‘Ah, but he wouldn’t give me a good fight like you do.’
‘You can count on me for those.’
‘All right, I’ll grant you that my financial management leaves something to be desired-’
‘I wouldn’t myself have dignified your carry-on with the name of financial management-’
‘Do you want to fight again?’ she asked sweetly.
‘No, it’s too soon after the last time. Let’s space them and get our breath back.’
‘Will you be quiet while I make a sort of concession?’
He looked at her attentively.
‘I admit I’ve made some mistakes-did you say something?’
‘Not a word.’
‘I’ve made a few mistakes, and I shall be
His lips twitched. ‘Interested?’
‘Interested.’
‘To the point of taking it?’
‘Let’s see what the future holds.’
He grinned. Humour altered his face as though a light had come on inside him. He could be charming, she thought, when he allowed himself to relax. She was beginning to understand his habit of describing everything in business terms. They were the words he understood most easily, but they covered something else deep inside him, and she was beginning to be intrigued by what that ‘something else’ might be.
‘Enough for tonight,’ he said. ‘It’s a draw.’
She laughed and let it go.
As the coffee was being served the lights were lowered. Members of the band took their place on the low stage. A young woman came to the microphone and began to sing in a breathy voice. It was a song about loss and physical longing, the persistence of desire when all hope had gone.
She was a skilful artist, managing to squeeze the last ounce of sensuality from every word, every cunningly placed pause. A new atmosphere, romantic, delicate, subtly erotic, began to pervade the club.
By slow degrees Harriet felt herself come alive with the consciousness that she was sitting close to an attractive man, with only a thin layer of material between him and her nakedness. Suddenly the dress felt alarmingly low.
She stole a look at Marco to see if he was equally aware of her, but he was watching the stage. Her eyes were drawn to his hands, which were long and fine, but with a hint of power.
It was absurd to feel her body responding merely to a thought, but she couldn’t control the warmth that was stealing over her. How would those hands touch a woman? How would it feel to be touched intimately by them? It was as though she already knew. She took a deep, shuddering breath and fixed her eyes on the floor.
For his part, Marco was directing his eyes to anywhere but her. He’d gone to his mother’s villa tonight prepared only to stay for supper and depart, his duty done. One look at Harriet had changed his mind. Here was the sensual, flamboyant creature who’d hidden beneath her dowdy disguise, tantalising him with her elusiveness from the very first night.
His decision to take her out had been spur of the moment, something which shocked him but did not deter him. He kept a room at the villa and a set of evening clothes, so a change of plan presented no problems. As he drove her into Rome he’d wondered how the evening would go, what they would talk about. It hadn’t occurred to him that they would fight, but now he thought perhaps it should have done.
Finally he stole a glance at her, and saw that her face was averted from the stage, slightly towards him, but not looking directly at him. He realised that she wasn’t seeing anything external, but was lost in an inner world where he wasn’t invited. It was absurd to feel jealous, but he wished she would notice him. She didn’t.
The blue light from the stage drained all other colour from her, and sharply emphasised the shadows. For a moment she didn’t look like a living woman but like the statue of some ancient queen, perhaps Nefertiti or Cleopatra: some great lady, statuesque, imperious, magnificent.
But he knew that this was only part of her. The next moment she could come alive with the mischievous laughter of a child, or glare at him with the fierceness of an adversary. There was no knowing.
He saw that Alfredo was attracting his attention from a few yards away and forced himself to smile. Alfredo was a good fellow, not the brightest, but amiable, and he would be useful in gaining a partnership. He was indicating Harriet, winking, making ‘ho ho’ gestures implying that they were both men of the world. Suddenly Marco wanted to knock him down.
The singer departed, amid applause and the band struck up for dancing.
‘Would you care to take the floor?’ Marco asked politely.
She took his hand and he led her onto the dance floor, which rapidly became too crowded to do more than shuffle. He held her firmly, close but not too close, and she found that her step fell in with his easily. The effect of the sultry song was still on her, driving out all thoughts except that she was enjoying this moment and anticipating the next one. She smiled.
‘What is it?’ he asked at once.
‘I’m just having a good time.’
‘That smile meant something.’
‘It meant I’m having a good time.’
‘No, more than that. Tell me.’
His insistence disturbed her. She met his eyes and saw in them something that was too intense for the trivial question. Then somebody collided with her and she felt Marco’s hands tighten, steadying her. She was pressed against him, his face close to hers. Her senses swam and she closed her eyes to hide whatever they might have revealed to him.
‘Look at me,’ he murmured.
She did so and found him watching her intently. She could feel the movement of his thighs against hers, and the warmth of his hand in the small of her back, seeming to move with the flexing of her body, as though the material between had vanished. She was possessed by thoughts and sensations that shocked her with their frankness and urgency, and a little gasp broke from her.
‘What is it?’ he wanted to know.
‘I-nothing-nothing-’ she struggled to make sense. ‘Just the heat.’
‘Yes, the atmosphere is getting a little too much,’ Marco agreed. ‘My apartment is close by. Let me give you a coffee there.’
It was half past two when they emerged, and the stars were bright in the sky. Except for a few wanderers like themselves the street was deserted. Marco drew her hand through his arm and they strolled the short distance to the apartment block where he lived.
To Harriet’s relief the walk and the night air calmed her down. By the time they’d taken the lift to the fifth floor she felt in control of herself again.
She was curious to see the place Marco called home. She’d tried to imagine it and been unable to. He was so impenetrable that it was impossible to conjure up anything that he hadn’t chosen to reveal. Now she saw the truth, and at first it took her by surprise. Then she realised that it was exactly what she had subconsciously expected.
No home was ever more austere and unrevealing. The marble floors were honey-coloured, the walls white. The greatest splash of colour came from a dark red leather sofa. The lighting was concealed. Some modern pictures hung on the wall, and a few decorative pieces stood on the shelves. To Harriet’s cursory glance they seemed excellent.
It was the home of a man who hid himself away, perhaps even from himself, she thought. There was a photograph of Lucia, but nothing else personally revealing. Through the open door to his bedroom Harriet could see a computer, a fax machine that was inching out paper at that moment, a range of telephones, and two television screens. This man took his work to bed.
Into her mind came Olympia saying, ‘A lady-killer…you might say he “loves ’em and leaves ’em” except that he
