The Italian's Pregnant Mistress(7)

'I wanted to do something that had a career in it but wasn't  office-based,' she said, tuning in to his thought patterns. 'Hence the  catering.' The fact that she had left school at sixteen without any  qualifications to speak of had also dictated a life-plan that didn't  include a university degree. That, she kept to herself. 'Once I had  bought my house and was grounded, I found that I actually had to prepare  meals for myself and I discovered that I enjoyed it. It seemed natural  to take it one step further.' And specialising in Italian food had  seemed natural as well, all wrapped up as it had been in memories of  him. It had been a wise choice, as it turned out, for more practical  reasons, because not many caterers specialised and very few specialised  in Italian cuisine. She had found a ready market among the many  well-to-do Londoners who held dinner parties and office dos and either  couldn't be bothered or preferred to have someone else do the catering  for them.

'How very resourceful. And how very puzzling that you were so eager to  settle down. When we last spoke you were fighting the idea.' Or maybe,  he thought icily, just fighting the idea of doing it with him.

'I know. I still thought that I wanted the adventure of never being in one place for too long, but … well … '

He watched the faint embarrassed blush creep into her cheeks, the way  she tried to conceal her expression by looking down. He saw the truth  staring him in the face. She had settled down because she had found the  right man and it hadn't been him. It had never been him and, who knew,  maybe this other man had been on the scene all along? After all, it  hadn't been as if he had kept tabs on her. They had spent many periods  of time apart, pursuing their separate careers. There would have been  ample opportunity for her to have had someone else in the background.  Someone else making love to her, turning her on. It was a thought that  had not crossed his mind before but, now that it had, it took root and  rapidly sprouted poisonous tendrils that curled into every corner of his  mind.

'For the best,' he said into the tense silence. 'As most things turn out  to be, in my opinion. After all, have we not both found our perfect  partners?' His head seethed with images of her betrayal. Three years and  he was discovering that the rage he felt towards her had only been  papered over.

Francesca looked at him uncertainly, wondering what was going on behind the polite words.

'I have come to a decision,' he said abruptly, handing her back her  papers and pointedly looking at his watch. A man on the move. A busy man  who had only so much time to spend walking down a mildly interesting  memory lane. He stood up and left sufficient money on the table to more  than cover the cost of the drinks, ignoring her protests as she stuffed  the papers back into her bag. He likewise ignored the businesslike  outstretched hand as she half rose to her feet.

'That's okay,' she said quickly. 'I understand. Neither of us expected … Good luck with your wedding.'

'You have the job.'

It took a few seconds for what he'd said to sink in, during which time  Francesca stared at him in blank amazement. 'What?' she stammered.

'You heard me. You have the job. You'll be hearing from me within the next week.'

'But I don't want the job!'

Angelo paused to focus all his attention on her. 'Reason being?' he asked softly.

'Reason being that we used to be lovers, Angelo! We can be adult and  have a conversation because we have no choice, but there's no way that  I'm prepared to work for you! It would be … a joke! And how do you imagine  your wife-to-be would feel knowing that the woman providing the food  for her wedding is her husband's ex-lover?'

'I am glad you used the term ex. And why on earth should Georgina be  aware of the fact that once, years ago, we had a fling? It is an  irrelevance. I am hiring you on the basis of the fact that I like your  menu.' He didn't bother to pretend to himself that this excuse was even  close to the truth. He had only to choose a caterer, order them to do  precisely what he wanted, and they would oblige. Money always made  people very amenable, and money was something he had in bucket loads.  No, he wanted to cure himself of the gaping wound caused by her  treachery. He wanted to still his raging mind from the torturous  knowledge that he had been used like a plaything while she cavorted with  another man behind his back. He wanted her in a position from which he  could exact long overdue revenge.                       
       
           



       

'I don't want the job. Thanks all the same.'

'I don't believe I offered you a choice.'

Their eyes clashed and Francesca refused to look away. 'And what  influence do you have over what I decide to do, Angelo? Are you going to  throw me into a dungeon somewhere if I don't do what you want?' She  gave a short laugh of disbelief. 'We're not living in the Middle Ages  and you're not my master! I can get by without this job just nicely!'

'Can you, though?' He made a show of mulling it over. 'Really, I have  found that London is a very small place. One word in the right ear and … '  He gave an exaggerated helpless shrug that left her in no doubt as to  the implication of his threat. 'I mean, how would it seem to prospective  clients were they to know that you had turned down the job of a  lifetime because you were afraid that you would not be up to the task?'

'You wouldn't.' But the colour had left her face. He would. He would  destroy what she had built up because once upon a time she had bruised  his manly ego. It was an insane reaction, but she knew that underneath  that highly sophisticated exterior he was all Italian. It was what made  him so potently attractive-the passion behind the steely self-control.  She felt faint.

'I might not,' he conceded magnanimously. 'But are you willing to take  the chance? To lose what you have? Your boyfriend works with you, which I  assume means that you may well be jeopardising his future as well as  your own-'

'Why? Just to even old scores? Is that it, Angelo?'

'A concept as old as the Bible,' he mused. 'But I also like what you  have to offer. Why do you think I chose to interview you in the first  place? Georgina said that you were a horse with little more than an  outside chance. You should be flattered. Now, I really should be going. I  have a business engagement later and I expect you will want to hurry  home to that cosy little house of yours and start talking over  preparations with your … partner, hmm?'

'Angelo … '

'You're not scared, are you, Francesca? Because you'll be in contact with me?'

'No, of course not!'

'Good. In that case, I will be in touch. I have your number.' He smiled  but his eyes remained coolly dismissive. 'See this job as a challenge,  your big opportunity to work on a slightly larger scale than you have  been accustomed to in the past … '

'Too large a scale!' she inserted quickly.

'You should have thought about that before you sent in your tender.'

'I wouldn't want to let you and your fiancée down.'

'Believe me, I'll make sure you don't.' He left her without looking back  and she remained standing at the table, barely aware of the waitress  coming over with the bill, taking the money and returning with change.  After the initial shock of seeing him, she realised that her body had  gone into automatic mode, dealing with his questions, behaving as though  she wasn't on the verge of hysteria.

Now that he had gone she felt as though she had been put through a  wringer. She knew that she had never managed to exorcise his memory, but  she had not been prepared for just how much he still affected her.  Every part of her body was stretched to breaking-point and there would  be more to come. More contact with him. More painful reminders of what  she had been obliged to leave behind. There was nothing she could do  about it. She didn't need the job but she couldn't afford to lose  clients. He had caught her neatly in a trap and all she could do was get  through it without too much damage being inflicted on her in the  process.





CHAPTER THREE




ANGELO timed his call perfectly, as he timed all things. He waited just  long enough for her to stew but not so long that she had time to think  up any flimsy excuses to back out, because now that he had seen her he  knew that, in the deepest recesses of his mind, she had remained  unfinished business.

He pushed himself back from his desk and inclined his chair so that he  could stretch out his long legs in front of him. The past couple of days  had involved a delicate balancing act with Georgina who, after her  initial dismay that he had decided to go with an unknown act, had been  ready to move into action and take over the arrangements with her  mother. Informing her that he would be personally involved in the  process, he had met with a brick wall of understandable incomprehension.

'It's not necessary,' Georgina had complained. 'Mummy and I-'

'-will, I hope, respect my wishes?'

'But I don't understand-'