The Italian's Love-Child

CHAPTER TWO

EVE knew that people thought that working in television was glamorous, but people were wrong. Waking up at three-thirty had never been easy and the following morning was no exception, made worse by a foul, chill wind blowing in, which had the kind of drizzle which could turn the straightest hair into a frizzy cloud.

On automatic pilot, she showered and drank strong black coffee, and when the car arrived to collect her to take her to the studio she sat in the back with the newspapers as usual, only for once it was hard to concentrate on the day’s news.

The truth was that she had had a disturbed night and that it had been disturbed by Luca Cardelli. He had burst into her dreams like a bright, dazzling meteorite, his brilliant black eyes mocking her and tantalising her and making her feel that she had missed an opportunity by leaving the party early.

But dreams were curious and capricious things, and unlike life you had no control over them. All he had done was to awake something in her subconscious, some forgotten teenage longing which had never quite gone away.

And dreams were soon forgotten. They weren’t real. Neither was the ridiculous fluttery feeling she felt at the base of her stomach when she thought of him and there was a simple solution to that. She tried her best not to think of him but he stubbornly stayed on her mind.

She wished now that she had asked Michael how long he was here for—but surely it would be a flying visit? His life wasn’t here, was it? His life was in Italy—a different, unknown life in a country as foreign to her as he was.

That morning’s show contained the usual mix of items, including a dog which was supposedly able to howl in time to the national anthem. Unfortunately, the animal refused to perform to order—the poor thing cowered and was terrified and then was sick in a corner of the studio. Johnny, her co-host, threw a complete wobbly afterwards, and Eve was relieved to get away after the post-show breakdown.

The car dropped her off just after eleven and she closed the door of her tiny cottage with a sigh of relief. She went upstairs, wiped off all her heavy studio make-up, stripped off her clothes and took a long, hot shower, blasted her hair dry and knotted it into one thick plait.

Feeling something close to human again, she put on a pair of black jeans and a charcoal-grey sweater, aware that she would have grubby little fingers crawling all over her, then set off for Michael and Lizzy’s, stopping off on the way to buy a colouring book and some crayons for Kesi.

She rang the bell and Lizzy answered it, a look of repressed excitement on her face, as though the party were just about to happen, rather than having taken place the night before.

‘Eve! You look gorgeous!’

‘No, I don’t. No make-up and slouchy old jeans.’

‘Well, you looked pretty amazing on the box this morning!’

‘Ah, but that’s the magic of the make-up artist. Did you see the sick dog?’

‘Did I? Michael recorded it for me. Poor thing! Come on up. He’s taken Kesi out, but he shouldn’t be too long.’

‘And how is my gorgeous little god-daughter?’ asked Eve as they walked into the bright, first-floor sitting room. ‘I thought—’ But what she had been thinking flew completely out of her mind, for sprawled on one of the long sofas, reading a newspaper, was Luca Cardelli.

He glanced up as they entered and his dark eyes glittered with what looked like mischief, but underpinned with something else, something which Eve couldn’t quite work out. Something which made her wary and excited all at the same time. She found herself wondering whether he looked at every woman that way, and whether it had the same disconcerting effect on them. Probably.

But even so, tiny goose-bumps still prickled at the back of her neck.

‘We thought we’d invite Luca, too,’ smiled Lizzy.

Luca rose to his feet, observing the startled look on Eve’s face change into one of suspicion. Was she so prickly with all men, he wondered, or just him? He smiled, her frozen face presenting him with a challenge which stimulated him. He threw her a lazy look. ‘You didn’t mind me gatecrashing your lunch?’

What could she say? That she did? And that wouldn’t be entirely truthful, would it? Because her heart was racing with something which felt very close to elation. For here he was, only this time without the hoardes of people there had been last night.

‘Of course not,’ she said calmly.

Lizzy frowned, as if sensing that something was up and not quite able to work out what it was. ‘Um, can I get you both a drink? There’s loads of champagne left.’

Eve opened her mouth to ask for something soft and then shut it again. She felt wired up. At a loss. And curiously incomplete. She, who felt at ease in almost any social gathering, suddenly felt an urgent need for something to help her loosen up. ‘That would be lovely.’

‘Luca?’

‘Please.’ But he barely heard his hostess speak. He wanted to be alone with Eve, to break down the armoury he had seen her begin to construct from the moment she had walked into the room.

He rose to his feet, with all the grace of some lithe, dark panther and as he moved towards her Eve thought that there was something of the predator in him today. And how did vulnerable animals cope with predators in the wild? They didn’t run away, that was for sure. They stood their ground and faced them.

But, dear Lord in heaven—they surely didn’t share her feelings that this predator—if indeed predator he was—looked good enough to eat.

Like her, he was wearing jeans—faded and washed out and clinging to the hard shaft of his thighs—the pale sweater emphasising the glowing olive skin and the jet-dark eyes. His black hair was ruffled and he was smiling and Eve was aware that, while she had been fiercely attracted to him a decade ago—then she had been teetering on the brink of womanhood with precisely no knowledge of men and their power over women. But now she was experienced enough to know that there were few men of Luca’s calibre around.

Achievable goals, she reminded herself and flashed him a bland, pleasant smile.

‘So, Eve,’ he began. ‘Did you make work on time?’

‘I did.’

‘But you didn’t sleep.’

Her eyes widened, for one crazy moment imagining that he had witnessed her fretful night. ‘Yes, yes, I did,’ she denied automatically.

‘Liar,’ he murmured as without warning he lifted his hand to lightly touch the delicate skin beneath her eyes. ‘This gives you away. Dark shadows, like the blue of an iris, so dark against your pale skin.’

The invasion of her personal space was both unexpected and inappropriate and yet his touch made her tremble, the innocent contact feeling as highly charged as any intimate caress. She wanted to tell him to stop it, to ask him what the hell he thought he was playing at, but she was mesmerised by him, lulled by the deep, honeyed Italian accent. She felt like a weak, tiny kitten, confronted by the blazing strength of a lion. And Italians were tactile, she told herself—that was all.

‘I’m not wearing any make-up,’ she said, as if that explained everything, bizarrely missing the contact as he moved his hand away.

‘I know you’re not.’ And her scrubbed, pure face intrigued him, too. She must be very assured not to wear any cosmetics, and self-assurance was a potent sexual weapon in itself. ‘I didn’t sleep myself, if it makes any difference.’

‘Should I be interested?’

‘Maybe you should, since it was for exactly the same reason as you.’

She pulled herself together. Pretend he’s one of those men who plague you, she thought. One of those boring, vacuous men who are attracted to you simply because you’re beamed into their homes every morning.

‘Lumpy mattress?’ she guessed. ‘Or simply indigestion after a late night and too much party food?’

He laughed. ‘No.’

And then she found herself saying, ‘Perhaps there were rather more enjoyable reasons for your lack of sleep.’

‘Such as?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. The blonde woman you were talking to seemed very attentive. Maybe she kept you awake.’

‘And does that make you jealous, tesora?’

Eve stared at him. Her heart was thumping in her chest. Yes. Yes, it did. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’

He smiled. ‘I slept alone.’

‘You have my commiserations.’

‘Did you?’ he drawled.

‘Are you in the habit of asking people you don’t know their most intimate secrets?’

‘I asked you a straight question.’ He paused. ‘Unlike you, who merely hinted at it.’

‘Who you sleep with doesn’t interest me in the slightest and I’m certainly not going to tell you my bedtime secrets!’ she bit back angrily, and wished that she could have disappeared in a puff of smoke as Lizzy chose just that moment to walk back into the room, carrying a bottle of champagne and four glasses.

‘Wow!’ she exclaimed, her eyes widening like saucers. ‘Shall I walk right out and then walk back in again?’

Luca took the bottle from her and began to remove the foil. ‘Eve and I were just discovering that we like to get straight to the heart of the matter, weren’t we, Eve?’

Eve glared at him, feeling the heat in her cheeks. What could she say? What possible explanation could she give to her friend for the conversation they had been having? None. She couldn’t even work it out for herself.

‘Well, that’s what she does for a living, of course,’ giggled Lizzy.

He poured the champagne and handed both women a glass, his eyes lingering with amusement on the furious look Eve was directing at him. ‘And what exactly is that?’ he questioned idly.

‘Go on, guess!’ put in Lizzy mischievously.

It gave him the opportunity to imprison her in a mocking look of question. ‘Barrister?’

In spite of herself, Eve was flattered. Barrister implied intelligence and eloquence, didn’t it? But she hated talking about her job. People were far too interested in it and sometimes she felt that they didn’t see her as a person, but what she represented. And television was sexy. Disproportionately prized in a society where the media ruled. Inevitably, it had made her distrust men and their motives, wondering whether their attentions were due to what she did, rather than who she was.

But she wasn’t going to play coy, or coquettish, or let Luca Cardelli run through a whole range of options.

‘No,’ she said bluntly. ‘I work in television.’

‘Eve’s a presenter on Wake Up!, every weekday morning from six until nine!’ confided Lizzy proudly. ‘I’ve got her on video—would you like to see?’

‘Oh, Lizzy, please,’ begged Eve. ‘Don’t.’

Luca heard the genuine appeal in her voice and his eyes narrowed. So that would explain why people were watching her at the party last night. Would that explain some of her defences, too? The guarded way she looked at him and the prickly attitude? He shook his head. ‘It will be boring for Eve. I’ll pass.’

Eve should have been relieved. She hated watching herself, and especially when there was an audience of friends; it made her feel somehow different, when she wanted to be just like everyone else. But, perversely, the fact that Luca wasn’t interested in watching her niggled her. How contrary was that?

‘Well, thank heavens for small mercies.’ She sighed, and the sound of the front door slamming and the bouncing footsteps of Kesi were like a blessed reprieve. She put her glass down and turned as a small bundle of energy and a mop of blonde curls shot into the room, straight for Eve, and she scooped the little girl up in her arms and hugged her.

‘Arnie Eve!’ squealed the little girl.

‘Hello, darling. How’s my best girl?’

‘I hurted my knee.’

‘Did you?’ Eve sat down on the sofa with Kesi on her lap. ‘Show me where.’

‘Here.’ Kesi pointed at a microscopic spot on her leg as Michael walked into the room, beaming widely.

‘Champagne?’ he murmured. ‘Jolly good. You must come more often, Luca—if Lizzy has taken to opening bubbly at lunch-time!’

‘It was only because it was left over from last night!’ protested his wife.

‘How very flattering,’ murmured Luca, and they all laughed.

‘I’m starving,’ said Michael. ‘Some of us have been chasing after toddlers in the sea air and working up an appetite!’

‘Well, Eve’s been up since half-past three,’ commented Lizzy.

Luca raised his eyes. ‘When you said early, I didn’t realise you meant that early. Still night-time, in fact.’ He looked at her, where only her grey-green eyes were visible over the platinum mop-top of the child. ‘Must be restricting, working those kind of hours,’ he observed. ‘Socially, I mean.’

‘Oh, Eve’s a career woman,’ said Michael. ‘She wouldn’t worry about a little thing like that!’

Eve twisted one of Kesi’s curls around her finger. ‘Am I allowed to speak for myself? I hate the term “career woman”—it implies ambition to the exclusion of everything else. As far as I’m concerned—I just do a job which means I have to work antisocial hours.’

‘Like a nurse?’ interjected Luca, his dark eyes sparking mischief.

‘Mmm.’ She sparked the mischief right back. ‘Or a dairy farmer.’

Their gazes locked and held in what was essentially a private joke, and Eve felt suddenly unsafe. Shared jokes felt close, too close, but that was just another illusion—and a dangerously seductive one, too.

Lizzy blinked. ‘Come and wash your hands before lunch, poppet,’ she said to Kesi.

Kesi immediately snuggled closer to Eve.

‘Want to stay with Arnie Eve!’

It gave Eve the out she both wanted and needed—anything to give her a momentary reprieve from the effect that Luca was managing to have on her, simply by being in the same room.

‘Shall I come, too?’ she suggested. ‘And we can wash your hurt knee and put a plaster on it—how does that sound?’

Kesi nodded and wound her chubby little arms around Eve’s neck and Eve carried her from the room, aware of Luca’s eyes watching her and the effect of that making her feel self-conscious in a way she thought she had grown out of long ago.

But when she returned, lunch was set out on the table by one of the windows which overlooked the water, and Luca was chatting to Michael and barely gave her a glance as she carried the child back into the room and, of course, that made her even more interested in him!

She settled Kesi into her seat and frowned at Lizzy, who was raising her eyebrows at her in silent question. Just let me get through this lunch and I need never see him again, she thought. And the way to get through it was to treat him just as she would anyone else she was having a one-off lunch with. Chat normally.

But she spent most of the meal talking to Kesi, whom she loved fiercely, almost possessively. Being asked to stand as her godmother had been like a gift, and it was a responsibility which Eve had taken on with great joy.

Lots of women in her field didn’t get around to having children and Eve was achingly aware that this might be the case for her. She told herself that with her god-daughter she had all the best bits of a child, without all the ties.

She had just fed Kesi an olive when she reluctantly raised her head to find Luca watching her, and knew that she couldn’t use her as an escape route for the entire meal.

‘So whereabouts are you living now, Luca?’

He regarded her, a touch of amusement playing around the corners of his mouth. She had barely eaten a thing. And neither had he. And she had been playing with the child in a sweet and enchanting way, almost completely ignoring him, in a way he was not used to.

He wondered if she knew just how attractive it was to see a woman who genuinely liked children. But perhaps he had been guilty of stereotyping—by being surprised at seeing this cool, sophisticated Englishwoman being so openly demonstrative and affectionate. He pushed his plate away. ‘I live in Rome—though I also have a little place on the coast.’

‘For sailing?’

‘When I can. Not too much these days, I’m afraid.’

‘Why not? Michael said you were a brilliant sailor.’

He didn’t deny it; false modesty was in its way a kind of dishonesty, wasn’t it? Sailing had been a passion and an all-consuming one for a while, but passions tended to dominate your life, and inevitably their appeal faded. ‘Oh, pressure of work. An inability to commit to it properly. The usual story.’

The words inability to commit hovered in the air like a warning. ‘What kind of work do you do?’

‘Guess,’ he murmured.

He had the looks which could have made him a sure-fire hit on celluloid, but he didn’t have the self-conscious vanity which usually accompanied an actor. Though he certainly had the ego. And the indefinable air that said he was definitely a leader. ‘I’d say you’re a successful businessman.’

‘Nearly.’ He let his eyes rove over her parted lips, wishing he could push the tip of his tongue inside them. ‘I’m a banker.’ ‘Oh.’

‘Boring, huh?’ he mocked.

She met the piercing black stare with a cool look. ‘Not for you, I presume—otherwise you wouldn’t do it.’

‘Luca!’ protested Lizzy. ‘Stop selling yourself short!’ She leaned across the table towards Eve and gave the champagne-softened, slightly delighted smile of someone who had landed a lunch guest of some consequence. ‘Luca isn’t your usual kind of banker. He owns the bank!’

Eve felt faint. He owned a bank? Which didn’t just put him into the league of the rich—it put him spinning way off in the orbit of the super-rich and all the exclusivity which went with that. And there she had been thinking that he might have been impressed with her small-town media status!

She knew he was watching her, wanting to see what her reaction would be. That type of position would be isolating, she realised. People would react differently to him because of it, just as they did with her—only on a much larger scale, of course. On camera she had learned not to react, a skill which came in very useful now.

‘I didn’t realise that individuals could own banks,’ she said interestedly. ‘Isn’t that rare?’

He felt as if she was interviewing him! ‘It’s unusual,’ he corrected. ‘Not exactly rare.’

‘It must be heady stuff—having that amount of power?’

He met her eyes. ‘It turns women on, yes.’

She didn’t react. ‘That wasn’t what I meant.’

He ran a finger idly around the rim of his glass. ‘It is like everything else—there are good bits and bad bits, exciting bits and boring bits. Life is the same for everyone, essentially—whether you clean the bank or own the bank.’

‘Hardly!’

The black eyes gleamed. ‘But yes,’ he corrected softly. ‘We all eat and sleep and play and make love, do we not?’

She willed herself not to blush. Only an Italian could come out and talk about making love at a respectable family lunch! ‘That’s certainly something to consider,’ she mused. ‘How long are you staying?’

This was interesting. So what had made her soften? The mention of sex or the fact that he was in a position of power? ‘I haven’t decided.’ His eyes sparked out pure provocation. ‘Why? Are you going to offer to show me round?’

‘Of course I’m not! You already know the Hamble, don’t you?’ she reminded him sweetly. ‘No, I just thought that maybe you might like to come into the studio one morning—I’m sure our viewers would be interested to hear what life as a bank-owner is like!’

The jet eyes iced over. So she was inviting him onto her show, was she? As if he were some second-rate soap star! ‘I don’t think so,’ he said coldly.

She had offended him when she had only meant to distance herself, and suddenly Eve knew that she had to get out of there. He didn’t live here. He owned a bank, for heaven’s sake—and he had the irresistibly attractive air of the seasoned seducer about him. Achievable goal, he most definitely was not!

‘Pity,’ she murmured. ‘Well, any time you change your mind, be sure and let me know.’ She pushed her chair back. ‘Lizzy, Michael—thank you for a delicious lunch. Kesi,—do I get a hug and a kiss?’ She enveloped her god-daughter, then took a deep breath. ‘I’ll say goodbye then, Luca.’

He rose to his feet and caught her hand, raising it slowly to his lips, his eyes capturing hers as he brushed his lips against her fingertips in a very continental kiss.