Italian Invader

by Jessica Steele

  'I won't come in,' she told him stiffly, as he got out of the car, and she followed suit.

  His answer was to nod and, not giving her a chance to thank him, he turned away from her. Abruptly Elyn turned away from him, and bit her lip. Damn him, she loved him! She set off down the hill. What did she want to thank him for anyway? Her lunch? She couldn't even remember what she'd eaten!

  She was halfway between the chalet and the outskirts of Cavalese town when she slowed to a halt. Dammit—it was no good! Max hadn't got any food in. He couldn't even drive! And how in creation was he going to get to an airport to fly to Rome tomorrow!

  Reluctantly she turned round and set off back up the hill. She knew then that she was acting on emotion, but for heaven's sake, she wouldn't leave someone whom she didn't love to fend for themselves if they were in­jured, so how on earth could she leave someone whom she did love to do so?

  With the idea of perhaps driving to some shops for provisions or, if he was agreeable, driving Max to book into a hotel where she could be certain he'd have room service if nothing else, Elyn made it to the veranda and tested the door into the chalet.

  It yielded to her touch. She slipped her sunglasses into her jacket pocket, and went in. Rehearsing some tactful suggestion as she went, she began to cross the sitting-room floor, while at the same time Max, who must have heard someone coming in, came out of the kitchen to investigate. Elyn stopped dead, her eyes widening as Max took another three, maybe four steps nearer. Then, at the sudden and utterly floored expression on her face, so too did he stop dead.

  Though it was he who found his voice first. 'Elyn, I…' he began, but Elyn, her emotions already out of gear, was not ready to listen to a word.

  'You're not limping!' she gasped, struggling for com­prehension. She was still trying to come to terms with that when it sank in that since he had been limping half an hour ago, he must have undergone a dramatic healing. 'You didn't hurt yourself at all!' she exclaimed incredu­lously. And suddenly all hell broke loose in her. 'Why, you…!' she yelled, and as her already haywire emo­tions jangled completely out of control, her temper went into orbit. Knowing only that she had been well and truly conned, she could only act on a furious anger that de­manded to be released, and in a flash she had stormed forward, her hand arcing through the air. 'Take that and try it out on the ski-slopes!' she erupted and, beside herself with rage, she caught him a vicious and unre­pentant blow on the side of his face.

  She was already on her way when he croaked, 'Elyn!' in shaken tones. Then, 'Elyn, wait!' he called, clearly getting over his astonishment that she had actually hit him. But she was waiting for nothing. Fury such as she had never known was in charge of her; she had only one aim in mind, and that was to get out of there.

  At the door, though, she had to pause briefly to open it. That was when she half turned and, as she had the door open, saw that he was coming after her. Unlike her mother, Elyn had never in her life thrown anything in temper. But having, so to speak, just thrown her best punch, she had never been infuriated or hurt past en­during before either, and as the full import of Max's treachery slammed into her, she reached for the near­est missile.

  As if it weighed nothing she picked up the solid ski-boot that was there by the door and, as he advanced towards her, she picked it up in that instant and with all her might hurled it at him.

  'Elyn!' he yelled her name, but she wasn't listening.

  Save for hearing the dreadful clatter and thud as the boot landed, she was out of there on her way, hoping she'd crippled the swine. Because he had crippled her. For clearly he had only pretended injury from some plan to get her to stay with him overnight. Clearly, from that very moment of coming off his skis on that moun­tainside, he had thought to seduce her. But, equally clearly, she had come on much too strong, had res­ponded much too eagerly, and had put him off the whole idea.

  The swine, that he should go to such elaborate lengths—and then reject her! She felt then that she would never, ever recover from the humiliation of it! Oh, how she wished she'd stayed another second or two, just long enough to throw the other heavy ski-boot at him!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Elyn was still feeling bruised and shaken when she showered and dressed and got ready for work the next morning. She had no memory at all of how she got back to her hotel in Cavalese, though she could remember getting her belongings together and sitting in her room waiting for Diletta Agosta to call for her on her way home.

  Diletta had been late in picking her up, and by the time she had arrived Elyn had been through a whole welter of emotions. Her anger gone—that was to say, she was able to conceal it and even find a smile to reply, 'That's quite all right. Did you enjoy your weekend?' in answer to Diletta's profuse apologies for being late.

  Somehow, too, Elyn managed to suppress her emo­tions all through the drive back to Verona. But by the time Diletta dropped her off at her apartment, her emo­tions were fracturing around the edges.

  It did not surprise her that she had a horrendous night. She barely slept, and was up early, still feeling hurt and humiliated—Max, despite his 'Elyn, wait!' couldn't even be bothered to follow her, which just showed how much he cared! She had seen for herself when he'd come strolling—limp-free—out of the kitchen that there was nothing whatsoever the matter with his right foot—so, despite her own speed, he could have easily caught up with her, if he'd had a mind to.

  But that was just it—he neither cared nor had a mind to so much as apologise for playing some trick on her for his own amusement. How could he, how could he? she fumed yet again, once more feeling churned up inside about what she should do now. Go home, return to England, her pride decreed, and she had her case half packed when her old fear of debt jumped on her back. If she walked out now, she would be walking out of a well-paid job—and pride wasn't going to put money into the family coffers, was it?

  Against that, though, would Max want to continue to employ her? She doubted if it was every day that one of his employees served him the blow she had served him and remained on the payroll. Though, whatever else he wasn't, she somehow knew that he was fair. Had he not been fair he would have dismissed her out of hand when, all evidence pointing to her as the culprit, that design had gone missing. So, although he had played her for a fine fool that weekend, surely he must see that, in all fairness, he had had that slap coming!

  Elyn was still feeling agitated when she made her way to the computer section of Zappelli Internazionale. That she'd got this far, she realised, meant that her head was ruling her heart and that she was not walking out of her job. Though when Tino Agosta beamed, 'Good morning, Elyn,' and after enquiring about her own weekend went on to enthuse about his computer weekend, she began to think differently. Quite plainly Tino's head was still full of everything he'd heard and learned and more im­portantly, he was, she just knew, itching to put some of it into practice. She, she recognised without hurt or of­fence, was slowing him up and must be getting in the way of what he wanted to be doing.

  'I rather wanted a word with Felicita Rocca,' she told Tino when at around half-past nine she could not fault the idea growing in her head. Indeed, it seemed the only way. 'Do you have her extension number?'

  'Of course,' he said and, his mind so full of things 'computerish', he did not enquire why she should want to speak to his employer's PA, but picked up the inside phone and dialled her number, then handed the phone to Elyn.

  From Elyn's point of view it seemed heaven-sent that Max was in Rome all this week. Though since it was Felicita Rocca who had done all the arranging for her to come to Italy, it must be Felicita who, in his absence, she must see about arranging a transfer back to England—before the week was out, preferably.

  'Hello, it's Elyn Talbot,' she said as she heard Felicita on the other end of the phone, and, hoping that with her boss away Felicita wouldn't be so frantically busy, 'May I pop along and see you some time?' she enquired.

  'You have a problem, Elyn?' Felicita sounded concer
ned.

  'Nothing urgent,' Elyn lied. 'But if I could see you some time this morning.'

  She put down the phone having arranged to see Felicita at eleven, and spent the next hour in sorting out the best and most tactful way of saying that she wanted to go back home, quickly—like, yesterday.

  At ten to eleven she left her office and walked through the corridors of the building. She was five minutes early, but returning to England with all speed had now become her number one priority. She knocked at Felicita's door and went in.

  'Elyn!' Felicita greeted her charmingly, and leaving her desk, 'Come in and take a chair and tell me how I may help you.'

  Elyn waited until they were both seated, then, there being no way to dress it up, she discovered, 'Actually,' she began, 'I was wondering about the possibility of a transfer back to England. I would have asked Mr…' But her lie about how she would have asked Mr Zappelli had he been there was not needed, she found to her relief.

  'You want to leave us?' Felicita exclaimed in surprise.

  'If it could be arranged,' Elyn smiled, striving in the face of Felicita's regret not to feel guilty.

  'But I do not think Signor Zappelli would wish you to return so soon,' Felicita put up the first objection.

  'Oh, I'm sure he won't mind,' Elyn proceeded to knock it down. 'It's not as if I'm frantically busy here, and I feel a lot of my skills are going to waste. Skills,' she stressed, 'which I could be fully utilising back at our English branch.'

  'Mmm—I do not know,' Felicita murmured. But then, while Elyn was starting to blush at the idea that maybe Felicita knew there was something of a cloud hanging over her head in the shape of that missing design, and might be trying to think up some tactful way of telling her that there was not a chance of her returning to England until their employer said so, Felicita went on to say something that took all such thoughts out of Elyn's head. 'It is a decision I cannot make, Elyn,' she ex­plained, and rocked her to her foundations when she trotted out smilingly, 'But I promise I will discuss it with the signor when I see him later today.'

  'He's coming here!' Elyn exclaimed, and, too startled to care if Felicita should wonder that she was privy to his work itinerary. 'He's not in Rome?'

  'Unfortunately for him, no,' Felicita replied solemnly. 'Apparently, some time over the weekend, I believe, he twisted his ankle.' Elyn's eyes were growing wider and wider in disbelief when Felicita added, 'He is now at his home and is unable to put his foot to the floor.' This is where I came in! Elyn fumed silently. 'So now he has requested that I drive to his home with some substitute papers. I shall be leaving in a few minutes.' And I made excuses for the philandering swine! Elyn thought, out­raged, as Felicita ended, 'But naturally, I will mention your request to return to England when…'

  'It doesn't matter,' Elyn butted in, her insides churning with jealousy. She had never thought of Max as having an affair with his PA, but… 'It's not so urgent that I'd want you to bother him on his sick bed,' she went on, but as the word 'bed' turned a knife in her, she got up and walked to the door. 'I'll leave it until he's on his feet again.' She even found a smile, and got out of there, her emotions in uproar, but her pride intact—just.

  The diabolical rat! she raged, when in the ladies' cloakroom she fought to pull herself together. Substitute papers? Substitute bed-partner, more like! Twisted ankle? Ye gods!

  No doubt he found the idea of being incapacitated so that some female had to stay overnight too good not to use a second time. But Felicita? So much for him saying that he never dated anybody from within the company! Though, on thinking about it, he had no need to date at all, did he? His PA was going to his home!

  There was no denying that Felicita was an attractive woman, but… Elyn had felt hurt before, but as raw jealousy mingled with that hurt, she was again dis­counting that Max was no philanderer. He damn well was—and the only reason she had tried to believe that he wasn't was that she hadn't been able to accept that, when she had been his for the taking, he had turned her down!

  Elyn reeled from the ladies' room back to the com­puter-room. She'd had it! The fact that Max was having a fling with his PA, and probably had been even while he had been kissing her, was more than she could take. Her fear of debt was in no way diminished—but there were some instances in life, she was discovering, when one's fears had to take second place. Damn the money, damn the job—she was leaving!

  'You are all right, Elyn?' Tino asked in concern when she went into the computer-room to pick up her bag and jacket. 'You are very pale in the face!'

  Pale in the face? She was flaming—with anger—inside! 'I've got a thundering headache,' she lied, as good manners came to her aid and decreed that no one should be made to feel uncomfortable by her yelling that she was leaving. 'I think I'll go home and lie down for a while.'

  'I will drive you,' Tino offered promptly, and was halfway off his chair when Elyn stopped him.

  'I prefer to walk, Tino, thank you,' she smiled. 'I think a walk in the fresh air may help my head.'

  He looked about to argue, but just then one of the others in the room said something to him in Italian, and Elyn reached for her bag just as Tino passed the message on, 'There is a telephone call for you, Elyn.'

  'For me?' she questioned, instantly thinking that Felicita might be ringing her, but just then observing that the phone that was being held out for her was not the inside phone.

  'Si,' he said, and she took it from him, realising that Felicita had probably left the building by now anyway.

  'Hello?' she said into the mouthpiece—and was shocked and furious at one and the same time. For her caller was none other than Max!

  'Hello, Elyn,' he said evenly, nothing in his tone to denote that the last time she had seen him she'd done her best to physically flatten him. 'I should very much like to see you,' he, to her absolute astonishment, went on quietly. The nerve of him! 'If you could come to my home…' That was as far as she allowed him to get.

  What the hell did he think she was? No doubt, given the chance, the next thing would be that he'd be sug­gesting she ask Felicita to give her a lift! But he wasn't going to get that chance, because suddenly an explosion of emotions imploded in Elyn. 'No doubt you can't get here to see me because of your sprained ankle!' she erupted, and, not waiting to hear what he made of that, she slammed the phone down hard. She was still any­where but in the computer-room when she came to realise she had her bag in her hand. Belatedly, she re­membered her manners. 'Thank you,' she murmured to the person whose phone she had used, and to Tino, 'I'll see you,' she said vaguely, collected her jacket, and got out of there.

  The first thing she did on reaching the apartment was to phone about a flight home. The next thing she did was to pack and to ensure that she left the apartment as spick and span as she had found it. She debated long and hard about whether or not to leave a note at Zappelli Internazionale on her way to the airport—but who would she address it to? Certainly not Max, and though she honestly owned that she still liked Felicita, for the moment her wounds were too raw for her to feel like writing to her. Who, then? Tino? She decided against it. It just wasn't on for Tino to be the one to pass on the message that she had left.

  It was just after five when Paolo, the hall porter on duty, phoned up to say that the taxi she had ordered was there. Elyn carried her luggage from the apartment, turned round to lock up—then realised that she couldn't very well take the key back to England with her.

  That matter was solved when she handed Paolo a tip for carrying her luggage out to the taxi; she also handed him the key to the apartment. She smiled in answer to his query in Italian about the key, and, having under­stood barely a word other than that he seemed to be asking what he should do with it, she got into the taxi and was on her way.

  Given the one-hour time difference, she was back in England only half an hour after her flight had taken off. And she felt no better to be home. She reached Bovington, and as her taxi from the station wound its way round its streets she
observed that, while there had been an enormous change in her in the small time she had been away, Bovington had changed not at all.

  She let herself into the house, knowing it was pointless to wish things back the way they had been before she had so crassly fallen in love with Max. She had fallen in love with him, and no amount of wishing was going to alter that.

  Her mother and stepfather were out, so too was Loraine, Elyn discovered when she hefted her large suitcase into the hall, and her stepbrother came out to see who had arrived.

  'Hello!' he exclaimed warmly, coming over to give her a brotherly kiss and a hug, showing not a sign of the angry person he'd been when she had told him she was going to Italy—right into the 'enemy camp' he had called it then, she remembered. 'Why didn't you let us know you were coming?' he questioned as they strolled into the drawing-room. 'I'd have met you at the airport.'

  'That's sweet of you, Guy,' she smiled, 'I—er—wasn't sure myself until this morning that I'd be coming home today.' Quickly she changed the subject. 'I'm going to make a cup of coffee; would you like one?'

  'Mmm, please,' he accepted, and Elyn left him and made for the kitchen, relieved to note from its homely but immaculate condition that they still had dear Madge with them.

  The housekeeper was off duty, though, and was off on her own pursuits, and Elyn had the kitchen to herself, with Max in her thoughts and tears in her heart as she busied herself with the coffee.

  How long did this heartache go on for? she wondered as she carried a tray from the kitchen to the drawing-room. Her love was so new, and so bruised—how long did it take for those wounds to heal and for one's private thoughts to centre on something else?

  'Coffee!' she announced brightly as she returned to the drawing-room and set the tray down. 'Where is everybody, by the way?'

  'The parents are at the theatre in Bovington, and Loraine's out with this new chap of hers—heaven help us!'