Best of Virgins Bundle

by Cathy Williams

  The house, designed by both of them, was large but not so big that he and Katie needed an intercom system to communicate. He liked being close to his wife, especially now, when he could barely let her out of his sight.

  “Katie! Come here, you have to see this!” He pushed on the swinging door that led from the family room into the kitchen. Katie had her back to him. She was facing the countertop, probably still engrossed in the loaf of bread she was making. “Your brother Mark is on the Lawford Ten-Spot News.” He strode over to where she was. “You’ll never believe it—”

  She turned around slowly. Her hands were covered in bread dough and her apron was coated with a fine sheen of flour. She opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again. Her face contorted in pain. “Matt…” She gasped. She braced her hands against the counter and then tried again. “Matt, I hope you have a good memory.”

  “What are you talking about? Katie, what’s wrong?” He tentatively touched her. That was when he noticed the puddle around her feet. “Did that faucet spring another leak?” He moved to get past her and open the cabinet doors beneath the sink.

  She laughed and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s time, Matt.”

  He poked his head up from the cabinet. “Time for what?” But even as the words left his mouth, it dawned on him. “But, it’s too early. It couldn’t be. Could it?”

  She only nodded in response.

  “We have to go then, we have to get you to the hospital.”

  She smiled at him and shook her head. “I don’t think…” she panted, holding one finger up to tell him to wait a moment, “…you should…drive. We’ll never make it.”

  He laughed. “We’re already halfway to the hospital this time,” he said, putting an arm around her and helping her walk through the kitchen and out to the garage.

  “Call 9-1-1, Matt, just in case. You’re about,” she paused to pant, “to meet…” but she couldn’t finish the sentence.

  An hour later, in a cheery room on the third floor of the Lawford hospital, Matt cradled his son, and his daughter, in his arms. He counted their fingers, counted their toes, then looked at his wife and counted his blessings.

  His Virgin Secretary

  By Cathy Williams

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  BRUNO was coming, flying back from New York, and Katy knew that there was just no way that she was going to be able to do her usual and disappear the minute he arrived.

  Bruno Giannella, put quite simply, terrified her. She had first met him eighteen months ago, when she had been subjected to an interview that had paid lip service to his opening words—that he just wanted to discover a bit about her, considering the role she would have in his godfather’s life. Thereafter had followed the most gruelling hour and a half she had ever endured, which had left her in no doubt that the only way she could possibly get along with the man was to have as little to do with him as possible.

  Since then, she had managed to turn evasion into an art form. His visits to his godfather were fleeting, infrequent and pre-planned. Bruno Giannella was not, she had long concluded, comfortable with spontaneity. Impulse did not feature highly in a life that seemed to have been programmed right down to the last minute. It was something for which she was eternally grateful because it gave her ample opportunity to coincide her departures from the house with exquisite timing, either just missing him or else seeing him while virtually on the hop.

  Now, however, there was to be no such easy avoidance.

  Joseph, his godfather, had been rushed to hospital with a suspected heart attack the afternoon before. It had all been a tremendous shock and as soon as things had quietened down somewhat she had telephoned his godson to tell him what had happened. It spoke volumes that she had had to call nearly a dozen numbers before she had eventually been put through to him in his New York office and when she finally had made contact, she’d been subjected to a thinly veiled implication that she had somehow taken her time getting in touch with him. No sooner had she stammered her way into her explanation about the difficulties she had had discovering his precise whereabouts, than he’d been briskly informing her that he would be on his way back to England immediately and that he would expect her to be at the house when he arrived the following day. The click of the telephone being hung up on her when she’d been virtually in mid-sentence had been an apt reminder of why she so actively disliked the man.

  Not that there was any point brooding on the inevitable, she thought now, eyes fixed on the drive with all the nervous desperation of someone awaiting the hangman’s noose. She had taken up position on the faded rust-coloured chair an hour before, when walking around the house had ceased to work as an effective courage-boosting exercise, and had not moved from her vigilant vantage point since. She reasoned that, if she had time to adjust to the sight of him before he swooped through the front door, then she might have a chance of steeling herself for his unpleasant impact.

  In all events, the ploy didn’t work because the minute the taxi swept up the drive every semblance of calm evaporated like a puff of smoke and her stomach went into immediate spasm.

  In her limited dealings with Bruno Giannella, the one thing that Katy had always found supremely unfair was that power, wealth and intelligence could be harnessed together with such good looks. He deserved to be physically unfortunate. Or at least average. Instead, he had the sort of sensational dark looks that made women’s heads snap round in stunned appreciation. Dark, glossy hair, the same colour as his eyes, a wide, sensual mouth and a bone structure that seemed to have been carved with a loving hand and an eye to perfection.

  To Katy’s mind, though, his scarily beautiful face was stamped with permanent coldness, his eyes were remote and detached and his mouth was cruelly forbidding.

  When, shortly after she had begun working with Joseph, he had told her with a certain amount of grudging pride that his godson was quite something to be reckoned with when it came to the opposite sex, Katy had kept silent and wondered whether she was the only one who was immune to his so called legendary charm.

  She watched Bruno furtively as he paid the taxi driver, picked up his overnight bag and his designer briefcase and then turned to look frowningly at the house. From a distance, Katy could almost kid herself that the man was made of flesh and blood. He moved, he spoke, he made mountains of money and was apparently a respected employer. And, of course, he adored his godfather. That much emotion she had caught in his eyes on the couple of occasions when she had been around him at the house. He couldn’t be all bad.

  Then the insistent jabbing on the doorbell shattered the illusion and Katy scuttled towards the front door to let him in. The minute she clapped eyes on him, she knew how she would feel. Gauche, awkward, unbearably plain and dowdy.

  In fact, as she pulled open the door her eyes inadvertently slid away from the potently masculine figure towering in front of her and she cleared her throat nervously.

  ‘Come in, Bruno. It’s…good to see you.’ She stood back so that he could brush past her, barely bothering to glance in her direction. ‘How was your trip over? Okay?’ Katy shut the front door and leaned against it for a bit of support.

  Bruno strode into the hallway, took a little time out to absorb the atmosphere of the house—appropriately it was ‘The Old School’, considering his godfather had been a professor—before swinging round to confront the figure huddling against the front door.

  If there was one thing that irritated the h
ell out of Bruno, it was to see someone cowering in front of him—and Katy West was cowering. Her brown curly hair was effectively hiding her downturned face and her hands were pressed behind her as if prepared at any given minute, to yank open the front door and hurtle down the path.

  ‘We have to talk,’ he said flatly, with the insouciance of someone accustomed to giving orders, speaking his mind and being obeyed, ‘and I do not intend to stand here to conduct the conversation, so why don’t you unglue yourself from the door and perhaps get us both a cup of tea?’

  Joseph sang her praises to high heaven and, for the life of him, Bruno couldn’t understand why. The girl hardly ever muttered a word. If she had a sparkling, intelligent personality then she always took great care to keep it well hidden whenever he was around. He almost clicked his tongue in irritation as she slid past him towards the kitchen.

  ‘So,’ he said as soon as they were in the kitchen, ‘tell me what happened. And leave nothing out.’ He sat down heavily on one of the kitchen chairs and watched as she stuck some water on to boil and fetched two mugs from the dresser.

  It felt peculiar to be here, without his godfather around. Bruno didn’t like it. For all his high-flying lifestyle, his apartments in Paris, London and New York, this house represented the one constant in his life and his godfather was an integral part of it. The thought that he might be more seriously ill than he imagined, that he might die, filled him with the chill of dread.

  Which did not predispose him to be any kinder to the slip of a girl busying herself with the tea.

  ‘When exactly did…did this thing happen?’

  ‘I told you on the phone. Yesterday.’ Katy had no need to look at him to feel his eyes boring into her.

  ‘And could you look at me when I am talking to you? It’s impossible having a conversation to someone who insists on speaking into her mug of tea!’

  Katy duly looked at him and immediately felt unsteady. ‘He had just had his tea…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said, Joseph had just finished—’

  ‘No, no, no,’ Bruno waved her aside impatiently. ‘I mean what did he have for his tea? Anything that could be seen to have brought on this…attack? Are they quite sure that it was a heart attack? And not something else? Like food poisoning?’

  ‘Of course they’re sure! They’re doctors, for heaven’s sake!’

  ‘Which is not to say that they’re gods. Everyone’s fallible.’ He sipped some of his tea and then restlessly began loosening his tie, dragging it down a bit so that he could undo the top two buttons of his shirt.

  Katy watched him with the morbid fascination of someone watching something dangerous and unpredictable. Like a cobra snake.

  ‘It wasn’t food poisoning,’ she said, remembering what he had said about her talking into the mug of tea and making a determined effort not to encourage further criticism. ‘He literally had some bread that Maggie and I had baked earlier and a pot of tea. He was fine eating it, but then he said that he felt a bit odd, that he needed to go and lie down.’ Katy could feel her eyes beginning to fill up at the memory of him, as the odd feeling had manifested itself as something rather more sinister. The way he had staggered and clutched his chest, barely able to get his words out.

  ‘For God’s sake, don’t cry! It’s enough dealing with what’s happened without you blubbing!’

  ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘It’s just that I was so scared when…when it all happened. It was so unexpected…I know Joseph is nearly seventy, but really that isn’t very old, is it? Not these days.’ She had given up on the tea, which she hadn’t really wanted anyway, and was twisting her hands nervously on her lap. At least he wouldn’t be able to see that and lay into her for being emotional. ‘And there’d been no sign of anything…just the day before we had gone on a walk in the gardens. To the greenhouse. He’s terribly proud of his orchids. He inspects them every day. Talks to them sometimes.’

  ‘I know,’ Bruno said gruffly. Joseph wrote to him regularly once a week, always to his London address where his letters would be efficiently forwarded to whichever part of the world Bruno happened to be occupying at that moment. He had tried his utmost to bring him up to date with computer technology, had pointed out the numerous advantages of email, but, while his godfather had nodded indulgently and exclaimed in apparent awe at what computers were capable of doing, he still persisted in the old-fashioned way of communication. Bruno would stake his life that the spanking, up-to-the-minute computer he had bought for his godfather was still sitting in his den, unused and gathering dust.

  Bruno knew all about Joseph’s orchids and the various afflictions they had suffered over time. He knew all about what was happening in the village. He knew all about Katy West and how invaluable she had been over the past eighteen months in his employment.

  ‘There must have been signs…’ he insisted, shoving the mug to one side and further rattling Katy by leaning forward with his arms on the table.

  ‘Nothing. I would have told you if there had been anything, anything that could have been seen as a warning…’

  ‘Would you?’ Anxiety about his godfather lent his voice a cynical harshness. Bruno Giannella was not accustomed to the uneasy panic that was sloshing through his system at the moment. The circumstances of his life had taught him from an early age that control was one of the most important steps to success. To control one’s life, he privately maintained, was to hold it in the palm of one’s hand.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean,’ he said, standing up and prowling through the homely kitchen like a tiger suddenly released from its leash, ‘I haven’t exactly been flooded with information from you on how my godfather has been doing, have I? In fact…’ he paused and cocked his head to one side consideringly ‘…I have never received so much as a single piece of communication from you on the subject of Joseph! Despite the fact that I made it patently clear when you were employed that keeping me informed of my godfather’s well being was part and parcel of the deal!’

  ‘That’s not fair!’ A sudden spurt of disbelieving anger made her cheeks redden at his accusation. ‘I work for Joseph, and I don’t…I don’t think it’s right to expect me to run behind his back to you with tales.’

  She expected him to continue haranguing her, but instead Bruno grunted and resumed his unsettling prowl around the kitchen. Much more of this and Katy thought that she might well be joining Joseph in the hospital with an attack of overstretched nerves.

  ‘And what is the hospital like?’ Bruno demanded suddenly so that she was startled out of her temporary reverie on her malfunctioning nervous system.

  ‘It’s very good, Bruno. I went up there this morning and they wouldn’t let me see him yet, but I’ve been told that his condition is stable.’

  ‘Well, that’s something, I suppose. How far from here is it?’

  ‘About forty minutes’ drive. Depends on the traffic getting into the town centre. I was told that it should be okay to go and see him later.’

  ‘We’ll leave here at four thirty in that case.’

  Katy nodded and wondered whether this might be the right time to broach the question that had been plaguing her from the very minute he had informed her in that arrogant way of his that he would be flying over. Namely how long he intended staying.

  He was already heading for the door by the time she gathered her senses together and half ran after him, only slowing down when she came to the hall.

  ‘So…’ she said brightly, keeping her distance as he reached down for the overnight bag. Not a very big bag, she was reassured to see.

  ‘Yes?’ Dark brows winged up as Bruno registered her hovering presence.

  ‘You’re…you’re in the usual room. You know. Top of the stairs, turn left, end of the corridor! I’ve…I’ve put out a towel for you…’ She stepped forward hesitantly. ‘The thing is…’

  ‘Spit it out, Katy.’

  ‘Well, the thing is…I mean Maggie and I were wonderi
ng…well, just how long you intend to stay. I mean,’ she rushed on as mild curiosity deepened into a frown of growing disapproval, ‘it would really be helpful to her in terms of, well…you know, getting food in and such like.’ She could feel her face getting more and more flushed as he heard out her stammering speech in utter silence.

  ‘You needn’t go to any trouble for me,’ Bruno informed her, turning away and heading up the stairs while Katy watched him with the dawning realisation that he had failed to answer the one question that she desperately wanted answered.

  With a spurt of uncustomary courage, she sprinted up the stairs in his wake and arrived slightly out of breath at his bedroom door just in time to see him dump the bag on the bed and dispose of his tie, which he tossed on top of the bag.

  ‘Well?’ With a sigh of impatience, he turned to her and began unbuttoning his shirt.

  Katy kept her eyes fixed very firmly on his face and pointedly away from the slither of bronzed torso that his casual action was revealing.

  ‘It’s just that…’ she cleared her throat and looked down at the tips of her brown loafers ‘…if you intend staying on…you know, it would be helpful if you could let me know what you expect of me…’ In the deadly silence that greeted this faltering question, she became horrifyingly aware of connotations that she hadn’t intended and a wave of mortification swept over her. ‘I mean in terms of cooking for you,’ she hurried on. ‘Joseph and I were accustomed to having breakfast and lunch together. I—’

  ‘Why do you do that?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ She stole a look at him and was dismayed to see that he had now removed his shirt entirely so that avoiding a full view of his muscular chest was out of the question.