Visconti's Forgotten Heir(42)

‘I was sorry about your father,’ he was saying to Andreas. ‘It all happened so suddenly. But I’ve heard you’re doing all right.’ With his rather too-generous midriff, and a waistband that looked uncomfortably tight, the man was regarding Andreas with unconcealed envy. As though he wanted a taste of all that wealth and success that seemed to ooze from the tall, immaculately attired man he couldn’t even begin to emulate. He glanced at Magenta, adding, ‘And in more ways than one.’

Feeling the stranger’s eyes drifting over her body, Magenta drew the sequinned wrap more closely around her. She had a feeling she might have known him, but the vibes that she was getting, which were putting her on her guard, suggested that if she had then the experience hadn’t been a pleasant one.

‘I must say I’m pleased to see the two of you back together again.’ Those wandering eyes were taking more notice of Magenta now than of Andreas. ‘I always thought it was a tragedy, your letting this lovely girl go.’ He used ‘this’ as an excuse to let a rather podgy finger brush her shoulder.

‘I didn’t realise you were aware that Magenta and I were ever an item.’ Andreas’s voice had turned decidedly cold.

‘I think we all were.’ The man gave Magenta a rather knowing wink. ‘There wasn’t a man working in that kitchen or out front when I was there who didn’t envy you, old chap. In fact I was thinking of making a play for her myself when I heard you’d split up. But then your father died. The restaurant closed...’ He made an expressive gesture with his arms, the action pulling at the fabric already straining across his middle. ‘I was out of a job, and this beautiful creature had already grabbed the attention of someone far smarter and richer than the likes of you and me.’

She didn’t even need to ask to know that he was talking about Marcus Rushford.

Beside her, Magenta sensed the hostility building in Andreas towards his late father’s employee. Hostility and an anger so palpable it was unnerving—although outwardly he appeared rigidly in control.

‘Well, it’s been a pleasure seeing you again, Gerard.’ Magenta could almost hear those strong white teeth grinding together. ‘But, as you can see, we’re in a hurry.’ And with a ‘goodnight’ that sounded more like a growl he was urging her out into the darkness of the car park.

Soft lighting around the building showed off the gleaming metalwork of the Mercedes as they approached it. It also showed Andreas’s face, slashed with shadows and looking like a grim mask, as he pointed the remote control at the car as though it were something living he wanted to kill.

‘Did that guy ever make his intentions towards you known when we—?’

He broke off, and from his exasperated sigh she knew he thought it was pointless even asking her. But she was well aware of what he had been going to say.

‘He made a pass at me.’ She remembered aloud as soon as they were in the car.

‘What?’ He looked as though it was Gerard he wanted to kill now. ‘When? Where?’

‘I don’t know!’ She dropped her head back against the rest. ‘I only know he did.’

‘And did you welcome it?’

She looked at him aghast as he started the engine. ‘You’re joking, surely?’

The glance he shot her was insultingly sceptical.

‘Yeah, sure. I loved it!’ she breathed.

He pulled out of the car park with an unnecessary squeal of brakes, his features hard and rigid. His shirt showed up starkly white in the darkness.

He was angry because Gerard had brought up her involvement with Marcus Rushford, unaware of the damage it would do. Or perhaps he had been aware, she thought. Andreas had already accused her of virtually selling herself to the wealthy tycoon. But had she? Her nails dug into her palms as she struggled to remember. She couldn’t have. How could she when she hadn’t even wanted him in that way?

‘Gerard made a pass at me,’ she reiterated, trying to make it sound as though it was trivial. Unimportant. But the images manifesting themselves now were ones of sick revulsion. ‘Men did. Do. I can’t help it.’

‘Neither can they.’ His censorious glance across the emotion-charged space between them had her pulling the skirt of her dress over a suddenly far too exposed thigh.

‘So what are you going to do? Lock me up and throw away the key?’ When he didn’t answer, too involved with dimming his lights as another car passed on the other side of the country road, she breathed, ‘That’s possessiveness, Andreas.’

Was that what had broken them up? Had she felt stifled by a relationship that was too intense to cope with? Or was it simply, as she’d wondered all along, that he had resented the fact she had wanted a career?