Gino’s Arranged Bride

‘Complete freedom,’ she reminded him. ‘Do what you want, go where you want, have girlfriends and stay out all night if you want.’

‘And when have you seen me going out with anyone else, or being out all night? Have I used any of that freedom?’

‘No, but-well-you could.’

‘When I do, then you can lecture me. Until then, don’t.’

‘Fine. I won’t lecture you, and you won’t give me orders.’

‘The hell I won’t!’

‘Is this the way you carry on in Italy? Like you’re out of the Dark Ages?’

‘No decent Italian wife would even think of doing such a thing-’

‘Then it’s lucky I’m not an Italian wife.’

‘Since that day in the Register Office, you are an Italian wife, and you’ll please behave like one.’

Laura breathed hard. ‘I haven’t time to argue about this. I’ve got to get ready.’

Jumping up, she stormed away across the park, listening for the sound of Gino running after her. But it didn’t come.

Male pride, she thought bitterly. Plus a lot of shouting and thumping his chest like a gorilla. And what did it amount to? Nothing.

Once back in her room she went to the drawer where she kept her costumes for these occasions, and began turfing out the contents, muttering to herself, ‘Black lace with black satin or black lace with red satin? Red, I think. And suspenders with black stockings, plus black lace gloves.’

From down below came the sound she had been waiting for, a door slamming, followed by feet taking the stairs two at a time.

The feet paused outside the bedroom door, as though their owner wasn’t quite as sure of himself as he wanted her to believe. But then the door opened. He came in, shut it behind him and leaned back against it, glowering.

‘Are those your working clothes?’ he asked scathingly, indicating the apparel laid out over the bed.

‘Yes. I’m preparing for my farewell performance. It’ll be exactly the same as all the others I’ve done-’

‘Oh, no it won’t, because I shall be there, watching every move you make.’

‘Meaning you don’t trust me?’

‘Meaning I don’t trust them.’

‘Gino, I don’t think it’s a good idea-’

‘I didn’t ask what you thought. I told you what I was going to do.’

Laura stared at him, wondering if this overbearing man rapping out orders could be the same sweet-tempered pussy-cat she thought she knew.

One thing was growing clearer by the minute. The pussy-cat was actually a tiger, and from now on she needed to be careful.

‘You have a simple choice,’ he went on. ‘I’ll drive you to this place, and be there to drive you home. You’ll introduce me to Mark, and I’ll tell him that it stops here.’

‘I’m perfectly capable of telling him myself.’

‘I’m not sure you’d make it quite convincing enough. The way I’ll tell him, he’ll believe it. Now, we can do it my way, or we can just cancel the whole evening. Unless you think you can get past me.’

She couldn’t fool herself about that. A twenty-ton tank couldn’t have gotten past Gino in this mood.

‘In that case,’ she said, ‘I’m going to have a bath, and get ready.’

When she emerged from the bathroom an hour later she found Gino still in their room. He regarded her with a raised eyebrow.

‘Out,’ she said firmly, pointing at the door. ‘I’m going to get dressed.’

He shrugged and left. Laura prepared herself with great care, knowing that she must maintain a fine balance. She had her job to do, and she owed it to Mark to do it properly. He was a good friend who’d come to her aid with these jobs when money was very tight.

But she must also think of Gino, whose outrage hadn’t abated, although he now disguised it with an ironic demeanour.

He’d said, ‘I am an Italian, not a milky Englishman,’ and she was beginning to understand what that meant. There was a dark, brilliant edge to him, almost a hint of danger, that warned her not to provoke him further.

Over a pair of black lacy panties she slipped on the red satin basque, whose bust was wired to push up her bosom, emphasising its fullness. It was laced up in the front, the edges not meeting, but leaving an inch of skin showing. Then she smoothed the sheer black stockings up her legs, fastening them with suspenders.

She made up her face with delicate precision; just enough, not too much. Finally she slipped on a cotton dress over her erotic finery, and covered that with a coat.

Gino was waiting for her downstairs, and together they went out to the car.

‘Where are we heading?’ he asked.

‘The Angel’s Head. It’s a pub on the other side of town.’

His hackles rose as soon as he saw the place, which was down at heel. From inside came the sound of noisy male singing. Laura thought wryly that perhaps, after all, she was glad Gino was here.

Mark was waiting for them just outside the door. He was a tall, middle-aged man with a fussy manner. Gino relaxed a little, but his greeting to Mark was reserved.

‘Mark, this is my husband,’ Laura said.

‘Well, well, I didn’t know you’d got married.’

‘But you’ll understand why my wife will not be appearing again after tonight,’ Gino said quietly.

‘Ah, well, that would be a pity. I’ve got several things lined up-’

Gino’s voice was like an arctic fog.

‘You’ll have to find somebody else. My wife’s decision is final.’

‘But surely-’

‘Final,’ Gino said, and something about that one soft word stopped Mark in his tracks.

‘Is anyone else coming?’ Laura asked Mark.

‘No, I’m playing the man, tonight,’ he said, then, in answer to Gino’s sharp glance he added quickly, ‘I just provide the background and play the music.’ He held up a cassette player placatingly.

‘OK,’ Gino said briefly.

Inside the pub she went to the cloakroom and put on the policewoman’s uniform that Mark had given her. It was specially designed to be removed easily, being fastened with Velcro.

As a final touch she pushed up her hair beneath the hat to make herself look severe. Now she was ready.

She found Mark waiting for her, also dressed in a police uniform. Gino had vanished.

‘Thank goodness for that!’ Mark said fervently. ‘He’s really scary. So, you won’t be doing this any more after tonight.’

‘That’s what Gino says but-’

‘No, it’s what I say too. I’m not ready to die. You didn’t see how he was looking at me. He’s not a gangster, is he?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Well, he’s possessed by the devil.’

‘Oh, nonsense, he-’ she faded into silence.

Mark was right. Gino wasn’t Gino any more. He was someone else, a man filled with suppressed fury.

‘Here’s your notebook, with your words,’ Mark muttered.

A young man came towards them. ‘Ready?’ he said. ‘Henry Rufford is the fellow in the red shirt.’

‘Here we go,’ Mark muttered.

Assuming stern frowns they pushed through the crowd, which fell silent at the sight of their uniforms, and took up position in front of a large man in a red shirt.

‘Henry Rufford?’ Mark demanded.

‘Yes.’ The man looked nervous.

‘Is that your vehicle outside?’