The Italian's Pregnant Mistress(4)

Francesca felt sick. She couldn't remain crouched on the bed. She had to  get up and move around. Without warning, she flung back the duvet and  stuck her legs over the side of the bed, then walked over to the chest  of drawers an yanked out some underwear and a tee shirt from the small  collection of clothes she kept at the apartment. Yes, he was so right.  Clothes that were a testimony to a life on the move. Some here, most in  her flat in Paris, some already in a suitcase just in case she got a  call and had no time to pack.

'What are you doing?'

Before she knew it he was out of the bed and coming towards her, and she  hugged herself. Her legs felt cold but it was better standing up, made  her stomach feel a little less queasy.

'It's not a good idea, Angelo.'

Panic, he could have dealt with. But the sudden flatness in her voice  was like a punch in the gut. He gripped the sides of her arms with his  hands and propelled her back against the wall.

'What are you saying?'

'Please, Angelo. Let's just leave things as they are. It works for us.  Why fix it if it ain't broke?' She tried a laugh but it died as quickly  as it had come, leaving the sour aroma of tension in its wake.

'You needn't be scared that spending more time with one another will  jeopardise our relationship. We have been together for over a year. It  is time for us to take the next step forward.' Angelo tried again but  there was a beating in his head that was getting louder. Yes, he had  been scared of jumping off the precipice into the unknown, but he had  pretty much expected his landing to be soft. He certainly hadn't  expected to find himself falling in thin air with the distinct suspicion  that his landing was to be a bed of rocks.

'There is no step forward, Angelo.' She made herself do it. Made herself  look at him straight in the face, and God, it was the most difficult  thing she had ever had to do in her entire life. It made every painful  turning in her life seem pale in comparison. And of course she knew why.  Because she had fallen in love with him, hopelessly, blindingly and  stupidly in love.                       
       
           



       

She watched the tenderness on his face replaced with disbelief and then  his whole expression closed down and she didn't know what he was  thinking any more.

'I don't want to play happy families with you. I was happy with things  the way they were. It suited me.' She felt like a gravedigger digging  her own grave.

'I see.'

No, you don't! You don't see anything at all!

'I don't want to return to England. Maybe one day, but not yet, and I  don't want to move in with you and become your companion in this highly  visible life of yours. If that's what you want then you're better off  finding someone else to fill the role.' His eyes were hard and  expressionless and Lord, it hurt.

'In that case there is nothing further to say.' He turned away from her  and walked towards the door, only pausing when his hand was on the knob.  Then he turned and gave her one final look.

'I am going to have a long shower. When I get out, I want to find you  gone. Take all your possessions with you and, Francesca … ' He allowed a  few seconds of silence between them. 'Make very sure you never cross my  path again.'





CHAPTER TWO




'IT'S a short-list of three, Angelo, and really you must take an interest in this.'

Georgina wasn't happy. He could tell from the pursed set of her mouth  and the way her slender, stiletto-shod foot was tapping impatiently on  the floor. Angelo was very tempted to open a debate on the subject of  exactly why he should take an interest. Hadn't he already taken enough  of an interest to state what he wanted on the menu? He suppressed a  little sigh of impatience and watched the down-bent head of his fiancée  as she consulted a wad of papers on her lap.

Through the floor to ceiling windows of his impressive London office he  could see the broad expanse of cloudless blue sky. English summers, he  had discovered, lacked the vibrant heat of Italian summers or the  stifling humidity of New York ones, but he rather liked their  uncertainty. Cloudless blue skies one day, leaden grey ones the next. He  shifted his chair back from his desk and went across to where Georgina  was perched on the sofa.

'Let me have a look, then.' He took the sample menu sheets from her and sat down.

Animated at this show of interest, Georgina launched into a monologue on  the various upsides and downsides of the menus. Which caterer presented  what that would appeal to most.

'We have to get it just right,' she asserted. 'It's our big day and you  know how many important people are going to be there. We just can't  afford to have any slip ups. Which is why I am recommending that we go  with someone we've heard of. Mummy's used the Walton brothers before and  they're absolutely ideal. You just have to look at how they've  presented their choices! Professionals.'

'Why are you asking my opinion if you have already made your mind up?'  he queried. Of course he knew why. For all her well-bred, sophisticated,  self-assured elegance, Georgina tiptoed around him, never wanting to  invite his displeasure. Which, he told himself, was as it should be.

'You're the one who insisted on authentic Italian food, darling!' She  stroked the back of his neck lovingly and Angelo shook his head and  stood up. He had decided. And it wasn't the Walton brothers with their  impeccable pedigree. He was pretty sure that his choice would meet with a  wall of resistance but that didn't bother him. Georgina would accept  his decision without any show of temper.

'Who is Ellie Millband?'

'Darling, a friend of a friend of a friend used her to cater for one of  their supper parties and apparently she's quite good, but probably not  quite up to catering for the number of guests we have coming. Rather an  amateur, I should imagine.'

'Her menu is interesting.'

'So are the others, Angelo.'

'And,' he said perversely, 'I like the thought of employing an amateur.  There is nothing more spiritually gratifying than knowing one is giving a  helping hand to the underdog.'

'Angelo, this is our wedding banquet we're talking about! Surely there is a time and a place for a social conscience!'

'Have you interviewed her?'

'I … I honestly didn't think that she would be a serious contender.'

Angelo tried hard not to frown at the creeping petulance in his  fiancée's voice. She's going to be my wife in exactly three months'  time, he told himself, and she was going to make him a perfect wife. Her  background was impeccable, which was important for a man like him, a  man who moved in the highest echelons. She was also devoted to him,  reasonably intelligent and unquestionably beautiful. Five foot five  inches of peaches and cream English beauty, with her china-doll blue  eyes and her sleek, well-groomed blonde bob.                       
       
           



       

'Arrange an interview and I will see her. Will that satisfy you? You can  trust me when I say that if she seems incapable of doing the job, then  she will be dismissed from the running.' He strolled across to her and  curved his hand behind her head, tilting her to face him. 'And we will  go with your parents' recommendation. Hmm?' He smiled absent-mindedly at  the beaming relief that greeted his suggestion, mind already ahead on  the amount of work he had to get through before his dinner engagement  later in the evening. 'But you'll have to leave now, cara.' He glanced  at his watch ruefully and she sprang to her feet.

'I know, darling-work, work, work.' She pressed herself against him for a  lingering embrace and pouted until he kissed her. 'Don't forget,  Mummy's expecting us to dinner tomorrow evening so that we can discuss  arrangements.'

'I don't think military engagements have been planned in more extensive  detail,' he said, half amused, half irritated. 'And let me know when I  can see this girl. If she's free later today I can squeeze her in around  four-thirty, before I leave for the Savoy.'

'Oh, I'm sure she'll be available!' Georgina said airily. 'The prospect  of a job of this size would probably make her willing to jump through  hoops to please! But don't forget, any sign that she's not up to it and  we don't give her the job. Promise?'

Her mouth was pouting for another kiss and Angelo obliged, hand on the door in the process.

'Absolutely,' he murmured. 'Now, off you go, my sweet, and I shall see you tomorrow. I'll collect you at eight.'

'Seven at the latest, Angelo.'

'I'll do my best.'

She left a waft of expensive perfume in her wake and by the time the  scent had faded he had totally forgotten about their conversation until  he emerged from his two o'clock meeting to be informed by his secretary  that Ellie Millband would be pleased to meet his future wife at  four-thirty in the bar of a restaurant in Covent Garden.

'She's meeting me,' Angelo said, frowning.