The Italian's Pregnant Mistress(9)

All the while Francesca kept her eyes averted from Angelo, but every  nerve in her body was tuned in to the lazy sprawl of his body on the  chair next to her and to Georgina's hand, resting lightly and  possessively on his wrist.                       
       
           



       

She didn't dare admit to herself how much it hurt to watch their  familiarity, the way Georgina turned her face and smiled whenever he  said anything, the way her slim hand sometimes touched his thigh in an  absent-minded, feathery caress. She hoped to God she wasn't staring, but  she knew that she was rigid with tension.

When a bottle of chilled wine was brought to their table, her weak  refusal was ignored and Angelo poured her a glass and held it out for  her. The slight brush of their fingers made her want to yank her hand  back because it was as if an electric shock had been delivered to her  body and, when her eyes met his, she could see from the cool smile on  his face that he was well aware of her reaction.

'And how did you get into this line of business?' she heard Georgina ask  Jack when most of the details had been discussed and Francesca was  beginning to think that it was an appropriate time to leave.

'A very good question,' Angelo inserted conversationally. He leaned  forward, elbows on knees, and gave Francesca the full benefit of his  interest. 'A shared dream, perhaps?'

'Absolutely.' Jack grinned and stole a glance at her. 'Els-Franny lures  them in with her amazing looks and I steal their hearts with my superb  cooking.' He gazed at Georgina and raised his eyebrows mischievously.

'We share the cooking,' Francesca explained with a nervous smile. 'We  also have a number of people who help us out when we're catering for  larger parties.'

'And who are these people?' Georgina asked, directing her question to Jack.

'Usually from the catering school we use. Gives them experience. I'm a  great believer in doing a good turn for someone else.' Francesca could  tell without looking at him that his attention was all on the slight  blonde and, judging from the delicate tinge in her cheeks, Georgina was  blossoming under the masculine attention.

Angelo, she imagined, would be furious.

'I think it's time we left, Jack.' She smiled politely and tried to  nudge her gregarious companion with her foot. 'Naturally we'll keep you  informed of our progress and if perhaps you could let us know of any  change to the numbers … ?' So far, Jack had managed to steer away from  personal conversation, but he was getting far too much into his element  for her liking, quizzing Georgina on her tastes in food, treading a thin  line between politeness and flirtation.

'Jack,' she said bluntly, turning to him, 'these people would perhaps like to leave and have some dinner. It's time we left.'

'Surely not quite yet. Angelo and I are riveted by your views on  Continental cuisine. Have you travelled to all these faraway places that  inspire you?'

Francesca all but groaned. Another bottle of wine was ordered. Jack, in  full flow, discussed food with the aplomb of a gifted gourmet,  sidestepped awkward questions and left her seething in her virtually  non-alcoholic silence. Georgina, she noticed, was not averse to drinking  her share and more. And Angelo … what was he thinking? His expression was  shuttered. Was he thinking about taking his fiancée home? Making love  to her? Being so close to him was unendurable agony because it reminded  her of past times when she couldn't bear to be near him without wanting  to tear his clothes off.

Georgina seemed absorbed in whatever Jack was now saying, but then, how  different the situation was between her and Angelo. They probably lived  together. Like normal people in love. That frantic coupling would not be  part of their lifestyle. They could afford to enjoy each other's  company without thinking of the absences looming on the horizon. Theirs  would be a normal, happy life instead of periods spent apart, wishing  the empty moments gone yet dreading the cruel passage of time.

Eventually, Francesca simply stood up and waited for Jack to follow  suit. Georgina, she noticed, was swaying ever so slightly and her eyes  were bright, too bright. She leaned in to Angelo and, as if taking a  cue, Jack put his arm over Francesca's shoulder and gave her a brief  squeeze.

'Looks like dinner might be off the cards,' Angelo said and Georgina  stood on tiptoe and curled her hands around his neck. He gently  untangled them but still supported her as they all left the bar, now  busy with people.

Francesca didn't know if either was listening when she politely said  goodbye, repeating all the usual platitudes about either she or Jack  being in touch with them and, of course, do call if they had any  problems.

She certainly wasn't listening to Jack as he waxed lyrical in the back  of the taxi on the virtues of the delicate blonde. Seeing Angelo and  Georgina had been just what she needed, a slap in the face and a long  overdue end to all the nonsense she had been harbouring in her mind  about unrequited love and a man pining for her.                       
       
           



       

She had been employed to do a job and she would do it well. Angelo  Falcone might want to see her fail, but she wasn't going to let that  happen and she wasn't going to let him affect her. The last thing she  needed was for him to look down on her with pity and contempt from the  splendid heights of his own domestic contentment.

The taxi dropped her off first. They lived within blocks of one another  and, in fact, had, at points, debated the wisdom of sharing a house, but  had both backed away from the idea. She didn't want the dubious  pleasure of having to live with Jack's convoluted personal life and he,  she suspected, did not want to run the risk of having her lecture him on  his sloppy habits. So he continued to pay the rent on his property and  she continued to pay her small mortgage, even though they saw one  another daily.

The first thing Francesca did was to get rid of her suit, which she hung  back up in her wardrobe, and have a shower. Then she slipped into some  old jeans and an even older tee shirt and went into the kitchen to make  herself something to eat. Years in the modelling world had made her very  careful in her own eating habits and the fact that she dealt with food  every day had made her very quick when it came to preparing anything for  herself.

She was sitting down in front of a mushroom omelette and French bread when the doorbell rang.

This, she thought with irritation, was exactly when a butler would have  been useful. Jeeves, just tell Jack that I'm busy and, no, I won't be  going with him to the pub for a quick drink.

Instead, she padded across to the front door and opened it just enough of a crack to signal to Jack that she wasn't going out.

It wasn't Jack.

'Angelo! What are you doing here?' The chain on the door remained in place and she looked at him warily.

'Have I come at a bad time?'

'Inconvenient. I'm having my dinner.'

'I thought I might catch you both to apologise on behalf of my fiancée.'  He leaned against the door so that if she decided to close it she would  find herself engaging in an undignified struggle.

'Jack's not here,' Francesca told him reluctantly. 'And if you lean any harder on this door you're going to break it.'

'That's the problem these days. Impossible to find solid craftsmanship anywhere. Are you going to let me in?'

'We've already discussed the food for your wedding.'

'I told you, I would like to apologise for Georgina. Humour me my good manners.'

No need to come in to apologise, she wanted to tell him. You can do that  quite easily from outside. But he was her employer, at least for the  time being. More importantly, he was someone who could ruin her if he so  chose. And she was a professional. With a sigh, Francesca pulled the  chain back and watched as he strolled into her house and looked around  him with unconcealed curiosity.

It was a small, old semi-detached house but it had been refurbished to a  very high standard. Gone were the dingy carpets. Instead, wooden floors  had been laid throughout and the wallpaper had been replaced with  various shades of paint, ranging from buff in the hallway to burgundy in  the small dining room. The curtains were light and pooled on the ground  and, in a burst of creative energy shortly after she had bought the  house, Francesca had had installed a stained glass window which formed a  dramatic partition between the dining room and the kitchen.

'Nice,' Angelo commented, taking it all in before allowing his eyes to  rest on a now casually clad Francesca. 'Did you do it all yourself or  did your boyfriend help?'

'You came to apologise, I believe?'

'It's something I do far better over a cup of coffee, or something stronger if you have it.'

Francesca sighed. 'You'd better come into the kitchen. I was in the middle of my dinner.'