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In the limo, Lydia studied the contract. Some of it she understood, but most of it she found impenetrable. He was determined to ensure that she depended on him for everything, from the roof over her head to the clothes on her body and the very food she ate.
She shuddered with distaste. He would own her body and soul. She would have no rights left to exercise, for he would have taken them all away. She would simply be Cristiano Andreotti’s whore. That was the price she was about to pay for trying to save face and hit back at him for breaking her heart. The lawer was a man with shrewd eyes, tapped the agreement in wry acknowledgement. ‘There’s even a seven-point confidentiality clause which prevents you from talking about the contract or your relationship with Andreotti outside this office.’
Lydia swallowed slowly. ‘What’s your opinion’?’
‘lf you don’t need the money, run,’ he advised ruefully. ‘There is no equality in this contract. While you are required to meet a strict code of conduct, Andreotti can dispense with your services at any time and without explanation. Furthermore, neither your duties nor your hours of employment are defined. Sign and you will be contractually bound to agree to whatever Andreotti demands.’
Lydia nodded heavily.
‘should you breach the contract, however, two hundred and fifty thousands will become a dept that requires repayment. That threat will put considerable pressure on you to meet all expectations, reasonable or otherwise.’‘l know,’ she muttered tautly.
Andreotti is, however, disposed to be extremely generous in other ways. He promises to ensure that you enjoy every possible luxury and advantage while you remain with him.’ His mouth quirked. tile may be offering you modern-day slavery, but at least it’s slavery with solid gold manacles.’
Having signed, she travelled to the airport. Already she was frantically trying to work out what she would tell Gwenna, for she could see no good reason to distress her cousin with the sordid truth.
Forty-eight hours later a removal firm arrived at her little terraced home to crate up her possessions. She had already given notice to the rental agency. The following day the police contacted her to say that the charges against her and her mother had been withdrawn. A tide of relief flooded Lydia, leaving her weak, and she wished that she had some way of contacting her mother to assure her that she was no longer at risk of arrest.
Virginia had believed it would be safer if her daughter did not know how to get in touch with her, and had promised that she would phone when the fuss was all over. Lydia texted Gwenna to share her good news, and, as she had expected, her cousin called in on her way home from school.
‘Why is a removal van sitting outside’?’ the brunette demanded, elevating a brow at the sight of the man engaged in packing china in the kitchen.
‘Come upstairs,’ Lydia urged.
‘Are you moving somewhere’?’
‘Gwenna I’m moving out.’ Lydia bent over the suitcase lying open on the bed to wedge a shoe in one corner. ‘You remember I told you that l’d broken up with someone before l left London last year’?’ ‘Well, you didn’t spill many beans-only that the revolting rock star was a publicity stunt that went wrong,’
Gwenna reminded her wryly. ‘You didn’t tell me who the mysterious someone was.’
‘Cristiano Andreotti…you probably haven’t heard of him-‘
‘We do live on the same planet, and l read the same magazines you do. Did you really date that mega-rich womanizer? No wonder you got burned!’
Lydia mentally crossed her fingers, because she was about to lie.
‘When Cristiano saw that story about the missing money in the paper, he came to see me. He wanted she could be interrupted. He’s paid back the money, the charges have been dropped and we’re getting together again.’
Gwenna dealt her an astounded look.
‘so that’s why you want to return to London… ‘
‘l’m moving in with him. No, don’t say anything! I know you don’t approve-‘
‘of course l don’t. What am l supposed to think? He stumps up two hundred and fifty grand and five minutes later you’re agreeing to live with him’?’
Lydia winced. She saw no point in upsetting her cousin with the truth, but it was not as easy as she had hoped to tell a convincing story. In desperation she reached for the old biscuit box by the bed, which contained keepsakes from her adolescence.
Wrenching off its lid, she lifted out the photo ‘Who is that? Gwenna questioned.
Her face uncomfortably hot, Lydia handed it over. ‘I cut it out of a newspaper when l was fourteen.’
Gwenna fixed astonished eyes on her cousin. ‘But this is him, isn’t it? Cristiano Andreotti? You had a crush on him when you were that young’?’
‘Yes. He’s the love of my life, and, to be frank, what contended tautly, accepting the return of the photo and thrusting it down on the windowsill as though the worn metal frame was red-hot. ‘l really want to be with him. Please don’t spoil it for me.’
Gwenna studied her unhappily, compressed her lips and said nothing more. Instead the cousins discussed practicalities, with Gwenna offering to receive and check Lydia’s post.
A member of Cristiano’s staff rang to inform Lydia of her travelling schedule for departure, and she wondered if Cristiano’s use of a third party to pass on his orders was a taste of what life would be like with him. It made her feel very much like an employee. It also sent a shiver of apprehension travelling through her. What would her life be like with Cristiano running the whole show?
In actuality, her first destination in London turned out to be an exclusive beauty salon, where she discovered that she had been booked in for an incredible range of treatments. She found it humiliating that Cristiano was evidently not even prepared to see her until she had been groomed to within an inch of her life. The rest of the day passed while she moved from one room to the next, her skin glowing from a spa, a massage and a facial, her nails manicured, her mane of unruly waves conditioned and styled back into shape.
Cristiano phoned only when she was back in the limo that had come to collect her.
‘Did you enjoy being pampered again’?’ His honeyed dark drawl skimmed down her spinal cord and she tensed and sat up, clutching the phone between taut fingers. His voice made her think about sex, and ensured that she was suddenly contemplating the shocking reality that she would be sharing a bed with him that night.
‘Yes…yes, of course,’ she fibbed, reasoning that there was no point in sharing her true feelings with him.
‘l can’t join you for dinner. Make yourself comfortable at the apartment,’ he advised, breaking off momentarily to speak to someone and then returning to conclude the brief dialogue in a tone of preoccupation. ‘l’ll meet you at a club later’
His apartment proved to be even vaster than she had appreciated on her only previous visit. A manservant, clearly following orders, showed her round a very long procession of cool, contemporary rooms hung with breathtaking art, before finally ushering her into a bedroom which mercifully bore no sign of male occupation. Lydia breathed again and walked across the floor to examine the sleek silver dress which awaited her there. A creation of the season’s hottest designer, it was fashioned of fabric that shimmered when the light hit it. It would, however, be very short on her, Lydia acknowledged ruefully, because she had extremely long legs.
But what right did she have to protest? Hadn’t she signed a contract in which she’d agreed to be treated more as an object than a person? Her body was Cristiano’s sole source of interest, and, as such, was to be maintained and presented in a manner that pleased him. It was horribly humiliating.
That feeling of having lost control of her own life was heightened by the arrival of a make-up artist and a stylist, both of whom had been engaged to add the final polish to her appearance. It also meant that she had no time whatsoever in which to eat the evening meal she was offered.
A big bulky man climbed out of the limo and introduced himself
as her security guard, Arnaldo. When the car drew up at an ultra-chic nightclub in Mayfair, it was Arnaldo who dealt with the bouncers barring entry to all but the chosen few.
She was ushered past the long queue waiting hopefully and escorted to a private room. On the threshold, she was greeted by a familiar and unwelcome face.
‘This is some comeback you’re making, darling,’ the stocky, powerfully built banker Philip Hazlett gibed, with a look that made her feel naked. ‘You’re looking very fit. l don’t think I can blame Cristiano for succumbing to a rerun with you.’
Colouring, she said nothing. She had never liked Philip, but he was a childhood friend of Cristiano’s, who had attended the same public school. Cristiano, surrounded by men wielding notebook computers and wearing anxious expressions, was talking on the phone. His arrogant dark head lifted as she came in. In a dark suit, striped shirt and blue silk tie, he was drop-dead gorgeous. She met glittering dark golden eyes, fringed by black lashes and semi-screened from her vision.
Simultaneously all the oxygen in the atmotsphere seemed to vanish, and she jerked to a sudden halt.
Cristiano allowed himself to stare. It was a given that all his male executives would gape at Lydia like schoolboys, he conceded, for she was dazzling. Her pale blonde hair tumbled in shining waves round her spectacularly beautiful face. A glistening swirl of silver fabric graced her delicate curves and skimmed her slender thighs. Desire took a rare back seat for Cristiano as he appreciated how revealing the dress was. Just as swiftly he noticed that he was not alone in relishing that view of her bare shoulders and back and her never-ending legs.
He cursed his own lack of judgement, and the sensual line of his handsome mouth hardened when he noticed that Philip was guilty of ogling too. What had happened to respect for another man’s woman?
Aggressive antennae bristling, he shot a knife-sharp glance of censure at the offending male and the guy paled.
