Sara Craven - Promise Of The Unicorn

Suddenly, she could hear Mark’s voice in her ear, softly persuasive. ‘Darling, the guy’s your cousin, even if it is only by marriage. If anyone could help us, it’s him. Is it really so much to ask?’

‘Yes,’ she thought despairingly. ‘Far too much.’ She wished she was a million miles away, and still travelling. But she wasn’t here just for herself. She was here for Mark, for their happiness. Surely her love for him was worth the sacrifice of a little pride?

She sat on the edge of her seat, feeling as if only her tension was holding her together until Leonard came back. He was smiling.

‘You’re in luck. He was just about to go to lunch. I’ll take you up to the top floor.’

She was so nervous she could hardly speak as they went up in the lift.

A dark girl was waiting for them, looking upset. She almost pounced on Sophie. ‘Miss Ralston? I’m so sorry—I didn’t realise. I haven’t worked here for very long, and I didn’t know you were a member of the family.’

Sophie wanted to reply, ‘I’m not’ but under the circumstances that would hardly be tactful, she realised, especially as the double doors standing open opposite the lift undoubtedly led straight into Angelo’s office.

She was ushered in, heard the secretary’s nervous, ‘Miss Ralston, sir,’ and felt the doors close behind her.

Her first impression was one of dazzle. Light poured into the penthouse office from windows on three sides. If it was a ploy to put clients at a disadvantage, then it certainly worked, Sophie thought, blinking.

In all that light, Angelo was darkness, from the top of the thick black hair, springing back from his forehead, down over the immaculate city suit to the subdued gloss of his handmade shoes.

‘ Cara Sophie. What an enchanting surprise.’

The words were welcoming, but there was mockery just below the surface, rasping along Sophie’s nerve-endings. She looked at him numbly, unable to think of a single thing to say in reply. This was the effect he invariably had on her, she realised bitterly, wiping everything from her mind with the sheer power of his physical presence.

He began to walk towards her, moving with the lithe sinuous grace of a black panther, and Sophie felt the breath catch in her throat as she registered yet again, the sheer impact of his devastating good looks. It was unfair, she thought unwillingly, assimilating the long-lashed brilliance of his eyes, the high-bridged patrician nose and the proud sensual curve of his mouth.

He halted a few feet from her, lifting one eyebrow in a combination of enquiry and amusement. ‘Lost for words, cara ? Leonard tells me you wish to discuss some matter to do with the anniversary party—some problem, perhaps?’

Sophie swallowed. ‘Well—not exactly,’ she returned feebly. ‘I know I did tell Leonard that, but actually it’s something rather more personal.’

‘I see.’ The midnight eyes studied her for a long moment, then he turned away with a faint shrug. ‘I think this may take rather longer than I thought. Forgive me for a moment.’

He walked to the long curved desk, and flicked a button on the intercom system. ‘Miss Bradley? Telephone the Savoy, if you please, and make my excuses to Signora Vanni, and whatever apologies are necessary. Assure her that I look forward to our theatre engagement this evening.’ He listened for a moment, as the message was being repeated, then nodded. ‘ Bene . Perhaps you would also arrange for lunch for two to be served in the director’s dining room. I understand it is not being used today.’

‘Oh, please, no,’ Sophie interrupted, mortified. ‘There’s really no need to go to all this trouble—change your arrangements like this. And I don’t want lunch. I—I’m really not hungry.’

‘Perhaps not, but I am.’ His tone was faintly crushing.

‘Yes, but you could still go to the Savoy. I could come back some other time …’ Sophie began to back towards the door.

Angelo sighed impatiently. ‘Please don’t be foolish, Sophie. Presumably you had some important motive for seeking me out in this way. Has it suddenly become less so?’

Sophie bit her lip. ‘No,’ she admitted stiffly. ‘Only, I didn’t mean to intrude—to interfere in your personal affairs. I’m sorry.’

He gave a swift shrug. ‘Don’t be. Unless it is also your intention to disrupt my arrangements for this evening too?’

She flushed. ‘Oh, no.’ She stole a look at him beneath her lashes. ‘Is the lady you’re meeting Gianetta Vanni, the dress designer? I read in the papers she was in London.’

‘It is,’ he said briefly. ‘But we are here to discuss some personal matters of yours, not mine.’

Sophie’s flush deepened. That was the real Angelo, she thought. King of the cutting remark, making her feel a schoolgirl again. She wished she could tell him to go to hell.

He glanced at the thin platinum watch on his wrist. ‘Lunch will be a few minutes. Perhaps you would like an aperitivo —something to calm your ruffled temper, and give you courage perhaps,’ he added sardonically.

Sophie opened her eyes wide. ‘Do I need courage?’ she asked, deciding it was safer to overlook the remark about her temper.

The dark face was enigmatic suddenly. ‘That, cara , will depend probably on the magnitude of the problem you wish to discuss with me. So—will you have a sherry, perhaps, or a martini?’

‘Sherry would be fine.’ Sophie sent him an angelic smile. ‘Do you know this is the first time you’ve ever offered me a drink. Is it an acknowledgement that you regard me as an adult at last?’

His mouth twisted. ‘No—merely that I recognise that in the eyes of the law at least, you are now old enough to be given alcohol—no more. Don’t hope for too much from me, Sophie,’ he added acidly.

Rage made her dumb as he crossed to an antique cabinet and extracted a decanter and two crystal glasses. The sherry was pale gold and very dry, and Sophie could cheerfully have thrown it all over him, but her reasons for seeking him out, allied with the certainty that he would undoubtedly retaliate if she did any such thing, stayed her hand. And, oddly enough, the sherry did seem to have a calming effect, its caress like velvet against the taut muscles of her throat.

As she sipped it and began slowly to look around her, and take in her surroundings, she was able to see that although it was a large room, it was far more businesslike and less luxurious than any of her previous imaginings about the Marchese bank had suggested. Not that she’d ever expended much thought on the subject, she hastily reminded herself, but it had always seemed natural to picture Angelo against a background of opulent marble halls.

But the only real sign of opulence in the room was the chair on which she herself was now seated. It was low, made from some pale hide, deeply cushioned, and designed, she realised to put anyone who used it at an actual physical disadvantage, staring up at the huge desk which dominated the room, and the dominating man who sat behind it.

As their glances met, he sent her a faint smile, and lifted his glass in salute. ‘Well, Sophie?’

He wanted to know why she had come, and she didn’t know what to say, or where to begin.

‘Is this where you put people when they want a loan?’ she asked at last, trying for brightness and playing for time.

‘Sometimes.’ The dark brows lifted mockingly. ‘I hope you don’t want to ask for a loan, Sophie.’

‘Oh, no,’ she said hastily, thanking her stars that it was true. She looked round her again, avoiding his gaze. ‘What a fantastic building this is. Of course, I’ve never been here before.’

‘But that,’ Angelo reminded her silkily. ‘Is entirely through your own choice. I seem to remember when it was once suggested, you told me that all commerce was disgusting but bankers were the worst of all, because they were predators. Or had you forgotten?’