Lucy Gordon - The Italian Millionaire’s Marriage

‘I think it is.’ He looked at her for a moment before saying gently, ‘I also think your father has a lot to answer for.’

‘I don’t know what you-’ The words died on her lips. Hearing it put into words she knew exactly what he meant.

‘Just because your face didn’t please him, you think it won’t please any man,’ Marco said. ‘And you’re wrong.’

She was stunned at the sudden revelation. That early rejection that she’d believed she could cope with, had marked her to this day. And this cool, unemotional man had been the one to see the truth in her heart.

She met his eyes. Then she drew in a sharp breath and became still as she saw something in them-or had she? It was gone so fast that it might have been an illusion.

‘Put it up,’ he said abruptly. ‘Long hair is all wrong with that dress.’

The prosaic reason brought her back down to earth. She hurried away to her room to find the woman Lucia had deputed to act as her maid, and who swirled her hair into the exquisite creation of the previous day.

When she went down Marco put a glass of wine in her hand. He didn’t mention her appearance but he smiled and gave a brief nod of pleasure. Lucia had recovered from her joy at the sight of her son and remembered that she was displeased with him.

‘I suppose we should feel grateful that you’ve deigned to remember us at last,’ she said caustically. ‘Do we get five minutes of your precious time, or ten?’

‘Don’t be angry with me, Mamma,’ he said, laughing. ‘I’ve come to make amends by taking Harriet out tonight.’

B ELLA F IGURA was a nightclub on the Via Veneto, a few yards along from Marco’s apartment. It was hidden away in the depths of the building, and as soon as they arrived Harriet could sense the atmosphere; sophisticated, knowing, and above all discreet. She wondered how many women Marco had brought here, and how many notes had changed hands with close-mouthed doormen.

He led her to a table near the stage, yet sufficiently to one side to afford some privacy. The floorshow had not started waiters hurried to and fro, taking orders. Marco summoned one of them with a look, which annoyed several customers who’d been waiting longer. He seemed not to notice.

As before he was an excellent host and she relaxed, even beginning to feel easier about the revealing dress.

‘I’m sorry to have been so remiss,’ he said. ‘My mother is very annoyed with me. Are you?’

‘No,’ she said, not entirely truthfully. ‘You must have been deluged with work after being away, although I daresay you travel with a laptop, and don’t miss very much.’

He nodded. ‘I have a good assistant, but I prefer to keep my own finger on the pulse. I’m grateful that you understand. I’m afraid my mother doesn’t. She thinks you’ll be offended and rush back to England.’

‘No way,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’m having a wonderful time. Your mother and I get on splendidly.’

‘So I gather from her. By the way, did I imagine that I saw you in the Via Veneto yesterday?’

‘No, I picked up a cab there after I’d done some shopping. I found a shop a couple of streets away-’

It all came tumbling out, her visit, the treasures she’d discovered, the difficulty of deciding which to buy, the moment of half-guilty indulgence, the thrill of possession. Marco listened to her, at first with a smile, then with growing alarm.

‘What in heaven’s name did you buy?’

She rattled of the list.

‘And they cost how much? ’

‘They’re bargains,’ she defensively. ‘They’ll look wonderful in the shop.’

‘The shop that’s already up to its ears in debt. Good grief woman, have you no sense of the value of money?’

‘Look, I know money’s important, I’m not saying it isn’t.’

‘Now there’s a concession!’ he said scathingly.

‘But it isn’t necessarily first on my list of priorities-’

‘I’d be interested to know just where it does come on your list of priorities.’

She was annoyed into frankness. ‘Pretty low when I’m negotiating for an object of beauty.’

‘Beauty costs money,’ he said bluntly.

‘Oh, really!’

‘All right, tell me I’m wrong.’

She couldn’t. An antique dealer knew better than anyone how much beauty cost, and having to concede the point exasperated her more than anything.

‘I’ve seen your accounts remember,’ Marco said, ‘and a more soul-destroying experience I don’t recall. I think you see good business practice as a sort of optional extra.’

‘Rubbish!’

‘What did you say?’

‘All right, I admit I tend to leave that kind of thing to take care of itself.’

He stared at her glassy eyed. ‘You leave business to take care of itself?’

‘Well, you knew I was like that.’

‘I didn’t know you were going to be “like that” in Rome.’

‘I’m like that everywhere,’ she said defiantly.

‘So I’m beginning to understand. Maybe I should have spelled it out that a condition of my loan was that you don’t make your financial situation worse.’

‘I haven’t made it worse. That stuff will sell at a profit.’

‘Always assuming that you can find “kind” homes for it? Of all the-look, you’re a dealer. Don’t you know better than to walk into another dealer’s shop and buy at full price?’

‘Of course I do, but I couldn’t help myself.’

‘ Maria vergine! You couldn’t help yourself. If I bought stock in Novamente instead of Kalmati I should like to see my clients’ faces when Novamente collapsed and I explained that it wasn’t my fault because I couldn’t help myself.’

‘That’s different,’ she said frostily.

‘I don’t see why. Let’s all live on emotional impulse with no sense of responsibility. If you, why not me?’

‘Because you wouldn’t know how to live on emotional impulse.’

‘Thank heavens!’ he said fervently.

‘I am not irresponsible. I know all this stuff-’

‘It’s not enough to know it. You have to live by it.’

‘When I saw those pieces I fell in love with them. You don’t understand that, do you?’

‘Only too well. You fell in love and abandoned all common sense, all perspective, all objectivity. Never, never make a decision when you’re in love, whether it’s with an object or-’ he checked himself. He was breathing rapidly.

The appearance of a waiter was a diversion, one that he was glad of, she thought. He didn’t look at her as the plates from the first course were cleared away and the second course served, and when they were alone again he smiled as though the moment had never happened.

‘I didn’t bring you out to criticise you,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I went a little too far.’

‘Just a little,’ she agreed. ‘I suppose to someone who operates in higher finance I must seem raving mad.’

‘Don’t let’s start on that again,’ he begged. ‘But let me look at the paperwork. I can tell you how to-that is, I may be able to suggest things you might find useful.’

‘Thank you,’ she said meekly.

He seemed about to reply, then caught the gleam in her eyes and thought better of it.

‘What exactly do you do?’ she asked.

‘I work for the Banco Orese Nationale. It’s a merchant bank, and I deal in stocks and shares, advising clients, research into market trends.’

‘Go on.’

He settled into an explanation that lasted well into the second course and Harriet listened with genuine interest.

‘Control is the answer,’ he said once. ‘If you’re not in control, somebody else is. So you must always be the one in control. If I’m trying to beat someone down on the price of stock I always make sure I have one piece of information more than he does. Then I’m in control. He may think he is but I know that I am.