'I believe she's only been contacted by Miss Thompson. Your fiancée rang to tell me that you will be conducting the interview in her place but she probably won't recognise you, Mr Falcone, as no doubt she's expecting Miss Thompson. Will that be a problem? I could always get in touch and-'
'No, no. No problem, Maisie. Just bring me in those reports on the Downy deal and buzz me at four or I shall forget and be in the doghouse with Georgina.'
Maisie, plump, fifty and the very soul of discretion, didn't so much as crack a smile at that fleeting conspiratorial tone in his voice, but, not for the first time, she wondered why he was marrying Georgina Thompson, who might carry the advantages of her well-connected family, but who lacked substance and who could be very cutting when her fiancé's back was turned and his ears were elsewhere. Not for a million pounds would she have shared those thoughts with anyone.
It was a little after four-thirty by the time Angelo negotiated his way to the American burger restaurant in Covent Garden which housed a long sports bar along one side.
It was, as he'd expected, packed. There weren't many nooks and crannies in Central London that weren't bursting at the seams with tourists in the middle of July and the heat seemed to have driven a fair few of them into the bar for something cold to drink.
Initial impressions were already beginning to leave a sour taste in his mouth. He hadn't wanted to concur with Georgina's prophecy that the woman was a rank amateur, but meeting in a busy burger bar in one of the most crowded parts of London to discuss what would be for her a very important job fell only just short of sheer stupidity. He imagined what Georgina's reaction would have been, had it been her standing in an uncomfortable queue by the door. She would have spun round on her very expensive heels and left without further ado.
If Ellie Millband's choice of venue was anything to go by then he was pretty sure that she had written herself out of the job but, having trekked across London to get to the place and with a bit of time to kill before he returned to his apartment to get ready for his dinner engagement later, he dutifully enquired of the small Australian girl clasping an armful of menus whether she could point him in the direction of a Ms Millband. He was startled to be told that she was downstairs in the restaurant.
'I'll make my way down myself,' he said, glancing at his watch.
'She's at the table to the back.'
Angelo nodded and headed towards the wooden stairs leading down, thankfully leaving behind most of the shopped-out hordes. It was cooler as he descended the stairs. It was also much emptier. In fact, so empty that only a handful of tables were occupied and, since three of them were filled with families, there left very little doubt as to whom he was going to see.
Yes, she was sitting right at the back, focusing intently on a small Filofax in front of her. Shoulder-length dark hair was tucked neatly behind her ears. Perfect ears. And, even though she wasn't looking at him, he would have known that face anywhere. He had seen it in his dreams for longer than he cared to remember and the mental image, even after three years, still had the capacity to fill him with burning rage.
Every muscle in his body kick-started into gear. He had to steady himself on the banister. Somewhere in his head, he knew that he should just turn around and go back the way he had come, then tell Georgina that Ms Ellie Millband was no longer a candidate for the job. His decision would have been final. He would not even have had to provide an explanation.
Common sense lasted the length of time it took him to blink, then he was walking towards her. In a moment she would look up and see him, see the man she had rejected three years ago. Anticipation of her shock made his pulses race with sadistic pleasure.
The wheel always turned full circle, didn't it? Not in a million years had he ever expected to see the woman again, but that hadn't stopped him from seeing her image in his head. He had striven to wipe her out and, to all intents and purposes, he had succeeded. His life had returned to its driving routine of work interrupted with the occasional fling until the passage of time had dictated that he needed to marry, to settle down and have the family he wanted. But her image had still persisted, creeping out to disturb the ruthless onward march of his career, always leaving behind the bitter taste of impotent fury.
He realised he was clenching his fists by the time he made it to the table. And still she hadn't looked up. Nor did he say a word. He just stood there until she was aware of a shadow looming over her. Only then did Francesca slowly raise her eyes.
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.