A Proposal from the Italian Count

by Lucy Gordon

  ‘This is a practical place, full of practical items,’ he’d once told her sternly. ‘You’re too fanciful, Jackie. That’s your trouble. You want life to be fun, and it isn’t designed that way.’

  ‘Not always fun,’ she’d protested. ‘Just a little bit of excitement now and then. I remember Daddy felt the same.’

  ‘You father spent too much time looking for fun. It was his ruin.’

  ‘Something ruined him...’ She’d sighed. ‘But I don’t think it was that.’

  ‘Get on with your work and stop wasting time.’

  * * *

  On the flight from Rome to London, Vittorio sat sunk in thought, wondering where the search for George Benton would finally lead him. Common sense told him he need not search at all. If he simply refused, who would ever know?

  But his conscience would know. His promise had brought his father peace in his final moments. If he broke his word the knowledge would be with him for ever. And somewhere in his heart he sensed that his father’s reproaches would always haunt him.

  Everything had changed with Franco’s death. He’d spoken of the pleasures of being Count Martelli, and Vittorio had soon discovered that it was true. The first time someone addressed him as ‘Signor Conte’ he had hardly been able to believe he’d heard correctly. His employees now treated him with deference, almost awe.

  But his father had also spoken of other things—of the hidden problems behind the glamour, that the rest of the world knew nothing about. And here, too, he had been right.

  Vittorio had gone through Franco’s things, seeking clues about his father’s past life and George Benton. He’d found a photograph of the two men together, which must have been taken during their meeting in England many years before.

  How old would Benton be now? Middle-aged? At the height of his powers? Ready to take revenge on the family that had cheated him out of a fortune? He wasn’t looking forward to their meeting, but there was no choice.

  Franco’s papers had also included a newspaper cutting, mentioning a shop called Benton’s Market. There was a picture of a small, shabby-looking shop, and one of George Benton, looking older than in the other picture.

  That was Vittorio’s clue. He had a lead.

  At the airport he hired a taxi and spent the journey studying a map of London. The area he sought was just north of the River Thames in the east of the city. As they approached the area Vittorio asked the driver, ‘Is there a hotel near here?’

  ‘There’s one just around the corner. Mind you, it costs a lot.’

  ‘Fine. Take me there.’

  The hotel was pleasantly luxurious. He booked a room for the night, then went out to explore.

  Almost at once he saw a corner shop with its sign proclaiming ‘Benton’s Market’. He took a deep breath, clenching his fists, vowing not to lose his nerve now.

  Nearby was a small café, with tables outside. He found a seat, ordered some coffee and took out the photograph of Benton. From this angle he could see through the shop windows clearly enough to know if the man was there.

  But time passed and there was no sign of him—only a young woman arranging stock in the main window. Much of it was already in place, but she was intent on reorganising it, giving it all her concentration.

  He admired the woman’s dedication and artistic flair. He would value such an employee himself, to work in the department store he owned and managed in Rome.

  Suddenly he tensed as a man appeared from the rear of the shop. Could this be Benton? But he looked nothing like the picture. His face was thin and severe. His manner to the woman suggested ill temper. When he spoke Vittorio could just make out the words through the open door.

  ‘Must you waste time faffing about over this? There’s a pile of stuff at the back needs unpacking.’

  ‘But I thought we agreed—’ she began to say.

  ‘Don’t argue. Just do as I tell you. Get going.’

  Looking exasperated, she retreated to the back of the shop.

  Vittorio approached the shop, entering with the air of an eager customer.

  ‘I’d like to buy some apples,’ he said.

  ‘We’ve got some here,’ the man said. ‘No—wait. They were over there. What has that stupid woman done with them?’

  ‘I’d also like to talk to Mr Benton, please.’

  The man glanced up, scowling. ‘What do you want with him?’ His tone became suspicious. ‘You’re not another debt collector, are you?’

  ‘No, it’s a personal matter.’

  ‘Well, you can’t see him. He’s dead.’

  ‘Dead?’ Vittorio froze, feeling as though he’d heard a thunderclap. ‘When?’

  ‘A year ago. But his daughter still works here.’

  ‘Was that her I saw? Can I talk to her?’

  ‘You can, but not just yet. She’s got work to do. You’ll have to wait until she’s finished for the day.’

  Feeling depressed, Vittorio departed. Returning to the café he settled again to watch the shop, trying to get his thoughts in order. Everything he’d planned was in a shambles. He must talk to Benton’s daughter and just hope that she was a sensible woman who would accept financial compensation and let the matter end.

  Throughout the afternoon he saw many customers go into the shop. The young woman dealt with them efficiently, always smiling and friendly. Every one of them bought something from her.

  Benton’s daughter was a natural saleswoman, it seemed.

  He stayed there for four hours. He read the paper and then busied himself sending and receiving emails from his smartphone. The frustration of waiting was hard to endure but he forced himself. So much depended on this.

  * * *

  Inside the shop Jackie was working hard. Often she glanced out of the window, puzzled to see that the strange man was still there, sitting outside the café. She concluded that he must be a tourist, albeit a very well dressed one!

  At last it was closing time. As she was preparing to leave, Rik arrived.

  ‘Don’t go yet,’ he said, scowling. ‘We need to have a talk about making new orders.’

  ‘But I can’t stay,’ she protested. She gave him a wry smile, saying, ‘And, let’s face it, you don’t pay me enough to make me want to do overtime.’

  ‘Don’t be impertinent. I pay you a fair wage. If you did better I might pay you more.’

  ‘It’s not my fault profits are low,’ she said indignantly. ‘I don’t think you’re buying enough of the right stock.’

  ‘And I don’t think you’re making a big enough effort,’ he said coldly.

  In his anger he spoke with a raised voice.

  Vittorio, a few feet away, heard him through the open door. He rose and headed for the shop, from where Rik’s grouchy voice could still be heard.

  ‘I’m not asking. I’m telling you to stay where you are so we can discuss these orders.’

  ‘No!’ Jackie said furiously.

  Once before she’d agreed to this demand and it had stretched to two hours, without so much as a penny being added to her wages.

  ‘Now, look, Jackie—’

  ‘We can talk tomorrow,’ she said desperately.

  Unable to bear any more, she fled blindly—and collided with a man entering through the front door. She began to fall, nearly taking him down with her.

  ‘I’m sorry—’ she gasped.

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ Vittorio said, holding her firmly.

  ‘Come back here,’ Rik snapped, reaching out to take her arm in a fierce grip.

  ‘Let me go!’ she cried.

  ‘I’ll let you go when you do what you’re paid to do.’

  The last word ended on a yelp that burst from him at the feel of Vittorio’s hand gripping his wrist.

  ‘L
et her go,’ ordered Vittorio.

  ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ Rik wailed.

  ‘I said let her go, and you’d better do so if you know what’s good for you.’ Vittorio’s voice was harsh and unrelenting.

  Jackie felt Rik’s painful grip on her arm loosen, until she was able to free herself.

  A glance back at Rik showed he was scowling. She hurried away, following Vittorio, who put his arm protectively around her.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to get you in trouble with your boss.’

  ‘Don’t blame yourself.’ She sighed. ‘He’s always like that.’

  ‘I’m afraid I tripped you.’

  ‘No, I tripped you. I wasn’t looking where I was going.’

  ‘But you stumbled. Are you sure you aren’t hurt? I thought you might have twisted your ankle.’

  ‘Just a little.’

  ‘You should sit down. Let’s go into the café.’

  Once inside, he took her to a table in the corner, summoned the waiter and ordered coffee. When it was served he took a deep breath.

  ‘Signorina—’

  ‘My name’s Jacqueline Benton. People call me Jackie.’

  ‘Thank you—Jackie.’

  ‘You called me signorina. Are you Italian?’ She sounded hopeful.

  ‘Yes, my name is Vittorio.’

  She seemed pleased at the discovery. Smiling, she offered her hand. ‘Buon giorno, Vittorio.’

  ‘Buon giorno, Jackie.’

  ‘I really thank you for what you did—rescuing me from Rik.’

  ‘He must be a nightmare to work for. But I guess you’re out of a job now.’

  ‘Probably not. You’re right—he is a nightmare. But things like that have happened before. He always apologises afterwards.’

  ‘He what? I find that hard to believe.’

  ‘So do I, in a way. But if I left it would be hard for him to find someone who’d put up with his horrible behaviour while knowing the place as well as I do.’

  ‘So he knows how to act for his own benefit?’ Vittorio said wryly.

  ‘Oh, yes. Mind you, I suppose you could say that of everyone. We all do what suits us, and we don’t really think about anyone else’s feelings.’

  He knew an uneasy moment. Was it possible that she suspected the truth about his arrival?

  But she was smiling pleasantly, and he told himself not to panic.

  ‘I find it hard to believe that of you,’ he said gently.

  ‘Oh, I can be selfish when it suits me.’ She gave him a cheeky smile. ‘You wouldn’t believe the lengths I go to just to get my own way.’

  He smiled back, charmed by her impish humour.

  ‘I’ll believe whatever you care to tell me,’ he said. ‘But you don’t need to go to any great lengths. Just say what you want and I’ll take care of it.’

  That could be quite a temptation, she thought, remembering what she had read on the astrology site.

  The fates are planning a startling new beginning for you. The sun in Jupiter will bring things you never anticipated...

  Certainly she hadn’t anticipated a charming, handsome man declaring himself at her service.

  Watching her face, Vittorio managed to read her expression fairly well. He guessed she was trying decide how much fun they might have teasing each other.

  And it might be really good fun, he thought. As well as humour there was a warmth in her eyes that tempted him to move closer.

  ‘Rik said a man was asking after my father,’ she said. ‘Was that you?’

  ‘Yes. I was sorry to hear that he was dead.’

  ‘Why are you looking for him?’

  Vittorio hesitated, sensing the approach of danger. Suddenly he was reluctant to disturb the delightful atmosphere between them.

  ‘My own father knew him several years ago,’ he said carefully.

  ‘How did they meet? Did your father try to sell him some Italian goods for the shop?’

  ‘No, he wasn’t a salesman. He was Count Martelli.’

  He waited for her to react with delight to hearing his status, as he was used to, but she only said ironically, ‘A count? You’re the son of a count? Are you kidding?’

  ‘No, I’m not. And, since my father has died, I am the Count.’

  She burst into a delicious chuckle. ‘You must think I’m so gullible.’

  ‘Why don’t you believe me?’

  ‘Because my father never once mentioned knowing a count—or even admitted meeting one. I just can’t imagine that my father was ever friends with an aristocrat, not when we were so poor.’

  ‘Was he really poor? He managed to start his own business.’

  ‘He borrowed a lot of money to buy the shop. And it was a big mistake. He never really made the profit he needed, and we always lived on the edge of poverty.’

  ‘That must have been a very sad life for you,’ Vittorio said uneasily.

  ‘Not for me as much as for him. It destroyed his marriage to my mother. She left him for another man. For years Daddy and I had only each other. I adored him. He was a lovely man...sweet-natured, generous. I went to work in the shop, to help him. It wasn’t the life I’d planned—I’d dreamed of going to university. But I couldn’t abandon him. And in the end he was forced to sell. Rik beat him down on the price, but he offered me a job and let us go on living there. I did all I could for Daddy, but it wasn’t enough. A couple of years ago he had a heart attack.’

  Vittorio dropped his head, staring at the floor. In his worst nightmares he’d never imagined anything as bad as this. If George Benton had received the money that should have been his everything would have been different for him. He might even be alive now.

  What would she say when he told her?

  He clenched his fists, trying to find the courage to do the right thing.

  But his courage failed him, and to his relief the waiter appeared.

  ‘We’re about to close, sir.’

  ‘Then I guess we have to go,’ he said hurriedly, trying not to sound too relieved.

  It was dark outside. He walked Jackie to the shop door and waited, wondering if she would invite him in. But she only said, ‘I’m glad we met. It was nice to have coffee.’

  ‘Yes, it was. Jackie...’ He hesitated, uncertain how to go on.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Nothing. Perhaps we can—see each other again. I’d like to talk.’

  ‘So would I. Tomorrow?’

  ‘I’ll look in.’

  She went inside, locking the door behind her. For some moments Vittorio stood in silence, trying to come to a troubling decision.

  He should have told her everything, but he knew the truth would hurt her greatly. He felt that in his heart, and flinched from striking that blow.

  He’d planned every step of the way how he would confront George Benton, explain, apologise, and draw a line under it. Instead he found himself confronted with a woman whose sweetness and vulnerability touched his heart. And the truth was he didn’t know how to respond.

  After standing there hopelessly for several minutes he turned and hurried away into the darkness.

  CHAPTER TWO

  NEXT MORNING VITTORIO awoke early. The clock said half past five and suddenly there seemed no point in staying in bed. Showering and dressing quickly, he headed straight out.

  It felt good to enjoy the fresh air and the fast-growing light. But then he saw something that alarmed him. A young woman walking away in the distance. It was hard to be certain of details, but she looked strangely like...

  Jackie.

  Wanting to be sure, he hurried after her, but she turned a corner out of sight.

  Cursing, he ran desperately through the
streets. He didn’t know London at all. It was hopeless, he thought frantically when he found himself by the River Thames. She must be walking along the embankment—but in which direction?

  Then luck was with him. After a hundred yards he could see her, sitting on a bench, staring out over the water. He moved closer, struck by the way she seemed sunk in another world. It reminded him of himself the night before.

  He stayed silent, unsure whether it was right for him to disturb her, but after a moment she glanced up.

  ‘Vittorio? What are you doing up this early?’ she asked.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d stretch my legs. How are you this morning, Jackie? Are you worried about facing Rik today?’

  ‘I’m fine—honestly.’

  ‘Forgive me, but I don’t think you are.’ He lifted her chin with his fingers, looking at her face. ‘You’ve been crying.’

  ‘Just a little.’

  He put his arms round her, overtaken by a desire to care for her. Protectiveness was a feeling he’d seldom, if ever, known before, and now it was almost alarming. He had to tell her something that would break her heart, and suddenly he wasn’t sure that he could do it.

  ‘Hold on to me,’ he whispered. ‘It’ll be all right.’

  ‘Sometimes I think things will never be all right,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry to dump all this on you, but I can’t talk about Daddy without—’

  ‘Without remembering all the bad things that happened to him?’

  ‘I don’t know why, Vittorio, but I feel I could tell you anything.’

  She looked up again and the sight of her vulnerable face swept him with a desire to kiss her. He yielded—but only to lay his lips on her forehead.

  ‘Do you want to tell me any more?’ he murmured.

  ‘You can’t want to hear such a terrible story,’ she said.

  She was more right than she could imagine, he thought wretchedly. But he owed it to her to listen.

  ‘You can tell me anything, Jackie.’

  She brushed the tears aside from her face. ‘I don’t really know what to say... It isn’t my tragedy.’

  ‘In a way it is. You lost too. You wanted to go to university. What did you want to study?’