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But she would wait a while, and over the next four days the waiting nearly killed her. She lived on her nerves, expecting the doorbell to go at any moment, with Riccardo and his lawyer standing on her doorstep demanding custody, even though she knew, thinking rationally, that there was no way he could pull that off. But, then again, Riccardo could pull off anything or at least that was the impression he gave.
In the end, she telephoned Aubrey and bared her soul. She wanted to hear him soothe all those irrational fears away, which he did, but it wasn’t enough. She had to find out what Riccardo was up to; she had to steal his march.
‘Aubrey, I just have to know where he is. I have to get in touch with him.’
‘Leave it with me.’
And less than two hours later she knew. All those years, and she could have bumped into him at any time. She had lived her life in blissful ignorance of the danger lurking virtually on her doorstep. Because his offices were in London, not a million miles away from where she worked, and shockingly close to a couple of penthouse suites she had sold to overseas investors. They probably would have bumped into each other at that jazz club much earlier if she had had any kind of active social life. She knew the area well, as he no doubt did too, and they both loved jazz.
Of course, she knew that he would probably not have spent all of his time in London, but still.
It took all her courage to take the bull by its horns and confront Riccardo on his own turf. It had been bad enough dealing with him in the safe confines of her own house, but, as she dressed carefully for the meeting she had never really anticipated, she could feel her stomach work itself into a series of knots.
Her normal morning routine had a nightmarish feel to it, and she had even sent Gina off to school with a chocolate bar nestled next to her sandwich and yoghurt. Then she had looked at herself in the mirror, a long, hard look. Not that it would make a scrap of difference, she wanted to present herself as a model human being. Fat chance of him falling in line with that plan, she thought, heading out and hailing the first taxi she could find so that she didn’t have to battle with the underground.
She didn’t know whether he would be in or not, and, as the taxi dropped her off in front of one of those paeans to modern architecture that left her cold, she half hoped that he would be out—somewhere safely abroad, tucked away on a continent far from her and Gina.
However, if he did happen to be around, then she was pretty certain that she would be ushered up to his office the minute she gave her name. A bit like a rabbit being shown straight to the lion’s den.
It was an analogy she wished she hadn’t thought of, as the girl at Reception put through a call and was told that Mr di Napoli was indeed in and, yes, having been given Charlotte’s name, he would see her.
Better than that, his secretary would fetch her from Reception! The girl at the desk looked at Charlotte with new-found respect. Maybe the neatly turned out blonde with the frankly unadventurous outfit had a bit more going for her than she’d originally thought.
Charlotte’s unadventurous outfit had been planned for a purpose. The purpose was to show Riccardo that when it came to Gina she meant business, that she was not going to be steamrollered by him, but neither was her intention to wage war or go on the immediate attack. Hence she had decided on a suit in a sensible colour. Grey. But it was a trouser suit, and she was wearing a cheerful burgundy jumper with the trousers.
Now if she could only get her mind to be as relaxed and confident as her outfit, she thought as the elevator purred its way up to the top floor, she might be getting somewhere.
