Lucy Gordon: Italian Tycoon, Secret Son

‘But there was nothing lovesick about you. You were in control all the time.’

‘It seems like it, doesn’t it? A man who was in control would hardly be on the run. She just made my head spin.’

‘And that’s your excuse for acting like the hero of a bad Hollywood movie? Who do you think you are? Douglas Fairbanks?’

‘Who?’

‘He was always doing that athletic stuff in his films and- Why am I telling you this? How dare you just barge in here like some second-rate Lothario?’

‘I thought I was Douglas Fairbanks,’ he said with an expression of innocence that didn’t fool her for a minute.

‘Get out! Get -’

The last word was silenced by his hand over her mouth.

‘Hush, for pity’s sake,’ he begged. ‘Ow!’

‘Now will you let go of me?’

‘You bit my hand.’

‘I’ll bite you somewhere a lot more painful if you don’t leave my room. Go back to your lady friend.’

‘I can’t, her husband will kill me.’

‘Good for him! I’ll help him dispose of the body.’

‘You’re not very kind,’ he protested plaintively.

She stared at him, bereft of speech long enough to hear a knock at her door.

‘ Mademoiselle , I am police. Please to open at once. This is for your own protection.’

She darted to the door, but at first she didn’t open it. Afterwards she could never quite understand what had stopped her, but she merely called back, ‘What is the matter?’

‘A criminal, mademoiselle . He has been detected in a room along here but managed to escape. Please to open.’

‘Open it,’ her companion murmured in her ear.

‘What?’

‘If you don’t, they’ll just get more suspicious. Your best bet is an air of calm and lofty innocence.’

‘How dare you? I am innocent!’

‘Then you can open it.’

‘And let them see you, so that the husband can identify you?’

‘He can’t. He never saw me. I got away while he was still in the outer room.’

‘And how do I explain your presence?’

‘This is a liberated age. You’re entitled to have a man in your room.’

‘Are you daring to suggest that I pretend that you and I-’

‘Unless you can think of something more convincing. I suppose I could be trying to sell you insurance-’

‘Shut up!’

‘Whatever you say. I’m at your mercy.’

‘Mademoiselle!’ That was the policeman again.

Then another man’s voice said, ‘He’s obviously in there. Beat the door down.’

There was a thump on the door. Furious with all of them, Mandy wrenched it open so fast that the attacker was caught in mid-blow, lunging forwards against her and landing hard enough to knock her back. Only the swift movement of her mysterious companion prevented her hitting the wall.

‘Murderer!’ he cried. ‘My darling, has he hurt you?’

‘I’m not sure,’ she said faintly. ‘Help me up.’

He did so, lifting her in his arms and carrying her towards the bed, laying her down, then sitting beside her, still holding her.

‘Get out, the pair of you,’ he said to the two other men who were just behind him. ‘Look what you’ve done.’

Through half closed eyes Mandy surveyed the two men, one of whom was in a police uniform. Madness seized her and she pointed to the other intruder, a squashy-looking individual with a mean face.

‘Why did he attack me?’ she asked in a quavering voice.

‘I didn’t, I didn’t,’ he squeaked. ‘I was seeking the man who was with my wife. I thought he was here-’

‘Ooh!’ she moaned, covering her face and turning so that the stranger’s arms enfolded her.

‘Get out before I have the law on you,’ he threatened.

The policeman began a stumbling apology but fell silent when he saw a look in the stranger’s eyes. A jerk of the head sent him retreating through the door, half dragging the outraged husband with him.

‘It’s all right, they’ve gone.’

Lifting her head, she saw him regarding her with a mischievous devil in his eyes. Then her appalled glance fell on herself, and the towel robe which had drifted open, revealing her nakedness. Sanity descended on her like a cold shower and she snatched the edges together.

‘Thank you for everything you did,’ he said in a placating voice. ‘You were wonderful.’

But he backed away as he spoke, reading murder in her eyes.

‘If,’ she said, breathing hard, ‘you don’t get out of this room this instant, I shall scream the place down, call back the policeman and tell everyone the truth about you.’

‘Not that,’ he begged. ‘Anything but the truth.’

‘Oh, but this truth is very interesting. You are an unspeakable scoundrel-’

‘No doubt about it.’

‘A crook-’

‘Guilty.’

‘A ham actor-’

‘That’s going too far.’

‘A fraud, a man without scruple-’

He’d reached the door now, opened it, paused in the gap.

‘I just want to say that you were brilliant,’ he said quickly.

‘Go!’

‘And thank you.’

‘If you don’t get out of here-’

He paused just long enough to blow her a kiss. Then he was gone.

Mandy stood, torn between exasperation and laughter. He was everything she’d called him and worse, but she felt mysteriously invigorated as never before in her life.

Swiftly she put out the lights, tossed aside the robe and jumped into bed, mulling him over.

Where did he come from? She’d heard him mutter to himself in Italian, and he spoke in a Continental accent.

What had possessed him to make those crazy jumps? Fear of an enraged husband? No way. He was a lithe and powerful athlete who could have handled any number of husbands. Yet he’d chosen to run for it, risking his life in the process.

A man without fear, then, but also a man with some very kooky values. The way he’d said, ‘She swore she was divorced, and how’s a man to know?’ implied many other similar incidents.

And it didn’t bother him. It was just how he lived, from one woman to the next. He loved, he escaped, he went on. And he laughed. He’d been laughing all the time she’d berated him, not outwardly but inside. It had been there in his whole attitude, but mostly in his gleaming eyes.

Curse him for seeing her robe fall open. Just let him dare get ideas about her. She didn’t have a husband, but she did have a very useful left hook.

The thought made her feel better, and she fell asleep.

Next morning Mandy set out to walk the short distance through the snow-lined streets of Chamonix that led to the office where she was to join the expedition. Up ahead loomed the dazzling white mountains, inviting her to forget everything earthbound.

As she reached the office of Pierre Foule, expedition organiser, she could see a group of young people outside, looking around and up, impatient for the pleasure to begin.

‘When I told them at work that I was going to be climbing the Alps,’ a man was saying, ‘they were really impressed. Especially the girls.’

‘And aren’t you just going to make the most of it when you get back!’ another man ribbed him.

From behind Mandy a young female voice joined in the banter. ‘You want to be careful. These days we climb them ourselves, and we get to the top before you.’

There was a good-natured laugh. Mandy turned to see a woman of about her own age, with a cheerful face and a robust appearance.

‘Hi, I’m Joan Hunter,’ she said. ‘I’m going on the Mont Blanc trip.’

‘Me too. I’m Mandy Jenkins.’

They looked each other over approvingly.

‘I’ve just been in there to register,’ Joan said. ‘But it’s a madhouse. Pierre Foule, who was supposed to be leading us, is off sick, so someone else is standing in, and the girls are crowding round him, sighing. Not that he’s fending them off.’