At the Italian's Command

by Cathy Williams

  ‘That’s a sensitive meeting.’ Rafe frowned. It occurred to him that he hadn’t given old Mr Beardsman a thought for some time.

  ‘What do you mean by sensitive?’

  ‘It means that I don’t want you around.’ The car pulled up gently to the kerb, which was teeming with people. The rain had subsided, but even so most of them carried umbrellas just in case, or else were wearing coats with hoods.

  He began opening the door and she reached out and laid her hand on his arm. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because…’ Rafe shook his head in exasperation. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Sophie. Why don’t you do something useful? Have tea with my mother and the pair of you can talk about me till the cows come home.’

  ‘Why don’t you want me at this meeting? Is there something illegal going on?’

  Rafe’s mouth twitched with unconcealed amusement. ‘Yes,’ he said gravely, ‘it’s all highly illegal goings-on and I don’t want you there in case you blow my cover.’

  ‘Very funny, Rafe. Why can’t you try and treat me like an adult?’

  ‘Okay. Meet me there at nine-fifteen. I’ll make my own way there and get George to collect you from your house. Satisfied?’

  ‘Very. Thank you.’ She sat back and gave him a smug smile. ‘Have a nice evening.’

  She felt curiously alive for the remainder of the evening. The project was going well, she told herself, hence her high spirits. The image of Rafe, dressed to kill, floated in her head and she squashed the picture hurriedly. He wasn’t a man to her, he was an object of an exercise.

  Still, she took care dressing the following morning. Instead of her normal attire of flowing skirt and jumper, she wore a pair of grey trousers and a slim-fitting woollen grey top with little pearl buttons halfway down the front, something she had worn a couple of times to functions at her previous office. As an afterthought, she did away with the assortment of useless clips and instead braided her hair into a French plait. Not quite as neat, but less severe than scraping the lot back and at least escaping tendrils wouldn’t look so inappropriate.

  With her briefcase and her now dry coat, she arrived at the small, shabby building feeling the epitome of the career girl.

  Her mother, she thought, would be startled and a little taken aback at the image. Grace had always wanted her daughter to work, somehow, in the field of art. Granted, the publishing job met with slightly more favour than the office one had, but anything that essentially lacked creativity would be a disappointing waste of her daughter’s talent as far as she was concerned.

  Sophie resolved to live up to her image and make sure that there were no emotional outbursts of any kind. Hence the brisk smile on her face as she greeted Rafe, who nodded curtly at her. Next to him was an elderly man, short, plump, with anxious, kindly eyes and a shiny grey suit that looked clean but old. The small front room was empty and, with the exception of a young girl behind a desk manning two phones, there was no sign of activity anywhere. Not a place she would have associated with the thrusting Rafael Loro, although he looked not in the slightest ill at ease with his surroundings. If anything, he seemed impatient to be off, quickly introducing her and then cutting short pleasantries by glancing at his watch.

  ‘I want to get this wrapped up as soon as possible, Bob,’ he said, practically herding them towards a door at the side of the room. ‘We’ve chatted enough times and now I want your answer.’

  Sophie trailed behind them, watching their body language from behind. The old man’s somehow defeated, Rafe’s eloquent of that restless energy that could be so unnerving.

  ‘It’s a big decision, Mr Loro,’ Bob said as soon as the door was closed behind them. He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and rested both arms on the table separating them. Sitting just behind him, she couldn’t see the expression on his face, but from his voice she could tell that whatever transaction was being completed was not to the old man’s liking.

  ‘It’s not really that big, Bob.’ Rafe’s voice implied that he had gone over this ground many times before. ‘Your company is on the rocks without hope of salvation. You owe people left, right and centre. You have had to lay off the majority of your staff and those who remain do so without any certainty of payment. I am offering to take all those cares off your hands.’

  ‘It’s a family company, Mr Loro! My grandfather built this up from scratch.’

  ‘And would hate to have seen it in the hands of receivers, who can be very impersonal when they do their job.’

  And so it went on over a painful hour and a half. Rafe, brutally realistic and determined, the old man looking for ways of making the sale less unpalatable.

  Eventually, Rafe looked at his watch and stood up. No handshake this time. He merely looked dispassionately at Bob and said in a low, level voice, ‘We’ve run out of talk now. You either sell or you don’t, and I’m giving you precisely one week to put my offer to your family. If you agree, then I will fix up all the necessary meetings with lawyers. If you don’t…’ He shrugged, heading for the door. ‘The world is full of sharks and if you think that I am one of them, then let me tell you that there are many with far sharper teeth.’

  ‘How could you?’ Sophie accused as soon as they were once more in the car. George had stayed on the premises, obviously warned in advance that their meeting would not be an all-day event.

  ‘How could I what?’ Rafe’s voice was cold and silky.

  ‘That poor old man. He was utterly intimidated by you!’

  ‘You’re shadowing me, Sophie, not offering comments on how I run my business. My advice to you is to stick to what you know.’

  ‘I know basic decency!’

  ‘You know nothing,’ Rafe intoned coldly. He turned to her as soon as they were in the car. ‘Life isn’t about living in a cosy little cocoon. It’s about being one step ahead of the game. Take notes, Sophie, because this bit’s important. I’m where I am today because I stay ahead of the game. It’s not a crime and it’s not a sin, it’s just life.’

  ‘You mean you stay ahead of the game at the expense of other people!’

  Rafe looked at her flushed face through narrowed eyes. Just about now, he should shrug and let her stew in her own blinkered misconceptions. After all, since when did he ever feel compelled to justify his behaviour to anyone? His mother, yes, perhaps, but even she knew that what he did in business was not her concern.

  ‘I’m saving Bob from a worse fate,’ he said finally. ‘His company has made furniture for decades and with each passing year the demand for expensive handmade furniture has become less and less. It can’t compete with the cheap imitations and that’s just a fact of life, whether you like it or not. So here’s the simple equation for you—either Bob sells to me, and my offer is about the most generous he’ll get, or he goes under, sees every small asset whipped away from under him and finds himself liable for his outstanding debts, which are not inconsiderable. There is no way he can sell the company as a going concern.’

  ‘Then why are you so interested in buying it?’

  Rafe sighed irritably. ‘Why are you so interested in the outcome of a deal you will have long left behind you in a few days’ time?’

  ‘Because it’s a reflection of you!’ Sophie told him. ‘Which,’ she made sure to add quickly, ‘is what I’m here for. To find out about you.’ Her blue eyes tangled with his green ones and something inside her stirred uneasily. Was that the whole truth? The question fluttered inside her, just a shadowy thought that gently tugged at the foundations, nothing alarming, just…

  She gave him a bright, conciliatory smile. ‘Hence the nosiness. I know you don’t like it, but you could say that it’s my job…’

  ‘Okay. Here’s a question for you, in that case—what did you notice about the building?’

  Sophie frowned in puzzlement. ‘It seemed a little tired and very quiet…’

  ‘And also sitting in quite a bit of derelict land, wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘You’re buying that poor ma
n’s family business because of the land?’

  Rafe flushed, annoyed with himself for offering an explanation that was essentially none of her business. What had possessed him? The girl was like a damned dog with a bone, a small, energetic, questioning and highly irritating dog. Furthermore that horrified, accusatory look in her eyes was getting on his nerves.

  ‘What exactly is your problem here?’

  ‘What are you going to do with the land? It’s in the middle of nowhere!’

  ‘I am going to sit on it for a while and then I intend to turn the place into an out-of-town shopping village.’

  ‘Right, so let me get this straight. That poor old man, who has probably spent his whole life working for his family business, is going to have the lot demolished by a greedy tycoon who wants to make a quick buck by building lots of unsightly shops!’

  Rafe’s lips thinned with outrage. ‘No one speaks to me like that!’ His voice was like the crack of a whip, which Sophie steadfastly ignored. As she ignored, too, the forbidding expression on his face.

  ‘Is making money the only thing that motivates you?’

  ‘It’s the only thing that motivates the vast majority of the human race,’ Rafe growled, flushing darkly. ‘Deny it if you can.’

  ‘It’s not the only thing that motivates. There are other things in life as well! Having fun, for one!’

  ‘What did you do last night?’

  ‘Last night?’ Distracted, Sophie frowned. ‘Nothing, why?’

  ‘Night before?’

  ‘I think I watched some telly.’

  ‘What are you doing tonight?’

  ‘I get where you’re heading, Rafe! But at least my whole life doesn’t revolve around work!’

  ‘Nor does mine. In fact, it’s purely about fun. Dinner with friends at Romano’s in Fulham tomorrow night. Why don’t you join us? After all, you do want to get the complete picture, don’t you? Unless you’re busy? Unless someone important in your life you’re currently having fun with is taking you out?’

  Sophie scowled at him and he shot her a glance of lazy amusement.

  ‘Well? Prepared to take up the challenge? In your quest to find out all about me, which is the point of the exercise…?’

  ‘Just tell me what time!’

  CHAPTER THREE

  PROVOKED into agreeing to join Rafe and friends for dinner, Sophie had found herself the following lunchtime taking time out to do something she very rarely did, namely clothes shopping.

  Having grown up with a mother who had drummed into her from an early age that a fancy dress did not ‘maketh’ the girl, Sophie had spent her teenage years good-naturedly following her friends into shops, watching as they had tried on various outfits, which they had generally had little intention of buying, and resisting their persuasions to go down the same route.

  ‘I don’t honestly see the point,’ she had said on several occasions. ‘I’m comfortable in what I wear.’ It had become a mantra so deeply ingrained that she had never felt as though she stood out in her teenage crowd, even though she had. Now, older, she still refused to give in to the passing trends, some of which were ridiculous and uncomfortable, but she was very much aware that, in so doing, she set herself apart from the mainstream crowd of young twenty-somethings who flaunted as much as they could get away with just so long as they attracted attention.

  Attracting attention had never been high on her agenda of must-do’s.

  She had never had too much trouble making friends and having boyfriends and she had proudly told herself that her unwillingness to go with the fashion flow was a mark of her strength of character.

  Until now.

  Rafe’s jibe at her lack of social life was all wrapped up with the way he looked at her, the way his eyes skirted over her, dismissing her as a woman. Of course, that in itself didn’t matter, but still…it rankled.

  Bad motive for clothes shopping, she thought now, gazing down at what she had impulsively bought five hours previously.

  Turquoise was a very daring colour, especially considering they were in the depths of winter, although at the time Sophie had been persuaded by the salesgirl into thinking that it was vibrant. The description had appealed because it was the one word she would never have used to describe herself and the one thing she wanted to convey to Rafael Loro, arrogant, patronising bastard that he was.

  So here I am now, she thought glumly, the proud possessor of a skin-tight turquoise dress in suspicious stretch material. She held it up by the tips of two fingers and glanced into the shoebox where a pair of high-heeled shoes were waiting to put in their appearance. Her fantasies of wiping that smug smile off Rafe’s face now seemed absurd. Who cared if he spent every second of the remainder of her assignment smiling smugly?

  Before she had left the office, he had given her precise directions to the restaurant, as if he somehow didn’t trust her to have sufficient wit to communicate her destination to a cab driver. He had also, as an afterthought, informed her that she could bring along a companion if she liked. She would have to have been blind not to have seen the shadow of a snigger that had accompanied his apparently well-intentioned remark.

  She decided to wear the overpriced turquoise nonsense she had bought, and very nearly managed to convince herself that she would feel good in it.

  An hour and a half later she stared back at her reflection with a sinking heart.

  She was no longer looking at Sophie Frey. Sophie Frey, of the comfortable, baggy clothes and no make-up, had gone into hiding. Here was someone else. Red hair tumbled down in riotous curls, mascara and eye liner emphasised huge blue eyes, and a figure normally scrupulously hidden away now flaunted curves that Sophie was only dimly aware of possessing. The shoes made her legs look longer and thinner than they possibly could be.

  She decided that it was a blessing that she would not be having to conduct any sensible, work-oriented conversations because she certainly didn’t feel very sensible in what she was wearing.

  Her parents had been wrong, she thought as she sat in the back seat of the taxi, clutching her impractical black purse. There was a lot to be said for uncomfortable clothes. They made no sense on an everyday basis, but, as a one-off, they certainly did some weird personality-altering things. She felt sexy!

  The restaurant, where she was eventually deposited fifteen minutes late, was tucked away and cleverly pretending to be a house. Only a discreet sign heralded that it was a restaurant at all.

  Sophie felt a slight flutter of panic as she entered. Then the manager removed her coat and scarf, and sexy Sophie was back in place, smiling confidently as she was shown to Rafe’s table.

  She could not remember a time when conversation had stopped for her. At school, she had always been the girl next door, never a threat to any of her girlfriends, never one of those girls sought after by the boys because they promised things with their eyes and the way they moved. She had never minded. In fact, she had come to see that, as spectator sports went, watching the world go by was a pretty good one. Later, out of her teens, she had had boyfriends and they had been nice guys, the sort you could always introduce to the parents and know that they would like him as much as you did.

  As she approached the full table she now felt like one of those girls and it was crazy, but she enjoyed the feeling.

  Not knowing anyone there, she inadvertently sought out Rafe. Her heart thudded for the space of a couple of seconds as his green, shuttered eyes caught hers, then the silence was broken with a series of introductions.

  ‘You’re late,’ Rafe said as soon as she was seated next to him. ‘I thought you were one of those women who always ran to time…’

  ‘Blame the taxi driver,’ Sophie lied, lifting her wineglass to her lips and not quite meeting his eyes. In the daze of introductions, she had not only noticed how magnificent he looked, but had also taken in the cool blonde seated on the other side of him. Angela Street had not been introduced as a girlfriend, but she certainly fitted the description. Long
, blonde, blue-eyed and leaning possessively into him, arm touching arm, her low silk top gaping just enough to provide him with a teasing promise of what lay in store for later that night.

  ‘Maybe he was in temporary shock at seeing you in that very…what is the word I’m looking for?…racy little number…’ Rafe allowed his eyes to drift downwards in purely masculine appreciation. When she had walked in, he had done a double take. Had it been his imagination or had the entire table fallen silent? He, certainly, had been rendered momentarily speechless at the sight of her. Speechless and a little taken aback, because the last thing he had been expecting had been a siren in a dress that looked as though it had been spray-painted on.

  ‘He didn’t actually see the racy little number, as I was wearing a very thick, very old-fashioned black coat.’ Rafe had turned his back on the blonde and, out of the corner of her eye, Sophie could see the curtain of white hair falling forward as Angela attempted to regain his attention.

  ‘I think your girlfriend wants you,’ Sophie informed him politely.

  For a brief moment, Rafe felt a spurt of irritation as Angela’s hand covered his thigh, her long fingers stroking him through the fine wool of his trousers. Two months ago, it would have aroused him. Now, he shifted his body weight slightly, just enough for her to remove her hand.

  ‘I would never have guessed that you owned anything so…small,’ Rafe said, watching Sophie as he swigged back the remaining wine in his glass. ‘What’s happened to the swirling skirts and grandad cardigans?’

  Sophie flushed, fully aware that every time he had seen her she had been sensibly dressed, nothing impractical, nothing that made walking uncomfortable.

  ‘I decided to give them a rest,’ she said coolly. ‘If you don’t talk to your girlfriend pretty soon, I think she’s going to have an apoplectic fit.’ Turning her back on him, and with her cheeks still burning from his jibe, Sophie let herself fall in with the general conversation going on around her.