Faintly amused, Jessica had replied neutrally. She had not, however, remained amused. For one thing, she was not used to having her private life as comprehensively monitored as the crew of Prince Giorgio's yacht favoured. For another, there had been a general air of expectation which had made her both angry and superstitiously uneasy. There had been no disguising the happy assumption of the entire cabin crew that the starlit nights, the voluptuous warmth of the days, the abundant hospitality of her absent host and the innate seductiveness of Leandro's presence would all conspire to tip their guest headlong into love with that famed breaker of hearts. They had all been generously pleased at the prospect.
Jessica was not so sure that Leandro himself shared this romantic view. He had paid her extravagant compliments, certainly, and pantomimed strong attraction. But even when he was carrying her stiff fingers to his lips, or gazing into her indignant eyes, there had always been a tell-tale twitch at the corner of his mouth, no matter how limpid the eloquent eyes, or how beguilingly husky the voice. Jessica was fairly certain that Leandro had been hugely enjoying himself—partly at playing up to the romantic expectations of the crew, partly at her own disapproval.
The signs were coming up for Portofino, and Jessica followed them carefully, holding the big car at a low speed. She felt as if she were trying to restrain a tiger. Beside her Sue stirred.
They reached the area where the di Stefano cars were normally left. A uniformed man was waiting for them, Sue saw. Jessica got out of the Lamborghini rather stiffly
and handed him the keys. He took Sue's cases and put them on a small trolley before wheeling them down to the port, and within mintues they were on the launch, headed for the big yacht in the bay.
`How was your journey, signorina? Did you enjoy the car?'
Sue nodded. Jessica, frowning slightly, did not seem to hear. The uniformed sailor cast Miss Shelburne a look of respect.
`It is a great honour. The signor is very careful of his car. I,' this was clearly a deeply felt grievance, 'am not allowed to drive it, though I use all the other cars, including the Prince's Porsche.'
Sue nodded again, impressed. She wondered whether Jessica knew and concluded, from her abstracted expression, that at the moment at least she would not be interested. Sue began to wonder, for the first time, exactly what was the relationship between her hardworking employer and Leandro Volpi, who, from what Jessica had said, she gathered was more or less a professional idler.
She wondered even more when they arrived and Leandro came to meet them, tanned and smiling, muscles rippling unashamedly in his naked shoulders as he bent to reach for Jessica.
'Carissima!' His voice was tender, even affectionate, and just a trifle too husky to be sincere.
Sue cast him a look of respect. Jessica was clearly being teased by an expert and it looked as if, for once in her self-possessed life, she did not know how to handle it. She seemed flustered and faintly cross as he raised her hand to his lips.
The crewmen, waiting to unload the luggage, were impassive.
`And Miss York.' Leandro turned to Sue with a friendly smile quite unlike the elaborate charm he had
used on Jessica. 'I hope you had a good journey.'
Ex—excellent, thank you,' stammered Sue.
Even when he was not sighing meltingly over a lady's hand, Leandro Volpi was, she discerned, dynamite. She encountered a look of burning reproach from Jessica.
The smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, which were wide and golden, fringed by long curling lashes that many a professional beauty might have envied. As he handed her aboard, smiling, Sue had the distinct impression that he was inviting her to share his amusement at Jessica's discomposure, as that lady tugged her hat into a more aggressive angle and glared at him.
But all he said was, 'Nevertheless, you must rest, if you would like to do so. Graziella will take you to your cabin. She will bring you whatever you require—food, a drink, coffee; even English tea if you are like Jessica and insist on drinking that abomination.'
Sue looked uncertainly at her employer. There was a lot of work to be done, she knew, and not a great deal of time in which to do it. Maybe it would be better if they started at once.
Leandro intercepted that look and interpreted it accurately.
`Surely,' he drawled, though there was an unexpectedly steely note in his voice, 'Jessica will not grudge you a rest after travelling for. . . what? Six hours?'
`Nearer eight,' snapped Jessica, who knew exactly where Sue lived in the depths of the Berkshire countryside, since she was a frequent and welcome visitor in the York family home. 'And I was about to suggest that she took a siesta, as a matter of fact. It was very hot in Genoa and the air-conditioning in you car either turns it into an iceberg or doesn't work at all.'
He raised golden eyebrows, mocking her. 'And you are objecting?' He managed to sound incredulous. 'But I thought you were only comfortable at arctic temper-
atures. I will have the thermostat changed before you travel in it again. If you're sure.'
`Thank you,' said Jessica. 'I see no need to travel in it again, however.'
He laughed, shaking his head at her. 'What is this need? It will be my pleasure to drive you.'
And he, presumably, would take the monster at the speed for which it was designed, thought Jessica, suppressing a shudder; she was not proud of her phobia about speed. Which was something even Sue did not know, and she would die rather than admit it to Leandro Volpi. She registered a vow that she would never, under any circumstances, accept an invitation to drive with him.
Sue was being escorted to her cabin by an attentive stewardess, and adjured by Leandro to ignore any demands Jessica might make and rest for as long as she wanted.
When she had gone, the crew disappeared as if melted by the afternoon sun. It was done tactfully, and the very tact added fuel to Jessica's fury.
`You never give up, do you, Leandro?' she said coldly.
The golden eyes which were so eloquent when not hidden by the habitual dark glasses turned to her questioningly. 'I?'
`Don't sound so innocent! You know what I'm talking about.'
His grin became lopsided. 'I do, certainly. I sometimes wonder whether you have realised. You will, though.'
Jessica looked eloquently round at the deserted deck. She was well aware that the twenty-man complement of the yacht regarded her prickly relationship with Leandro as a source of huge entertainment. It galled her, but she was fairly certain that it only added to his own enjoyment of the situation. She was not, therefore,
alarmed by the sensuous, caressing note that he had permitted to invade his voice. Leandro, she was fairly certain, was being wholly mischievous.
She gave him her sweetest smile. 'Is that a threat or a promise, signor?'
The golden lashes flickered. 'Let us call it a forecast,' Leandro said smoothly.
`Oh, like the weather?' Eyes wide, Jessica nodded. She let the pause draw out before adding innocently, 'Of course, they're often wrong, aren't they?'
He was laughing. 'Their timing is sometimes a little erratic,' he agreed. He paused, as she had done. The golden eyes became smoky, even ardent. 'My timing, on the other hand is impeccable.'
Jessica was startled into a choke of laughter, quickly suppressed. She would not give him the satisfaction, she told herself—almost certainly in vain, because he was looking complacent.
`I suppose you have often been told so'?' she enquired in a strangled voice.
`Frequently. Not, of course,' he added, 'that I needed to be told. With some people these things come naturally,' he assured her in all solemnity.
Jessica strove with herself. 'I congratulate you,' she said at last.
He gave her another of his slow smiles. She privately thought of it as his satisfied tiger look.
`Talents are nothing if they are not shared,' he told her largely.
Jessica gave up the unequal struggle against mirth. When she had stopped gasping with laughter she discovere
d Leandro looking at her with a kindly expression.
`That is better. Now you are not so tense. Now you will go and sunbathe on the foredeck and snooze until it is time for cocktails.'
But this was too much.
`Oh no, I won't,' said Jessica. 'I'm a working girl, not a lounge lizard. I have plans that need looking at.'
Leandro appeared pained. 'You think I am a lounge lizard, beautiful Jessica?' His voice took on that spurious, caressing note again. 'Even though I, too, have plans?'
`I'm sure you have,' she agreed drily. 'But I doubt if they're the sort you plot out on graph paper and accompany with costings.'
He did not answer her at once. Eyes dancing, he leaned back against the side of the boat, one tanned leg bent, bracing him, while he flung back his head to gaze mournfully at the cloudless sky.
Jessica did him the justice to acquit him of adopting the pose deliberately. He was, after all, quite accustomed to his own magnificent physique. In fact, he seemed uncharacteristically modest about it, even unaware. Of course, he must be accustomed to being admired. He did not need to pose to attract attention.
But it was a stance which threw into relief the beautifully proportioned muscular frame, the jutting shoulders that gleamed like oiled gold, the fine profile, the brown curling hair bleached in streaks by long hours of exposure to the Mediterranean sun. Jessica swallowed hard, looking away.
Leandro seemed not to notice her reaction. 'You know,' he was saying musingly, 'I don't think I've ever met a woman who had as low an opinion of me as you have, Jessica. In its way, it is a salutary experience.' His eyes narrowed against the brilliant sky. After a thoughtful pause he went on. 'Almost like a challenge.'
`No!' said Jessica forcefully.
He turned his melting golden gaze on her, one eyebrow raised in enquiry.
`Absolutely no challenge,' she said with great firmness. 'Not a smidgin. I don't play out of my league.'
`You don't play at all,' pointed out Leandro gently. `It is a great pity.'
`I'm not paid to play,' she reminded him. 'Paid very well, what's more.'
He gave a crooked smile. 'My uncle always buys the best and pays the going rate. I'm sure you could play a little more and still earn your fee.'
`Not if I spend long hours quarrelling with you,' Jessica said ruefully. 'I've got to go, Leandro.' She wished she did not sound so apologetic—or so regretful. 'I've got a feasibility study and outline plans to produce by the end of the month.'
He shrugged, indifferent. 'Then go and produce them, cara. I may deplore it, but I cannot stop you.'
`You have stopped me,' she pointed out, going. 'For a good half-hour.'
`That,' said Leandro drily, 'is progress.'
Though it cost Jessica dear, she let him have the last word. It was preferable to prolonging the encounter. For one thing, she was working to a very tight deadline and really did have too much work for comfort. For another, although she teased him about his film-star looks and sybarite existence, she was becoming aware that she was not as immune to Leandro Volpi's famed charm as she might have expected. This was as unwelcome as it was unforeseen; his company was therefore best avoided.
Jessica was cool-headed and ambitious. She had, moreover, only too good a reason to know what havoc emotional entanglements could cause in the lives of the unwary. There was no place in her life for a romantic interlude with anybody, least of all the playboy nephew of one of her most valued clients. She reminded herself of that fact sternly as she made her way to her state room.
The files awaiting her were stacked neatly on her desk. She observed the fact ruefully. Jessica, particularly when in one of her creative phases, worked in furious bursts,
strewing papers, books, files, plans and plastic folders about every conceivable surface. When she had left for Genoa airport to collect Sue, the desk, and a goodly proportion of the Persian carpet, had been covered in exactly this manner. In her absence, obviously, the attentive cabin staff had restored order to chaos.
Jessica sighed. Neat as her cabin now was, it would take her ages to restore it to the inspirational disorder in which she needed to work. She was surveying it dispiritedly when a scratch came at the door.
`Come in,' she called.
It was Sue.
`I've rested as much as I can bear,' she announced, 'and I'm dying of curiosity. Are you available for conversation?'
`It looks like it, doesn't it?' said Jessica, with a gesture at the orderly desk.
Sue's eyes followed the indignantly pointed finger and widened.
But you said you'd already started work this morning—oh!' Sue broke off. She looked at Jessica in mingled sympathy and amusement. 'You've been tidied up after,' she deduced.
Jessica nodded gloomily. Sue, to her great credit, maintained a straight face. She knew how Jessica felt about having her papers organised. Indeed, Sue had only got the job with the rising architectural practice of Shelburne and Lamont five years ago because she had understood Jessica's feelings so readily.
Sue had been, as she knew herself, much too young and inexperienced to be secretary to the senior partner of a dynamic company with an increasing international practice. Jessica had been working on a major oil complex development for a Near-Eastern government at the time. It had been heady stuff for an eighteen-year-old just out of secretarial college, particularly when she realised
that her predecessors had all been efficient forty-year olds with super grooming and innumerable language qualifications.
But Jessica had been adamant. 'You can pick up the languages—you only need a few phrases in each—and we'll pay you enough to buy designer clothes if that's what you think is necessary. What I need in a secretary is good sense, good humour, the ability to work long hours if necessary. And above all the ability to keep her hands off my papers while I'm working.' She had glared at Sue across her enormous, over-burdened desk. 'Can you handle that?'
Much amused, after her initial nervousness, Sue had said she thought so.
She had handled it so spectacularly that she now had a secretary of her own. She frequently accompanied Jessica when she travelled on business, as she often did. Giorgio di Stefano's yacht was, however, a new experience for Sue, though she knew that Jessica had been aboard a couple of times for discussions before she had agreed to accept Prince Giorgio's commission.
Now, looking at the devastatingly tidy desk, Sue asked with only the faintest quiver in her voice, 'Did you know the staff were this—er—conscientious?'
Jessica shook her head. 'They haven't been before. I told the chief steward not to touch things while I was working and he agreed. I suppose it must be different this time because I'm here for a month instead of just a weekend.' She looked despondent.
Sue chuckled. 'I'll speak to the steward and see if we can work out an honourable compromise,' she said soothingly. 'If I hold the plans down, some maid can whisk a feather duster over them and then we'll all be happy.'
Jessica's frown disappeared as if by magic. `Thank God for you, Sue,' she said fervently.
`Right,' said Sue, 'I'll handle that. And—as you obviously can't plunge straight back into work until
you've rebuilt your nest—what about a drink? You can give me a guided tour of the dos and don'ts of life aboard a luxury yacht. And a potted biography of the resident wildlife.'
Jessica laughed. 'Oh, very well.' She flung herself back on a deceptively fragile Louis Quinze chair—on which plan and elevation drawings of a four-bedroomed villa had been displayed earlier—and pressed a bell push in the wall. 'There are drinks of some sort in every cabin—cognac, gin and tonic, that sort of thing. But when there are guests on board, the Prince has the crew provide permanent room service. So you can order whatever you want at the press of a button. It's jolly useful if you get lost, too. You have no idea how big this damned boat is until you're late for a meeting.'
The telephone on Jessica's desk rang. She picked it up, listened and then said, 'Thank you, yes. I didn't lea
n on it by mistake this time.' There was laughter from the other end of the line. 'Miss York is with me and we were wondering about drinks in my cabin.' She paused. 'Yes, that would be fine, thank you. Oh, the usual for me, and for Miss York. . .' she flicked an eyebrow up at Sue who mouthed 'white wine' at her, . . white wine.' She listened again and then said in amusement, `No, not champagne at this hour, Enrico. Her shorthand goes haywire on champagne. Some nice cold local vintage with minimal alcohol content would be best.'
She put the telephone down. Sue glared at her, mock-outraged.
'Are you trying to spoil my fun, Jessica? I may never have the chance to drink champagne at four o'clock in the afternoon again,' she complained.
'Oh yes, you will,' Jessica assured her drily. 'On this boat you can get it at four in the morning if you want it. It's Leandro Volpi's favourite beverage, I'm told, so they're not going to run out.'
`Really?' Sue was intrigued.
`Yes, really.' Jessica sounded almost irritated. 'The man's a complete cliché.'
`I thought he seemed rather nice,' said Sue mildly. She surveyed Jessica carefully. 'Not as patronising as I'd expected,' she added, 'or as vain.'
Since this was very much an echo of Jessica's own former thoughts there was really no excuse for her reaction to Sue's remark.
`Vain?' she echoed in patent disbelief. 'The man's a walking monument to vanity! Do you know he spends all day lying in the sun? When we first met, I asked him what he did for a living, what he worked at, and do you know what he said? His tan!' Her voice was full of scorn.
Sue gave a choke of laughter. 'Well, he seems to have done it very successfully,' she murmured.
Jessica snorted. 'So would anyone who did nothing but concentrate on his physical appearance.'
But you must admit he has excellent material to work on,' observed Sue, still chuckling. 'Don't you always say that the secret of success is to capitalise on your natural assets?'
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