Sara Craven - Promise Of The Unicorn

No, she hadn’t forgotten. The memory still made her cheeks burn, particularly as she’d chosen a family dinner party for her outburst. It had been sparked off by a letter from a friend, Rosemary, blotched with tears to say that she wouldn’t be returning to school the following term, because her father’s company was in financial trouble. Rosemary had not had a complete grasp of what had happened, but it seemed clear her father was being made bankrupt, and they would lose nearly everything they possessed.

The letter had upset Sophie, and she’d tried to discuss it with her mother, but Barbara, abstracted over her guests, had said, ‘Later, darling.’

During the dinner, she’d been quiet, thinking of Rosemary, and her family, and the trouble which had come to them, and when she’d come out of her reverie, it was to find careers were being discussed, and that she was suddenly the focus of attention, with John proposing not too seriously that she might find an opening in the Marchese bank.

She’d looked past him and seen Angelo—seen the slightly derisive smile which twisted his mouth as he listened, and had exploded, the natural tension he inspired in her combining lethally with the anguish she felt for Rosemary. She had heard her voice storming into the startled silence, saying stupid, unforgivable things that she was totally unable to prevent, cringing from them, from the shock on John and Barbara’s faces, and from the contempt in Angelo’s eyes.

How typical of him to remind her, she thought stormily.

She said evenly, ‘Are you still blaming me for something I said when I was a child?’

‘Implying that you are now a woman?’ Angelo’s mouth curled.

He watched her react, as his tiny shaft struck home, then went on, ‘And a woman who wants something. That’s a dangerous combination, Sophie.’

She remained silent. Nothing about this interview was going as planned. The determination which had prompted her to seek it had vanished, and only the difficulties remained.

‘We established, I think, that you did not wish to choose banking as a career,’ the smooth voice went on. ‘What have you decided to do with your life?’

She hesitated. Now was the time to tell him. He’d provided her with the perfect opening, but still she prevaricated. ‘I’m starting a secretarial course in the autumn.’ She tried a smile. ‘I can’t go on living at home forever, although I’ve enjoyed this year. John felt that I’d been away so much at school that it was time I got to know them both all over again.’

‘You don’t have to explain the situation to me.’ He was lounging in his chair, watching her, his face giving nothing away. ‘And shall you enjoy being a secretary?’

Sophie shrugged. ‘It’s an—adequate way of making a living,’ she returned.

‘And is that really so vital? You are now a rich man’s daughter, do not forget.’

‘Oh, there’s no danger of that. After all, you’ll always be there to remind me, won’t you?’

He smiled lazily, ‘Of course.’ He paused, as a respectful knock at the door heralded lunch. ‘Shall we go in?’

Sophie took a deep breath and struggled out of the chair, ignoring the helping hand he offered her. She felt oddly light-headed as she stood up. She’d been a fool to have that sherry on an empty stomach, she reproached herself as she allowed herself to be conducted out of the office and along the carpeted corridor to the directors’ dining room.

It was a quite a small room, the oak-panelled walls imposing an extra intimacy. A table had been set for them beside the window, with its view of roofs, glass tower blocks and steeples. The sun spilled across the spotless white damask cloth, and sparkled from the crystal and silverware. There were flowers, scented carnations in a silver vase, in the centre of the table, and wine cooling in a napkin covered container.

In spite of her nervousness, and her earlier claim that she wasn’t hungry, Sophie found the scene irresistibly inviting. Besides, she hoped the food would put some fresh heart into her.

‘Your jacket, miss?’ An elderly waiter was hovering benevolently, waiting to take it from her. As Sophie twisted her body slightly, sliding her arms out of the sleeves, she saw that Angelo was watching her, his dark eyes frankly appraising the thrust of her breasts against the thin lawn blouse.

She tried to return his glance with cool indifference, but she was already aware of the mounting colour in her cheeks, and his scarcely veiled amusement at her embarrassment. It would have given her the greatest pleasure to have been able to walk out on him, she thought furiously.

She sat stiffly while the waiter served the avocado vinaigrette, wondering if she would be able to choke any of it past the knot of tension in her throat. She was remembering various laughing comments from her stepfather about Angelo’s predilection for beautiful girls, and while she didn’t consider she came into that category, it was nevertheless disturbing to be looked over in that way.

By coming here today, she’d placed herself at a disadvantage, she realised ruefully. It might have been safer to wait for the anniversary party, and approach him under the sanctuary of her stepfather’s roof. As it was, she felt rather out on a limb suddenly.

It was all too easy to contemplate Angelo’s wealth and power as chairman of the bank, and virtual head of the Marchese family, and to overlook the fact that he was also very much a man, barely more than thirty, and sensationally attractive.

And for the first time he’d looked at her, not as if she was a troublesome child, but as though he liked what he saw. She wished wryly that she’d stayed with the jeans and sweatshirts he was accustomed to from her.

The second course—chicken in a thyme and lemon sauce—was served, and the wine was poured. With a dignified, ‘Perhaps you’ll ring for me, sir, when you’ve finished,’ the waiter withdrew.

‘Alone at last,’ Angelo remarked. ‘Don’t look so apprehensive, cara . There’s a very solid table between us, and you have an assortment of cutlery with which to defend yourself should my wicked desires prove uncontrollable.’

Sophie addressed herself to her chicken, her face wooden, raging inwardly that he could apparently read her thoughts with such accuracy.

‘No comeback?’ he continued tauntingly. ‘From your earlier remark, I thought you wanted me to regard you as a woman, but perhaps you’re having second thoughts about that.’

The moment of truth had come. Sophie lifted her chin and gave him a cool look. ‘Not in the slightest,’ she countered. ‘As it happens, it’s all to the good if you’re prepared to admit I’m not a child any more. You see——’ she moistened her suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘You see—I want to be married.’