Luckily the heat was taken off me after a week by the far more interesting news that one of my cousins was pregnant by a Spanish waiter she’d met in Ibiza last summer. There was much hand wringing and pleasurable disapproval until it was discovered that the future father had been waiting in his own father’s hotel so he could learn the trade from the ground up and that he was quite prepared to Do The Right Thing by Amelia. Arrangements for an immediate white wedding were hastily put into place and the topics of conversation moved to ‘Can we have asparagus rolls and smoked salmon wheels or must we be fashionable and have coriander filo parcels?’ and ‘Do you think it’ll show on the day?’
I accepted an invitation to Amelia’s baby shower, buying her an extremely glamorous nightie to wear in hospital as a means of expressing my gratitude for her news worthiness.
Then I settled down to putting the final dots and crosses on the arrangements for the sales conference in France. I was planning to leave a couple of days early and go via Paris to visit my mother who was being kept in happy immorality by two different men. They both contributed towards the costs of her apartment in the 7th arrondissement; one, a banker, visited her during the week and the other, a commissioner for the EC in Brussels, sped over at the weekends. They both knew about their rival, but somehow she had managed to convince each that her relationship with the other was entirely platonic. All the juggling was a bit time-consuming, she said, but worth it since her boredom threshold with men is very low.
I was looking forward to seeing her, if I ever got away. Darian had only given me permission to take days off if I got my work right up to date, which would have been fair enough if I hadn’t spent most of the last week assisting on a huge pitch the agency was doing for a new line of organic soft drinks. Not that I minded, I love doing pitches. Most of the agency gets involved in brain storming sessions, even the most humble member of staff like yours truly gets to contribute. The whole place buzzes as we rush around frantically doing story boards, making up reports, finding exactly the right colour for the cover of the binders, getting mock ups, checking and re-checking the proposal for the glitches that pop up where you least expect them. Rumour has it that the agency once pitched for a firm that made paints in heritage colours and that after days of work the twentieth and final version of the presentation document rolled off the computer long past midnight on the morning before the big meeting. It wasn’t until everyone was in the boardroom and David had already started his introductory spiel that someone noticed that the title page read ‘Proposal for Torrington Bros, makers of fine old pants’.
Now the adrenaline surge was over. David and two executives were upstairs in the boardroom presenting our efforts to the drinks company’s hardened marketing people while the rest of us were rubbing our eyes and swapping stories about how late we’d got home last night. Morning gossip finished, I was wondering if a colouring competition sponsored by makers of children’s toothpaste would be the ticket - it might get some coverage in those parts of the provincial press really desperate for something to fill their pages - when the door crashed open, slamming against the wall and making the coffee machine rattle.
Stefano stood framed in the doorway, dressed in a dark suit with a camelhair overcoat on top, gloved hands flexing and unflexing. His eyes were sunk deep in a set white face, jaw rigid under the shadow of a beard already coming through. Only an idiot would have failed to realise he was pretty upset about something and in a blinding rage too. And it didn’t take two guesses to work out who he was looking for either.
Unfortunately my desk was plumb in front of the door so I couldn’t dive for cover under it. I didn’t even have time to duck my head behind my computer screen before he pointed a shaking finger at me and snarled, ‘You! Yes, you, Laura! You will tell me - do not think you can refuse. Where is my wife?’
‘Cressida?’ I asked in surprise. ‘I don’t know. Did you think she was meeting me for lunch?’
He strode across to my desk. ‘No, I did not. But she has gone - and I know where.’ I gaped at him open- mouthed. He hit the desk with one gloved fist making my jar of chewed Biros jump and the figures on the screen wobble. ‘She has gone running into the arms of that so-called lover of yours. Lover?’ he shouted. ‘Ha!’ And hit the desk again.
The rest of the office were listening with shocked expressions - and keen interest. Unfortunately none of them had the nous to do anything except sit and stare while Stefano leaned over me threateningly and I cowered.
‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ I said, desperately aiming for a soothing tone to calm him down. It didn’t work. Even I could hear the tremor in my voice. He bent his head so he could eyeball me even more menacingly. I cowered so far I almost went through the back of the chair.
‘I know all about you and your little tricks.’
‘What tricks?’ I asked.
‘Your lie that you are lovers with him.’ I decided not to point out that I had never actually said that. ‘You have your own lover - a pasty-faced writer with a tail like a horse.’
My heart hit my boots. How the hell had he found out?
It was damage limitation time. I licked my lips nervously. ‘Whoever told you that is wrong,’ I said as coolly as I could. ‘He might have been my lover, he isn’t any longer.’
‘You lie,’ said Stefano flatly. ‘You have been with him since sleeping in our house with him.’
I realised gloomily from the riveted expressions of those listening that they’d had no trouble in interpreting that slightly elliptical statement. ‘Um, well, Daniel’s my smokescreen to cover up what’s been going on with James,’ I said, reckoning it was worth condemning my reputation to perdition if it would calm Stefano down.
Unfortunately my noble gesture was completely wasted. ‘Ha!’ he shouted again, thunderous expression darkening further. ‘No, you were the smokescreen - while he was planning how to take my wife from me! Did you plan it with him?’ he asked, flexing his hands in a meaningful way.
Too petrified to speak, I shook my head.
To my relief he straightened up and stepped back a pace, though he was still a lot too close for comfort. ‘I wish I could believe you. But how can I trust a word you say?’ For a hopeful moment I thought he’d decided that due to my general untrustworthiness I wasn’t worth cross questioning any further and was about to storm out in much the same fashion he’d come in. Unfortunately he took a deep breath and shouted, 'Where is she? Answer me! I must know. I have been to his house and to his shop, and the staff say he is not there. Maybe he is in hiding somewhere. That is wise of him. When I find him I will make him wish he had never been born, that he never dared to call himself a man, il...’ Here he described James in a few choice Italian phrases which I had no trouble at all in understanding though I’d never heard them before.
‘What is the meaning of this racket?’ Darian demanded in her usual crushing-the-underlings tones, standing in her office doorway with her hands on her hips. I would never have believed until that minute that I could be pleased to see her, but I was. I was delighted. I could almost have fallen on her neck and kissed her. She looked down her nose at Stefano. ‘And just who are you?’ she asked frigidly.
He turned around and stared at her with disbelief. I don’t expect he’s used to women speaking to him in that tone of voice, especially ones like Darian. She’s too bony and angular to be conventionally pretty, but a certain natural style and eyes that can skewer you at a hundred paces easily make up for that. He drew himself up and said, ‘I am Count Stefano Buonotti, Signora.’
If he’d been hoping that Darian would be impressed by his title he was doomed to disappointment. She’s a dedicated republican through and through and resolutely unmoved by titles. ‘What do you think you’re doing disturbing my staff while they are supposed to be working, Signor Buonotti?’
I was interested to see that her snotty tone got Stefano as much on the raw as it does with her underlings. He cast her a murderou
s look and said in a clipped voice, ‘I need to speak to Laura.’
‘So I heard, as did the rest of the building,’ Darian said acidly. ‘But, Signor, firstly my staff are not allowed to receive visitors on personal business in working hours and secondly we have a very important meeting going on upstairs. If you persist in creating a scene I shall be forced to call the police.’
Emma met my eyes from across the room and we both raised our eyebrows in reluctant admiration. We’d heard Darian on her high horse before but never like this.
Stefano’s whole stance shouted, ‘Just try it!’ Now that the threat of imminent strangulation had been removed my wits were slowly coming back. It wasn’t likely that Stefano would leave peacefully if I didn’t tell him what he wanted to know and it was going to take a lot of persuasion to convince him that I really didn’t have a clue where Cressida was. Surely James wouldn’t have been crazy enough to elope with her, would he? Yes, he might have, but I couldn’t believe he would have done it without warning me. Acting without thought of the consequences for others wasn’t one of James’s faults especially when he’d have known that Stefano would eventually come after me. Whatever, it was better that Stefano should question me rather than James. I was fairly, not absolutely, confident Stefano wouldn’t physically hurt a woman, no matter what threats he made. I was equally confident that right now, given the chance, he wouldn’t have any hesitation in taking a swing at James.
Feeling rather like Wonderwoman, the upholder of justice and the sorter outer of all problems, I bravely put my head above the parapet and said, ‘I’ll tell you whatever I can, Stefano, which isn’t much. But we can’t do it here. The place is crawling with prospective clients. Shall we go to the coffee bar around the corner and talk there? If that’s all right with you, Darian?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, obviously torn between a desire to see the back of this still enraged male and a deep reluctance to allow me to skive off.
Stefano gave a formal little bow. ‘Madam, I can assure you that you need have no fear for Laura’s safety,’ he said frigidly, entirely misreading the reason behind her hesitation.
‘Well...’ She glanced doubtfully towards me. ‘Are you sure, Laura?’
‘I am,’ I said, lying through my teeth. I wasn’t at all. Wonderwoman had just caught sight of a whole load of kryptonite and was in a complete funk. I reminded myself that Costas, the owner of the coffee bar, was bigger than Stefano which was why I’d decided to go there in the first place, and Stefano was hardly likely to do anything to me in the fifty yards between there and the office. As a backbone stiffener it was moderately successful; my legs weren’t actively shaking with nerves as I got up.
I chose a table that was far enough away from Costas as he made the lunchtime baps for us to talk in privacy but still within his eyeline and close enough for him to nip around the counter and collar Stefano if necessary. From the slight curl to his lip as he brought a cappuccino and an espresso to the table, Stefano knew exactly why I’d chosen it too.
I scooped a bit of the froth off my coffee, the bit with the chocolate granules on it, and sucked it off the spoon. ‘Tell me what’s happened, as if you believed I knew nothing about it,’ I said after we’d sat in silence for a bit.
Stefano gave me a long measuring look indicating he no longer believed anything I said, but at least his rage seemed to have evaporated during the short walk here. Now he looked deeply miserable and lost. His hand tightened around his cup convulsively as he began to speak, in slow broken sentences with none of the aggression he had shown in the office. There didn’t appear to be much to tell, or at least not the way he told it. Cressida had been in a strange mood ever since the ball, and he had no doubt about the reason why, particularly as she had on more than one occasion compared him unfavourably to James.
I closed my eyes, praying heartily that she hadn’t been mad enough to make certain specific comparisons.
They’d had a row last week, Stefano declined to say about what, except that surprisingly enough it wasn’t over James and Cressida had come around to his point of view. Really? Sounded like wishful thinking to me. He’d had to go to Milan on business for a few days, leaving what he thought was a loving, faithful wife, and when he’d got back last night he’d found she’d flown the coop several days before. She had left the proverbial note on the mantelpiece - not strong on originality, Cressida - but the parts of her scrawl he could read didn’t say anything useful like where she was going or why, just that she would be in contact later. According to the staff she had said she was going away for a few days with her sister which naturally enough they didn’t question, and as by chance his telephone had been out of order all weekend Stefano hadn’t been able to make his normal daily call to check on the well-being of his wife, so she’d had four clear days in which to cover her tracks before he returned.
‘That doesn’t give you any reason to think James is involved in this,’ I protested.
‘Cressida would not leave except for another man,’ he said with utter certainty. He thumped the area of his heart dramatically with one fist. ‘I feel it here. She is not one of your liberated women who imagine they have no room for a man in their life. She needs a man like a vine needs a wall.’ I had to agree with him there. ‘Who else would she go to except Lovatt?’ he demanded with a murderous expression. ‘There is no other possibility, Cressida is not on close enough terms with any other man.’
If she was he’d be the last person to know.
‘Also,’ he said, looking at me pityingly, ‘I have other proof. He has been ringing her at the house while I am away, his number is recorded in the telephone’s memory. There is no reason for him to be calling another man’s wife unless he has black deeds in his heart.’ It was quite possible the calls were entirely innocent, but Stefano wasn’t in a mood to consider anything but the melodramatic option. ‘Then last night I had a call from someone who has seen them together.’ He shuddered convulsively and looked as if he was having difficulty getting his words out. ‘Kissing.’
‘What!’ I exclaimed. ‘Who? Where?’
His lip curled in distaste. ‘A journalist from one of the tabloid gossip columns. She wanted my comments on my wife leaving me for him. When I denied it she told me all of London knew, they were not bothering to hide their affair. They were seen in La Cucina on Friday - embracing.’ He shuddered. ‘It is Cressida’s favourite restaurant,’ he added slowly, ‘I have taken her there several times.’
I couldn’t think for shock. All I could say was, ‘You know journalists never tell the truth. They feed you a line hoping you’ll say something else to give them a story.’
Stefano looked at me as if I was trying to snatch straws out of thin air, which of course I was.
‘I don’t believe it,’ I said. ‘Even if James were still head over heels in love with Cressida - which he swears he isn’t - he’d never do anything so stupidly indiscreet as to have dinner with her in a public place, let alone be seen in a clinch. He’s got far too strong a sense of self-preservation.’
Stefano looked even more savage so perhaps that wasn’t the wisest thing to say.
‘Hang on, though,’ I added sharply, my brain beginning to work a little at last, ‘James can’t have been canoodling with Cressida in a darkened restaurant on Friday night. He was at a dinner in the country for his father’s birthday.’ Actually I just presumed he had been there, but I doubted James would have let his father down at the last moment. If so I’d certainly have heard, via Aunt Jane and Imogen, how cruelly he had upset his aged parent, and by virtue of my supposed romance been accused of having a hand in it too. ‘Don’t you see, it proves that journalist was making everything up,’ I went on, encouraged.
Stefano shook his head slowly. ‘All it proves is that she may have got a fact or two wrong,’ he said flatly.
And that you’re completely bull-headed! I thought. ‘Has got everything wrong,’ I corrected, and decided to try a change of tack. ‘One t
hing about James is he’s got his feet firmly on the ground. He was hoping to do business with you, Stefano. He would hardly have been planning to pinch your wife while trying to sell you a few hundred grand’s worth of chairs and cupboards for your hotel, would he?’
Stefano looked at me as if I were totally stupid and then said darkly, ‘He will not need to worry about his business now, will he?’
‘What do you mean?’ I said with foreboding.
His fingers gripped the edge of the table. ‘Cressida did not only take herself. When I returned home I found the shelves of my study literally bare. She had helped herself to the china collection, which your so-called lover had valued for her only a few days before.’
‘Oh, no!’ I said in horror.
‘So, you see, your James will not have to worry about not doing business with me. My wife will be coming to him with a very valuable dowry - all collected by me. Or so he thinks. He will not enjoy it for very long.’ The savagery of his voice made me feel sick with fear. His mouth stretched into a ghastly parody of a smile as he saw my expression. ‘Oh, do not worry, Laura, I am not like our Sicilian cousins. He will not suffer any physical harm but I will still destroy him - completely. I am a better and more ruthless player at this kind of game, he will be no match for me. By the time I am finished with him he will have nothing - no business, no home, no reputation.’ He paused reflectively. ‘Maybe not his liberty either. It is very easy to make it look as if a man has committed a crime. In fact he has. My Cressida would not have dreamed of taking my china without his urging. And he need not imagine that my wife will stick with him through his troubles, she will not,’ he added with calm certainty. ‘She will come back to me.’
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