Italian Invader

by Jessica Steele

  Damn him! she fumed, when she found she was won­dering where he was and if he could walk on that foot this morning. As if she cared! She'd have heard him if he'd gone out, she knew that, so she was sure he was in the kitchen—which was another piece of rotten luck, be­cause the kitchen was where her jacket was!

  For several minutes Elyn sat where she was and con­templated leaving minus her jacket. When common sense bombarded her, however, and insisted that, without the freezing cold out there, she was being plain ridiculous, she impatiently got to her feet and went into the kitchen.

  He was there. As she had surmised, Max was there in the kitchen. Clean-shaven to denote that she had not been the first visitor to the bathroom that morning, he was sitting, feet under the table, facing the door as she went in. Colour flared to her face, but she ignored him— it annoyed her that he ignored her too.

  She went past him and retrieved her jacket, and with nothing more to hang around for, without even pausing to put it on, she went, head in the air, sailing back past him again.

  She had almost made it to the door when, his tone not the pleasantest she had ever heard, he stopped her. 'You can't leave!' he grated.

  Watch me, she wanted to throw over her shoulder, but her heart, stupid as it was where he was concerned, made her turn round. Oh, lord, how dear he was to her! 'Why not?' she asked belligerently, that tone greatly at odds with the way she was feeling inside.

  She watched as his black-as-thunder expression roved her unmade-up face, and was glad of her creamy flawless complexion. 'You think it fair,' he rapped, 'that you should injure me—and then waltz off without giving a thought to how I will manage?'

  What about me? she wanted to hurl at him. What about my injuries, my hurt? You don't give a damn about how I will manage! Hostilely she glared at him, and hostilely he glared back. Get lost, fumed her head. 'So what do you want for breakfast?' she shot at him unpleasantly as her ridiculous heart, as she knew it would, let her down on account of the pain he must be in.

  'You've used up all the cheese!' he accused.

  'So?' she snapped.

  'So there's a tin of sardines—we'll have those on toast.'

  Thinking of telling him he could have the whole tin to himself, Elyn draped her jacket over a chair and got to work. She was aware, though, of his antagonistic glance following her as she deftly made coffee and sar­dines on toast. She was about to pile her efforts all on to one plate, however, when suddenly rebellion set in and she went and found another plate. Why should he have all the sardines? She was doing all the work!

  Mainly because she thought it would be childish in the extreme to take her plate into the sitting-room, Elyn sat down at the table to eat her breakfast. It was a silent meal. She had nothing she wanted to say to him, and that, it seemed, went double for him.

  The small repast over, she collected their used dishes and took them to the sink. She'd cut her tongue out before she'd ask how his injured foot was this morning, she fumed, though she guessed it must be giving him some trouble or, proud man that he was, he would never have intimated that he could not manage without some help.

  'Now what?' she demanded, when, everything spick and span and his 'you can't leave' rattling around in her head, she baulked at the idea of sitting staring at him in stony silence for the rest of the morning.

  It didn't take two guesses to realise that he must have been thinking the self-same thing, because he ordered, 'You can take me out for a drive!'

  Yesterday she'd have had heart failure at the thought. Today was a different matter. 'I trust you'll be able to make it to the car without my shoulder,' she returned pithily, just to let him know that she'd hit him if he so much as laid a finger on her that morning—prop or no prop.

  Hardening her heart, she left Max to hobble about finding some shoes from his weekend bag in the bedroom, while she went to the sitting-room to set about clearing out the ashes from yesterday's fire. She was in the process of generally making the place presentable for their return when he limped past her to the outside door.

  Thinking to give him time to get into the Ferrari, she spent another few minutes straightening cushions and furniture, then went and donned her jacket.

  She saw from the veranda that he was comfortably ensconced in the Ferrari, and she was just about to join him when she noticed that the ski-boots he'd taken off yesterday were still where he left them. They were as heavy today as yesterday, she mused as she transferred them from the cold outside air and popped them round the door to just inside the sitting-room to thaw out. Max had put the key in the outer door, she noticed. She turned it, and went to join him.

  'Key!' she said briefly, passing it over to him as she got into the driver's seat of the Ferrari.

  'Thanks,' he returned shortly and, the ignition key already in place, Elyn started up the engine. It was the sum total of any conversation for quite some while.

  Not that she wanted to talk, for as they went upwards and into snowy terrain, as they drove around hairpin bends, with the occasional sheer drop on the driver's side, she had to keep all her attention on her driving.

  The sun was shining, and as Max instructed her to park the car in a place called Oclini, she was content just to sit there and gaze at the fir trees and the progress of the Sunday skiers. There did not seem to be anywhere as near as many people at Oclini as there had been skiing on Alpe Cermis yesterday, Elyn considered. Though since Alpe Cermis was where Max had, through her, met with his accident, she did not want to think about it.

  Some contrary monster within her, however, was loosening her tongue, and even though she had deter­mined that his foot could drop off before she would en­quire after it, she heard her treacherous other self enquire, 'How's the foot?'

  'How do you think?' he grunted, and she could as easily given him a black eye to go with it.

  'How long do you want to stay here?' she asked—that or hit him!

  'Bored already?' he jibed.

  'It's the company I keep!' she snapped, and for one infinitesimal moment she thought she saw the corners of his mouth twitch—as if he found her spirited re­joinder amusing.

  'You can drive back down to Lavaze,' he instructed, not a smile in sight. 'We'll have coffee there.'

  Without a word Elyn started up the car and steered it back down the way they had come, taking her time because of oncoming traffic and sharp bends. But ten minutes later Max was telling her to drop him off at a hotel and restaurant and instructing her where to park. 'If you're ordering, I'll have tea,' she told him, just to be perverse, as he got out of the car and stood waiting for her to drive off.

  It did not take long to park the car, but even so there was a glass of tea there waiting for her when she joined him on the sun veranda. She turned her chair into the sun, donned her sunglasses and listened to the silence broken only by the occasional sound of some skier or cross-country ski-walker briefly in their vicinity. They seemed to have the veranda to themselves.

  'Thanks,' she tossed in Max's general direction as she took her first sip of tea. It was a glorious day and, given that he was a swine, good manners cost nothing. There was a silence for about five minutes, then, as if he too was doing his best to resurrect his manners, Max drawled casually, 'You're a good driver.'

  She gave him a sideways glance, but he had sunglasses on too, and she could read nothing from his expression. But, while it did her heart good that his distant arctic tone had gone, she still wasn't in a mood to turn cart­wheels for him. 'One does one's best,' she shrugged— though she had to admit that her own tone was a shade or two warmer.

  'What make of car do you drive in England?' he asked, his tone almost conversational.

  'I don't. I sold it,' she answered, without thinking, and was annoyed in the next second that this man seemed to constantly get under her guard, seemed to constantly have her confiding matters which she had no intention of confiding. She sent him an irritated look.

  Had she hoped that by doing so, however, he would realise
he had trespassed, albeit accidentally, on private ground and would change the subject, she realised she should have known better. 'You sold it?' he ques­tioned—she decided not to answer. 'Why?' he wanted to know, and ignoring the fact that she was not hiding her feelings of exasperation with him he commented, 'Not in exchange for another one, or you'd have a car now.' You're so clever, you work it out, she fumed silently—and could have hit him when he did. Because 'Ah!' he uttered after a few silent seconds, and, ever ready with his questions, 'I hadn't realised that things were that bad!'

  'What do you mean, that bad?' she flared hostilely.

  He ignored her hostility. 'I heard that Pillingers only just managed to fight off bankruptcy,' he explained, 'but I'd no idea that you each had to sell off your private vehicle to achieve it.'

  'I was the only one to sell!' Elyn retorted hotly. 'We…'

  'You were the only one?' he interrupted, facing her now and appearing to be trying to pierce the darkness of her sunglasses with his gaze.

  'We didn't have to sell anything]' she snapped proudly, as she would have done had he given her time to finish. 'For your information, we…'

  'Then why sell your car if…' Abruptly he halted, and then, his voice suddenly gentle, 'Oh, Elyn!' he mur­mured softly. 'You were so terrified of debt that you…'

  But Elyn was finding his switch to a gentle, under­standing tone crucifying. 'Huh!' she scorned. 'We're not paupers yet, you know!'

  'Maybe not,' he agreed, 'but it's my guess that you panicked at the thought of no money coming in, at the thought of outstanding debt, and sold your car.' Elyn refused to answer—but that didn't stop him. 'So,' he proceeded, 'even after you'd sold your car, your hang-up over debt still tortured you, and you looked around for work to ensure an income.'

  'I'd have worked anyway, found myself a job!' she retorted loftily. 'The fact that your Pinwich subsidiary happened to advertise work I could do, and happened to be paying the best salary around, was something I had to take when I applied.'

  He didn't like her lofty tone, she could tell that from the sudden aggressive thrust of his chin. But, when she had thought that she had at last succeeded in getting him to drop the subject, she discovered that she had done nothing of the sort. And what was more, that he had looked beneath her last statement and wasn't above tackling her about that either.

  A certain coolness entered his tone. 'You sound as if you had to swallow great quantities of that mammoth Talbot pride before you could bring yourself to apply for work at my Pinwich operation?' he challenged. 'You sound as though you blame me in some way?' he grated.

  And pushed into a corner, perhaps of her own making, her back rigid as she faced him, Elyn used some of that mammoth pride to get herself out. 'Is it any wonder?' she questioned arrogantly. 'Is it any wonder that I had to swallow my pride—that my family was appalled when I told them that I was going to work for the opposition, and that…'

  'Opposition!'

  Elyn ignored the fact that he seemed surprised. 'The firm that had a major hand in Pillingers' folding!' she snapped angrily.

  Though if she was hostile, then Max was doubly so, and was letting her get away with nothing when he rapped bluntly, 'Do not talk rubbish!'

  'Rubbish?' she flared.

  'The only people responsible for Pillingers' downfall are Pillinger himself and market forces.'

  'Market forces don't seem to have affected you that much!' she accused, and, seething because he was blaming her dear stepfather, 'And we were doing all right before you came on the scene and stole our best workers!'

  'Stole them!' he echoed furiously. 'As you've re­marked yourself, I pay good wages…'

  'Implying that since we paid peanuts we got left with the monkeys!' she erupted. 'Well, let me tell you, Signor Zappelli, we trained those people…'

  'And got your money's worth out of them before they came to us!' he clipped. 'If you didn't have the foresight to pin them down by a contract…'

  'We relied on loyalty!'

  'Then more fool you! The first principle of…'

  But Elyn wasn't listening. Utterly furious with him, she sprang up from her chair and stormed away. The vile pig! How dared he! Smart swine, with his sharp tongue and up-to-the-minute business methods!

  Having stormed away from him, Elyn had no in­tention of going back to the car, so she made for the road in an opposite direction and walked along fuming. She should have stayed to argue it out with him, she seethed but she had felt so incensed by his arrogant at­titude-she ignored the fact that her arrogance had been a fairly good match to his—that she had come near to hitting him.

  A stitch in her side caused her to slow her pace a little, and she slowed some more to stop and watch a few people on the cross-country ski-walk—langlauf, she thought it was called—and gradually she began to grow calmer.

  Only then was she able to accept that it wasn't Max who was a vile pig, but the pig of it was being in love. Normally, she knew, she would have stayed to finish off any argument, but being in love had made her too emotional, too emotional to think rationally.

  She turned round and slowly began to retrace her steps, doing some very rational thinking as she went. The sum total of which brought her the plain and honest truth that Max was a better businessman than Sam. She had worked in both companies and knew, if she were starting up her own company, which model she would follow.

  It was no use blaming anyone but themselves, she realised that now. And she even accepted then, as she made her way back to the car, that some of the blame for Pillingers' demise lay at her door. She should somehow have made Sam listen to her when she had tried to tell him how bad things were. True, nobody could have foreseen that Hutton's were going to call in the re­ceiver, and collapse owing them money. But in no way could Max be held responsible for that.

  He was standing by the Ferrari. Elyn saw him glance her way as she approached, and belatedly realised that she still had the car keys, so he could not get in. Oh, grief, she thought, when on coming closer she saw the grimness of his expression. Clearly he was still as mad as hell with her, at her unveiled hint that he had made Pillingers fold. Elyn thanked her lucky stars then that she still had the keys to the car, otherwise she had a fairly shrewd idea that, injured foot or no injured foot, he would have got into the car and driven off and aban­doned her.

  It was then, though, that realising that with a foot that must be throbbing like hell he was standing there waiting for her, contritely she speeded up her pace. Poor love, he must be in agony, and here she was…

  It was then that she realised her emotions were in such an uproar again that she felt much too vulnerable to say a word. She unlocked the car and got in and fiddled about with the ignition, while Max, having settled himself comfortably, closed the passenger door. 'Where to now?' she enquired evenly, politely.

  Without so much as a glance her way, Max consulted his watch. 'We'll go down as far as Varena and stop there for some lunch,' he decided.

  Elyn was not in the least hungry. Love, she supposed, fighting with Max, had done that to her. But since there was nothing very much to eat back at the chalet, and since he wasn't leaving until tomorrow—and it was starting to worry her how with that sore foot he was going to make it back to his home, let alone Rome—then he was going to need something more than the breakfast sardines on toast he'd eaten to sustain him.

  Without another word she set the car in motion and drove steadily down the twists and turns until they reached Varena. 'We'll eat here,' he told her curtly, pointing to a hotel, and, his short tone getting to her, she parked the car and got out.

  'I'll leave you to lock up,' she said on seeing that the hotel, built as it was on the mountainside, had a long flight of steps up to the entrance. She handed him the car keys, hoping he'd think she was going to find the ladies' room, when in actual fact, with her emotions all out of gear, she couldn't bear to watch him limp heavily and painfully up all those stairs.

  She left him knowing that she would s
oon get shot down in flames by him should she dare to suggest that they lunched somewhere more on the flat. The way she was feeling just then, she couldn't face another row—not without bursting into tears.

  In the ladies' room she gave herself the sternest talking to. When was the last time she had ever burst into tears, for goodness' sake! Though when she left her sanctuary and walked up to him, she knew it had been one thing back there to tell herself to buck her ideas up, and quite another when she saw him again.

  'I thought, as it's such a sunny day, that you might like to eat outside,' Max stated coolly.

  'Fine,' she agreed, and, seeing a glass door that led to some chairs and tables at the back of the hotel, she went outside.

  At any other time she knew she would have adored the peacefulness of the scene. But she was not feeling at peace within herself, and far less so when Max limped out to join her.

  Conversation between them was limited to 'please' and 'thank you' in relation to salt or Parmesan cheese, and for Elyn it was the worst mealtime she had ever known. She wanted to be away from Max, and at the same time, not knowing when she would ever see him again, she did not want to be away from him.

  She concentrated her attention on a clutch of hens on the mountainside above who were scratching about, and was never more ready than when Max clipped, 'Shall we go?'

  Her answer was to hold out her hand for the car keys. Their hands touched as he passed his keys over, and as a tingle of electricity shot up her arm, it was all she could do not to snatch her hand away.

  She left him and was behind the steering wheel of the car when he joined her some minutes later. This time, though, she did not ask him, 'Where to now?' but started up the Ferrari and drove back down to the chalet. When Max made no objection as she parked the car on the drive, she knew that, while she was feeling out of sorts, he'd had enough too.