Angelo, she imagined, would be furious.
‘I think it’s time we left, Jack.’ She smiled politely and tried to nudge her gregarious companion with her foot. ‘Naturally we’ll keep you informed of our progress and if perhaps you could let us know of any change to the numbers…?’ So far, Jack had managed to steer away from personal conversation, but he was getting far too much into his element for her liking, quizzing Georgina on her tastes in food, treading a thin line between politeness and flirtation.
‘Jack,’ she said bluntly, turning to him, ‘these people would perhaps like to leave and have some dinner. It’s time we left.’
‘Surely not quite yet. Angelo and I are riveted by your views on Continental cuisine. Have you travelled to all these faraway places that inspire you?’
Francesca all but groaned. Another bottle of wine was ordered. Jack, in full flow, discussed food with the aplomb of a gifted gourmet, sidestepped awkward questions and left her seething in her virtually non-alcoholic silence. Georgina, she noticed, was not averse to drinking her share and more. And Angelo…what was he thinking? His expression was shuttered. Was he thinking about taking his fiancée home? Making love to her? Being so close to him was unendurable agony because it reminded her of past times when she couldn’t bear to be near him without wanting to tear his clothes off.
Georgina seemed absorbed in whatever Jack was now saying, but then, how different the situation was between her and Angelo. They probably lived together. Like normal people in love. That frantic coupling would not be part of their lifestyle. They could afford to enjoy each other’s company without thinking of the absences looming on the horizon. Theirs would be a normal, happy life instead of periods spent apart, wishing the empty moments gone yet dreading the cruel passage of time.
Eventually, Francesca simply stood up and waited for Jack to follow suit. Georgina, she noticed, was swaying ever so slightly and her eyes were bright, too bright. She leaned in to Angelo and, as if taking a cue, Jack put his arm over Francesca’s shoulder and gave her a brief squeeze.
‘Looks like dinner might be off the cards,’ Angelo said and Georgina stood on tiptoe and curled her hands around his neck. He gently untangled them but still supported her as they all left the bar, now busy with people.
Francesca didn’t know if either was listening when she politely said goodbye, repeating all the usual platitudes about either she or Jack being in touch with them and, of course, do call if they had any problems.
She certainly wasn’t listening to Jack as he waxed lyrical in the back of the taxi on the virtues of the delicate blonde. Seeing Angelo and Georgina had been just what she needed, a slap in the face and a long overdue end to all the nonsense she had been harbouring in her mind about unrequited love and a man pining for her.
She had been employed to do a job and she would do it well. Angelo Falcone might want to see her fail, but she wasn’t going to let that happen and she wasn’t going to let him affect her. The last thing she needed was for him to look down on her with pity and contempt from the splendid heights of his own domestic contentment.
The taxi dropped her off first. They lived within blocks of one another and, in fact, had, at points, debated the wisdom of sharing a house, but had both backed away from the idea. She didn’t want the dubious pleasure of having to live with Jack’s convoluted personal life and he, she suspected, did not want to run the risk of having her lecture him on his sloppy habits. So he continued to pay the rent on his property and she continued to pay her small mortgage, even though they saw one another daily.
The first thing Francesca did was to get rid of her suit, which she hung back up in her wardrobe, and have a shower. Then she slipped into some old jeans and an even older tee shirt and went into the kitchen to make herself something to eat. Years in the modelling world had made her very careful in her own eating habits and the fact that she dealt with food every day had made her very quick when it came to preparing anything for herself.
She was sitting down in front of a mushroom omelette and French bread when the doorbell rang.
This, she thought with irritation, was exactly when a butler would have been useful. Jeeves, just tell Jack that I’m busy and, no, I won’t be going with him to the pub for a quick drink.
Instead, she padded across to the front door and opened it just enough of a crack to signal to Jack that she wasn’t going out.
It wasn’t Jack.
‘Angelo! What are you doing here?’ The chain on the door remained in place and she looked at him warily.
‘Have I come at a bad time?’