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‘I understand that she’s related to Lydia Powell.’
Intrigued, Cristiano gave instructions for the lady to be shown into his office. Minutes later, a small brunette wearing a belligerent expression arrived.
‘l’m Lydia’s cousin ‘ she announced.
Cristiano was amused. He strolled forward, introduced himself with unassailable cool, and suggested she sit down.
”What can 1 do for you’?’
Gwenna Powell ignored the seat set out for her and dug into her capacious satchel bag instead. From it she withdrew a document which she tossed down on his desk like a challenge. Cristiano did not need to lift it to identify it as a copy of the contract that both he and Lydia had signed.
‘Lydia asked me to check her post and open anything that seemed important. Imagine my horror when 1 discovered that she had been asked to sign that horrendous legal agreement! ‘
‘My relationship with Lydia is of a private nature.’
Cristiano was noting that, though there might be no physical likeness between the cousins, Lydia was also impulsive, spirited and quick-tempered. The melodic lilt of the brunette’s accent was equally familiar.
In censorious unimpressed silence, Gwenna Powell removed a photoframe from her bag and extended it to him.
His ebony brows drawing together, Cristiano accepted the item. He studied the faded snapshot in considerable surprise.
‘But this is an old photo of me…taken from a newspaper’?’
‘Yes, Mr Andreotti. You were Lydia’s idol long before of age when she framed that and you became her pin-up’ …
‘pin-up… ‘
Cristiano repeated huskily, surveying his own image while he absorbed this new and fabulously fascinating fact. He was attempting to imagine Lydia at that tender age, snipping his photograph out of a newspaper. She had been modelling by then, he recalled with a frown. She would have been very tall and skinny, and very beautiful, but still indisputably a child in his eyes. A whole new dimension had just been added to his knowledge of her. It was like being handed the key to a secret drawer that he couldn’t wait to open.
‘I want you to feel thoroughly ashamed of yourself,’ Gwenna informed him.
‘Lydia deserves a decent man, who respects her’
‘1 asked her to marry me and she wouldn’t have me,’ Cristiano admitted, taking the wind from his visitor’s sails in a spectacular feat of one-upmanship.
‘perhaps 1 failed to live up to that teenage fantasy.’
Gwenna Powell goggled at him.
Cristiano set the photo with the contract and carefully stowed both items away. His,
‘May 1 keep this’?’
was purely rhetorical. He offered tea and was equally politely refused. His diminutive visitor appeared to have taken fright at his mention of a proposal, and was eager to take her leave.
‘Will you tell Lydia that 1 came to see you’?’
she asked worriedly before she departed.
‘No,’ Cristiano asserted, without a second of hesitation.
When his PA came in with some figures that had been requested, he found Cristiano in a curiously abstracted mood. Thirty minutes later, his employer made several radiophone calls and announced that he was smashing early.
Impervious to the effect of such a declaration voiced by a male who routinely put in eighteen-hour days, Cristiano left the office.
A rather domineering young woman from a PR firm accompanied Lydia to the exclusive hotel chosen for the event. Her nerves were like jumping beans. Back at the apartment, she had agonised about what to wear before finally choosing a black and grey fitted jacket and pencil skirt that Cristiano had picked to meet the requirements of the ‘stuffy’ sections of his social life.
When she entered the function room, her companion took her straight over to the charitable team, and a rather uncomfortable conversation ensued in which everyone talked too much and smiled too often. The three models whom Lydia had persuaded to volunteer for the fashion show four months earlier arrived together. As all but one had made angry phone calls to her when the story of the cheques that had bounced first hit the newspapers, Lydia had once again to rise above her embarrassment.
‘l’m relieved that you got the mess sorted out,’ one of the girls remarked with a reproving sniff.
‘Yes, being associated with all those nasty rumours flying around didn’t do much for my image.’
‘l know. I’m really glad you could all be here today, and I’m sorry about all the fuss there’s been,’ Lydia said with genuine gratitude.
The third model was a staggeringly lovely Russian redhead called Helenka. Her sinuous curves and languorous appeal were showcased in a revealing short white dress. A rising superstar, with a firm sense of her superiority, Helenka flashed Lydia a scornful look.
”We’ve agreed that we don’t want to feature in any photos with you’.
Lydia reddened as if she had been slapped. The PR woman at her elbow waded in to protest that that was un-workable, and moved away several feet to employ her mo-bile phone. Members of the press were already arriving.
Lydia was uneasily aware that any sign of a rift between her and the other models would swiftly be seized on to make a better story.
In the midst of the discussion, Helenka vented an exclamation and pushed rudely past Lydia.
‘I see a friend… ‘ As a whisper of comment ran round the room like an electric current, Lydia began to turn her head.
‘lt’s Cristiano Andreotti… Oh, my word. Is he gorgeous? Or is he gorgeous’?’ one of the models gasped ecstatically.
A sense of relief surging through her tense body, Lydia spun round. He could only have come to support her. The tingle of awareness that his presence always caused danced through her nerve-endings like a wake-up call.
‘With that body and oodles and oodles of cash into the bargain…this close to a billionaire I feel faint! ‘ her friend proclaimed.
In the act of moving in Cristiano’s direction, Lydia froze. Helenka already had a confident hand on Cristiano’s arm and she was chattering to him with pointed familiarity. He glanced over at Lydia so briefly that she wasn’t quite sure it had really happened, and then he laughed at something the redhead said.
Lydia was directed to the front to pose with the dummy cheque while The Happy Holidays director said a few words.
All Lydia was conscious of was that Cristiano was smiling down at Helenka and having wine brought to her.
Lydia’s tummy churned, a lump forming in her tight throat. She knew the buzz of grabbing Cristiano’s full attention, and the Russian girl was flirting like mad with him. Lydia hovered, waiting for him to acknowledge her, but it didn’t happen. Press interest was now firmly focused on the couple. A few minutes later, Helenka strolled like a queen over to a gilded chaise longue and reclined there. Lydia and the other models were urged to join her for a group photo.
There were no objections to Lydia’s inclusion
because Helenka was much too busy directing sultry smiles at Cristiano. Afterwards, Helenka surged back to Cristiano’s side, and delighted in the cameras taking note of the fact.
Arnaldo approached Lydia.
‘ Powell? The car’s ready when you are.’
Lydia blinked.
‘Did your boss tell you to take me home’?’
For all his size, Arnaldo looked as if he very much wanted to run when faced with that awkward question.
‘Never mind…’ Mustering as much dignity as she could, Lydia would not let herself glance back in Cristiano’s direction.
They left the hotel by a discreet side entrance. Her legs were all wobbly. She felt sick, frightened, shocked beyond belief. Cristiano had ignored her as though she didn’t exist.
She would not have believed it had it not happened before her own eyes. He had acted as if she was of no more account to him than a stranger.
But evidently Helenka amused him, and he had chosen to be with the sultry Russian and send Ly
dia away. Was she supposed to accept that rejection with grace and indifference? Why did she feel so absolutely gutted that she couldn’t think straight? Shouldn’t she be rejoicing at the possibility that Cristiano might already be planning to replace her with a more exciting lover? After all, she would then get her freedom back. She would be able to return to her own life. But could a guy who had only asked her to marry him a day earlier cool off that fast? There had been nothing emotional about Cristiano’s proposal. He had, however, found her response offensive.
No doubt he had swiftly regretted the sense of honour and conscience that had prompted that proposal in the first place. Certainly, he had been very cold with her afterwards. He had kept his distance the previous night as well.
