by Lucy Gordon
‘Do you mind telling me what you said to my mother?’ he demanded.
‘Very little. It was mostly of the “um-er” variety, and she needed no encouragement to think what you think she was thinking. She plainly believes that women clamour for a scrap of your attention and swoon with desolation if you don’t look their way.’
He had been going to tell her that it was Hope’s idea of a joke, but before he could do so she added, ‘This was your first night in Rome and she reckoned you’d pulled already? Who are you? Casanova?’
‘In my mother’s estimation, yes.’
‘Or did she think there was a simpler explanation, and that money came into it somewhere?’
‘No, she knows I don’t have to use money. At least, not in the sense you mean.’
‘Is there another sense?’ she demanded, aghast.
‘I have been known to buy a lady dinner and the best champagne before a night of mutual pleasure. But nothing as crude as you’re suggesting.’
Of course he wouldn’t, Minnie thought before she could stop herself. This man would never have to pay a woman to get into his bed. The thought didn’t improve her opinion of him. If anything, it added to his sins.
‘I’m sure my mother never suggested any such thing,’ he added.
‘No she was very kind and assured me that she “quite understood perfectly”. I suppressed the impulse to tell her that hell would freeze over first.’
‘First?’ he asked innocently. ‘First before what?’
She regarded him icily. ‘Before you wrap me round your little finger the way you’ve done with the others. Netta, cara.’ She turned to embrace Netta who’d appeared beside her. ‘I must be going to my office now.’
‘Then you can give Signor Cayman a lift to the Contini,’ Netta suggested quickly.
‘I don’t think-’ Minnie began.
‘But of course you can. It’s just a little way past the Via Veneto.’
‘The Via Veneto?’ Luke queried.
‘That’s where my office is,’ Minnie said. ‘I’ll give you a lift if you wish. Goodbye, Netta. I’ll see you tonight.’
Luke didn’t speak until they were on the road.
‘I thought your office was in the Residenza. That was the address on your letters.’
‘You might say I have two practices,’ Minnie said. ‘There’s my official one in the Via Veneto, and my unofficial one here in Trastevere.’
‘And the unofficial one is for friends, relatives-any of the locals likely to end up in a police cell?’ he hazarded.
‘I also act for my neighbours when they need help with a tyrannical, money-grubbing-’
‘Meaning me?’
‘No, meaning Renzo Tanzini. I fought him for ages and then he-’ She checked herself suddenly. ‘This isn’t the time.’
‘No, this is where I thank you for helping me out. Send me your bill, and Charlie’s, and I’ll settle them promptly.’
‘There’s no need for that.’
‘It’s a good chance for me to get into Netta’s good graces.’
‘Surely you’ve managed that already?’
‘And that makes you madder than anything, doesn’t it? In your ideal world she’d hate me as much as you do.’
‘I don’t hate you, Signor Cayman, I merely require fair dealings for your tenants.’
‘And you don’t think you’ll get them from me?’
‘The tone of your letters didn’t inspire hope.’
‘The tone of your letters made me think of an elderly harpy with hobnailed boots.’
She gave a wicked chuckle that he found oddly pleasing. ‘And I’ll crush you, wait and see.’
He barely heard the words. Something in her voice had alerted him and, against his will, he found himself remembering Hope’s words. ‘…a soft vibration that’s always there when a woman has a passionate nature…’
Nonsense. Hope had invented it to tease him, and the power of auto-suggestion made him hear it now. Nevertheless, he found himself trying to provoke her into a response.
‘I’m sure you’ll try.’
‘Oh, I’ll do it,’ she promised, ‘but not just yet.’
Did he imagine it, or was there a special vibration in her tone as she said the last words?
They had reached the Via Veneto and were gliding along its length.
‘Which office is yours?’ he asked.
‘Up there on the left.’
He studied it as they went past, and was impressed. He made the rest of the journey in thoughtful silence, breaking it only briefly when she dropped him at the hotel. She barely acknowledged his goodbye, speeding away in a dashing style that he couldn’t help admiring.
His phone rang. It was Olympia, the girl he’d ‘lost’ a couple of days ago. It felt like a couple of years, so much had happened.
‘Luke, are you all right?’
He stretched out on the bed. ‘Of course I am. Don’t worry about me.’
‘It’s just that you left so suddenly, and I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye-and thank you.’
Her voice was sweet and husky, and now he remembered how it could entrance him. That, too, seemed to have slipped into the past a little.
‘How’s Primo?’ he asked.
‘As grateful to you as I am for bringing us together.’
‘Don’t start painting me as a noble loser,’ he begged.
‘A noble, generous loser.’
‘Olympia, please!’
She laughed and it was charming, but his heart was safe. He hung up, feeling relaxed.
He stripped and went into the shower to scrub the police cell off. Now his thoughts were all of the coming battle, and how he should confront Signora Minerva. She had surprised him by being younger, prettier than his mental picture. Yet instinct told him that she was also more formidable and totally unpredictable.
Now he recalled something from early that morning. When Minnie had swept out of the cell on her way to his hotel, he and Charlie had been left to talk things over, and Charlie had said, ‘Minnie and my brother Gianni adored each other. She hasn’t been the same since he died.’
‘She’s a widow?’ he’d said, surprised, for there was something about her air of glowing life that hadn’t made him think of a widow.
‘Has been for four years. And it’s not for lack of offers. All the men are after her.’ He’d sighed. ‘Including me.’
‘You’re just a kid.’
‘That’s what she says. Not that it would make much difference if I weren’t. I’m not Gianni. Gianni was everything. When he died, she died.’
It had meant little at the time, but now he tried to connect that picture with the vibrant, lovely woman he’d encountered since, and it was no use. It didn’t fit. The surface denied the reality. Or maybe the other way around. How did a man tell?
Mentally he set that down on his plan of campaign. It could be very useful.
Even if he hadn’t known where the Residenza was Luke would have spotted the party from a great distance. The courtyard was glowing, lights were on all over the building and more light poured out into the street.
He was reminded of the Villa Rinucci in Naples, his home for many years now, ever since Hope, his adoptive mother, had married Toni Rinucci. It stood high on a hill, and at night its lamps could be seen for miles inland and out to sea.
He had always loved the place. Even after he’d moved out to his own apartment in Naples, he’d looked up the hill at night before going to bed, and the sight had warmed his heart.
There was a wide gulf between the luxurious villa and this down-at-heel tenement, and it was disconcerting to have the same feeling here as he found at home.
It was the lights, he told himself reasonably. Light always created the illusion of warmth and friendliness, and he wasn’t going to start being sentimental about it.
But there was also the laughter and the sound of welcoming voices, and these, too, spoke of home, so that when he entered the Residenza he
was smiling.
Behind him came the taxi driver, puffing under the weight of Luke’s contribution to the party. When Netta called down to him from an upstairs window he indicated the cases of beer and wine. Cheers broke out above and the stairs shook under the pounding of feet. Several young men burst out into the courtyard, scooped up the cases and Luke with them. In moments he was upstairs, being embraced by Netta, who screamed joyfully in his ear, making him wince.
He’d met all the family briefly that morning, but now he met them again. Alessandro, Benito, Gasparo-all Charlie’s brothers-plus Netta’s brother Matteo, his wife Angelina and their five children. Netta’s husband Tomaso slapped him on the back, hailing him as a saviour, and various other uncles and aunts clamoured for his attention, until he thought the little apartment would burst at the seams.
He couldn’t see Minnie but in the crowded room it was hard to be sure, so he looked again, and then again. But there was no sign of her. He found himself curious to know how she would dress for this party.
Charlie bounded up to him, offering a drink.
‘Thanks, but I’m sticking to orange juice,’ he said. ‘I’m not taking any risks tonight.’
‘Go on, have a beer.’
‘Don’t press him, Charlie,’ said a female voice. ‘He doesn’t want to end up burdened with you again.’
It was her. How long had she been standing there? When had she come in?
She was dressed with a flamboyance that surprised him. He’d never pictured her in trousers, but there they were, dark purple, fitting snugly over her hips, topped off with a silk blouse of extravagant pink. The effect was stunning.
Her fair hair was drawn back off her face, emphasising her delicate bone structure and fair skin, and she might have been a different person from the austere advocate of the morning.
‘Thanks for coming to save me,’ he said.
She laughed directly into his face. At five foot four inches she had to look up to him, but she still gave an impression of looking him in the eye, he realised.
‘I reckon two doses of Charlie in one day is more than the strongest man should be asked to bear,’ she said. ‘Let me get you an orange juice.’
She fetched it, then had to turn to look after another guest. He watched her, unwillingly impressed by her neat, shapely figure. It was hard to reconcile this flaming creature with the woman Charlie had described, who’d died with her husband. There was something there he couldn’t work out, something mysterious and intriguing.
The room was filling up as more guests arrived. Some of them gave him curious looks, and he guessed the news of his identity had gone around. He became lost in a maze of introductions. Every girl there wanted to flirt with him, and when someone put on some music there was dancing.
In such a small place it seemed impossible that anyone could dance, but they managed it. Luke plunged in with every sign of enjoyment, although he was actually growing tired after so long without sleep. But not for the world would he pass up the chance to win over his tenants, thus making them easier to deal with and, incidentally, giving himself the great pleasure of making Signora Minerva nervous.
At last he had a free moment just as Minnie was passing.
‘You can’t just go like that,’ he said, grasping her hand. ‘You and I have to dance with each other.’
‘Have to?’
‘Of course. When two countries are at war it’s customary to mark a truce by having the two heads of state dance together.’
‘I believe that only happens when the war’s actually over.’
‘Then we’ll set a precedent,’ he said, putting an arm about her waist.
Minnie might have demurred longer, but someone collided with her, pushing her closer to him.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Just for the look of the thing.’
‘You’re all graciousness.’
Glancing up, she found him regarding her with a look that was half irony and half an invitation to share the joke. Drat him, she thought, for having a kind of fierce attractiveness that could get under her guard, even if just for a moment.
‘How are you feeling now?’ she asked.
‘More human. A lot poorer.’
‘You wait until you see my bill. That really will make you feel poor.’
‘And Charlie’s,’ he reminded her.
‘You don’t think I’d charge Charlie, do you? He’s my brother-in-law.’
He shook his head in despair for her.
‘Why did you tell me that? You should have charged me over the odds for him and put the money into a fund for repairs.’
‘Yes, I don’t make much of a schemer, do I?’ she agreed ruefully.
‘You prefer to confront the foe full-on, rather than plot behind his back. Brave but foolhardy.’
‘Plotting isn’t my style. Besides, I’ve slain a good few foes in my time.’
‘Is that a threat or a challenge?’
‘Work it out.’
Minnie wished the room were a little less crowded so that she wasn’t crushed so hard against his body. She’d seen that every woman in the place admired him, and there was something in that consciousness that infiltrated her own, so that she could understand their feelings, while assuring herself that she was safe from sharing them.
But she would have felt safer still if she could have danced a few inches away. The room was hotter than she’d realised, and it was getting harder to breathe.
As soon as she could she excused herself. ‘I must go and help Netta. Enjoy the party.’
He nodded and let her go. He was beginning to be very conscious that he’d spent the previous night in a police cell, wide awake.
He’d meant to catch up on his sleep at the hotel that afternoon, but he’d become involved in business phone calls and in the end there had only been time for a cold shower. Now he knew it hadn’t been enough. His eyes insisted on closing, no matter how hard he fought to keep them open.
At last, taking advantage of the crowd, he slipped out of the door and found himself by the railing that over-looked the courtyard. Too public. Where could he find a little privacy?
He discovered a small corridor that went through the building, connecting the staircase to the outer apartments that overlooked the road. It was deserted and he sank down to the ground, thankful for a place where a man could rest his head in peace.
He’d return to the party soon, but, just for a few minutes, he would close his eyes…a few minutes…a few…
CHAPTER FOUR
A FTER handing round more drinks, Minnie went into the kitchen to help Netta make coffee.
‘You looked good together,’ her mother-in-law observed.
‘Just doing my duty,’ Minnie said. ‘It was purely formal.’
‘How can you be formal with him? He is a man.’
‘So are a lot of other people here,’ Minnie observed, trying not to understand Netta’s meaning.
‘No, they are not men, like he is,’ Netta insisted. ‘Boys, feeble creatures who look like men but don’t measure up. He is a man. He can bring you back to life. Why were you so careless as to let him leave?’
‘Has he left?’
‘Can you see him anywhere? He’s slipped out with a woman, and they’ve found a quiet place to do things that-’
‘Yes, I can imagine what they’re doing.’ Minnie stopped her hastily. ‘I suppose he has every right to please himself.’
‘He should be pleasing himself with you,’ Netta said stubbornly. ‘And you should be pleasing yourself with him.’
‘Netta, I only met him today.’
‘Huh! I only knew Tomaso one day before I had his clothes off. Oh, it was glorious! Of course he was useless at everything else but I got pregnant and we had to marry.’
‘That sounds like an argument for staying a virgin.’
‘Who wants to be dried up and withered?’ Netta demanded.
Soon afterwards Minnie took the chance to slip away. Her nerves were jangling in an un
familiar rhythm and she badly needed to calm them.
Taking up a bottle of mineral water, she went out of the front door, rejoicing in the cool night air. She took a long gulp of the water and felt better, then she began to drift down the stairs.
Perhaps Netta’s right, she thought, and I am dried up and withered. But I wasn’t always…
There had been a time when she and Gianni had seemed to exist for passion alone, a time when every night had been a scorching delight, every dawn a revelation, when life’s chief good had been the shape of Gianni’s body, the hot spicy scent of him.
But that time had ended. She’d told herself that his death had brought all desire to an end, and she was content to have it so. She was used to Netta’s attempts to talk her into a different mood, and she’d always laughed them off. Suddenly, mysteriously, she couldn’t do it any more.
Then she heard a noise from nearby. It came from one of the corridors that ran through the building, linking the inner staircase with the apartments that faced outwards.
Signor Cayman, she thought wryly, taking his pleasures.
But this didn’t sound like a man in the throes of physical delight. More like snoring.
She crept inside the corridor. There was Luke, sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, dead to the world. She dropped to her knees and, with the aid of one weak lamp in the ceiling, made out his face, slightly to one side, relaxed for the first time.
She’d seen his mouth tensed in the hard line of a man determined to have his own way, or twisted in derision, but now it was softened into a more attractive shape, one that it was just possible to associate with pleasure. Pleasure for himself, pleasure for the woman who kissed him…
She stopped, annoyed with herself for letting her thoughts wander in this direction. A woman who’d lived almost like a nun for four years should have herself under better control by now, except that somehow control grew harder as time passed.
It’s Netta’s fault, she thought, talking about him and me like that.
She was about to walk out and leave him, but her conscience stopped her. She couldn’t let other people find him here. She gave him a gentle shake on the shoulder. It took several shakes before he opened his eyes.
