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Wryly, it occurred to Angie that they both had their share of troublesome sisters. ‘I think so. I haven’t heard much lately beyond the occasional frantic text and she never seems to look at her email.’
‘Call her from my landline.’
‘No, honestly—’
‘Just call her, Angie,’ he insisted.
She put the phone down feeling oddly warm—though this time her body heat had nothing to do with a flu virus. She’d never known Riccardo to be quite so thoughtful before—and when the phone rang later, she almost thought it might be him again.
‘Hello?’ she questioned softly.
‘Hi.’ It was a woman’s voice—silky soft and with a twangy north-Atlantic drawl which tugged at a distant memory. ‘Is this the maid?’
For a minute, Angie thought it might be a wind-up. ‘No, this is…this is Riccardo Castellari’s secretary.’
‘Oh. Hi. This is Paula—Paula Prentice and I’m a friend of his.’
‘How can I help you, Ms Prentice?’ asked Angie, trying to ignore the terrified flutter of her heart.
‘It’s just that he has a red dress of mine—one I’ve never worn. It’s a beautiful dress and Rico had it made specially and, well—it seems a kinda waste not to wear it.’
Suddenly, it all made sense. Of course. Riccardo hadn’t broken the habit of a lifetime and bought her a present which might have required a little imagination or a little thought. Instead, she had been fobbed off with a dress which had been intended for another woman. A question of being in the right place at the right time. Or the wrong one.
It was one of those moments where, if she had been in a film, Angie might have dropped the phone and gasped. Or slammed the phone down. But although she might be a foolish, foolish woman who had read far too much into a careless gesture—she was the consummate secretary.
‘Of course, Ms Prentice,’ she said smoothly. ‘Don’t worry—I’ll look into it and make sure it’s all sorted out.’
‘Thanks.’
After she’d put the phone down, Angie stared at it for a long minute, then lifted her eyes to look at the stars in the sky, remembering the night she’d been given the dress. Her innocent joy that Riccardo had bought her a gift which was intensely personal. A gift which had made her feel like a woman for the first time in her life. The dress which had transformed her enough to make Riccardo want to sleep with her. Had he been imagining that she was the other woman—the woman he’d really bought the dress for? Was that what he had thought of as he had thrust into her body with such passion that night—that she was really someone else?
Biting her lip, she looked around distractedly, as if suddenly recognising Riccardo’s home for what it really was—alien terrain. Had she ever been stupid enough to think that she might have a legitimate place here? But she would not crumple. She just needed to keep busy. To keep doing. And she knew exactly what needed to be done.
CHAPTER TWELVE
WARM air ruffled through her hair and the sound of the ocean was as soothing as the head and neck massage she’d had earlier. Angie rubbed a little more sun-block onto her nose, and yawned. When it came to curing a broken heart—you couldn’t get a much better location than an Australian beach, she decided as she lifted her face up towards the sun.
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‘Auntie Lina, Auntie Lina!’
A small dynamo of a child came bounding towards her, covering her with damp sand—and she giggled as her four-year-old nephew threw himself into her arms and clamped his cold arms around her neck. ‘Hello, Todd,’ she giggled. ‘Did you have a good swim?’
‘Mummy says I’m like a fish!’
‘Then you must be very good! Angie glanced up to see her sister approaching, squeezing the water out of long hair bleached blonde by the sun. They hadn’t been on a beach together since childhood—and how things had changed. When the two girls had been growing up it had been Sally who had been considered the pretty one—but since Angie had arrived, people had been commenting on how alike the two sisters were. And that had pleased Angie—not because of the implied attractiveness, but because it gave her a sense of belonging. A feeling of being part of something—a family.
She smiled at her sister. ‘How was the swimming lesson?’ she asked.
Sally grinned. ‘Brilliant—though I’m exhausted. Thought I might go back to the house and get stuff ready for the BBQ tonight—do you want to come?’
Angie stretched out on the warm sand and shook her head. ‘No. I think I’ll stay here for a while—make the most of the sun while I can. Do you want me to look after Todd?’
Sally shook her head. ‘No, he’s tired. I’m hoping he might take a nap.’ She hesitated as she picked up a towel. ‘Listen, Angie…I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘I don’t want thanks,’ said Angie fiercely, because in truth she had welcomed the distraction of being concerned about someone else’s worries for a change. She had gained a new perspective from her time with Riccardo, which had been useful when talking to her sister—and she had revelled in the opportunity of getting to know her gorgeous little nephew.
‘Well, you deserve them,’ said Sally. ‘If you hadn’t made me come to my senses. To realise just what I had—and that I was risking throwing it all away for nothing very much at all.’
