Anne Mather - Bedded For The Italian's Pleasure

‘Anyway, I’ve got to go down there next week,’ Cary went on, apparently unaware that she was getting restless. He grimaced. ‘I told her I’d got a girlfriend and she wants to meet her.’

‘Oh.’ Juliet smiled. ‘Well, I hope she likes her. Is it someone you met while you were in Cape Town, or does she live in London?’

‘I don’t have a girlfriend,’ declared Cary flatly. ‘I just told her that to get her off my back. You know what I said about her wanting me to settle down and so on? I thought if she believed I was getting serious about someone, she’d lay off for a bit.’

‘Oh, Cary!’

‘I know, I know.’ He scowled and summoned the bartender again to order another drink. ‘Where am I going to find a suitable girlfriend between now and next Thursday? I don’t even know any “suitable” girls. My tastes run in another direction entirely.’

Juliet stared at him. ‘You’re—gay?’

‘Hell, no!’ Cary snorted. ‘But the kind of girls I like, you don’t take home to introduce to your grandmama. I’m not interested in settling down, Jules. I’m only twenty-eight. I want to have some fun. I don’t want some good woman and a couple of sprogs hanging about my feet.’

Juliet shook her head. He’d changed so much from the shy boy he’d been when they were children. Was this his grandmother’s doing, or had he always had this streak of selfishness in him? Perhaps he wasn’t so different from David, after all.

She was suddenly aware that he was staring at her now. There was a distinctly speculative look in his eyes, and she hoped he had no designs as far as she was concerned. She might be desperate, but Cary simply wasn’t her type. Sliding down from her stool, she nodded pointedly towards the door.

‘I’ve got to go.’

‘Go where?’

Was it any of his business? ‘Home, of course.’

Cary nodded. ‘You wouldn’t fancy having dinner with me, I suppose?’

‘Oh, Cary—’

‘It was just a thought.’ He chewed vigorously at his lower lip. ‘I wanted to put a proposition to you. But I can do it here, just as well.’

‘Cary—’

‘Hear me out.’ He laid a hand on her sleeve and, although Juliet badly wanted to pull away, she had accepted a drink from him and that made her briefly in his debt. ‘Would you consider coming down to Tregellin with me? As my pretend girlfriend,’ he added swiftly, before she could object. ‘You say you need a job. Well, I’m offering you one. Well-paid, of course.’

Juliet couldn’t believe her ears. ‘You’re not serious!’

‘Why not? We’re friends, aren’t we? We’re male and female. Where would be the harm?’

‘We’d be deceiving your grandmother. And—your cousin.’

‘Don’t worry about Rafe. He doesn’t live at the house.’

‘All the same—’

‘You’d be doing me the greatest favour, Jules. And Grandmama is bound to believe it when she sees it’s you. You know she’s always liked you.’

‘She hardly knows me!’

‘She knows of you,’ persisted Cary. ‘And when we get back, I’ll be able to write you a reference you can use to get another job.’

‘A real job, you mean?’

‘This is a real job, Jules, I promise you. Oh, please. At least say you’ll think it over. What have you got to lose?’

THE tide was in and the mudflats below Tregellin were hidden beneath a surge of salt water. There were seabirds bobbing on the waves and the sun dancing on the water was dazzling. For once, the old house had an air of beauty and not neglect.

It needed an owner who would look after it, Rafe thought, guiding his mud-smeared Land Cruiser down the twisting lane that led to the house. Though not him, he reminded himself firmly. Whatever the old lady said, she was never going to leave Tregellin to the illegitimate son of an olive farmer.

Not that he wanted her to, he reflected without malice. Now that the studio was up and running, he hadn’t enough time to do what he had to do as it was. Oh, he collected the rents and kept the books, made sure the old lady paid her taxes. He even mowed the lawns and kept the shrubbery free of weeds, but the house itself needed a major overhaul.

The trouble was, he didn’t have the money. Not the kind of money needed to restore the place to its former glory anyway. And if Lady Elinor was as wealthy as the people in the village said she was, she was definitely hiding it from her family.

He knew Cary thought his grandmother was a rich woman. That was why he seldom refused an invitation, ran after her as if her every wish was his command. It was pathetic, really. If Rafe had had more respect for the man he’d have told him the old lady was just using him to satisfy her lust for power. If she did intend to make Cary her heir, she was going to make him work for it.

Whatever happened, Rafe doubted Tregellin would survive another death in the family. Unless Lady Elinor had some hidden cash that no one knew about, when she was gone the estate would have to be sold. It was probably Cary’s intention anyway. Rafe couldn’t see his cousin moving out of London, giving up the life he had there. Nevertheless, with death duties and lawyers’ fees, Rafe suspected he’d be lucky to clear his grandmother’s debts.

Rafe was fairly sure the old lady had been living on credit for some time. The tin mines, which had once made the Daniels’ fortune, had been played out and dormant for the past fifty years. The estate, with its dairy farms and smallholdings, had struggled in recent years. Things were improving but, like everything else, they needed time.

Time they might not have, he acknowledged. It was sad, but the old lady wasn’t as robust as she’d once been. He hated to think of what might happen when she died. Tregellin deserved to be resurrected. Not sold to fund another loser’s debts.

He skirted the tennis court and drove round to the front of the house. Tregellin faced the water. It occupied a prime position overlooking the estuary. When he was a kid he used to love going down to the boathouse, taking out the old coracle Sir Henry had taught him to use.

He pushed open his door and got out, hauling the bag of groceries he’d bought at the local supermarket after him. Lady Elinor wouldn’t approve of him spending money on her, but Josie would. Josie Morgan was the old lady’s housekeeper-cum-companion, and was almost as old as Lady Elinor herself.