by Liz Fielding
‘That is outrageous.’
‘I agree. I told her I never sleep with the staff, but apparently temps don’t count.’
Never...? ‘I wouldn’t try that on an employment tribunal.’
‘No,’ he agreed with the wryest of smiles. ‘And I did point out that, since you had nowhere else to go, any move on my part would be open to the worst interpretation.’
And any move on hers might be seen as...
‘So you suggested moving me out so that I’m available?’ She should be outraged. She was pretty sure she was outraged... ‘I don’t believe we’re having this conversation. No, scrub that. I don’t believe you had this conversation with Lisa.’
But it went a long way to explaining that edgy undercurrent between them this morning.
‘Mi dispiace, Angelica. It is, as you say, quite outrageous.’
‘So you applied a little pressure of your own?’ And when, exactly, had he come up with that idea? ‘How does Giovanni feel about that?’
‘The man is in love. He’ll do whatever she asks.’ The thought did not appear to give him great pleasure.
‘I imagine you’re banking on the fact that after a day of joy and celebration her family will realise that he doesn’t have horns and a tail.’
‘You’re not convinced?’
‘I don’t know your family,’ she said, ‘and I don’t know Giovanni, but I do know that weddings tend to be emotional affairs. There’s the risk that, after a few glasses of the bubbly stuff, tongues will be loosened and fists will fly.’
‘Maybe. Then they’ll all get drunk, fling their arms around one another, vow eternal friendship and cry.’
‘Or they’ll all land in jail.’
‘Or that.’ He sat back. ‘You don’t have to take the job but if you’ll just play along until they leave I’d be grateful.’
‘I get that. What I don’t understand is why throwing us together is so important to her.’
‘We’re doing each other a favour, Angelica. Does it matter if Lisa has her own agenda?’
Did it?
Lisa wanted to get them into bed together. Okay, so she’d been way ahead of her on her own account, but that was different. This was different... ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she said, sliding off her chair and standing up. It was time to leave. ‘I’ll pay for my breakfast and then I’ll go and pack—’
He was on his feet, had caught her hand before she could move. ‘Angelica...’ She didn’t pull her hand away, but she didn’t look up at him. ‘I haven’t dated since my fiancée broke off our engagement a little over a year ago. Lisa thinks it’s time I got back on the horse.’
He’d been dumped by the woman he loved? How unlikely was that? Then her brain got past the fact that any woman would dump him and she heard what he’d actually said.
‘And I’m the horse?’ she asked very quietly, aware that they were now the object of a dozen pairs of eyes. ‘Gee, grazie, Dante. Or do I mean gee-gee grazie?’ And, as everything suddenly fell into place, she took a step back. ‘Is that what this has been about?’ she demanded.
He tightened his grip on her hand. ‘This?’
He’d known within minutes of her arrival that she was in trouble. All she’d seen was a man who could melt her underwear at twenty paces. All he’d seen was an opportunity. ‘You’ve been using me from the beginning. Damn it, I should have known. If it looks too good...’ she muttered, hurt, angry and feeling stupid. Again. ‘Tell me, Dante, what would you have done without the kitten?’
‘More to the point, what would you have done?’ He closed the gap between them. ‘You would still have needed somewhere to stay.’ He reached up, touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers and the heat trickled through her, sweet and seductive as warm honey. ‘There were two of us in that bedroom last night, Angelica. Which of us walked away?’
She flushed with embarrassment, well aware that it hadn’t been her. That she’d wanted him with all the ‘hang the consequences’ recklessness of her Amery genes.
‘I suppose I should be grateful that you weren’t prepared to go that far,’ she said, fighting the urge to lean into his hand. ‘Oh, no, I forgot. You couldn’t make a move in your own apartment. You need me off the premises so that it’s not some totally sordid exchange that’s open to misinter—’
‘Basta!’ His fingers slid through her hair, captured her head, shocking her into silence.
Around them, the café went quiet. He looked up and instantly everyone found they had somewhere else they needed to be. Then he turned back to her.
‘I’m sorry, Angelica. You’re absolutely right. We are both using you for our own ends but here’s the deal. You get an apartment rent-free for a month and a temporary job if you want it. And, no matter what my cousin hopes might happen, there are no strings attached to either offer.’
‘No strings? Well, golly, that’s all right then.’
‘Lis thinks she’s helping,’ he said, ‘but I’m not ready for any kind of relationship. I don’t know if I ever will be.’
‘I don’t imagine she’s envisaging a “relationship”,’ she replied, making ironic quote marks with her fingers. ‘Just a quick gallop to shake out the cobwebs. I’m a temp, remember?’
‘Dio...’ he said a touch raggedly. At her nape, his hand softened but he didn’t remove it and, despite her anger, she didn’t step away. ‘I was trying to be honest with you, Angelica. Nothing hidden. No con—’
Behind her, the café door opened, letting in a blast of cold air. ‘Signora Amery?’
‘Would you rather I’d prettied it up?’ he insisted. ‘Lied to you?’
Behind Dante, she saw Lisa watching them anxiously.
Above her, Dante’s face was unreadable.
She had left Longbourne determined to shake up her life, grab every experience that came her way. So far, Isola was delivering on all fronts. Make that all fronts but one. Not a problem. She was here to work, to learn, to grow as a designer, an artist. A little hot sex would have been a bonus but she wasn’t looking for anything as complicated, as involving as a relationship. She had that in common with her mother, too. And, apparently, Dante.
The man at the door called out something in Italian and Lisa said, ‘Geli...someone wants you.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ she muttered, then turned to the man standing in the doorway, ‘Sono Angelica Amery.’
* * *
‘I’ll see your boxes safely stored while you get your coat,’ Dante said as the driver went to unload them. ‘We’ll go to the police station as soon as it’s done.’ He needed a little breathing space to recover from the sensory overload of being in close proximity to Angelica. A little cold air in his lungs.
‘Would you like me to bring your jacket?’ she asked.
‘Grazie, Angelica. Thank you.’ For a moment neither of them moved and the long look that passed between them acknowledged that it wasn’t just the jacket he was thanking her for.
The last of the boxes was being stacked in the room opposite his office when she returned, dressed for the weather in the head-turning coat with pockets big enough to conceal a small animal. She’d added a scarf which she’d coiled in some fashionable loop around her neck and a black velvet beret with a glittering spider hat pin to fasten it in place.
Lisa was right. She certainly knew how to make an entrance. She was going to be a sensation at the commissariato.
‘What is all this stuff?’ he asked, indicating the boxes as she handed him his jacket and scarf.
‘My Mac. A couple of collapsible worktables,’ she said, walking around the boxes, touching each one in turn as she identified the contents. ‘My drawing board, easel, paints, brushes, sketch pads.’ The long full skirt of her coat brushed against the cartons as she moved among them.
‘You intend to paint as well as design clothes?’ he asked.
‘Maybe... I haven’t done anything serious since I switched to fashion for my post-grad. And I’ve been busy with the ice crea
m parlour franchise.’ She stopped and bent to check a label. ‘My sewing machines are in this one. And my steamer.’ She looked up. ‘I’ll need to unpack the fragile stuff to make sure it’s all survived the journey.’
‘No problem. What about these?’ he asked, indicating some of the larger boxes.
‘Material, trimmings, buttons. It looks a lot when you see it in a small space,’ she said.
‘Buttons? You brought buttons with you? You can buy them in Italy,’ he pointed out.
She smiled at that. ‘I know, and I can’t wait to go shopping, but these are buttons I’ve collected over the years. Some are very old. Some, like these—’ she touched one of the tiny jet buttons at her waist and he tried not to think about the way she’d unfastened them last night...one by one ‘—are quite valuable.’
‘Right.’ He struggled with a dry mouth. ‘Well, the bad news is that you’re never going to get all this into Lisa’s tiny one-bed flat.’
‘Is there any good news?’
‘This room isn’t being used. You can work here until you find workshop space. Or a flat large enough to accommodate all this.’
‘But—’
‘I’ll move these out of your way.’ He indicated the few dusty boxes he’d pushed to one side. ‘Will it do?’
‘It’s perfect, Dante, but we have to discuss rent.’
He’d anticipated that. ‘No discussion necessary. In return for a month’s lease, you can design an ice cream parlour for me. Whether you consider that good news is for you to decide. Shall we go?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘There are no recipes for leftover ice cream.’
—from Rosie’s Little Book of Ice Cream
THE POLICE STATION was noisy, crowded, and Italian policewomen, Geli discovered to her delight, really did wear high heels.
‘How on earth do they run in them?’ she asked. Anything to break the silence as she waited with Dante for a detective to come and talk to them.
‘Run?’
‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘Stupid question. They’re all so glamorous I imagine the crooks put up their hands and surrender for the sheer pleasure of being handcuffed and patted down by them.’
She swallowed, unable to believe she’d actually said anything so sexist.
Dante said nothing. He’d said very little other than, ‘Take care...’ as they’d walked along the snow-packed street.
‘Dante!’ A detective approached them, shook him by the hand. ‘Signora...?’
‘Giorgio, may I introduce Signora Angelica Amery?’ Dante said, then, ‘Angelica—Commissario Giorgio Rizzoli. Giorgio...’ Dante explained the situation in Italian too rapid for her to catch more than a word or two. ‘Inglese... Via Pepone...’
‘Signora Amery...’ The Commissario placed his hand against his heart. ‘Mi dispiace...’
‘He’s desolate that you have had such a terrible experience,’ Dante translated. ‘We are to go through to his office, where he’ll take the details, although he’s sure you will understand that the chances of recovering your money are very small.’
‘Tell him that I understand completely and that I’m very sorry to take up his valuable time.’
Reporting the crime took a very long time. Apart from the fact that everything had to be translated, it seemed that every officer on duty, from a cadet who was barely old enough to shave to one who was well past retiring age, had some pressing matter that only the Commissario could resolve. He was extraordinarily patient, introducing each of his men to her, explaining what had happened and smiling benevolently as each one welcomed her to Isola, offered whatever assistance was in their power to give and held her hand sympathetically while gazing into her eyes.
Dante, in the meantime, gazed out of the window as she repeated the well-rehearsed phrase, ‘Mi dispiace, parli lentamente per favore...’—begging them to speak slowly. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he was afraid to catch her eye in case he laughed. It gave her a warm feeling. As if they were partners in a private joke.
‘Well, you promised me it would be an experience and I have to admit that it was almost worth being robbed,’ she said as they paused on the steps, catching their breath as they hit the cold air. ‘Tell me, are the women officers notably more efficient than the men?’ He took her arm as they made their way down the steps, despite the fact that they had been cleared and gritted. ‘Only I noticed none of them needed assistance.’
‘I think you know the answer to that.’
He wasn’t smiling and released her arm the moment they hit the slushy, slippery pavement, keeping a clear distance between them as they walked back to the café, his face, his body so stiff that he looked as if he’d crack in two.
After about twenty paces she couldn’t stand it another moment and stopped. ‘Dante, last night...’ He’d gone a couple of steps before he realised she wasn’t with him and glanced back. ‘This morning...’ She swallowed. ‘I just wanted you to know that I’m truly grateful for everything. I won’t do or say anything to mess up Lisa’s plans.’
He turned to face her. ‘I appreciate that,’ he said stiffly.
‘And I’ll design you the prettiest ice cream parlour imaginable. If you’re serious about the workshop space?’
‘It’s yours, but this isn’t the weather to be standing around in the street discussing interior decoration.’
She didn’t move.
He shrugged. ‘There’s a small room at the back of Café Rosa that opens onto the garden. When I saw your designs it occurred to me that an American ice cream parlour might go down well with the younger element.’
‘In that case, forget pretty—it had better be nineteen-fifties cool.’
‘Maybe. Will your sister object to me borrowing her ideas?’
‘There’s no copyright in ideas,’ she said. ‘She borrowed the concept from the US after all and you won’t be calling it Knickerbocker Gloria, using her branding or copying her ices. You’ll be using gelato rather than ice cream, I imagine?’
‘You’re getting technical.’
‘Just thinking ahead. Will you make your own gelato or buy it in, for instance? Is there anyone local who would make specials for you?’
‘Good question. I’ll think about it. Shall we go?’
‘Yes...’ She took a step, stopped again. ‘No.’ There was something she had to say. ‘I want you to know that I understand why you were being completely—if rather brutally—honest with me this morning.’
‘Do you?’
‘You said it’s no con—at least where I’m concerned. Lisa, well, that’s between you and her.’
‘Is that it?’
‘Yes...’ She rolled her eyes; he really wasn’t helping... ‘No.’ He said nothing, although his eyebrows spoke volumes. But he waited. ‘You might want to relax a little, walk a little closer, try and find a smile from somewhere because right now we look as if we’re in the middle of a fight rather than about to fall into bed.’
‘Do we?’ And for a moment the question, loaded with unspoken reference to how close they’d come to the latter, hung there. Then he stuck his hands in his pockets, looked somewhere above her head. ‘I owe you an apology, too.’
‘If it’s about the horse thing,’ she said quickly as they continued walking, ‘the least said the better.’
‘Lisa put the words in my head last night and they leapt out when I wasn’t paying attention,’ he said and stuck out his elbow, inviting her to slide her arm beneath it. Her turn to do the thing with the eyebrows and he raised a wintry smile. ‘You said it, Angelica—we’re in this together.’
‘Right.’ She tucked her arm in his and he drew her closer, no doubt glad of warmth. ‘And forget about the horse. I shouldn’t be so touchy. I don’t know what I’d have done last night if you hadn’t been so kind.’
‘You’d have managed,’ he said as they walked back towards Café Rosa. ‘You’re a resourceful woman.’
‘I’m glad you think so because I’d
rather like to put my resourcefulness to the test,’ she said as they reached the piazza. ‘Will the bartending lesson keep for an hour?’
‘Take all the time you need. Lisa managed to drag hers out for weeks.’
‘How?’ she asked. The fancy barista stuff might take time to master but the basics weren’t exactly rocket science.
‘I was too wrapped up in my own misery at the time to realise that she was playing the idiot in order to keep me busy. Doing her best to take my mind off Valentina.’
‘Valentina? Your fiancée?’
‘She’s not my anything.’ In the low slanting sun his face was all dark shadows. ‘She’s married to someone else.’
‘So soon?’ Not the most tactful response but the words had been shocked out of her.
‘My father was ready to give her everything I would not.’ Grey... His face was grey... ‘And it seems that she was pregnant.’
His father?
They’d reached the first market stall and, while she was still trying to get her head around what he’d told her, he unhooked his arm and stepped away. ‘Give me your phone and I’ll put my number in your contacts.’
Geli handed over her phone but her brain was still processing his shocking revelation.
Valentina had been cheating on him with his father? No wonder he’d withdrawn into himself or that Lisa was so worried about him.
Dante slipped off a glove, programmed in his number and handed her back her phone. ‘Give me a call if you need any help haggling over the price of designer clothes and shoes.’
‘What...?’
He’d dropped an emotional bombshell and was now casually discussing the price of shoes. But there had been nothing casual or throwaway about his earlier remark. His mention of Valentina had been deliberate; he’d chosen to tell her what had happened before someone else—before Lisa—filled her in on the gossip. And then, just as deliberately because he didn’t want to talk about it, he’d changed the subject.
‘Oh, yes. Grazie,’ she said, doing her best to sound equally casual as she dropped the phone back in her pocket. ‘I love looking around a new market but I’m afraid that clothes and shoes are on hold until I find out if the bank is going to refund my money.’ Concentrate on the most immediate problem. ‘My first priority is to take a walk back to where I found Rattino and see if anyone is missing him. Do people put up “lost pet” notices around here?’