‘Oh, nonsense dear! It has
‘Well-all right, yes, he’s good-looking.’
‘As how?’
‘He’s in his late thirties, tall and-well, his eyes are-really quite something.’
‘What did he think about your cards and flowers?’
‘He was-interested.’
‘You didn’t tell him they were from your parents, did you?’
Olympia chuckled. ‘Nope. You taught me that much savvy.’
‘That’s right. Keep him guessing. Oh, this is lovely. I must tell your father. He’ll be so excited.’
‘Mum, you’ve got a wicked mind.’
‘Of course, dear. It makes life so much more interesting. Are you going to see him again?’
‘We’re having dinner tonight.’
‘
There was an indistinct mumbling, followed by her father’s bellow of, ‘Best of luck, darling!’
She hung up feeling happier, as she always did when talking to her parents. She could never quite figure out how those two had come this far without discovering that love and marriage were snares for fools. She only prayed that they never did discover it.
For herself, it was too late to forget what she had learned. The finer feelings were not for her. There was ambition, and there was having a good time. Tonight she was going to enjoy them both. Jack Cayman was charming company, although it was true, as she’d told her mother, that his good looks were an irrelevance.
But what really mattered was that he came from the centre of power; he would know Primo Rinucci and could tell her how to aim for her goal. Tough times and hard work lay ahead, but a person could have some fun in the meantime, couldn’t she?
She had a small twinge of conscience that perhaps she was being unfair to him, but only a small one. This was how the game was played.
She was really looking forward to dinner that evening.
As he gathered his things together, ready to leave, Primo was aware of an extra presence inside his head. He knew it was his conscience, hurling abuse at him, but as it grew more troublesome it was developing a personality uncannily like his brother’s in his more disagreeable moods. It even looked like Luke. He began thinking of it as Lucas.
‘It’s just a joke that got a little out of hand. I’ll tell her the truth when the moment’s right-say, about the second glass of champagne. Now shut up!’
As he emerged he found Olympia looking worried.
‘Are you sure you’re all right to drive?’ she asked. ‘Why not call the hire company from here?’
‘No need. I’ll see you tonight, wearing my glad rags. Goodbye for now.’
To his relief the car’s damage was no more than an ugly dent, and it still moved well enough for him to get back to the hotel.
Lucas howled at him all the way.
She’s always telling me I should do something stupid. Well, I’m doing it. And how!
He’d said ‘glad rags’ so Olympia chose a floor-length velvet dress in dark green with a tight waist, clinging hips and a dramatic neckline. Her necklace and earrings were gold, and dainty high-heeled sandals gleamed on her feet.
She’d bought the whole outfit in anticipation of some future celebration-promotion?-but tonight was the start of a new life, and it would do fine.
She spent a long time getting her hair right. She didn’t want to be the stern Miss Lincoln tonight. In the end she drew it back more loosely than usual, then twined it into long braids that she wound around her head, giving a softened effect.
When he arrived his eyes flickered over her just enough to be subtle and flattering. He said nothing, but he smiled.
She allowed her own eyes to do the same. In his bowtie and dinner jacket he was more handsome than he had any right to be.
Downstairs he handed her gracefully into a new car.
‘The hire firm actually let you have another?’ she asked in disbelief.
‘I talked them round. What about your garage?’
‘The damage isn’t too bad. I told them to send the bill to me, as we agreed.’
‘Fine. I’ll transfer the money into your bank on Monday morning.’
‘No need. Just give me a cheque.’
He murmured something non-committal and slid away from the subject. It was dawning on him that he wasn’t cut out for a double life. There was so much to remember. He would get her bank details from the firm and deposit the amount in cash so that he wouldn’t have to give a name. Tonight he could have taken her to dine at the hotel where he was staying, but they knew him as Primo Rinucci, so that was out. When the bill for dinner came he would pay it in cash and brave the puzzled stares.
And in future he would ‘go straight’. It was less tiring.
They swept into the Atelli, arm in arm, and were ushered to their table. It was good to be treated like a queen, she thought. This man knew how to entertain a woman and make her feel valued.
It flitted briefly across her mind that if only he were Primo Rinucci, how perfect everything would be. But she shut off the thought. That way lay weakness. Tonight was ‘time out’ with a delightful acquaintance. No more than that.
When the wine had been poured and the caviare served he raised his glass to her and she raised hers back.
‘To a great evening and no strings,’ he said.
Such an unnerving echo of her own thoughts gave her a jolt.
‘No strings,’ she said slowly.
‘We’re going to enjoy ourselves, and to blazes with the rest of them.’
‘Absolutely,’ she said.
Solemnly they chinked glasses.
Over caviare, she asked, ‘What part of the country do you come from?’
‘North London. I’ll probably go back there for a visit. My father’s dead but some of his relatives still live there.’
‘How come you live in Italy?’
‘I go back and forth. I have some Italian family and I’m just as much at home in either country, although Italy’s warmer, especially Naples.’
‘Naples,’ she said, relishing the word. ‘I’ve always liked the sound of it. It conjures up such pictures.’
‘Urchins and cobbled streets?’ he teased. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for the romantic myth?’
‘Certainly not,’ she said quickly. ‘Myths merely get in the way of reality.’
‘Maybe one can have too much reality,’ he suggested.
But she shook her head decidedly.
‘No. Reality is what counts.’
Once he would have said the same, but now reality was seeming less important by the minute. What mattered were the spells being woven in the air about them. And what was reality, anyway?
‘I expect you’ll see Naples soon enough,’ he said.
‘I wish I could.’ She sighed.
‘If you want to get anywhere in the firm, you need to be familiar with everything. Perhaps you should start learning Italian.’
‘What do you mean, start?’ she demanded, offended.
‘Beg pardon, ma’am. How advanced are you?’
She responded with a flood of Italian words, not all of which were accurate, but it was still a pretty good effort.
