. Then she would search for something to fill the afternoon.
Despite all the historical sights, what attracted her most was the great building that was Leonate Europa. She longed to visit it, and even went so far as to turn into its underground car park. There she switched off the engine and sat behind the wheel, torn by temptation.
Surely it would do no harm to go in and introduce herself? After all, she’d signed a contract to work here. She could meet Enrico Leonate. She might even meet Primo Rinucci.
Then she smiled as she realised that she didn’t care whether she met him or not. Only Jack counted now. Soon he would call to say he was returning. She would go to meet him at the airport and their time would come.
She started up the engine and began to edge her way out of the car park into the stream of traffic. It was late afternoon, the worst time of day to be driving. The traffic was at its most crowded and she was fast becoming confused by the car and everything around her. She remembered Jack attributing his accident to the fact that the English drove on the ‘wrong’ side of the road. Now she knew how he felt.
There was a blast on the horn from the driver behind her. Startled, she turned the car swiftly to the side, realising too late that she’d chosen the wrong one.
‘Damn!’ she muttered, trying to brake, turn and see where she was going, all at once. ‘Oh, no!’
A shadow had appeared on her windscreen, a shadow that vanished with alarming suddenness.
‘Oh, no!’ she cried again, flinging herself out of the car. ‘What have I done?’
‘Covered me with bruises,’ said a man’s voice from the ground. Mercifully he sounded robust, even amused.
‘I didn’t actually hit you, did I?’
‘No, I jumped out of the way when you swerved, and missed my footing.’ He climbed to his feet, moving gingerly. ‘Those kerbs are very sharp when you fall on them,’ he complained, rubbing his elbow.
A bellow of sound from behind reminded her that other drivers were waiting to move.
‘I’ve got to go,’ she said, ‘but I can’t just leave you here. Can you get into my car?’
‘Why don’t I drive it for you?’
‘That might be better,’ she said with relief. ‘The roads in Naples are-I don’t know-’
When they were in the car and he was guiding them through the traffic he said, ‘It’s not just Naples. The roads in the rest of Italy are pretty hair-raising too. You’re not Italian, are you?’
‘You guessed! Neither are you by the sound of it. English?’
‘Let’s say I started out that way. Nowadays I’m not sure what I am. What’s your name?’
‘Olympia Lincoln.’
‘Luke Cayman.’
‘Cayman?’ She looked at him quickly. ‘Are you any relation to Jack Cayman?’
Before he could answer, a sleek sports car swept right in front of them, forcing Luke to brake sharply and utter a stream of Neapolitan curses. By the time things had sorted themselves out with l
ots of honking and bawling, Luke had had time to catch his breath and partly understand the situation.
Now, if ever, was the moment to watch every word. Brother Stuffed-Shirt Primo had certainly been up to something. But what? That was the million dollar question that he was going to enjoy exploring.
‘Sorry,’ he said at last. ‘What was the name?’
‘Jack Cayman. I met him in England. He works for Leonate. Surely you must be related? Two Englishmen with the same name, in Naples.’
As his thoughts settled he realised that he might have overreacted. Primo sometimes used his father’s name for wheeling and dealing in England, thinking it would make him less conspicuous. It might mean nothing.
‘It sounds like my brother,’ he mused.
‘Your brother?’
‘That’s right. We both come from England originally.’
‘Are you part of the firm too?’
‘Leonate? Not part of, but I’m in the same line of electronics and I’ve just sold them some goods, so I’d just dropped in to sign the papers. Jack and I don’t see much of each other because he travels a lot. Look, I know a little trattoria just down here and I need some sustenance after the fright you gave me.’
She suppressed a childish desire to say, Oh, yeah? The mere idea of this man taking fright was incongruous. He was like a rock. A pleasant, attractive rock, but a rock just the same. It was there in the shape of his head and his jaw line.
When at last they were seated, eating pizza and drinking coffee, he said, ‘I never take my car when I visit Leonate. The roads near it are so bad that it’s quicker on foot. But how did you come to be driving out of that building?’
‘I work there-well, sort of. I come from Curtis in England.’
‘So you’ve been taken over?’
‘I suppose I have. I’m here to learn the business and the language, and anything else I can.’
‘Was that Jack’s idea?’
‘Mine mainly. I sort of forced his hand.’
‘You-forced Pr-forced his hand?’ Luke asked carefully. ‘Not an easy man to force.’
She nodded. ‘I wanted to come to Naples. A way presented itself and in the end he saw things my way.’
To Olympia’s amazement Luke threw his head back and roared with laughter.