by Lucy Gordon
‘Look at me,’ he murmured.
She did so and found him watching her intently. She could feel the movement of his thighs against hers, and the warmth of his hand in the small of her back, seeming to move with the flexing of her body, as though the material between had vanished. She was possessed by thoughts and sensations that shocked her with their frankness and urgency, and a little gasp broke from her.
‘What is it?’ he wanted to know.
‘I-nothing-nothing-’ she struggled to make sense. ‘Just the heat.’
‘Yes, the atmosphere is getting a little too much,’ Marco agreed. ‘My apartment is close by. Let me give you a coffee there.’
It was half past two when they emerged, and the stars were bright in the sky. Except for a few wanderers like themselves the street was deserted. Marco drew her hand through his arm and they strolled the short distance to the apartment block where he lived.
To Harriet’s relief the walk and the night air calmed her down. By the time they’d taken the lift to the fifth floor she felt in control of herself again.
She was curious to see the place Marco called home. She’d tried to imagine it and been unable to. He was so impenetrable that it was impossible to conjure up anything that he hadn’t chosen to reveal. Now she saw the truth, and at first it took her by surprise. Then she realised that it was exactly what she had subconsciously expected.
No home was ever more austere and unrevealing. The marble floors were honey-coloured, the walls white. The greatest splash of colour came from a dark red leather sofa. The lighting was concealed. Some modern pictures hung on the wall, and a few decorative pieces stood on the shelves. To Harriet’s cursory glance they seemed excellent.
It was the home of a man who hid himself away, perhaps even from himself, she thought. There was a photograph of Lucia, but nothing else personally revealing. Through the open door to his bedroom Harriet could see a computer, a fax machine that was inching out paper at that moment, a range of telephones, and two television screens. This man took his work to bed.
Into her mind came Olympia saying, ‘A lady-killer…you might say he “loves ’em and leaves ’em” except that he doesn’t love ’em.’
Whatever happened in Marco’s personal life, it happened there, in that large unadorned bed, in front of the technology that brought the world’s stock markets to him at all hours.
‘I’ll make some coffee,’ he called from the kitchen.
The kitchen was also austere, but beautiful, its white relieved by copper and blue. He moved about it easily, like a man used to doing his own cooking, which figured, she thought. Even a small prosaic action, like making coffee, he performed perfectly.
‘Delicious,’ she said, sipping with relish. ‘You have a beautiful home.’
‘Thank you. Not everyone likes it.’
‘It’s peaceful, I like that a lot. And you know how to show off your art pieces to advantage. The plain background does a lot for them, and the way you’ve arranged the lighting.’
‘Thank you. Praise from you is praise indeed. Would you like to give me your opinion of my collection?’
She finished her coffee before approaching a vase on its own plinth. It was oddly flamboyant against the austere background, and she correctly assessed it as French fifteenth century. ‘And it’s genuine.’
‘Everything in my collection is real,’ he said firmly.
She smiled, replacing the vase on its plinth and moving away. ‘Let’s not argue about that.’
‘I agree,’ he said, standing before her. ‘Arguing is a waste of time.’
Very deliberately he leaned forward, placed one hand behind her head, and drew her towards him. His lips touched hers lightly, cautiously, feeling his way before taking the next step. He evidently decided that the signs were favourable for he increased the pressure of his mouth on hers.
The sensation was pleasant, and Harriet let herself go with it, enjoying the cool ease with which he took possession. He acted as though there was all the time in the world for them to explore each other, and she found this relaxing. When his arm curved about her waist she moved in easily, slipping her own arms about him, letting her hands enjoy the sensation of whipcord strength that came through his elegant evening clothes.
He felt good, not bulky and muscular, but lean and hard, with a concealed strength that pleased her. But everything about Marco was just right, most of all his embrace. He was as smooth and expert at this as at every other social skill. He would know just the moment to deepen the kiss and increase their mutual excitement. She waited, but the pressure on her lips eased and she had a sudden view of his face and it troubled her.
Harriet stirred, feeling strangely disturbed. Her body was responding but her mind was growing tense. Something about this wasn’t right. She put up her hands to push Marco away but he resisted, moving his mouth slowly over hers in a way that bid her leave everything to him. There was nothing for her to do but be acquiescent.
Like blazes!
She tightened her hands on his shoulders in a way that he couldn’t mistake. ‘That’s enough,’ she said firmly and stepped away, freeing herself. ‘You’ve got a nerve, you really have!’
‘For pity’s sake!’ he said, exasperated. ‘This is the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth. You couldn’t have thought I was just going to hold your hand. We’ve spent a delightful evening together, we’ve danced and held each other close, and you say you didn’t expect me to kiss you?’
‘You weren’t kissing me,’ she said in a shaking voice. ‘You were damned well inspecting the property.’
‘What?’
‘You know what I mean. That wasn’t a kiss, it was a survey to see if a takeover would be in your interests.’
‘Now you’re being foolish.’
‘I could hear your mind ticking away,’ she said furiously. ‘Test the ground, so far and no further. You wouldn’t want me to get any ideas before you’ve made your own mind up in case I was a nuisance afterwards, you cold, calculating-’
‘Don’t say any more,’ he snapped. ‘I get the picture. I just wish I knew what it is you want.’
‘It’s very simple. If you’re going to kiss me, do it properly, not-’
She never got to say the last words. Her mouth was silenced by another mouth descending fiercely onto it. She didn’t recall how she came to be in his arms, but there they were about her, holding her still while his lips worked over hers with skill and determination. She tried to protest about the way he was using her, but he muttered, ‘Shut up! You said this was what you wanted, and it’s what you’re going to have.’
She didn’t try to argue further. This was a very angry man, giving a very angry kiss, and how could she complain when she’d brought it on herself? But she found she didn’t want to complain. An excitement she’d never known before was running through her like wildfire. It wasn’t the soft, sensual thrumming that had pervaded her in the club, but a heady, intoxicating thrill that caught her unaware. She couldn’t think, she could only feel, and yearn, and reach for him.
His hands were beginning to wander over her, feeling her small waist, flaring out to discover the smooth satin curve of her behind. There they lingered as though relishing the discovery, before reaching the zip at the centre and inching upwards to the hook at the top. A few more movements and the zip would come down, leaving her nearly naked in his arms. How long would it take him then to have the dress off her, and what would she do? She knew she must decide quickly but it was hard because her body was tense with delight, driving everything out of her head.
She could sense that he was drawing her to the bedroom, past the point of no return. It mustn’t happen like this, when they were half hostile, but she couldn’t think how else it might happen. The undercurrent of hostility was often there, she realised, giving spice and surprise to their relationship. Her urgency increased.
The buzz was so faint that she almost didn’t hear it. She tried to blot it out, but Marco was alre
ady disengaging himself from her. He made a sound of annoyance at the interruption, but he disengaged himself nonetheless.
Dreamily she watched as he snatched up the phone and she waited for him to put the caller off. Instead he tensed, alert.
‘Yes,’ he barked into the phone. ‘This is Marco Calvani-go on-’
Harriet stared, stunned by how quickly he’d switched his attention, as though he hadn’t really been involved at all. But she couldn’t believe that, not while she could still feel the heat from his nearness and the driving force of his mouth.
At last Marco took the phone from his ear, but he didn’t hang up.
‘I’m sorry, but this is important,’ he told her. ‘I won’t be able to drive you home, but there’s an excellent cab firm-the number’s in that book.’
‘Wh-what?’ she asked, dazed.
‘Just there on the table beside you-hello!’ He’d turned back to the phone. ‘Yes, I’m still here. Let’s talk.’
‘And you know what really made me mad,’ she told an outraged Lucia later that night. ‘He even left me to call my own cab.’
CHAPTER FIVE
T HE following day a delicate bouquet was delivered to the villa, with a beautifully worded note from Marco, regretting that their delightful evening had been ‘so unfortunately cut short’. Harriet passed it to Lucia, who expressed her own opinion with a sound of disgust, but mercifully didn’t ask Harriet any questions. Her manner was that of a woman biding her time.
After two days Marco telephoned, inviting them both to lunch at the bank. The Orese Nationale had a private restaurant where the top levels of the hierarchy dined in exclusive grandeur, and where they entertained their most important guests. The two women were treated like queens, by Marco and some of his colleagues.
Lucia had been here three times before, but she was the only woman Marco had ever invited, until now. Harriet understood the implication, that none of his passing relationships had been so honoured. She’d meant to protest about his unchivalrous behaviour after the nightclub, but it was impossible in these circumstances. Lucia too was silenced, which might, she thought cynically, have been Marco’s idea.
Alfredo Orese couldn’t keep a secret, and the news was soon all over Rome that Marco had been seen at the nightclub with a new woman. But this one was different. She was staying with his mother, and she had dined at the bank. After that speculation raged, and came to more or less the right conclusion.
‘So now your engagement isn’t a secret,’ Lucia said with satisfaction some days later. They were sitting at breakfast, Marco having arrived late the night before, and slept over.
Harriet looked at her quickly. ‘It isn’t precisely an engagement,’ she said.
‘Then what is it, precisely?’
She looked at Marco but he gave her no help, and she floundered, ‘It’s sort of-unofficial.’
‘I have no patience with all this shilly-shallying. Anyone can see that you’re right for each other, and now the world knows you’re engaged.’
‘You wouldn’t have given them that impression by any chance?’ Marco demanded ironically.
‘I didn’t need to. Everyone saw you lost in each other at Bella Figura.’
Since they could hardly explain that they’d been fighting at the time neither of them answered, and Lucia took this for confirmation.
‘And taking us to the bank was practically an announcement,’ Lucia added. ‘So now we must have a party. Everyone will expect it. They’ll also expect a ring. See to it.’ She bustled away before they could answer.
‘What are we going to do?’ Harriet demanded.
‘A party’s actually a good idea,’ Marco said. ‘It’s time you met some family friends.’
‘But an engagement party-a ring-’
‘It changes nothing. We get engaged, we change our minds, we get unengaged. And my mother’s right about the ring.’ He scribbled an address and gave it to her. ‘That’s the best jeweller in Rome. I’ll tell them to expect you.’
‘You’re not coming with me?’
‘I have urgent business to attend to,’ he said, not meeting her eye. ‘They’ll have a fine selection ready for you. Pick the best.’
She attended the jeweller later that day. He treated Signor Calvani’s fiancée with awed respect, and showed her a selection of diamond rings, all of which looked lavish and frighteningly expensive. There was one that pleased her, a band of tiny diamonds set in white gold, crowned with one large diamond of marvellous quality. But she knew too much about jewellery not to guess its fabulous price, and there was no way she could accept it.
‘Don’t you have something a little-smaller,’ she asked, feeling that ‘cheaper’ might be tactless.
‘These are the ones Signor Calvani selected,’ the jeweller said.
So he’d been to the shop. But not with her. Worse, he was trying to control her choice, and up with that she would not put.
‘I’d like to see something else,’ she said firmly.
He was aghast. ‘But Signor Calvani-’
‘Will not be wearing this ring. I will.’
‘But-’
‘Of course, if it’s too much trouble, I can go elsewhere.’
Defeated, the little man produced a tray of less extravagant rings. Then he mopped his brow.
She finally chose a charming solitaire, resisting his attempts to direct her back to the luxury rings, and went away with it on her finger.
Marco arrived at the villa that evening, bearing a large black jeweller’s box.
Harriet hadn’t expected him to give in easily, and reckoned she didn’t have to be clairvoyant to guess that the box contained the rings she’d rejected.
So it was war then! She was ready for him.
Marco greeted his mother pleasantly before taking Harriet aside.
‘Thank you for my lovely ring,’ she said, holding up her hand.
He took her hand between his and firmly removed the solitaire without even looking at it.
‘Hey, what are you doing?’
‘There was a mistake. He must have shown you the wrong tray.’
‘There was no mistake. This was the one I liked.’
‘My fiancée does not wear cheap rings,’ Marco said firmly.
‘Cheap? It must be worth ten thousand euros.’
‘Exactly,’ he said in a clipped voice. It was clear that he was keeping his annoyance under control.
‘I see. If “your fiancée” was seen flaunting a mere ten grand your clients would start checking the value of their stocks and shares, to see if you were losing your financial touch.’
‘Since you obviously understand I don’t see why we’re having this discussion.’
‘Please give me back that ring.’
‘No.’
‘It’s the one I want.’
There was a silence in which he raised his clenched hands to his head in a gesture that was an odd combination of frustration, obstinacy and helplessness. Their eyes met, determination on both sides. Marco opened the box.
‘I would prefer you to select one of these,’ he said, speaking carefully.
‘And I would prefer the one I chose.’
Through gritted teeth he demanded, ‘Why must everything be an argument?’
‘Because you try to control me at every turn, and I won’t have it.’
‘Nonsense. I’m merely asking you to do what’s proper to our situation. Good grief, Harriet, just the other day you spent more than this without turning a hair. Money I hadn’t authorised, let me remind you.’
‘Are we going to start that again?’
‘I just think it odd that you’ll plunder my pockets with the ruthlessness of a corporate raider when it’s a question of an old carved stone, but over this you suddenly get delicate about the price. Where’s the logic?’
‘Who says there has to be logic?’
‘It helps sometimes,’ he said savagely.
‘Then how’s this for logic? It’s not the price
. It’s you directing me here and there like a train running on rails. This train is coming off the rails and going her own way.’
‘And never mind how it affects me?’
‘Your clients will get over it.’
But he was cleverer than she had allowed for, and the next moment he come up with the one thing she wasn’t prepared for. The anger died out of his face, and he looked at her with a rueful smile.
‘Harriet, for a brilliant woman you can be remarkably stupid.’
‘What does that mean?’ she asked cautiously, divining a trap but unable to see where it lay.
‘It’s not my clients I’m afraid of. It’s my mother.’
‘Oh, really! If you’re trying to persuade me that you’re afraid of your mother-!’
‘Terrified. What do think she’s going to say to me if she thinks I’ve treated you shabbily over the ring?’
He was smiling at her in a way she found disturbing.
‘I’ll explain to her that this way my choice-’
‘It’s no good,’ he sighed. ‘She’ll say I should have asserted myself. She doesn’t know how hard that is with you. If you won’t help me out I’ll-well, I just don’t know what I’ll do.’
‘Now you stop that,’ she said severely, trying not to respond to his smile. ‘I see right through you, d’you hear?’
‘I’m sure you do.’
‘And you don’t care a rap, do you, as long as you get your own way?’
‘You understand me perfectly.’
‘Well, of all the admissions-! You ought to be ashamed of yourself.’
‘Why? Nothing wrong in getting your own way. Don’t you like to do that?’
‘Of course, but I have some scruples how I go about it.’
‘Scruples are a waste of time,’ he said seriously. ‘If it works for you, go for it.’
‘No matter who else-?’
‘No matter anything.’
‘But that’s dreadful.’
‘No, it makes sense and it gets things done. Now, why don’t you just try this on?’
As he spoke he was slipping onto her finger the white gold ring that had drawn her attention in the shop. And he knew, of course. The jeweller had told him that this one had made her waver. At every turn he was there before her, and she must fight him.
