Italian Invader

by Jessica Steele

  'Good morning, Tino!' she exclaimed brightly when she went in.

  'You'll have dinner with me this evening?' he jumped straight in, and Elyn laughed. He wasn't Max, but he was nice.

  'Tomorrow,' she answered, and as the others of the section drifted in, with Tino's help, she got down to some work.

  She half dreaded, half hoped that she might see some­thing of Max that day, but she saw nothing of him on Monday or Tuesday either, and she prepared to go out with Tino on Tuesday evening, giving herself the sternest lecture. The bracing theme of which was, why was she wasting her time pining over a man like Max when, save for a lapse when his philandering self had gone on auto­matic pilot, he was barely aware of her existence?

  Dinner with Tino was friendly and pleasant, and she was pleased at how well they got on. Though she owned to feeling a little awkward when, presumably feeling the same, he suddenly leaned across the table and blurted out, 'I have wondered if you will come away and share the weekend with me?'

  'Oh, I don't know about that, Tino,' she began to back away fast, wondering when she had ever given him the impression that she was more interested in him than being just friends. 'I like you, but—'

  'Oh!' he interrupted. 'I have asked you badly. You shall have your own room, of course,' he hurried on. 'I just thought you might like to come with me to ski.'

  A smile touched her mouth. What a sweetie he was! 'I can't ski,' she told him, and saw a look of relief cross his features that he had not offended her.

  'I will teach you,' he asserted, and suddenly Elyn quite liked the idea. Perhaps an overdose of energetic activity was what she needed. She didn't fancy another weekend like the last one, that was for sure.

  'Where will we find snow?' she asked, and saw him start to beam when it looked as if she was on the way to accepting.

  'High in the mountains—in the Dolomites,' he told her, and the rest of the meal was spent in discussion of the proposed weekend in a place called Cavalese.

  Elyn felt more cheered than she had of late as she made her way to Zappelli Internazionale the next morning. She was going to be more positive, she de­cided. After hitting the depths last weekend, she was going to put all that behind her. Max Zappelli wasn't for her, and if he was, she wouldn't want him, she de­cided firmly—then saw him, and promptly went weak at the knees.

  Oh, grief, he was coming from the firm's car park to the left, she was on the centre path, and they were both making for the wide front entrance of Zappelli's—their paths were bound to collide! Knowing that short of doing a swift about-turn, which pride decreed was entirely out of the question, she could not avoid him, Elyn struggled hard to keep her pace even.

  Any positive feelings she had earlier determined upon were long gone, though, when as their steps converged, he greeted her crisply from his lofty height, 'Good morning.'

  'Good morning,' she responded politely, if stiffly, and thought, as they neared the entrance of the building, that that would be the sum total of their conversation.

  But, as Max stretched out a hand and seemed about to pull back one of the double doors, 'You're not finding your time in Italy too lonely, I hope?' he enquired, as any employer might—and that made her mad.

  He had kissed her, dammit, made her feel as though she wasn't just any old employee! 'Thinking of sending me back?' she sent him a hostile look to challenge.

  He didn't like her challenging tone, she could see that from the icy way his dark eyes stared down into her furious green ones. 'You'll go back when I say!' he re­torted, and, pulling open the door, he exploded with something very Italian before, his tone changing, he added silkily, 'I shouldn't want you staying in nights, or…'

  Swine! she raged. 'There's no fear of that,' she cut in, at pains to let him know she wasn't staying in nights on account of him. 'When I'm not in Bolzano…'

  'You've been to Bolzano?' he sliced in aggressively, and before she could draw breath, he demanded, 'Who with?'

  'Who with?' she echoed.

  'You haven't your own transport!' he rapped.

  'No, but I do have friends!' she snapped, then she put her head in the air and sailed through the door. Who the hell did he think he was? Him and his sarcastic, 'I shouldn't want you staying in nights', just as though she had a face like the back of a bus and no offers!

  By lunchtime she'd calmed down. By that evening, having gone through their conversation many times, she had thought of a dozen so much sharper things she could have said. Among them that on Friday she was going off to a place called Cavalese for the weekend with 'a friend'—how about that for being lonely?

  'I have reserved the rooms for us in the hotel,' Tino told her in an undertone at work the next morning. 'I was very lucky,' he went on happily. 'They were fully booked, but had just received a cancellation.'

  'Lovely!' she smiled enthusiastically, determined never to sink down to the depths ever again.

  She had a few bits of shopping to do at lunchtime, so she popped out for them first, then went to the firm's canteen. 'Elyn, there's a seat here!' Felicita Rocca called, and Elyn—smiling her 'thanks but no, thanks' to a man from her own office who had tried to date her but who she knew was married and who was now pointing to an empty place at his table—went over and sat at Felicita's table. 'How is the computer-room?' Felicita asked.

  'Fabulous!' Elyn enthused, and stamped down hard on any question that arose about Felicita's office, and the man she worked for. 'Have you worked here long?' she enquired instead, and from there they exchanged a few more pleasantries, then somehow got on to the subject of their families.

  'Have you heard from your family since you have been in Italy?' Felicita asked in some concern.

  'I spoke with my mother on the phone last Sunday, actually,' Elyn told her, and, suddenly remembering, 'It was snowing then—in England, I mean,' she laughed, and thinking of snow, she suddenly found she was telling Felicita about her forthcoming skiing trip.

  'You ski?'

  'No,' Elyn laughed. 'That's what worries me! Though Tino says I can get fixed up with boots and skis when I get there, and he'll teach me the rest.'

  They chatted for a little while longer, then Elyn looked at her watch, and so too did Felicita. 'I must go,' she said, and, having finished her snack, Elyn got up with her.

  'Have a good time in Cavalese!' Felicita wished her as they parted.

  'Thanks,' said Elyn, and went thoughtfully back to her own office to wonder if she so much wanted Max to know that she wouldn't be stuck in the apartment staring at her four walls this coming weekend that she had told Felicita about her plans in the hope that she would pass them on to him. I'm just not that devious, she denied. But then she hadn't been a fibber either, until she had fallen in love.

  Any feelings of 'so there, Max Zappelli, I'm going to be so busy this weekend I won't have a chance to be lonely!' evaporated into nothing when she reached the office the next morning. As ever, Tino was first in.

  'I am so sorry, Elyn,' he began straight away, and swiftly, referring to the memo he had in his hands, 'I found this on my desk this morning. I am invited to attend a special tutorial in Milano tomorrow. Can you understand, Elyn, that it is a compliment to me, and would greatly enhance my knowledge, if I could go?'

  'But you must certainly go,' she smiled.

  'You don't mind about my not being able to take you?'

  'Of course not!' she insisted, and was heartily glad then that Max did not know of her trip to Cavalese. She didn't want him asking, not that he would, how her skiing trip had gone, only to have to tell him it hadn't.

  'You are very kind,' Tino told her gratefully. 'But I was sure that you would be—which is why I telephoned my sister five minutes ago.'

  'Your sister?' Elyn queried, trying to get on to his wavelength.

  'Diletta is driving in the direction of Cavalese on Friday to stay the weekend with her fiancé's family. She will be very much pleased to have your company on the drive.'

  'Oh, but…'

&nb
sp; 'Please, Elyn,' Tino cut in. 'I promised you would ski, and I feel unhappy to break my word. But…'

  Ten minutes later they got down to some work, with Elyn unsure that she wanted to go to this place Cavalese now, but with Diletta Agosta's telephone number in her purse. His sister, so Tino had said, would be home from work at six and would like to leave Verona before seven, and would like Elyn to confirm whether or not she would like to take advantage of a lift. Meantime Tino had been through to the Hotel Cavalese, and had cancelled just one of the rooms he had reserved.

  Had Elyn still been undecided what to do—Verona or Cavalese for the weekend—then the matter was decided for her when, just as she was leaving the building that night, the tall and superbly fit figure of Max Zappelli fell into step with her.

  Just to see him made adrenalin spurt through her veins, and she could only thank her pride that somehow she managed to maintain a calm outer appearance. 'How are you getting along in computer land?' he enquired evenly, briefcase in hand, as they approached the double doors.

  'Quite well, I think,' she murmured politely. 'Tino Agosta is a very good teacher.'

  She thought her employer grunted something in Italian that sounded a shade tetchy, but realised she was mis­taken when, his tone quite pleasant, indeed silky almost, he commented 'Good,' and, reaching the doors, stood back and held one open for her to go through. 'As usual, you are not going to be lonely in a foreign land this weekend?'

  Was he being sarcastic? Did he think, despite her ef­forts to disabuse him of the idea, that she had nothing of a social nature going on in her life? It was, if nothing else, a point of honour that she set him straight about that issue without delay. 'Oh, I'm sure I shan't be lonely,' she trotted out brightly as she went out into the cold night air and he followed. 'There are bound to be loads of skiers where I'm going.' With that she added a cool, 'Goodnight, Mr Zappelli,' and went smartly down the path. Somehow, though, she had the oddest notion that he was still standing there watching her—she had no in­tention of turning round to find out for sure!

  Diletta Agosta was a bubbly woman who was as outward-going as her brother was quiet. Her English was not as good as his, but on the two-and-a-half-hour drive to Cavalese they managed to communicate quite well. And it was with a chirpy 'Ciao, Elyn, I see you half an hour after four o'clock on Sunday,' that Diletta dropped her off at her hotel and plunged expertly straight into the middle of the chaotic weekend tourist traffic.

  'Ah, Signorina Talbot!' the man on Reception wel­comed Elyn, his eyes enjoying her beauty as she signed in. 'You will want the dinner, no?'

  'Si, grazie,' Elyn smiled, and followed the young porter who with her bag and room key was heading for her room.

  Her hotel was clean and comfortable, and the food was good. Elyn put Max Zappelli as far from her thoughts as she could, and decided she would treat the whole weekend as one big adventure.

  With that in mind, she firmly ousted Max from her head when she awoke on Saturday morning and, with no Tino there to teach her to ski, breakfasted on ham and cheese, then donned warm clothing and her snow-boots, and decided to take a walk around town.

  Cavalese, she discovered, was not an over-large town, and she window-shopped up one side of a street and then the other. This was a holiday, she told herself, she could do what she liked. She went into a nearby cafe and or­dered coffee, promising herself that she would call back in the afternoon and treat herself to one of those de­licious-looking pastries.

  Her coffee finished, she set off again exploring the town that was dominated by snowy mountains. It was around lunchtime, though, that she found she was in the vicinity of where the cable car departed from. To her mind it seemed logical that there would be an estab­lishment of some sort up on the mountains where she could get something to eat. Places, too, where she could perhaps walk around a little as well. Elyn decided to go in for a little more adventure.

  Having purchased a ski-pass, she discovered that her ride up Alpe Cermis involved two cable cars. She pre­sumed that must be because that particular alp was so steep, and halfway up at a station she exchanged one cable car for another.

  A feeling of pleasure filled her as, vacating the second car, she wandered away from her forty or so fellow pas­sengers, and, breathing in the pure crisp air, took in the delight of the view.

  There were no skiers where she was, and she strolled on upwards and looked across to see that the ski area was quite crowded. There was a chair-lift, she noticed, so presumably the more accomplished skiers took that and skied down by more complicated routes.

  She spotted a restaurant and spent a pleasant half-hour there with lasagne and coffee. When thoughts of Max started to bombard her head again, she decided to take a walk around. It was still crowded, though and, being a nature-lover, she decided to wander over to the opposite and less populated side to take a look at some stately pines.

  Once she had gained the spot she was making for, there seemed to be no one about. Somehow she was sure she was still on the part where it was permitted to walk, though, and after walking on a little she suddenly spotted a tree that had separated itself from the others and, perhaps because of it, seemed to stand petrified.

  For a long time she admired it from a distance, and then nothing would do but that she had to walk over to it and study the snowy icicles that festooned it.

  Well, did you ever see anything so amazing? she won­dered, fascinated by the tree that was green and alive despite its mantle of hard ice and snow. She was just beginning to wish she had her camera with her, and took several paces out into the clearing for another angle of it when some sound caught her ears. Attracted by the sound, she turned her head and looked to her right— and froze. No! screamed her head, but as alarm shot through her and she realised that she had just stepped out on to the ski-run, so she knew, as a figure dressed completely in black hurtled straight for her, that there was no way he could avoid a collision.

  Totally stunned, she stood there not knowing which way to jump. Then whoosh!—the skier, by some super­human effort, had twisted to the left and, horror of horrors, he was over, in a heap, his skis going one way, he the other.

  'Oh, I'm sorry, so sorry!' Elyn cried as she raced as fast as she could over to where he lay. He wasn't moving but lay still, his face turned from her. Desperately she looked around. Why, when there had been masses of people about, was there no one about in this area! 'Are you all right?' she asked frantically, and had never felt so relieved when suddenly, winded still, his head bent, he moved to a sitting position. 'Are you all right?' she repeated, desperately wishing she knew more than the smattering of Italian that she had picked up in the last few weeks.

  'I don't know yet!' the man said in English—and she knew that voice!

  Apprehension, fear, disbelief—not to mention a flut­tering of joy—all mingled. Elyn stared at the man, not believing any of this. He was wearing dark impenetrable sunglasses, but as she watched he pulled off his ski-hat. His hair was dark. He lifted his head, pulled his strong firm chin out of the folds of his ski-jacket. She knew that firm chin too—even if she was still not believing the evidence of her eyes. But when finally he stretched up a hand and removed his sunglasses to reveal a pair of dark penetrating eyes—dark eyes which she knew and loved—she just had to gasp out loud.

  'You!' escaped her on something of a squeak. 'What are you doing here?'

  There was no mistaking who he was then, for he was all arrogant and aggressive, and so much the man she knew as, 'Trying to keep out of your way without breaking my bloody neck!' Max Zappelli roared in no uncertain fashion.

  CHAPTER SIX

  'Oh, Max!' Elyn exclaimed, so shaken she had no chance to keep the concern out of her voice. 'Are you hurt? Can I help?'

  'You don't think you've done enough?' he growled, his fierce dark eyes fixed on her stunned green ones— if he was recalling that the last time she had spoken with him she had called him Mr Zappelli, there was nothing in his look to give that away.


  'I'm sorry,' she gulped agitatedly.

  'So you should be!' he grunted.

  Elyn took that on the chin. It was clear now that he had come down on one of the fastest runs and had never expected anyone to be so idiotic as to be standing there slap-bang in the middle of it.

  'Can you get up? Can you stand?' she asked anxiously.

  'Go and get my skis,' he ordered, and Elyn, glad to be able to do something, went willingly.

  He was still in possession of his ski-sticks, and with the use of them had managed to get to his feet by the time she returned with his skis. 'Do you want to put them on?' she asked.

  'I think not,' he said curtly—and she knew that he had hurt himself.

  'Are you with friends?' she asked as it quickly oc­curred to her that she might need some help in getting him down the mountain. Though as she realised that he could well have been skiing with any one of the lovely females she had seen him pictured with, jealousy plunged a knife into her heart, and she felt an aversion to having that question answered. 'Sh-shall I get the—er—blood wagon, I think it's called?' she asked when he hadn't deigned to answer her other question anyway—she couldn't remember seeing one, but surely there had to be a first aid post somewhere.

  'There's no need for that!' he snarled shortly, arro­gantly, and all at once Elyn knew that, even though he might be hurting like the very devil, Max Zappelli, a very proud man, absolutely abhorred fuss.

  'Very well,' she said quietly. 'But I do think it would be a good idea if we got you down off this mountain.' His eyebrows ascended at that 'we', but he said nothing, so Elyn guessed he was in agreement that it might be an idea if they made for the cable car. 'You can lean on me if it's of any help,' she offered, still feeling mortified that through her ignorance about the ways of the ski-paths, anyone, let alone the man she loved, could well have ended up with a broken neck.