The Italian's Pregnant Mistress Page 2

  ‘Wrapped that one up. I’m working on a joint venture with people in New York and London.’ He switched off the taps and seemed to be lost in thought as he stared down at the water.

  ‘Top secret deal?’ Francesca teased, stepping into the bath and lying back with her eyes closed. ‘Honestly, Angelo, I’ve told you before, only undercover secret agents have a right to be secretive about what they do.’

  ‘You, my dearest, have no idea how the world of business operates. One wrong word in the wrong ear and bang, a deal can be flushed down the drain before you have time to draw breath.’

  Francesca smiled, eyes still shut. ‘You make it sound very exciting.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘But you’ll have to give it up some day, Angelo. You know what they say about stressful jobs and high blood pressure.’ She opened her eyes and gazed at him with burning appreciation as he lowered himself into the bath opposite her. ‘And you’re not getting any younger. What will you do then? Perhaps you could consider a more restful career in your own line of cosmetics for men? The Angelo Falcone range of moisturisers?’

  Angelo burst out laughing and, distracted for a few moments, he leaned towards her, ordering her to swivel around, which she did with some awkwardness, then he began to wash her hair. He did a very efficient scalp massage. She relaxed utterly, enjoying the feel of his fingers as he tipped shampoo into her hair and began working it up to a lather. It was way too late to be doing this, having her hair washed. She would never have the time to do a thorough job blow-drying it, but she didn’t care. No work for the next few days. She could actually luxuriate in the blissful freedom of not caring how she looked.

  ‘Hmm. That’s a thought. Not sure I would be very good at it…’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Too much of a man,’ he stated, using the attachment to begin rinsing the shampoo away.

  ‘Oh, I see. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘Don’t know. You should have. It is not as if you don’t know me. In fact, I would say that you know me better than any woman ever has before…’

  ‘Is that a good thing, I wonder? Don’t you think it’s impossible to ever really know someone?’

  For just a few heady, dangerous seconds she wondered how he would react if she told him how much he didn’t know about her. The temptation didn’t last long. Not when she conjured up the consequences. No more Angelo, and the thought of that sickened her even though she knew that there was no future between them. None at all. That was a bridge she wasn’t going to cross just yet.

  ‘Anyway, let’s not be serious,’ she coaxed, sliding back towards him and guiding his hands to her breasts. ‘You promised me a lovely, pampering bath. You know we models have to be pampered.’

  He pampered her. He doubted she could have enjoyed it as much as he did. He loved running his hands along her wet, slippery body, soaping every inch of her, taking his time. Then, when they were on the point of shrivelling from over-exposure to water, he towelled her dry very slowly and very carefully and absolutely forbade her to put on any pyjamas, even though over time he had chosen every single item of nightwear she owned. From the stunning model who was never seen in anything but the finest of designer clothes yet harboured an array of oversized tee shirts in which she slept, she had become the possessor of fabulously sexy nighties, flimsy things that barely skirted her beautifully proportioned body.

  Tonight, though, he wanted to feel her nakedness next to him, wanted to be able to touch her at any time of the night without his fingers having to come into contact with material, however little of it there might have been.

  ‘Are you happy, Francesca?’ he asked in a low voice, when they were finally in bed and facing one another.

  She looked at him, startled and unsettled by the question.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean,’ Angelo said softly, stroking back her hair and running his thumb along the side of her face, ‘we meet like ships in the night. I live out of a suitcase and so do you. It isn’t satisfactory…’

  ‘It’s just the way it is. There’s nothing we can do about it.’ Her heart was beginning to beat faster. She could feel a fine film of perspiration break out as she frantically tried to think of ways to change the subject. Pointless. Angelo was persistent. She knew him well and she knew that he could be like a dog with a bone, the type of man who saw his goal in the distance and proceeded to get there whatever the obstacles presented on the way.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘You know why. Because my work involves a lot of travel. As does yours. Angelo. Do we have to talk about this right now? I’m exhausted. Honestly. It’s late.’

  ‘No time like the present.’

  ‘Let’s just leave things the way they are. You asked me whether I was happy and yes, I am. Very.’ She smiled at him and closed her mind to the thought of what lay ahead. Over the past months she had become an expert at living in the present. It was such a good place to be.

  ‘Happy seeing me now and again? Happy getting diaries out so that we can work out schedules and arrange our meetings like business partners trying to find a convenient date to see one another?’

  ‘Whatever. Happy being with you when we do meet. It’s good enough for me.’ Please, let’s drop this.

  ‘There’s no need for you to be based in Paris…’

  ‘I have to be based somewhere and Paris is the most convenient place. I mean, my work is all in France or Italy, aside from shoots in the Far East.’

  ‘Which is slightly odd, considering you are from England.’

  Francesca went very still, but he didn’t pursue that line of speculation. Instead he murmured gently, ‘You must have some hankering to return to your roots. I know you’ve told me in the past that the only time to be adventurous is when you are young, but you could shift your base to London and continue to be adventurous.’

  Francesca released her breath on a sigh. ‘London, Paris—where’s the difference? You’re still all over the place, Angelo, and I accept that. I’m not one of these women who wants to pin you down. You know you’d hate that, hate feeling as though you’ve been put in a trap—how many times have you told me that as soon as a woman starts smelling the aroma of permanence, you start getting restless?’ She tried to lighten the atmosphere with a gentle smile. ‘Maybe I prefer you to be with me now and again and wanting it rather than risk having you around more often, with the danger of you losing interest…’

  ‘And maybe there is another option.’ Angelo felt the sudden, overwhelming buzz of stepping off the side of a precipice. It was a more terrifying feeling than waiting on the edge of any big deal he had ever done in his life before. And to think that he had always considered himself a man who had gone beyond ever feeling that basic, gut-wrenching emotion called fear!

  Francesca’s eyes widened.

  ‘I’m going to be setting up some pretty big ventures in London. Property. A couple of small architectural firms I want to get involved in. I’ve kept myself to America and Italy and now I intend to move to London, base myself there. Come with me.’

  The world seemed suddenly to have tilted on its axis. Francesca sat up abruptly and drew her knees up, clasping her arms around them and leaning her head down in the posture of someone trying to fight off a sudden attack of violent nausea. She could feel the desperate thudding of her heart beneath her ribs, like a train that had shot its tracks and was gathering momentum in its free fall.

  Eventually, she turned her head so that she was looking across at him.

  ‘My work…’ she ventured weakly.

  ‘Could be done there. You no longer need to confine yourself to catwalks in Italy. You can go into the magazine side of things. Don’t tell me that’s not a hell of a lot more lucrative. You can have lots more money to squirrel away.’

  She heard the smile in his voice as he spoke and caressed her spine with one long finger.

  ‘And there would be more time for us. Less travel f
or me…Who knows, you might find your homeland more tempting to your wandering soul if I were there, hmm? And things between us would no longer be this clandestine. We meet in this apartment in Venice or else in hotel rooms in various parts of Europe, and I weary of it after this length of time.’

  ‘You’re not meant to settle, Angelo. You said so! You have a wandering soul. Just like me.’

  Angelo picked up the thread of panic in her voice and dismissed it. He was offering her something he had never offered any other woman in his life before, had never come close to offering! She was afraid that he would tire of her if they saw too much of one another, if they removed the breathless excitement of the clandestine. It was, he told himself, understandable.

  ‘Are you not tired of wandering?’ He frowned. ‘Of intermittent meetings, making love knowing that time is not on our side because before too long one of us will have to leave to hop on a plane to somewhere? I want to be able to take you places with me, meet the people I work with, who work for me. I work in a very visible field. Expensive hotels and exclusive resorts. I want you on my arm, by my side…my perfect, well-bred, eminently presentable woman.’

  Francesca felt sick. She couldn’t remain crouched on the bed. She had to get up and move around. Without warning, she flung back the duvet and stuck her legs over the side of the bed, then walked over to the chest of drawers an yanked out some underwear and a tee shirt from the small collection of clothes she kept at the apartment. Yes, he was so right. Clothes that were a testimony to a life on the move. Some here, most in her flat in Paris, some already in a suitcase just in case she got a call and had no time to pack.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Before she knew it he was out of the bed and coming towards her, and she hugged herself. Her legs felt cold but it was better standing up, made her stomach feel a little less queasy.

  ‘It’s not a good idea, Angelo.’

  Panic, he could have dealt with. But the sudden flatness in her voice was like a punch in the gut. He gripped the sides of her arms with his hands and propelled her back against the wall.

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Please, Angelo. Let’s just leave things as they are. It works for us. Why fix it if it ain’t broke?’ She tried a laugh but it died as quickly as it had come, leaving the sour aroma of tension in its wake.

  ‘You needn’t be scared that spending more time with one another will jeopardise our relationship. We have been together for over a year. It is time for us to take the next step forward.’ Angelo tried again but there was a beating in his head that was getting louder. Yes, he had been scared of jumping off the precipice into the unknown, but he had pretty much expected his landing to be soft. He certainly hadn’t expected to find himself falling in thin air with the distinct suspicion that his landing was to be a bed of rocks.

  ‘There is no step forward, Angelo.’ She made herself do it. Made herself look at him straight in the face, and God, it was the most difficult thing she had ever had to do in her entire life. It made every painful turning in her life seem pale in comparison. And of course she knew why. Because she had fallen in love with him, hopelessly, blindingly and stupidly in love.

  She watched the tenderness on his face replaced with disbelief and then his whole expression closed down and she didn’t know what he was thinking any more.

  ‘I don’t want to play happy families with you. I was happy with things the way they were. It suited me.’ She felt like a gravedigger digging her own grave.

  ‘I see.’

  No, you don’t! You don’t see anything at all!

  ‘I don’t want to return to England. Maybe one day, but not yet, and I don’t want to move in with you and become your companion in this highly visible life of yours. If that’s what you want then you’re better off finding someone else to fill the role.’ His eyes were hard and expressionless and Lord, it hurt.

  ‘In that case there is nothing further to say.’ He turned away from her and walked towards the door, only pausing when his hand was on the knob. Then he turned and gave her one final look.

  ‘I am going to have a long shower. When I get out, I want to find you gone. Take all your possessions with you and, Francesca…’ He allowed a few seconds of silence between them. ‘Make very sure you never cross my path again.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘IT’S a short-list of three, Angelo, and really you must take an interest in this.’

  Georgina wasn’t happy. He could tell from the pursed set of her mouth and the way her slender, stiletto-shod foot was tapping impatiently on the floor. Angelo was very tempted to open a debate on the subject of exactly why he should take an interest. Hadn’t he already taken enough of an interest to state what he wanted on the menu? He suppressed a little sigh of impatience and watched the down-bent head of his fiancée as she consulted a wad of papers on her lap.

  Through the floor to ceiling windows of his impressive London office he could see the broad expanse of cloudless blue sky. English summers, he had discovered, lacked the vibrant heat of Italian summers or the stifling humidity of New York ones, but he rather liked their uncertainty. Cloudless blue skies one day, leaden grey ones the next. He shifted his chair back from his desk and went across to where Georgina was perched on the sofa.

  ‘Let me have a look, then.’ He took the sample menu sheets from her and sat down.

  Animated at this show of interest, Georgina launched into a monologue on the various upsides and downsides of the menus. Which caterer presented what that would appeal to most.

  ‘We have to get it just right,’ she asserted. ‘It’s our big day and you know how many important people are going to be there. We just can’t afford to have any slip ups. Which is why I am recommending that we go with someone we’ve heard of. Mummy’s used the Walton brothers before and they’re absolutely ideal. You just have to look at how they’ve presented their choices! Professionals.’

  ‘Why are you asking my opinion if you have already made your mind up?’ he queried. Of course he knew why. For all her well-bred, sophisticated, self-assured elegance, Georgina tiptoed around him, never wanting to invite his displeasure. Which, he told himself, was as it should be.

  ‘You’re the one who insisted on authentic Italian food, darling!’ She stroked the back of his neck lovingly and Angelo shook his head and stood up. He had decided. And it wasn’t the Walton brothers with their impeccable pedigree. He was pretty sure that his choice would meet with a wall of resistance but that didn’t bother him. Georgina would accept his decision without any show of temper.

  ‘Who is Ellie Millband?’

  ‘Darling, a friend of a friend of a friend used her to cater for one of their supper parties and apparently she’s quite good, but probably not quite up to catering for the number of guests we have coming. Rather an amateur, I should imagine.’

  ‘Her menu is interesting.’

  ‘So are the others, Angelo.’

  ‘And,’ he said perversely, ‘I like the thought of employing an amateur. There is nothing more spiritually gratifying than knowing one is giving a helping hand to the underdog.’

  ‘Angelo, this is our wedding banquet we’re talking about! Surely there is a time and a place for a social conscience!’

  ‘Have you interviewed her?’

  ‘I…I honestly didn’t think that she would be a serious contender.’

  Angelo tried hard not to frown at the creeping petulance in his fiancée’s voice. She’s going to be my wife in exactly three months’ time, he told himself, and she was going to make him a perfect wife. Her background was impeccable, which was important for a man like him, a man who moved in the highest echelons. She was also devoted to him, reasonably intelligent and unquestionably beautiful. Five foot five inches of peaches and cream English beauty, with her china-doll blue eyes and her sleek, well-groomed blonde bob.

  ‘Arrange an interview and I will see her. Will that satisfy you? You can trust me when I say that if she seems incapable of
doing the job, then she will be dismissed from the running.’ He strolled across to her and curved his hand behind her head, tilting her to face him. ‘And we will go with your parents’ recommendation. Hmm?’ He smiled absent-mindedly at the beaming relief that greeted his suggestion, mind already ahead on the amount of work he had to get through before his dinner engagement later in the evening. ‘But you’ll have to leave now, cara.’ He glanced at his watch ruefully and she sprang to her feet.

  ‘I know, darling—work, work, work.’ She pressed herself against him for a lingering embrace and pouted until he kissed her. ‘Don’t forget, Mummy’s expecting us to dinner tomorrow evening so that we can discuss arrangements.’

  ‘I don’t think military engagements have been planned in more extensive detail,’ he said, half amused, half irritated. ‘And let me know when I can see this girl. If she’s free later today I can squeeze her in around four-thirty, before I leave for the Savoy.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure she’ll be available!’ Georgina said airily. ‘The prospect of a job of this size would probably make her willing to jump through hoops to please! But don’t forget, any sign that she’s not up to it and we don’t give her the job. Promise?’

  Her mouth was pouting for another kiss and Angelo obliged, hand on the door in the process.

  ‘Absolutely,’ he murmured. ‘Now, off you go, my sweet, and I shall see you tomorrow. I’ll collect you at eight.’

  ‘Seven at the latest, Angelo.’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  She left a waft of expensive perfume in her wake and by the time the scent had faded he had totally forgotten about their conversation until he emerged from his two o’clock meeting to be informed by his secretary that Ellie Millband would be pleased to meet his future wife at four-thirty in the bar of a restaurant in Covent Garden.