His expression hardened and became unreadable once more. ‘The irony isn’t lost on me,’ he muttered obliquely.
She wondered what he meant, but before she could ask he slid into the back of the Bentley and disappeared from view behind the darkened windows. He was a man of mystery and absolutely the last thing she needed when she was two days away from her holiday, Darcey thought as she started the Mini’s engine and followed the Bentley out of the car park. For weeks she had been daydreaming about relaxing on a golden beach, eating melting Brie on crusty French bread, and drinking the local red wine. She was regretting her impulsive decision to meet Salvatore’s daughter, but as she recalled the photo of Rosa she could not help feeling sympathetic towards the little girl with the sad eyes.
* * *
Traffic in the capital at the start of the rush hour was heavily congested, and Darcey had lost sight of the Bentley by the time she crawled along Oxford Street and turned onto Park Lane. Opposite was Marble Arch and the green oasis of Hyde Park, but she was too busy looking for the address Salvatore had given her to be able to admire the famous London landmarks. Suddenly she caught sight of the Bentley parked in front of a stunning neo-classical style mansion house. Hastily indicating to change lanes, she nipped into a parking space, thankful that her small car was so easy to manoeuvre.
Salvatore was standing on the front steps of the house and seemed to be in deep conversation with a striking blonde wearing a very short skirt and a low-cut top that revealed her enviable cleavage. Darcey sensed from their body language that they were arguing. The woman spun away from him, but he followed her down the steps and caught hold of her arm.
Feeling awkward at the idea of interrupting a lovers’ tiff, Darcey remained in her car and watched the woman jerk free from Salvatore and climb into a waiting taxi, which immediately sped away. She was tempted to drive off too, but he was striding along the pavement towards her, his powerful masculinity in no way lessened by the slight unevenness of his gait due to his injured leg. With a sigh, she got out of the Mini and went to meet him.
‘It might be best if I left,’ she said, feeling her heart skitter when he halted in front of her. Her reaction to him was all the more unsettling because she could not control it. Since her divorce eighteen months ago she had not felt the slightest interest in men, and she was horrified by her body’s response to Salvatore’s potent virility.
He frowned, and she explained, ‘I saw you arguing with your girlfriend and I thought you might want to go after her.’
‘That wasn’t my girlfriend,’ he said curtly, and Darcey suddenly realised that his temper was on a tight leash. ‘Sharon was my daughter’s nanny. I hired her through an agency when I brought Rosa to England for surgery to fit the cochlear implants. The arrangement was that Sharon would accompany me back to Sicily and continue looking after Rosa. But she has just informed me that she has got back together with a boyfriend and is moving to Birmingham to be with him.’
‘So who is looking after Rosa now?’
‘Sharon said she had asked one of the maids to keep an eye on her.’
Darcey could imagine how confused and upset Rosa must feel at being abandoned by the nanny who was supposed to be taking care of her. ‘Poor little girl,’ she said softly.
There was no flicker of emotion in Salvatore’s dark eyes. ‘Unfortunately Luisa—the nanny who had looked after Rosa since she was a baby—left to get married shortly before we came to England. Finding someone able to use sign language at short notice was difficult, and Sharon was the only person on the agency’s books. I admit that when I took her on I was unaware of her boyfriend problems.’ He glanced at Darcey. ‘Come and meet my daughter.’
He began to walk back towards the house, and after a moment’s hesitation Darcey hurried after him. ‘Was Rosa close to her previous nanny?’
He shrugged. ‘I suppose so. My daughter has no memory of her mother and had only been cared for by Luisa. I imagine she missed her at first, but she’s a resilient child.’
Darcey was chilled by his cool tone and his curiously detached air when he spoke about his little girl. She wondered if a five-year-old could really be as resilient as he seemed to think, but she made no comment as she followed him up the steps and into the house. With grey marble walls and floor, and elegant antique furniture, the entrance hall looked more like the foyer of a five-star hotel—with the same impersonal feel. It was obvious that expert interior designers had been given a limitless budget to spend, but although it was a beautiful house it was not a home, and seemed as cold and unwelcoming as its owner.