Italian Invader

by Jessica Steele

  Somehow then, ridiculously, she felt she wanted to help him out. 'Have you discovered who stole that valuable design?' blurted from her in an eager rush—but then she realised how idiotic she was being to im­agine he would need her help in any way when his only answer was to study her eager expression for some long seconds.

  Even so, she was still of the opinion that the thief must have been traced. Then at last, after what seemed like an age, her employer clipped, 'Unfortunately not!' and she straightaway realised she must still be the number one suspect, and every scrap of excitement and eagerness faded.

  'I suppose it will do no good for me to insist that I didn't take it?' she suggested flatly.

  'You have other skills, I believe,' he responded evenly, and Elyn, feelings of hostility against him beginning to stir, stared back woodenly at him.

  'Other than thievery, you mean?'

  He ignored her sarcasm, not a scrap dented by it, sur­veying her with a cool arrogant look. 'Tell me about your training, Miss Talbot,' he commanded.

  'Training?' She felt somewhat confused, feeling sure he was within an ace of telling her to leave and not come back, yet feeling too as if he was about to do the sort of in-depth interview which maybe he believed someone should have done at the outset. Even if, in her opinion, she considered her interview had been quite thorough.

  'Training—qualifications,' he drawled in enlight­enment, and suddenly Elyn's feelings towards him were most definitely hostile. He knew, simply knew, since without question he'd personally scrutinised everything Personnel held on her, that her qualifications were so limited they were next door to being non-existent!

  Unconsciously, as she decided to ignore his question about qualifications, Elyn tilted her chin an arrogant warring degree or two. 'I have had the soundest training,' she stated coolly, looking unflinchingly into the dark fathomless eyes that calmly surveyed her. 'I left school at sixteen,' she confirmed the entry on her application form, and went on to reveal something which was not. 'I then spent six months working in each of the various departments at my stepfather's firm, before gravitating to the administration side of the business—where I at once realised I felt happiest.'

  'You're comfortable with figures and adminis­tration?' Max Zappelli slotted in, his dark gaze steady on her face.

  'Yes, I am,' she agreed, seeing no sense in denying the truth of that.

  'According to Hugh Burrell, you ran Pillingers.'

  Was Max Zappelli trying to trip her up? 'I wouldn't say that exactly,' she answered. 'Naturally I referred to my stepfather on anything I couldn't handle.'

  'But most of the time you acted on your own?' he suggested.

  Elyn had a hard time hiding the exasperation she felt with this man. But, since it didn't appear that he had it in mind to dismiss her, and since she needed the income from this job, she swallowed hard on her feelings, to reply honestly, 'The office side of things was smooth-running; there was little I had to do but attend to the day-to-day affairs.'

  'You were that good?'

  Elyn looked at him in some perplexity. What the dickens was he getting at? Coolly, though, he eyed her back, just waiting. She smothered a flicker of an­noyance, and again reminded herself that he was the one who paid her wages. 'If by "good" you mean that the place ran with barely a hiccup, then yes,' she asserted herself to throw away modestly, 'yes, I was that good.'

  Hardly were the words out of her mouth, though, when she knew from the sudden aggressive look that came to his eyes that perhaps modesty might have been the better part of valour. Nor was she mistaken about that aggression, she realised. 'So good, in fact,' Max Zappelli took up toughly, 'that when you should have seen Pillinger's crash coming ten kilometres away, you did not!' Elyn's astonishment at his words was so great, she just sat and stared at him open-mouthed. But her astonishment went from mere astonishment to utter in­credulity as he went on, 'I'm afraid, Miss Talbot, that you have a lot to learn!' And while she was still staring indignantly at him, he pronounced, 'Which is why I have decided to send you to Italy for further training.'

  'Italy!' she exclaimed, absolutely thunderstruck.

  'That is what I said,' he replied curtly, and there was something in his tone which brooked no argument, when he sharply declared 'I think we'll have you in Italy without any further delay!'

  CHAPTER THREE

  There might have been a note in Max Zappelli's voice that there was no arguing with, but that didn't stop Elyn from trying. 'Italy!' she gasped again.

  But suddenly his tone had changed, and there was a mocking light in his eyes. 'It is on this planet,' he drawled. 'Less than two hours' flying time away, in fact.'

  'Yes, but…' she was still reeling and floundering be­cause of it '…but what training do I need?' she asked— and why Italy, for goodness' sake? 'So far as I know— and I'm sure I'm right,' she inserted hurriedly, 'the stat­istics section is running on oiled wheels.'

  'Computers!' he threw at her with a rapidity that made her blink. 'How up to date is your training on computers?'

  Elyn bit her lip—a dead giveaway, she realised too late, that the computers she'd worked on at Pillingers had been a little outdated. It was true, too, that since working at Zappelli's she had thrown her concentration more into setting up the section and getting it going than taking time out to master machinery new to her. Swiftly, though, she tried to make her expression untroubled as, reasonably she thought, she pointed out, 'I can't be ex­pected to be up to date on all computers. New tech­nology is coming in all the time,' she began to warm to her theme, only to be promptly floored when Max Zappelli chipped in to agree with her.

  'Exactly,' he stated, with the hint of a clever smile on his face—which she didn't trust one iota, and knew she was right not to trust when he added, 'I think you will find that our Verona offices have the most recent tech­nological equipment.'

  'Ver…' She broke off as she tried desperately to as­semble an argument. 'But why Verona? I'm sure there must be dozens of computer training establishments in England without my having to…'

  'You have some special reason for not wanting to leave England?' he cut in sharply. 'Some man friend, perhaps, some lover!' he rapped.

  For a man who was never without some lovely on his arm, he'd got some nerve! Elyn fumed. But, oddly, it seemed a point of honour that he didn't know there weren't too many exciting men around in the Pinwich and Bovington areas, so she retorted, 'Naturally, I've got men friends.'

  'But no one in particular,' he said as quick as a flash.

  'I'm working on it!'

  'You can continue to work out your strategy while you're in Italy,' he bounced at her, and Elyn gave him a speaking look. But, as she was still determined not to go, still determined to find some way of getting out of going, she realised that the shrewd Italian must have read her determination in her look. He certainly played his ace card at any rate when, clearly not having forgotten how last Tuesday she had said she wanted and desper­ately needed this job, he quietly let fall, 'Naturally your stay in Verona will be expenses-paid, and your whole salary will continue to be paid into your bank.'

  Swine! she fumed, but knew she hadn't got a leg to stand on. She needed that salary, and he was calling the shots. But then, hearing him talk of her salary being paid into her bank, she began to wonder how long this 'training session' would take.

  'How long would I be away?' she ventured, while still mentally fighting against going.

  Coolly his gaze swept her unsmiling face, then, almost as if he was enjoying himself hugely, he dropped out blandly, 'You'll find you'll have good instructors—I'm sure they'll have you totally computer-friendly by Easter.'

  Easter! She'd been thinking in terms of days, not weeks! 'When would I have to go?' she asked, her mind alive with excuses for being unable to travel at the last moment.

  His answer was to glance at his watch. 'I'm returning to Verona myself early this evening—there will be room on the plane for you if…'

  'I can't be
ready by then!' she exclaimed. This was all happening too fast! She liked to be the one in charge of her own destiny, but this man was sweeping her along like a tidal wave. 'Even if I left the office now, this minute, I'd never…'

  'Point taken,' he cut in, but before she could take heart that he was taking the pressure off, he was putting the pressure on again by telling her, 'Make it tomorrow.' She opened her mouth to protest, but he beat her to it. 'You'd better go home now, come to think of it—you've a lot to do.'

  Magnanimous yet! She'd have her work cut out getting ready to fly out tomorrow for goodness knew how long. 'Oh!' she exclaimed suddenly, as she remembered something.

  'Problem?' he queried.

  'I'm supposed to have a date tonight.'

  His answer was to push the phone towards her. 'Feel free,' he invited.

  Elyn shook her head. It wasn't the outside phone that she wanted. 'I'll cancel it later,' she said, and when her employer actually smiled, revealing perfect teeth as his generous mouth curved upwards, Elyn knew that his smile wasn't because he had caused her to cancel her date, but because in her statement that she would cancel it lay her acceptance that at some time tomorrow she would be on a flight to Verona. 'I can't speak Italian,' was the only protest she had left to make.

  Maximilian Zappelli stood up, tall and powerful in business and physique. 'Five and five add up to ten in any language,' he told her succinctly. The interview was over.

  An hour later Elyn was on the train on her way home, her head full of things she should have asked but hadn't. Things she should know but didn't. And with a feeling that, when most people would give anything for the chance to go to Italy for some training, she was kicking like crazy against it. When she tried to analyse quite why she objected, she could find no answer. All she knew was that she had an instinctive gut reaction against going.

  Was it perhaps, she wondered, because she'd been told that she was to go, and not asked? Not that she could see Max Zappelli asking for anything—he demanded and got, and she didn't like it! Elyn sighed as she got out of the train at Bovington. All she hoped was that the Verona plant was large enough so that she would not be bumping into him every five minutes.

  She set off on the walk to her home, recalling how Chris Nickson had taken it very well when she'd con­tacted him to say that she couldn't make their date that evening, and why.

  'Lucky you!' he'd exclaimed, going on to state that he'd heard of some of their art people going over for a look round and that other office executives might well have gone over for training, but, as he was fairly new to the company himself, he hadn't any knowledge of it.

  'As you said, Chris, lucky me,' Elyn responded, only then fully accepting that, because she couldn't get out of it, she would have to go.

  'When will you be back?' asked Chris.

  'I'm not sure,' she told him, and wished she knew the answer to that one herself, though she knew she was going to work hard, the sooner to return.

  'You won't forget you owe me a date when you are back?'

  'Not for a minute,' she smiled, and rang off.

  Elyn let herself in through the front door of her home, aware that telling Chris Nickson where she was going was the easy part—now she had to break it to her family.

  'You're home early!' her mother exclaimed, coming out into the hall.

  'I've a lot to do,' Elyn began, and went with her mother into the drawing-room where, with the ex­ception of Loraine, the rest of her family were.

  To her surprise, though she was careful to leave out the name Zappelli, her mother and stepfather took it much better than she had supposed. Though not so her stepbrother.

  'What in the blue blazes are you going for?' he ques­tioned sulkily.

  'I've just told you,' she said, and explained patiently, 'My computer skills aren't what they should be so…'

  'So you're going deep into the enemy camp!' he cut her off angrily.

  'Oh, don't be like that, Guy!' Elyn implored. 'I need this job, I…'

  'No, you don't. You've still got some money left over from the sale of your car.'

  It was true she had, but she also had an absolute dread of debt, and that remaining money, besides being put by for the next round of bills, was there too to allow for such unexpected expenditure as might crop up, such as slates off the roof.

  Elyn didn't want to argue with Guy, though; he was as dear to her as if he were her own brother. 'I'd better go and start packing. I can do quite a lot before dinner,' she said.

  'Don't forget to pack your snow-boots,' Guy prompted belligerently.

  Elyn left them and went up to her room, to realise only then that at this time of year Verona could well be carpeted in thick snow. Guy hadn't meant to be helpful, she knew, but thanks to his comment, she decided she had better get her snow-boots out.

  Her mind was as busy as her hands in the next hour as she began to pile things which she would ultimately load into a suitcase on to her bed. It was all very well for him to announce, 'I've decided to send you to Italy,' but it would have been a great help if he'd also an­nounced by what plane, and where she was to stay when she got there!

  After about an hour of sending hate vibes to where he might be, however, her sense of fairness—which she was beginning to dislike as much as she disliked him— began to assert itself. He had offered to give her a lift in his plane—no doubt a private executive jet. Not that she could have been ready so soon. And, if she was honest, then she had allowed him to keep the impression which Hugh Burrell had given him that she was head cook and bottlewasher at Pillingers. So Max Zappelli could hardly be blamed for thinking if she was that clever it wouldn't be beyond her capabilities to book a flight for herself for the next day, and for her to also arrange her own hotel accommodation.

  The phone in her room rang just as she had the door open to go down to dinner, and, as no one else seemed inclined to take the call, Elyn went back to answer it.

  'May I speak to Miss Elyn Talbot?' a female accented voice requested.

  'Speaking,' said Elyn.

  'Ah—my name is Felicita Rocca; I am the personal assistant to the Signor Zappelli,' she introduced herself.

  'Oh, hello!' Elyn exclaimed in surprise.

  'Hello,' Felicita answered, a smile in her voice, and getting down to the reason for her call, 'Signor Zappelli has given instructions for me to arrange your flight—have you a pen?' she enquired.

  Five minutes later Elyn, suddenly feeling a whole lot better about her departure tomorrow, made her way down the stairs. 'What's the name of your hotel?' asked her mother as they sat down to the meal.

  Elyn smiled. 'I don't know yet, but someone will be at Verona airport to meet me.'

  She returned to her room to finish her packing, and wondered if it would be a company chauffeur who would be at the airport to meet her. Since her plane wasn't scheduled to land until late afternoon she doubted that Felicita Rocca would be there. Though since from her phone call tonight it was evident that she didn't always finish work on the stroke of five, it was a possibility, she supposed.

  For some technical reason, however, her plane was late departing from London the following afternoon. Since there was nothing she could do about it, all Elyn could hope was that someone would ring to check the plane's time of arrival before they left to meet her.

  It worried her for some while that someone would be kept hanging about waiting for her. But once into the flight, her thoughts started to become more and more centred on her employer. She did not want to think about him, but all at once she didn't seem able to get him out of her head. If she looked out of the window her thoughts were soon away from the darkening sky outside, and were on him. She concentrated on her meal, but only to discover that she was wondering—would he really bring her to Italy to brush up her skills if he truly believed she was a crook? Would he, in all seriousness, so much as consider bringing her to where he had his main work­place—the same place where he mainly worked—if he thought for a moment that she might be
some kind of industrial spy?

  Feeling impatient with herself, Elyn tidied up her meal tray and sat back in her seat. Oh, bother the man, she fumed, and concentrated firmly on how hard and fast the stewardesses worked—and found she was recalling how Max Zappelli had stated, quite categorically, that he wanted her where he could see her. And, as that un­palatable truth hit home, Elyn realised that, while it was true that her computer skills could do with an update, the main reason for her being brought to Verona to work was that Max Zappelli didn't want her far from his sight. Which in turn answered the question, would he allow her anywhere near his Verona establishment while be­lieving her a thief? Yes, came the answer, he jolly well would!

  Which was just fine and dandy, Elyn fumed crossly, not liking at all the thought that she was still as much under suspicion as ever. Oh if only she could be inde­pendent and tell him what he could do with his job!

  But she was not independent—she needed her job. Maybe her horror of unpaid bills stemmed from the hand-to-mouth existence she and her mother had had— even before her father had left for good. Perhaps mixed in there too was a feeling that since Sam Pillinger had put an end to all that scraping along when he had married her mother, she felt she owed him something. Whatever the reason, though, the thought of being insolvent was nightmarish to her. So, until such time as her family came to terms with the demise of Pillinger Ceramics, and ac­cepted that it might be an idea for a couple of them to find some paid employment, she would stick it out at Zappelli Fine China.

  Any ensuing thought that, conversely, her employers could dispense with her services whenever they felt like it was promptly taken out of her head when having been circling over Verona airport for some time, apparently, the pilot announced that because of fog they were di­verting to another airport.

  Oh lord, Elyn fretted, now what did she do? She was being met at Verona, and her plane was landing heaven knew where! The pilot had said, but she hadn't caught the name.

  It was not too long afterwards, however, that the plane began to descend. Though by the time it had landed, Elyn realised, having put on her watch an hour to Italian time, that the offices of Zappelli Fine China in Verona would have closed some time ago.