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Rosie opened her mouth to reject his gift, to tell him that she wasn’t about to accept a car from him, however much he downplayed its value. But it would be very useful, and she knew that if he had sourced it there would be no sinister engine problems waiting to spring to light the second she had handed over her cash. And she liked the way it looked. It had character. She smiled and hesitantly walked around it, running her hand along the side and peering in to the old-fashioned walnut dashboard and the weird gear stick which she would have to get used to.
The kick of satisfaction Angelo got as he covertly looked at her expressive face was immense. How did it make sense that the expensive gifts he had once given her, which she had promptly taken to the pawnbrokers, had never generated such genuine, appreciative warmth on her face?
He was momentarily disconcerted by an intense longing to hear what she had to say about all that stuff she had hocked, why she had done it—then he remembered the other reason he had walked away from her and he closed his mind off to the dangerous pull of curiosity.
“She’s wonderful,” Rosie said simply. “Thank you.”
Angelo flushed. “If it breaks down, you’re on your own. I don’t fix cars and I wouldn’t expect the guy I bought it from to turn into your personal mechanic.”
“It was a kind gesture.” She smiled at him. Did he know how much deeper he burrowed into the heart of her when he did something like this? When his hostility was buried underneath something other than the sheets on a bed? He was so cold-blooded in his aim to have her as his play-thing, a willing sexual object to be used until he grew tired of her. Yet, if there had been nothing more than that, then wouldn’t she also be on the road to recovery?
Instead, he did this, bought her this old jalopy which was worthless and priceless at the same time. He allowed himself to be dragged to markets and he helped with the dishes whilst informing her that he would never spend the night or waste time watching television, insisting on retiring to his mansion up the lane. Couldn’t he see that in lots of other ways he was getting to her more successfully than if he did watch a cookery channel with her? Or accidentally fell asleep and spent the night? Ordering her to keep still so that he could trap a spider by her leg, as he had done two weekends ago, carried the sound of the key turning to unlock her heart ever faster.
He didn’t look as though he was particularly thrilled with her remark about his kindness, although as he glanced away she felt that he wasn’t displeased.
“I’ll expect you at the house by six,” he told her gruffly, walking towards his own car and slipping into the passenger seat next to his driver. “And don’t be late. I don’t tolerate lateness in my employees.”
* * *
In fact, she was there by five-thirty. By six-thirty the kitchen was fragrant with the smells of dishes simmering. On the massive central island, platter upon platter of crudités were laid out, ready to be served. The three girls helping her could barely contain themselves. Despite being given a strict dress code similar to hers of black trousers and a smart white blouse, they had showed up in small black skirts and white tops that seemed suspiciously too small and had all exchanged puzzled, innocent looks when reprimanded.
By seven, the first of the many guests began to arrive. Some were being chauffeured down, others were taking advantage of the limo service from the station to the house. Nothing had been discussed about her role beyond caterer and she understood from Angelo’s silence on the subject that she would be there as a background facilitator, making sure that the food was perfect and the service faultless. Would she even be introduced to guests? She certainly wouldn’t be in the role as his lover!
But she couldn’t contain a growing sense of frustration mingled with vague disappointment and hurt as she continued to give her all during the course of the evening—hustling the girls, overseeing the delivery of the food from kitchen to dining room, arranging the layout as attractively as possible—while only glimpsing Angelo in snatches. She felt hot, bothered and irritated because surely the least she could have expected would have been for her employer to actually take an interest in what she was doing?
But he was busy, wrapped up talking finance with the movers and shakers of the business community. She saw him standing with a drink in his hand, surrounded by men who were nodding and agreeing with whatever he was saying.
She glimpsed him helping himself to canapés and chatting to several of the local women who had surrounded him like ants round nectar. A few times he caught her eye but made no move to come across. She had lost count of the number of people arriving and was only glad that she had been wise enough to over- rather than under-cater.
By eleven, she was beginning to think that she was well worth the jalopy he had generously presented to her. This was the largest number of people she had ever catered for. It was a blessing that she had managed to share the preparation with Beth, whose kitchen was twice the size of hers. Even bearing in mind that the dishes had all been brought prepared but uncooked to his house, she still felt that it was a triumph of what could be done with hard work and a clever menu that was delicious but uncomplicated.
She had hired a team of waiting staff to constantly refill glasses. She had suggested and sourced a jazz quartet who were a beautiful addition to the evening. She had even been responsible for the subtle lighting in the various rooms because there was nothing less welcoming than the harsh glare of bright overhead lights.
And had he seen fit to thank her? Far too busy! Had he come over once to congratulate her on her efforts? Too tied up!
Hassled, she finally decided to hunt him down as midnight approached and there was no sign of the party wrapping up. She told herself that it was essential to talk to him about arrangements for cleaning up. They surely couldn’t all be expected to hang around until the last guest decided that it was either time to leave or retire to one of the many bedrooms which would be put to use over the weekend.
She saw him in silhouette. Outside, lanterns illuminated the extensive stepped patio at the back of the house. They offered a tantalising glimpse of sprawling manicured lawns which, through all his years of absence from the house, had continued to be groomed by a fleet of experienced gardeners. She had barely had time to appreciate its immensity and its splendour because as soon as she had arrived she had been called to duty.
And now, she couldn’t possibly appreciate the view in a more flattering light, but she was oblivious to the scenery... She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Angelo, who was lounging in the shadows against the wall, towering over a diminutive, curvaceous woman who had a cigarette clasped in one hand and a glass in the other. Their body language was telling. Rosie could feel the blood leech out of her face as she continued to stare...and stare...until he slowly raised his eyes to see her frozen by one of the ivy-clad romanesque columns just beyond the French doors.
Angelo didn’t have to be a mind reader to realise what was going through Rosie’s head. He hesitated. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had allowed himself to be persuaded into “getting some fresh air” with Eleanor French, a sexy, high-powered lawyer, one of the members of the elite legal team used by his people to close his last, massive deal. He had never met her before but he had known what she was about the second she opened the conversation with a controversial take on a certain piece of recent legislation designed to demonstrate her IQ, while her challenging, coy looks were designed to demonstrate something else entirely.
Of course he had known that she would come on to him. He hadn’t been born yesterday. Had he wanted that? Had he wanted to prove to himself that he could still be attracted to another woman, a woman whose physical charms were beyond dispute? Whose mind was challenging? The sort of woman any red-blooded man with half a brain would have been incapable of resisting? Had he wanted to prove to himself that the power Rosie seemed to have over him was an illusion? That no one who had conned, duped and taken him for a ride could have power over him, whatever the sexual pull?
The minute his eyes tangled with Rosie’s, he felt a sharp jab of stirring satisfaction at the flare of primitive jealousy in her eyes. It was tangible.
“Excuse me,” he murmured to the blonde, who could have been invisible as far as Angelo was concerned. Already Rosie was turning around and he was gripped with a sense of urgency which he successfully fought off.
“You’ll be back? Shall I wait here for you to return?”
Angelo detected the beseeching, anxious tone in her voice with distaste.
“I wouldn’t bother,” he said, killing any further debate on the subject. He could have told her that he found her as appealing as mouldy cheese and that she would be far better off trying her charms out on a more receptive audience. Instead, he walked away, although Rosie was disappearing fast through the throng. He caught her just as she was about to hurry into the sanctuary of the busy kitchen.
“You were looking for me?” He pulled her aside into one of the smaller rooms which had not been opened for the party.
Rosie was on fire. What had he been doing out there? What had she interrupted? They had looked very cosy indeed. Had he met her before? Who was she anyway? Rosie couldn’t bring herself to think that anything had happened between them, but had she witnessed the beginning of the end of what they, he and Rosie, had? Cold, clammy fear sank its teeth into her, making her feel sick and giddy.
