Lucy Gordon: Bride By Choice

The appalling truth of this hit her like a sledge-hammer. ‘Which means the whole street,’ she groaned. ‘I’ll call us a cab.’

When she’d finished making the call he was holding up her coat, and Helen put her arms in the sleeves, accepting the inevitable. They had to leave together, or there would be talk, and there’d already been too much of that.

Luckily the cab appeared quickly and they both behaved with perfect propriety. Lorenzo gave her his arm down the steps of the building, which were slippery from frost. She allowed him to show her to the vehicle and open the door for her. She never looked up but she was burningly conscious of many pairs of eyes watching from above.

As the car’s tail lights disappeared around the corner Mamma Angolini dropped the curtain of her bedroom window, and heaved a sentimental sigh. ‘Did you see the way he handed her in?’

Poppa, standing beside her, frowned, ‘But what were those noises earlier?’

‘Oh, that’s nothing,’ she told him cheerfully. ‘They were just having a lovers’ tiff.’

In the back of the cab Lorenzo said placatingly, ‘Why don’t we stop for a drink somewhere, and straighten this out?’

‘There’s nothing to straighten out,’ she said coolly. ‘I’ll drop you off at the Elroy and go on alone.’

‘I see,’ he said glumly. ‘The frozen mitt treatment.’

‘You’re lucky it’s not the frozen sock-on-the-jaw treatment.’

She should have known better. He stuck out his chin, pointing to it hopefully.

‘Oh, stop it,’ she said, trying not to smile. He was wicked and irresistible.

‘No, go on, thump me if it’ll make you feel better.’

She abandoned the struggle not to laugh, clenched her fist and punched his chin very, very gently. Another mistake. He seized her hand and kissed it.

The swift action took her by surprise, invading her senses before she could suppress the memory of that other kiss, full on the lips, by a young man who kissed subtly and with intent. It all came back to her now, so that although his lips were moving across her hand she seemed to feel them on her mouth. She must tell him now, coolly and primly, that this must stop at once.

But she felt neither cool nor prim. She felt as though waves of warmth were laving her, and thoughts of wine and roses were going through her head.

Just when she was starting to panic, he stopped, releasing her hand suddenly and abandoning her to a sense of loss that sent warnings jolting through her. Basta! Enough!

‘There’s Elroys,’ she said, with relief. ‘Don’t worry about my parents. I’ll call them tomorrow and explain that you and I won’t be seeing each other in future.’

‘But what about our wedding?’ he asked, sounding hurt.

‘I shall tell Momma that we decided against it.’

‘After what she saw?’

‘We got carried away. On reflection we realised we were mistaken.’

In the semi darkness of the cab she could see his teeth gleam. ‘About what?’

‘About-about being carried away.’

‘I don’t mind if you want to carry me away. We could-’

‘Now you cut it out,’ she flashed. ‘That innocent little boy charm may floor my mother but it leaves me cold.’

‘I was afraid it did,’ he said mournfully.

The cab drew to a halt. ‘Goodnight, Mr Martelli. It was a pleasure meeting you and I wish you every success.’

‘No, you don’t. You wish you could boil me in oil.’

‘I was giving you the polite version.’

‘In that case, thank you, Miss Angolini, for a lovely evening. I hope our paths cross again one day.’

She returned his smile with deadly intent. ‘Not if I can prevent it,’ she said. ‘Goodnight. Sleep well.’

She watched him go into the hotel and vanish from sight. That was that. Somehow she would contrive not to see him again.

She gave the driver the address of the apartment on East 77th Street that she shared with Dilys.

Her friend was home ahead of her, dressed for bed. ‘So how was your evening?’ she asked. ‘I saw you talking to the life-guard. Any good?’

‘’Fraid not,’ Helen said, yawning. ‘Handsome on the outside, but nothing to him. Boring really.’

Next morning Helen found a message to report to Jack Dacre.

‘I’ve got a new assignment for you,’ he said, ‘and seeing as how you and Signor Martelli have already broken the ice, I know you’ll enjoy it.’

‘Really?’ Helen was holding herself in neutral.

‘I want you to look after him. Apparently his English isn’t as good as I first thought. He admits that a lot of the time he’s only pretending to understand. He’s happier in Sicilian dialect, which I gather you speak, so you can act as his interpreter. That way you can keep an eye on his other dealings. It all works out very well.’

‘Especially for Lorenzo Martelli,’ Helen murmured wrathfully as she knocked on Lorenzo’s door.

It opened apparently of its own accord. She walked in and found him tucked behind the door, regarding her with apprehension.

‘Will you stop playing the fool?’ she said, half laughing, half exasperated.

‘It’s nice to see you.’

‘You’re just up to your tricks again. Pretending your English is no good, when I know it’s perfect.’

‘Is true, is true,’ he clowned in excruciating stage Italian. ‘Me no spikka da English.’

She just looked at him, trying not to smile, but it was hard to be severe when the dancing light in his eyes was tempting her to dreams of delight.

‘I’ve been detailed to assist you,’ she said, trying to sound business like. ‘Shall we discuss the programme for the day?’

‘Why don’t you show me the sights?’

‘Mr Martelli, I’m a busy woman.’

‘OK, OK,’ he said in resignation. ‘It was worth a try. Here’s a list of places I have to visit. There are no other hotels in New York, but several restaurants.’

‘None of these are Italian restaurants,’ she objected, studying the list.

‘Of course. That’s the idea. I’m out to make converts and Italians already know that Martelli produce is the best.’

‘I shouldn’t have asked.’

‘True. As a good Sicilian, you should have known.’

‘Lorenzo-’

‘I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it. Let’s go.’

Over the next few hours she began to give him a grudging respect. Lorenzo was a first-class salesman who used his charm to get himself into the customer’s good graces before knocking him for six with the quality of his product. By the evening he had a solid wad of orders, all of which he’d promised to fulfil by the next day, having taken the precaution of hiring a warehouse and filling it in readiness.

‘And I’m exhausted,’ he complained at last. ‘Let’s go in here and relax.’

The place he’d chosen at random was called Fives, and it overlooked the Hudson. Darkness had fallen and lights glittered along the river, entrancing Helen, even though she was used to such views. Tonight all her senses seemed heightened. Even edge was a little clearer, each colour a little sharper.

She felt good. It had been a pleasant day with a delightful companion, for when Lorenzo wasn’t being maddening he was amusing. Recently her life had been all hard work and not enough laughter, she realised.

‘I feel as though I’d done a week’s work in one day,’ he observed.

‘So do I.’

‘I shouldn’t have made you work so hard, should I?’

‘Right. I was only supposed to be translating for you.’

‘But I don’t need a translator,’ he said innocently.

‘No, but you sure needed a dogsbody-make a note of this, jot that down-’

He blew a kiss at her. ‘You take the best notes in the business. Let’s get them into the computer while they’re still fresh.’ He produced his laptop and studied some scraps of paper. ‘I can’t read your writing.’