The welcoming smile she had prepared for her prospective client faded into a strangled gasp. Nothing had prepared her for this. What was Angelo Falcone doing here? Was he really here? Standing in front of her? She blinked a few times, willing the image away, but he was still there, bigger, leaner and a whole lot more forbidding than she remembered.
‘Surprised to see me, Francesca? Sorry, it’s now Ellie Millband, I believe?’
‘What are you doing here?’ Francesca whispered, fascinated by the familiarity of his face and terrified at the harshness stamped on it that she had never seen all those years ago when she had been going out with him.
‘Interviewing you, in point of fact.’ He nodded at a passing waitress to come and take his order for a drink, then he sat down and gave her the full benefit of one long, insolent, unapologetically cold stare. ‘Although whom exactly am I interviewing?’ he asked silkily. ‘Since you seem to have changed identities.’ His initial shock at seeing her had given way to ice-cold self-control.
Francesca’s brain cranked into gear. ‘I was expecting to see…’
‘My fiancée.’
‘Your fiancée.’ In her head, he had remained a single man. Stupid, considering the amount of women who would have swarmed around him, hoping to net the biggest fish in the sea. She stared down at her Filofax in confusion, then reluctantly looked at him. Her hands were trembling and she clasped them tightly together on her lap, well out of sight of his black, impenetrable stare. ‘Congratulations,’ she said belatedly. ‘I…that would be…to Georgi…’
‘So who are you?’ Angelo interrupted. ‘Shall I call you by your new name, or was your old one the fabrication? Tell me. I’m interested.’ Her hair was shorter but she looked even better for it and, even though the clothes were different, a tailored suit as befitting someone being interviewed for a big job, he could see that the body was still the same. Still that superbly proportioned body that had once driven him wild.
The memory of how she used to affect him didn’t soften him. It was laced with too much bitterness.
‘Francesca Hayley was the name I used when I modelled,’ she said, steadying herself by breathing in deeply. ‘I no longer model. Look, Angelo, I’m sorry to have wasted your time, and your fiancée’s, but I don’t think there’s any point in our having this conversation.’ She half rose, fumbling to reach for her handbag, which was on the floor by her chair.
‘Sit back down, Francesca.’
His voice was calm and modulated but imbued with threat. Francesca hastily sat back down. I’m Ellie Millband, she wanted to tell him, Ellie Millband, not Francesca Hayley, but the words wouldn’t come out and, anyway, he wasn’t going to be prepared to let the past rest.
‘We’re old friends and ex-lovers…’ His smile sent a chill of fear racing along her spine. ‘Surely it would be fitting that we fill in the gaps in our respective lives now that fate has brought us back together?’
‘There’s no point, Angelo.’ She had to steel herself to look at him. She recognised the lines of his face, the masculine beauty that she had once found so compelling, but she still felt as though she was sitting opposite a stranger and a stranger who could barely conceal his dislike. ‘I came here to discuss, well, my ideas for a meal…for your wedding. I didn’t come here to discuss the past.’
‘Which just goes to show that we should always be flexible, don’t you think?’ His drink had arrived, something strong in a short, squat glass, and he accepted it without taking his eyes off her face.
With a painful stab, she realised that he was enjoying himself, enjoying this unexpected encounter. His life had moved on and he was more than happy to watch her squirm in front of him. She really couldn’t blame him. If her legs would only start functioning properly she would have denied him the satisfaction, but she had a sneaking suspicion that they might just pack up from under her if she tried to stand up. The sensible mineral water she had ordered twenty minutes before when she had arrived, eager and early, now seemed ridiculously lacking in any ability to fortify her.
‘What do you want to know?’ she asked tightly.
‘Tut, tut. Anyone would think from your tone of voice that you weren’t pleased to see me. Strange, considering you were the one who ended our relationship.’ The old, familiar rage formed a knot in his stomach. ‘Let me see. What do I want to know?’ He took a sip from his glass and stared at her over the rim, his sharp eyes taking in the jerkiness of her hand when she reached for the glass of water. Revenge was an unworthy emotion. He knew that, or at least the cool, logical, intelligent side of him knew it. Right now, though, he could taste the sweetness of it on his tongue and was inordinately pleased that he had not walked away when he had spotted her sitting at the back of the room.