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“No. In that case, if I’m being perfectly honest, I guess it would have been nice to get out of London. I’ve been here a while and it’s very hectic.”
“And unrewarding too, I should imagine.”
“How do you mean?” Rosie asked tentatively. It was disconcerting being here, talking to him without bitterness and anger underlying every word, but he had dealt with the threat of Ian and he had done so in a pretty conclusive manner, in a way no one else would have been able to—probably not even the police if they had cared to get involved.
Angelo shrugged, as though the answer was self-evident, but he would be kind enough to point it out. “Renting a place like this, throwing money down the drain—or maybe I should say straight into the hands of a landlord who probably gets by doing the minimum. Working all the hours God made in an averagely paid job which you can’t chuck in because you need the experience. I guess it must be daunting staring your future in the face and maybe wondering whether this is as good as it gets.”
Rosie had not considered her prospects in such stark terms. “That’s not exactly fair,” she protested weakly.
“But, of course, you’ll have the money from the cottage to invest in something.”
“I guess so.”
“Although, in fairness, I suppose the competition in London must be stiff when it comes to the catering business. In fact, I have an excellent personal chef, as you know, who also has his own catering business as a sideline. I gather his most valuable clients, though, are the people who use him on a regular basis. Like me. Go on the Internet, key in ‘caterers in London’ and apparently you’re instantly besieged with results.” He sat forward, surprising her, and his arm brushed past her to open her car door before she could let loose a protest. “I’ll walk you in. And please don’t tell me that there’s no need.”
She was very much aware of him behind her as she unlocked the front door, standing so close that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
“Well, now that everything’s been decided, shall I get Mr Foreman to contact you about the sale of the cottage? I’m not sure what happens next. Do estate agents have to get involved or can we just handle the whole thing ourselves?” Somehow he had managed to enter the house and she pushed the door slightly, leaving it ajar, a pointed hint that he was literally seeing her into the house and not hanging around for an extended social visit. He shut it firmly with his hand and stood back.
“I think after all I’ve been through, I deserve a cup of coffee,” he murmured.
Rosie dithered but eventually acquiesced. Somehow having coffee with him here, in her house, sitting in her cramped kitchen, felt a lot more intimate than a cappuccino in a restaurant surrounded by noisy people and obsequious waiting staff.
“Have you thought how you would launch yourself into the catering business?” Once in the kitchen, Angelo pursued the topic with tenacity. If she took the money and ran, it would be the last he would ever see of her. There would be no reason for him to involve himself in her life and, having reached the conclusion that the only way he could terminate her reach into his everyday life, the only way he could get her out of his system once and for all, would be to sleep with her, he intended to steer her in the right direction.
“I only thought about it in connection with the cottage,” Rosie confessed. She wished he wouldn’t dwell on the venture, which seemed laden with possible pitfalls, but on the other hand wasn’t it good to have someone point out those pitfalls? No one ever built a successful business with their head in the clouds, and Angelo was nothing if not the epitome of the successful businessman. Having rescued her from Ian, he was probably feeling charitable towards her, basking in the glow of a good deed done. It wouldn’t last, but while the streak was in evidence wouldn’t it be a good idea to pick his brains? She might know a great deal about cooking, but when it came to finance she was hopeless.
She made him a cup of coffee and, when she would have slid it across the table to him, she saw that he was standing up, heading towards the lounge.
“The lumpy sofa is slightly less uncomfortable than the rock-hard kitchen chairs,” he said by way of explanation. “In case you hadn’t noticed, a man of my size isn’t built for chairs that small.”
Rosie, who had noticed all too well, didn’t comment. She followed him into the lounge where he proceeded to make himself at home on the sofa, tossing aside the bright cushions which she had bought specifically to camouflage the dreary brown covering, and dragging a coffee table next to him on which he indicated that she should deposit the cup.
“You were going to give me your business plan?” he encouraged. “You’ll need one. Whatever you get from the sale of the cottage won’t cover launching a new career and buying a house.”
Rosie frowned. She had dropped into the chair furthest away from him, a rigid, hard-backed chair which obviously belonged to a dining table but had been surplus to requirements, hence had found its way into the house where it had been plonked in the lounge to fill space. It was uncomfortable, to be avoided at all costs, but where else was she to sit when he had monopolised the sofa?
“What do you mean?” She felt and sounded like a fool.
“The cottage is charming and it’s in a lovely location, but it’s small, and there’s a limit to what you would be able to get for it. There’s always a financial glass ceiling for a place like that. It also shares access to my house and most people would find that unacceptable. Also, until this situation with the boundary lines is sorted out, it can’t be sold.”
“Right.” That hadn’t occurred to her.
“I have no idea how long it will take to sort that little matter out. It could be days or weeks or months.”
“I suppose it was too good to be true.” Rosie sighed. “I bet you’re really happy about all of this,” she continued without any rancour. “Funny thing is, I felt at home there, even though I shouldn’t have. It was as if I’d met the old Amanda, the one I knew before...everything.” She cleared her throat and fidgeted on the chair. “One good thing is that Ian will no longer be around. I can get on with my life. I don’t have to keep looking over my shoulder. There’s no point doing a business plan. If and when the cottage ever gets sold, then maybe I’ll think about it again. If not, then that’s okay.”
“You look uncomfortable on that chair.” Angelo made a space for her on the sofa and patted it.
“I’m fine here.” Did he feel sorry for her, the way the victor feels sorry for the person they’ve just vanquished?
She watched him warily as he continued to look at her, his head tilted to one side. When he stood up and strolled towards her she practically leapt out of the chair in dismay. He leant over her, hands clasping the arms of the chair on either side. She pressed herself back as far as she could go. What was he doing? He had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and, as her eyes skittered away from his face, they were drawn to his sinewy forearms, sprinkled with dark hair.
Fascinated, she stared at the way the whorls of hair curled round the dull matt silver of his watch strap. In her mind’s eye, she could remember him removing that watch, his eyes pinned to her face as he stripped in front of her. He had always been magnificently self-confident when it came to his body. More than that: he had liked her looking at him. He had once told her that there was no greater turn-on for him. She blinked but the image refused to go away because he was still looming over her.
“What are you doing?” She cleared her throat.
“Slight change of topic here.”
“I beg your pardon?” Thoroughly confused, she raised her eyes to his and her lips parted. It was as though her whole body was being held in a state of suspension. She could barely breathe.
“Let’s drop the subject of the cottage and whether or not it’ll be sold. There’s really only so much that can be said on the matter and then we’re just going round in circles, repeating ourselves. No, what I’d really like to talk to you about, what’s been on my mind for the past few days, is what happened the other night.”
“The other night?” Rosie parroted faintly.
Angelo straightened and strolled towards the window in a leisurely manner. The old-fashioned bay window, its paint peeling, overlooked the road and was the only attractive feature in the room. He leant against it and shoved his hands in his pockets. Rosie’s eyes dipped to the way the fine, expensive fabric was pulled taut over his pelvis and she looked away quickly.
“The cottage? Just before I left?”
“I’d rather not talk about that.”
“Why not? I realise you might feel a little embarrassed because you made a pass at me and I turned you down, but I still think we should revisit what happened.”
“I know you’re bitter towards me, Angelo, but if this is your idea of fun at my expense then I’m not laughing. I said I don’t want to talk about what happened and I don’t. Okay, so I’m grateful for the way you handled Ian, but that doesn’t mean that you can say whatever you want and humiliate me however you please. This is my house and I think it’s time you left.”
