‘I could do prawns in garlic for starters. It’s pretty simple and quick to do. And then, I suppose, chicken with green olives and we could have that with fresh pasta. I do know how to make my own pasta but I won’t have the time to do that.’
Maybe another day, he was inclined to say.
‘Do you limit yourself to Italian cooking in your catering?’ he asked, slowing down as they approached the supermarket on their left.
‘Why are you being so nice to me, Angelo?’
‘So suspicious, Francesca. I wouldn’t want to rub you up the wrong way and discover that the secret ingredient in my food was a touch of arsenic, would I?’
Francesca felt her mouth twitch in amusement but there was no way that she was going to indulge his sense of humour. She was suspicious and she had every right to be in view of his attitude towards her since they had met again. She had a sudden, vivid memory of the laughter they used to share. His wit had always extended beyond amusing surface charm. He could be funny enough to have her holding her sides. She shut the door firmly on that memory.
‘I’m fresh out of arsenic, as it happens, and I don’t believe it’s stocked in supermarkets.’
Angelo grinned and manoeuvred his car into one of the free parking spaces. ‘So I’m safe for now. Good. Life is…sweet at the moment. I wouldn’t—’ he killed the engine and turned to her ‘—want to give it up just yet.’
Francesca suddenly realised just how small the confines of his car were and she felt a lick of nervousness.
‘You haven’t answered my question. Why are you being so nice?’
‘Let’s just say…’ his black eyes locked on hers ‘…that I have discovered all sorts of challenges where there were none before. A very exciting prospect to a jaded soul like mine.’ He smiled slowly and Francesca, suddenly drowning in nectar, opened her car door and shot out.
Challenges? What challenges? Something to do with work, she supposed. He had once told her that the compulsion to work was driven not for love of money, or status, or power, but for the excitement of closing a difficult deal.
If not work, then maybe he was beginning to truly appreciate the anticipation of his impending marriage and the challenges that would inevitably offer.
It didn’t matter. She didn’t want to waste time unravelling his enigmatic statement. What she wanted was to cook him his meal, prove herself capable of the job they had given her and get him out of her house.
CHAPTER FIVE
AS PLANS went it was fine but its execution got off to a grindingly slow start. Francesca, having had the trolley manoeuvred out of her grasp, was inclined to circumnavigate the Saturday evening crowds and do the equivalent of a trolley dash. She very rarely browsed in supermarkets. She came with a long list, usually shopped during antisocial hours and always bought what had to be bought in record time.
Angelo, on the other hand, appeared to be in no rush. The first five minutes found him thumbing through the CDs on sale just beyond the rows of magazines by the huge opening doors.
He could feel her steaming behind him and let his fingers travel along the rack of CDs, pulling out another one and reading the index of songs at super slow speed.
‘What,’ he asked, turning to her, ‘do you think of this one? I live over here now, but regrettably I have not managed to get into the music.’ He handed her the CD and watched as she impatiently scanned it.
‘Have you any intention of buying a CD?’ Francesca asked. ‘I thought we came in here to buy food so that I could cook you a meal and prove that I’m capable of meeting your standards.’ She handed him back the CD and folded her arms.
Dressed casually, she was even more of a knockout than in the neatly tailored suits he had seen her in previously. Her jeans were faded to the palest of blues and fitted her like a second skin, flaring slightly at the bottom, revealing slender feet tucked into workmanlike sandals that would have looked ungainly on any other woman. Models, even ex-models, were built to be put into anything and still look good. Francesca was no exception. Where she differed was that she carried just sufficient weight to look feminine, even though her expression now was anything but.
Undeterred, Angelo surveyed her blandly, although he could feel the adrenaline pumping through him at the thought of his seduction and its inevitable success. A part of him marvelled at the fact that less than a week previously he had been engaged to be married to someone else. Of course, he had always known that he had chosen Georgina because of her credentials, had known that his fondness for her had never extended to love, had willingly accepted that her own feelings for him had been wrapped up in the tremendous ego boost of having landed someone as eminently eligible as he was…but, amazingly, he had given her no more than a passing thought since he had broken off their engagement.