prepare to be bored out of your skull.’
‘Tell me if it’s none of my business,’ she said twenty minutes later, ‘but wasn’t it weird being with Serena, knowing how much she hated kids?’
The fact that there was no love lost between Serena and Valentina was no secret. Guy, however, had no intention of providing additional fuel for gossips. There had been enough speculation already about the ending of his affair with Serena.
‘She doesn’t hate kids,’ he replied easily. ‘She just doesn’t swoon over the idea of them.’
Idly, Valentina swirled her spoon through the double cream and chocolate sauce on her plate. ‘How can anyone not love children?’ Then, observing the expression on Guy’s face — the distance was returning -- she shook her head and grinned. ‘I suppose you get this kind of thing all the time. Eager women dying to get their claws into you, banging on about how much they adore kids because they think it’ll make you like them more.’
‘Pretty close.’ He found her perception and honesty appealing. ‘Do you always say what you think?’
‘Oh, always!’ This time her eyes glittered with amusement. She had a tiny smudge of chocolate on her lower lip. Instinctively he reached across the wiped the smudge away with his thumb. Smiling, Valentina kissed it. ‘There, I did warn you. Say what I think, do what I want.
That’s my motto.’
According to Maxine and Janey, he needed a woman in his life. They hadn’t had much time for Serena; maybe Valentina would meet with their approval. Guy was entertained by the idea of parading her before them like a prospective champion at Crufts. At least she was about as far removed from Serena as it was possible to be.
‘And what do you want?’ he said, entering into the spirit of the game. Beneath the table Valentina had slipped off her trainers. One bare foot was now lazily caressing his thigh.
‘More chocolate pudding,’ she answered and the famous smile widened. ‘Then you.’
The paparazzi were waiting outside on the pavement. The moment Valentina emerged from the restaurant with her pink leather jacket draped casually over her shoulders Italian-style, flashbulbs began exploding like fireworks.
‘No pictures. I said no fucking pictures!’ she yelled, glaring at them with disdain. ‘We’re having a private evening out, for God’s sake. What are you, a bunch of animals?’
They loved her, of course. She made them a fortune. Seldom did a week go by without Valentina di Angelo featuring centre stage in the celebrity montages of the Sunday supplements.
An encounter with Valentina was guaranteed to line their pockets and brighten their day. The public, it went without saying, lapped it all up like cream.
‘Come on, Val, give us a smile,’ one of them shouted. ‘You know you can do it!’
‘And you know what you can do,’ she retorted, tossing her inch-long black hair.
‘How about a quote then?’ another ginger-bearded freelancer said hopefully. ‘Are you and Guy Cassidy an item?’
‘Are your legs breakable?’
‘Hey, Guy! What’s the idea? Did you take her out for a bet or something?’
Guy simply grinned and said nothing. He was content to leave the insults to the experts.
‘Hey, Val. show us what you’re hiding under that cheap jacket!’ goaded one old hand who knew her well. ‘Is it true you’ve had your tits fixed?’
This was the moment Valentina had been waiting for. This was the man who had started the rumour a fortnight ago, and she was ready for him.
‘Why don’t you come and take a closer look?’ she said sweetly, and the other men grinned.
Guy, who knew what was about to happen, took a discreet step to one side.
‘Yeeuch, you bitch!’ howled the photographer as the bowl of ice cream she had been concealing beneath the folds of the pink leather jacket cascaded down his face and chest. It was particularly splendid ice cream, honey and walnut, but well worth wasting on such a good cause and wonderfully photogenic against a black polo-neck sweater. Serve him right, Valentina thought happily, for being too stupid to tell the difference between plastic surgery and a tissue-packed Wonderbra.
Another volley of flashbulbs exploded, another feature in the tabloids was instantly guaranteed. Having made her mark, Valentina handed the empty bowl to one of the other members of the pack and reached for Guy’s arm.
‘Come on,’ she murmured under her breath, as they moved towards their waiting cab.
‘That’s the business taken care of. Now for the pleasure ...’
Chapter 47
‘No?’ Valentina shrieked, scarcely able to believe what she was hearing. In her agitation, she almost catapulted off the bed. ‘No? What the hell do you mean, no?’
The realization that he was making a huge mistake had crept up on him even as they made their way up to his hotel room. Having initially fended her off with a drink from the mini-bar, Guy had spent the last fifteen minutes searching for an acceptable way out of the situation he’d so stupidly got himself into. And it was a supremely ironic situation, he couldn’t help thinking, because ninety-nine per cent of men would no doubt drool like dogs at the prospect of a night of passion with Valentina di Angelo.
It wasn’t even as if she had done anything wrong. Beauty apart, she was funny and honest, great company and altogether about as engaging a person as anyone — paparazzi excluded —
could wish to meet. But he just couldn’t go through with it. For some unfathomable reason, he knew he would be making a terrible mistake.
‘I’m sorry.’ Guy shook his head, forcing himself to look at her. There was resignation in his dark blue eyes. ‘I really am. It’s been a great evening, but ...’
‘But what?’ wailed Valentina, overcome with a sudden rush of fear. ‘What have I done wrong? What’s the problem, for God’s sake?’ Casting around for a reason ... any reason ... she said helplessly, ‘Am I too fat?’
