The Italian's Pregnant Mistress(6)

'What do you want to know?' she asked tightly.

'Tut, tut. Anyone would think from your tone of voice that you weren't  pleased to see me. Strange, considering you were the one who ended our  relationship.' The old, familiar rage formed a knot in his stomach. 'Let  me see. What do I want to know?' He took a sip from his glass and  stared at her over the rim, his sharp eyes taking in the jerkiness of  her hand when she reached for the glass of water. Revenge was an  unworthy emotion. He knew that, or at least the cool, logical,  intelligent side of him knew it. Right now, though, he could taste the  sweetness of it on his tongue and was inordinately pleased that he had  not walked away when he had spotted her sitting at the back of the room.

'I am surprised you gave up your very lucrative modelling career,' he  mused. 'What went wrong? Europe too small to contain the both of us?'

'It seemed a good time to come back to England.' Francesca raised her  chin stubbornly, refusing to let him push her into a corner. 'I'd saved  enough money to buy a small place of my own and I fancied a change of  job.' Their eyes tangled and she felt hot and faint and agonisingly  aware of the powerful effect he still had on her. 'It's no bigger a life  change than the one you've made,' she continued. 'You've moved to  London and become engaged. I'm sorry I didn't get to meet her and I  don't suppose I will now, but good luck for the future.' Her mouth  smiled politely but her eyes remained misty with a frantic desire to get  away from his presence.

'And you? Not involved with anyone?'

Francesca thought of Jack, who would be wondering how the meeting was  coming along, and her momentary hesitation answered his question. It was  an answer he didn't care for and Angelo felt base, primitive jealousy  rip through him like a knife.

'But of course, you would be,' he said smoothly. 'A beautiful woman like yourself.'

'There's no need to compliment me, Angelo,' she said sharply. 'You hate  me. Which is why I can't understand what we're doing here, pretending to  make small talk.'

'Hate? There is no mileage in hate. It's a counterproductive emotion.'  He realised that his glass was empty and resisted the temptation to  order another drink. Apart from the stupidity of drinking at this early  hour, there was also the small technicality of a certain high-level  dinner engagement later that evening. Which he was in danger of reaching  late if he didn't make a move soon. He settled back into his chair and  beckoned the waitress across. To hell with it. Another whisky and soda  would be okay but he better make it a light one.

'So indulge my curiosity and tell me about him. After all, you know all about my personal status.'

'There's no one.' Poor Jack. She was pretty sure he wouldn't like being  labelled as no one, not least because she had known him since her early  teens, but she didn't want to start walking down the road of little  lies. Although, did it matter any more? Once she left this place she  would never see Angelo Falcone again. She certainly wouldn't be getting  the plum job for which she had come so prepared. The wad of recipes she  had painstakingly selected to bring with her were still sitting in her  capacious bag, making a mockery of her high hopes.                       
       
           



       

'Ah, Francesca.' He raised his glass to his mouth and sipped carefully. 'You may have lied to me about your name-'

'I didn't lie to you! Millband is my mother's name and Ellie was always  my first name. I didn't conjure the name Francesca Hayley out of thin  air!' One little truth.

'But you're lying now. Who is he? Do you think I care?'

Of course he didn't care! Nor did she. On that very last evening he had  told her that they were ships that crossed in the night. Now they were  ships sailing different oceans. They no longer had any impact on one  another.

'His name is Jack,' she offered with a little shrug. 'He works with me.  We set up the catering business together, if you must know.' She stared  down into the unappealing glass of water and then reluctantly took a  small sip. It had been cold forty minutes ago. Now it was metallic and  tepid.

'Jack. And how did you meet him? An ex-model also seeking to expand his horizons?'

For the first time since she had sat down, Francesca smiled with genuine  amusement. Jack might have once upon a time been the sought-after boy  in town, in the way that bad boys often were to teenage girls, but an  ex-model? She thought of his shaved head and the embarrassing tattoos on  his back and grinned. She couldn't help it. Then she laughed. That  warm, rich, full-bodied laugh that was so infectious.

'I think he would be insulted if you called him that! Well, that would  be after I'd picked him up from the ground in shock at the description!'

It was that laugh that did it. Took him back through the years, took him  back to that place where he had been captive to her irreverent  ebullience. She had certainly never tiptoed around him. More ran circles  around him.

'No ex-model?' Angelo smiled at her with cold indifference. 'What, then?  A businessman? Someone in a two-piece suit and a bowler hat?'

'Your Italian ancestry's showing, Angelo. Men these days don't wear  bowler hats.' And people shouldn't find their past creeping up on them  stealthily like a thief in the night. 'I really think it's time I left,'  she said quietly. 'I'm sorry. This has been a shock … '

'But what about your menus?' Angelo asked. 'I wouldn't want you to  return to your little house without at least giving you the benefit of  telling me what you had in mind for my wedding banquet … '

'Stop it!' Two bright patches of colour had appeared on her cheeks. 'I  always knew you were hard nosed, Angelo. I never realised you were just  downright cruel!'

'Cruel? How am I being cruel? Explain to me. I meet you here after three  years and am polite enough to ask you what you have been up to in that  time. I offer to see your menus, which I assume you have brought with  you. Hardly the definition of cruelty.'

'You know what I mean.'

'I have no idea what you are talking about. Time has a habit of dimming  our memory of past acquaintances and their expectations.'

There wasn't a flicker of warmth on his face. He had found himself in  her company before he had had time to retreat unnoticed and had managed  to dredge up some semblance of politeness because the situation demanded  it. A show of interest in her menu cards was just extending the  politeness to embarrassing levels as far as she was concerned. The anger  and dislike was there, she could feel it simmering behind the mask, but  it was anger that had been roused by seeing her out of the blue. She  doubted that he had given her much of a passing thought over the years  or, if he had, only insofar as she had damaged his ego. Now, to him, she  truly was an ex-acquaintance with whom he had shared a few months of  his life, off and on.

He was engaged to be married. He had found love and affection and was  eagerly planning his wedding day. She took a deep breath and tried to  control the emotions beating against their constraints.

'You're right.' She ventured a smile which didn't garner a response.  'Okay. You can have a look at the menu I've prepared.' She rummaged  around in her bag, feeling his eyes on her, and extracted neatly  collated, printed sheets of paper. A choice, she told him, focusing on  the papers and not on his face. Several options for starters, main  courses and of course there would be a selection of desserts. She had  only a vague idea of numbers but assumed that there would be roughly two  hundred people from what his fiancée had communicated to her on her  answer machine. Was she right in that assumption?

It was bizarre, sitting here like this, pretending to talk about a job  that would not materialise while her heart did crazy things inside her  and her head reeled with a sickening slide show of images of the past.  She must have stored up so much information and, like a computer, her  mind was now downloading it all in every painful detail.                       
       
           



       

What a joke to be sticking a phoney smile on her face and pretending  that they were just two people having a normal conversation about a  normal topic.

'What is she like?' It was spoken before she had time to think.

'I beg your pardon?' Angelo looked up at her politely.

'I'm sorry. I meant … well, I'm glad you've found someone you love,  someone to settle down with. I'm really happy for you, Angelo … '

And she had found someone as well. Time had moved on. But he certainly  wasn't happy for her, nor was he in control of his response. He inclined  his head curtly in acknowledgment of what she had said and then  returned to the menus. She had never been able to cook when he had known  her. An omelette had presented a challenge. Now the array of food she  had listed was exquisite.