by Rachel Lyndhurst; Carmen Falcone; Ros Clarke; Annie Seaton; Christine Bell
For a moment, he wished he could share the experience with somebody, but then dismissed the idea. What happened between him and Lora that morning would remain their secret, and he knew he could rely on her to honor that even though he’d never actually said as much. He’d been too ill at the time, for pity’s sake. He tensed, but nothing in life was certain, and he’d never met anyone he could rely on 100 percent. They needed to talk.
“Ciao, bambini!” His heart skipped a beat as his daughters’ small faces tipped up instantly in the swimming pool and broke into radiant, sunny smiles.
“Ciao, Papa!” the girls chimed in unison, droplets of water clinging to their eyelashes and lips, but he shook his head when they implored him to come and join them.
“Not right now,” he called down. “I need to speak to Lora.”He saw Lora’s expression change from curious to wary in a second. “Can you come up?” he said fixing her with an unwavering gaze that indicated instruction not request.
“Of course,” she shouted up in a clipped tone. “I’ll come immediately.”
He smiled to himself. Feisty woman. She should never be at the beck and call of anyone unless she wanted to be, a free spirit to the core. He hoped he wouldn’t extinguish that to any degree due to their unusual arrangement.
Her expression was unreadable as she stood against the outside doorframe of the bedroom balcony with her arms crossed. “You called, sir?”
Ah, sarcasm. He had predicted she’d be irritated by his public summons.
“I did.” He gestured towards a tray of cold meats, pickles and bread rolls on the round table behind him. “Something light for lunch? Or a nibble before a larger lunch?”
“I’ve survived on white bread and cold cuts before now, but I’m not sure it’s an ideal start to the day for you.”
“No?”
“Refined carbs, salt, fat, not much sign of your five-a-day visible.”
“Juice?”
“Apart from the juice, which is naturally high in sugars, by the way, so maybe only one glass…”
“And olives?”
“And very salty olives.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve been eating like this for years, and so does everyone I know. It’s delicious Italian fare. Have some.”
Lora shook her head. “And coffee? Had your black coffee already?”
“Of course.”
Apparently relenting, she picked up a slice of salami and rolled it around a pimento-stuffed olive. “Delicious.” She popped the little parcel into her mouth and chewed slowly before continuing. “But I won’t be around forever to help you with migraine attacks like you had this morning. You need to change your lifestyle if you stand any chance of making them stop or at least get more manageable.”
“Is that so?”
“In my opinion, yes it is.”
He swallowed before saying what he needed to. “I’d appreciate it if you kept what happened this morning to yourself.”
“Of course,” she said and he noted with relief there was sincerity in her voice. “It never happened, but I might have to nag you about changing your ways in private. How long have you been having migraine attacks like that?”
“For as long as I can remember. Most of my adult life, that’s for sure.” He felt great now, though. He’d humor her, but he wanted to move things on from healthy eating and holistic claptrap. He’d also prefer not to have to dwell on the morning’s period of acute vulnerability on the bathroom floor. “I’m grateful for you helping me like you did this morning. You didn’t have to.”
“I did if you didn’t want Gennaro shooting up your marble bathroom and Vanessa dissolving into a heap. But you’re right, I should have just left you there to suffer after your performance yesterday.”
“I felt strongly about what you did and felt you should be aware of that.”
“Were you that worried?” she said without apparently pausing to consider how bold she was being. “I assumed you always feel in total control – you certainly don’t express much emotion, that’s for sure.”
“I’m too cold, hard, bitter, and twisted to be a worrier.” He poured orange juice into tall glass. “Or to be emotive. They think I don’t know, but behind my back they all call me The Shark.”
Lora pressed her lips together hard to stop herself from smiling. “They?”
He took a sip of juice. “Everyone except my mother and sister from what I can gather. Which is all the people I pay.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister.”
“Why should you?”
She shrugged. “Might come as a surprise if we really were going to get married, but you’re right, it’s none of my business.”
“You have a point. I’m sorry to be so uptight. I like to keep my family life private as much as possible. It’s safer that way.” He rubbed the hard edge of his jaw and looked over the terrace wall at the beach far below. He might as well give her all the information she could possibly need or desire within reason. “I have a younger sister called Mariella. She’s twenty-five and lives with Mamma in town. Sometimes, she stays in an apartment attached to the villa here when Mamma needs a break, but she always has her helper with her. Mariella hates being fussed over, but she has physical limitations and a mild learning disability. It’s important we make sure she’s okay.”
“I see,” Lora said in a soft voice. “We’re the same age, Mariella and I.”
He could sense she now felt awkward about pushing him on the matter, but he wasn’t one for running away from things and nobody could be as insensitive as Ivanka on the subject of disability. He’d grown tough enough through their childhood not to be hurt or taunted about his sister’s conditions anymore, because Mariella certainly didn’t care what anybody thought of her. The bullies at both their schools had been monstrous, but he had seen to them in the end. “You’re unlikely to meet each other. The fewer people involved in our arrangement, the better.”
Lora nodded and pulled out one of the white metalwork chairs tucked under the table. “I’m sure you know best, but it’s getting awkward not knowing who your staff think I am. Fiancée or PA? Or both?”
“So you’ve been having cozy chats with my staff even though I expressly asked you to avoid such intimacy?”
“Intimacy?” Lora crossed her arms across her chest and frowned. “Listen, I’ve only recently met your children, and I have no idea where they keep their clean knickers or what they like in their sandwiches. I had to engage Vanessa and your cook on the most basic level so I didn’t look like the future stepmother from hell when you swanned off on business yesterday and left me to it. If that’s even who they think I am… It’s a ridiculous situation. I don’t know what or who I’m supposed to be, can’t you see?”
“You didn’t have to engage with the nanny or the girls if you didn’t want to,” he said and sat down at the table with her. “There are plenty of other nice things you could have done on your own and then you wouldn’t have created awkward situations for yourself.”
“Like a spoiled little pampered princess? That’s not my style, Lorenzo, I’m sure you’d agree.”
“I would. Both times I’ve come home to find you’re completely filthy or sopping wet and doing your best not to wear a single shred of the expensive clothes I’ve bought you.”
“Or your mother’s engagement ring.”
His chest rose and fell with amusement. “Or that.”
“For the record, Vanessa and I didn’t talk about anything that we wouldn’t have discussed in front of you, Lorenzo. I was curious about how she got out of wearing the hideous brown Norland uniform that is such a draw amongst you rich, elite parents. I’m sure even a petite little thing like Vanessa would look pretty frumpy in it.”
“And what did Vanessa tell you?”
“She said jeans were much more practical when it came to making bicarbonate of soda rockets and mopping up fruit salad, but she also mentioned that she would never want to be a trophy nanny. She wants to be r
ecognized for her skills and personality, rather than being a status symbol. I was surprised, considering how much it costs to train at Norland. I’d have assumed wearing the uniform would be compulsory.”
“You forget, the customer is always right. I didn’t want the uniform, either, and the uniform isn’t compulsory once you’re qualified.” He picked up a silver knife and sliced off a corner of butter from a ceramic dish. “As soon as you put on a uniform, you draw attention to the children. A highly visible nanny is a sign to a potentially affluent family. This puts the children at immediate risk before you even consider other factors.”
“You don’t miss a single thing, do you?” she said, but he was pleased to see there was a glint of humor in her eye.
“Not usually, but the bicarbonate of soda thing is a new one on me, and the fruit salad should be in their stomachs, not on the floor.”
“Do you know what they like to eat in their sandwiches?” she said and plucked up a bread roll.
“No idea.” He put his knife down on a china plate with a clatter. “I don’t know anything about their knicker drawers, either. I have no need to.”
“I do hope you’re not going to say something abysmal like it being women’s work or I may have to pour the equivalent of twenty oranges over your head.”
“I am the product of a corrupt car parts dealer and a very young woman who couldn’t resist his dark looks and sweet words. If they hadn’t given in to society’s demands and married when they found out she was pregnant, I would be a bastard officially, as well as by nature.” He felt a flood of power race through his veins at the shock on her face. “My blood is bad, peasant stock, and I lack a fine education although I have just about learned how to conduct myself in polite society. So, you see, I’m not the ideal person to educate my daughters in the ways of the world. I need a little outside help with all that. Their future is too important.
“You’re very harsh on yourself. You don’t need a posh education or posh friends to be a decent father.”
“I’m trying my best to be a decent father for Bee and Fina. I want them to grow up into society ladies full of confidence and finesse and able to take charge of their own lives, make their own decisions. Surrounding them with nice, properly educated women like Vanessa and you should help with that until they’re old enough to go to boarding school.”
“There are male nannies these days as well, you know,” she said and raised a provocative eyebrow. “I hear they’re very good and even speak nicely.”
“Absolutely not. We tried that briefly, and it was too much. He was fine with the girls, but he couldn’t cope with Ivanka.”
“Did she not like him?”
“She liked him rather too much.”
Her eyes were now as wide as saucers.
“Fairly typical of her, I’m afraid.”
“Oh…”
“Dysfunctional, si?”
“Not for me to comment,” she said with a wry smile. “But they’ll have to go out into the big bad world one day, whether you like it or not. There’s no way you’ll be able to keep them in a gilded cage forever.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s all planned out. A few more years with private nannies, their grandmother, and suitable friends. Then boarding school, probably in England, followed by a finishing school in Switzerland or a good university, possibly in the US.”
“And what if they rebel against your life plan for them?”
“They won’t.”
Lora’s faced broke into a crooked smile. “Things don’t always work out the way they’re planned. Teenage girls can be very willful; they even run away sometimes. And boarding schools aren’t always the happiest of places for small children to go.”
“I’ve seen to it that their first language is English; they have nothing to fear.”
“That’s the least of their problems, Lorenzo, unless you’ll be sending a gang of bodyguards with them, which kind of defeats the object of sending them away on their own in the first place.” Her eyes dimmed, and she looked a little sad. “But their English is beautiful. You must be very proud of them already.”
“I am very proud, but none of their accomplishments are down to me. I’m just the man who pays the bills.” He scratched his head. “And the boarding school thing, it can’t be that bad. You went, so did your brother. It brings advantages, status, the best of everything. How could I not give them the best start in life I possibly can?”
“I attended for a short time, but eventually there wasn’t enough money for both of us to continue being privately educated, so when I was thirteen I was sent to the local state school. Geoffrey stayed where he was and then went on to Oxford University.” She smiled weakly. “But I still speak nicely, I’m told.”
He’d assumed she was a posh society girl who’d decided against the usual route of party-planning style jobs before getting married when she’d chosen the career she had. “That must have been rough.”
“There was nothing that could be done. Geoffrey was the boy, the future. So Geoffrey needed the education if we were to survive losing everything in the long run.”
“And did you? Survive?”
“Just about.” She shrugged. “But not well enough to avoid me being where I am right here, right now. Geoffrey is a hopeless businessman with a very financially demanding wife, and our poor mother would never survive in an establishment that didn’t cost an awful lot. We had to sell the family home years ago, and the little bit of money we had left from that went to set up Geoffrey in business and fund her care. Now that’s run out, so I have to get on with it and make the best of what I can.”
Society had been turned on its head with him and her. He had the money, but she had all the class and restrained dignity of a privileged child fallen on hard times. He wondered where it had all gone so wrong for the Pryce-Howards, but he figured he’d delved too deep already. Her big gray eyes and soft, sad mouth were drawing him in; he wanted to comfort her and tell her everything would be okay. He wanted to make sure everything was okay at the end of all this and in that brief moment decided he would make it happen. It was only money to him, after all.
“I’d planned a trip out for us today if you’re interested.”
“You had?” Her eyes brightened. “You’re not working?”
“Not today; there’s no pressure for a few days. Pontecorvo is happy with the small print of our contract, and he’s gone off on his yacht to catch some sun. Would you like to see some more of Sicily?”
“Of course! And we could take the girls with us.” She bit her lip to stop more words gushing out.
“Like a family?” He smiled when she nodded. “Buono, there’s room for five in what I’ve got planned, so we could take Vanessa too.”
“Or we could give her a day off?”
He reached out and placed his hand over hers; it felt cool. “That would be very generous of me, wouldn’t it?”
“Highly.” She smirked and pulled her hand away. “But I’d expect nothing less. Now answer the question you avoided a few minutes ago. Me and the staff, what or who am I to them?”
“My staff know not to ask questions about anything. Avoid them if it makes you feel awkward, and let me do all the talking that needs to be done.” He leaned across the table, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re imagining a problem that isn’t there.”
Chapter Twelve
It was another glorious sunny breakfast on the terrace of Lorenzo’s villa, and Lora was still riding on the high of all the places they’d visited in Sicily over the last few weeks. Some adult-only trips had resulted in a number of carefully choreographed photo opportunities for the paparazzi, but Lorenzo took it all in stride. Lora had specifically asked if he’d had a hand in tipping the press off as to their movements, and all he had given her was an enigmatic smile. He had everything under control.
“Vanessa has a day-long project planned for today, something special for the girls before she leaves us in a few days,” Lor
a said and put down her glass of water and lemon. She shielded her eyes against the morning sun; at only eight, its heat was already ferocious. “So if you wanted to have some time off site to get business stuff done, today would be ideal.”
“Everything is pretty quiet business-wise right now, just dots and dashes on legal documents, and I pay lawyers and accountants to plough through all that. However, there is something…” Lorenzo clasped his hands around the back of his head for a long stretch. “Something I want to do off site with you.”
“Sounds interesting,” she said with a curious smile. “Should I be afraid or excited?”
“Depends on what sort of mood you’re in today, but coming from a woman who’s not scared to say ‘all the gods are dead’ at the top of her voice over Mount Etna, you don’t have too much to worry about.” He shot her a crooked grin. “Meet me out front in about half an hour. Sensible clothing.”
Thirty minutes later, Lora stepped into the walled courtyard to the front of the property. She’d noticed the arched wooden doors set into stone buildings before, but had never thought they’d be garages for a playboy-style car collection. Lorenzo was walking around a 4x4 vehicle, prodding the huge tires and rummaging in the trunk until he seemed satisfied.
“Looks like we’re roughing it today.” She strode across the courtyard toward him in a pair of Madame Farage’s pink and gold designer trainers. “I hope it has air conditioning.” She poked her head cheekily through one of the open windows of a black Range Rover Evoque.
“I’ll drive so fast it won’t matter how hot it is.”
“I’ve got one of those two euro mini hand fans in my backpack, don’t worry.”
“Of course it’s got air conditioning, and the entire mechanical beast was assembled in Britain, so you should be impressed.” He pulled a carrier bag from the back seat. “And I got you these.”
