‘I-don’t-believe-you.’ The words came out like hammer taps.
‘Then I’ll prove it.’
His proof was a cheque for the euro equivalent of fifty thousand pounds, made out to Luca Montese, with the record, on the back, of the bank where it had been cashed.
She wanted to say that it was false, it proved nothing. But she knew the bank Luca used in Tuscany, and it was the same one.
How long after saying those words had he sold her back to her father for cash?
She had thought she was dead already, but there must still have been some feeling left alive, because she sensed the last remnants die at that moment. And was glad of it.
Everyone agreed that the meal was superb. The wine was a hundred-year-old vintage and the brandy even older.
Luca Montese had been the centre of attention from the start. As the guests entered, one by one, they were introduced to him-presented to him, Rebecca thought-in a way that left no doubt he was the guest of honour. But even without that he would have held attention by the magnetism that seemed to surround him like a force field.
His eyes were like flint. His smile was wolfish. He was a predator, coolly surveying the prey around him, counting them off in order of their importance to him. They all knew it, of course they did. And each of them was courting him.
Except herself.
‘Luca,’ Philip Steyne said jovially, ‘let me introduce you to one of my favourite people, Rebecca Hanley, who takes care of PR for the Allingham.’
‘Then Mrs Hanley is a most important person to me,’ Luca responded at once.
‘Good evening, Signor Montese,’ Rebecca replied coolly.
He felt different. The hand that engulfed hers was no longer the rough paw that had held her in passion and tenderness, and which she had loved. It was smooth and manicured, a rich man’s hand. A stranger’s.
She forced herself to meet his eyes, and found nothing there. No warmth, no alarm, no amazement, no recognition. Nothing.
Relief and disappointment warred, but neither won.
She disengaged her hand at once and murmured something about the pleasure of meeting him. There were people behind her, agog for an introduction, and they provided an excuse for her not to linger.
‘You might have been a bit more gracious,’ Danvers complained under his breath when he too had been introduced and passed on. ‘These self-made men can be so touchy if they think they’re being patronised.’
‘But you’re the one who’s patronising him,’ she pointed out.
‘What?’
‘The way you said “these self-made men” was deeply patronising. As though they’re all alike.’
‘They are, more or less. Full of themselves. Always wanting to tell you how they did it.’
Rebecca maintained a diplomatic silence. It would have been ill-natured to point out that Danvers had been born to money and therefore had nothing to tell.
She was getting her second wind. There had been the shock of meeting him without warning, but that was over now, and she could study him while he talked with somebody else.
She would hardly have known him. His height and breadth of shoulder were the same, but his hair, which had always been shaggy, tempting her to run her fingers through it, was cut back neat and short, revealing the lines of his face. The large nose with the hint of a hook was the one she knew, but the rest was strange.
‘A rough diamond,’ Philip Steyne murmured in her ear. ‘But very rich. And when you think that he came from nowhere, and started with nothing!’
‘Nobody really starts with nothing,’ Danvers observed. ‘Somehow, somewhere he got his hands on a lump sum of money to begin with. One can only speculate on what he had to do to get it.’
‘Perhaps he’ll tell you,’ Rebecca said sharply. ‘That’s what “self-made men” do, isn’t it?’
Danvers shared a grin with Steyne. ‘Maybe it’s best if we don’t know,’ he observed. ‘He looks as though he could be an ugly customer.’
Rebecca said no more. She knew what Luca had done to get his start.
She had last seen him penniless. Now he was so rich and powerful that one of the biggest merchant banks in the country put itself out for him.
That alone revealed part of the story. She had mixed with financiers long enough to know the kind of men who prospered in that atmosphere. Luca’s success told her that he had become everything he had once despised.
What his prosperity didn’t tell her, his face did. The open, generous candour that had made him lovable was gone. In its place was hardness, even ruthlessness, eyes that glinted with suspicion where once they had shone with joy. An ugly customer.
Her father had said, ‘He demanded money to go away and never trouble you again.’
Even after seeing the cheque she had sometimes repeated to herself that it couldn’t be true. If he had returned she would gladly have believed any explanation. But she never heard from him again, and at last she had stopped crying the words into the darkness.
Seeing him now, she knew that the worst was true. Luca had needed money, and he had sold their love to get it.
As they entered the dining room she braced herself, knowing that she would be sitting next to him.
The bait in the trap, she thought wearily. Oh, what does it matter?
He did everything correctly, like a man used to dining amid wealth. After making a few brief, meaningless observations to her, he paid courteous attention to the lady on his other side, who was his hostess.
So far, so good. Nothing to alarm her.
Then Philip Steyne said jovially, ‘Luca, in case you’re wondering why we sat you next to Rebecca, it’s because she speaks Italian, even Tuscan.’
‘That was very kind of you,’ Luca said. ‘So,
CHAPTER FOUR
SO HE had known all the time, and picked his own moment to reveal it. Taken by surprise, Rebecca couldn’t control a swift gasp.
The others were watching them, smiling, enjoying what they thought of as the joke.
‘What did he say, Rebecca?’ Philip asked. ‘It must have been quite something to make you gasp like that. Come on, tell.’
‘Oh, no,’ she said brightly. ‘I know how to keep a secret.’
Everyone laughed as if she’d made a brilliant witticism. Still smiling, she met Luca’s eyes.
‘Do we know each other?’ she asked, also in Tuscan.
‘Yes,’ he said flatly. ‘Why pretend?’
‘Have you told anyone else?’
‘No. That wouldn’t suit me. Or you, I imagine.’
He was right, but it was intolerable that he took her reaction for granted.
‘No,’ she said briefly.
‘No problem, then.’
‘You’re a remarkably cool customer.’
‘Not now.’
‘What did you say?’
‘We can’t discuss it now. There are too many people about. We’ll talk later.’
His assumption that the decision was only his infuriated her.
