Her Italian Boss’s Agenda

‘Not wicked,’ he pleaded. ‘Foolish, I grant you. I was stupid, it was a joke that went wrong, but when you just assumed that I was your secretary-well, can you blame me for playing along?’

‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘It was unprofessional.’

‘And not checking the facts was the height of professionalism, I suppose?’ he said, stung. ‘No, look, I’m sorry I said that. I don’t want to turn this into a fight.’

‘Then you’re several hours too late. It became a fight the moment you thought I was there for your entertainment and tricked me into saying things that-’ She shuddered as she recalled her incautious words.

‘I didn’t force you to say that stuff about “His Majesty” like “To hell with Primo Rinucci!” You were bursting to say it to someone.’

The stark truth of this didn’t improve her temper.

‘And I said it to you, thus finishing my prospects with my new employers.’

‘I never said-’

‘You didn’t have to. If you don’t tell them now you’ll have to warn them later, otherwise they’ll find out what you knew and your own prospects will be in danger.’

‘Don’t worry about my prospects,’ he said coolly. ‘I have the virtue of thinking before I speak. It’s a great help. For an ambitious woman you have a remarkably careless tongue.’

‘How was I to know that you-?’ She bit back the last words.

‘Wasn’t an underling?’ he finished. ‘If I had been the worm beneath your feet that you clearly thought, it wouldn’t have mattered, would it?’

‘I’m not going to dignify that with an answer,’ she seethed.

‘Which is probably wise! No, look-forget I said that. I’m tired, jet lagged-’

‘How can you be jet lagged from Naples?’ she scoffed.

‘The damned plane was delayed,’ he yelled. ‘It didn’t get in until past midnight, and I got no sleep last night. I’m not at my best, and I’m saying things I shouldn’t. You’re not the only one who can do that.

‘So let’s put an end to this now. I apologise-for everything. And I’d like to apologise properly over dinner.’

‘No, thank you,’ she said crisply. ‘I have plans for this evening. I intend to spend it reading a book called How To Spot A Phoney At Fifty Paces. I thought I was good at that, but evidently I have much to learn.’

‘I could give you some pointers.’

‘No, you come under the heading of practical experience. After you I need further instruction. I’ll probably take a crash course, with a diploma at the end of it.’

‘I really screwed up, didn’t I?’ He sighed.

‘Need you ask? Now, Mr Cayman, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get home. I suggest you turn around and spend the evening writing a report for your employers. Be sure to include everything.’

‘That’s not how I plan to spend my evening.’

‘If you follow me again I’ll call the police.’

‘What for? Surely you can deal with this situation without help. I’d back you against the police any day.’

‘That was an entirely unnecessary observation.’

‘I thought I was paying you a compliment.’

‘Then we have different ideas about what constitutes a compliment. Goodnight!’

CHAPTER TWO

WITHOUT waiting for a reply, Olympia got back into her car and started up with a vigour that threatened to finish off the engine. Primo sighed, returned to his own car and pulled out.

What happened next was something he was never quite able to analyse, except to say that he was still mentally in Italy, where drivers used the other side of the road, and the steering was on the other side of the car. In daylight he might have coped better, but with lights glaring at him out of the darkness he briefly lost his sense of direction. The next thing he knew was an ugly scraping sound of metal on metal and a hefty clout on the head.

He swore, more at the indignity than the pain.

Olympia appeared, pulling open his door. ‘Oh, great. All I need is a clown to ram my new car-hey, are you all right?’

‘Sure, fine,’ he lied, blinking and making a vain effort to clear his head.

‘You don’t look it. You look as if you were seeing stars. Did you hit your head?’

‘Just a little bump. What about you? Are you hurt?’

‘No, my car took all the damage. There’s not a scratch on me.’

He got out, moving slowly because his head was swimming, and surveyed what he could see of the dent. There was no doubt who had hit whom, he thought, annoyed with himself for ceding a point to her.

‘I’m sorry,’ he groaned.

‘Never mind that now. Let’s get you to a hospital.’

‘What for?’

‘Your head needs looking at.’

‘It’s just a scratch. I don’t want any hospital.’

‘You’ve got to-’ She checked herself. ‘All right, but I’m not letting you out of my sight for a while. You can come home with me. No-’ she added quickly as he turned back to the car. ‘You’re not driving in that state. I’ll take you.’

‘I don’t want to abandon my car here.’

‘We’re not going to. If you hold a torch, I’ll fix the tow.’

‘Shouldn’t it be me fixing the tow?’

‘You’ve had a bump on the head. Do as I ask and don’t speak.’

‘Anything you say.’

He had to admit she knew what she was doing, attaching the two vehicles as efficiently as a mechanic. In no time at all they were on their way. Ten minutes drive brought them to a smart block of flats, where Olympia parked both cars efficiently.

‘I’ll call the hire firm first thing tomorrow,’ he said, adding wryly, ‘They’ll be thrilled.’

‘When did you hire it?’

‘This morning.’

Her apartment was on the second floor. It was neat, elegant and expensively furnished with perfect taste, he noticed, but it seemed to him that there was something lacking. For the moment he couldn’t define it.

‘Sit down while I look at your forehead,’ she said.

Unwilling though he was to admit it, his head was aching horribly, and a glance in the mirror showed him a nasty bruise and some scratches that were bleeding.

‘It won’t take a moment for me to clean that up,’ she said. ‘And I’ll make you a strong coffee.’

He was glad to sit down and close his eyes. From somewhere in the distance he thought he heard her talking, but then he opened his eyes to find her standing there with coffee.

‘Drink this,’ she said.

‘Thanks. Then I’ll call a taxi to take me back to my hotel. I’m sorry about your car. I’ll pay for all the repairs.’

‘No need. The insurance will take care of it.’

‘No, I’ll do it,’ he said hastily, with visions of form-filling and having to give his real name. ‘We don’t want to damage your no-claims bonus, and I’d rather the world didn’t hear about this.’

‘You think they might laugh?’ she asked.

‘Fit to bust,’ he said gloomily.

The coffee was good. Almost up to Italian standard.

As he was finishing it there was a knock at the door. Olympia answered it and returned with a young man.