Читать книгу Innocent Secretary...Accidentally Pregnant - Carol Marinelli - Страница 11

‘YOUR sister is insisting that she speak with you. She’s tried your mobile, she’s been calling all morning,’ Emma said to the silence of the intercom. ‘And now she is insisting.’

‘I’m still in a meeting.’

Luca did everything the other way around from anyone else she had met: he didn’t drop a thing for family! He had several mobile phone numbers—yet his family all went directly to message bank, no exception, no deviation. Emma knew he checked them—had seen him listen, scowl and hit ‘delete’, yet unless he was in the right frame of mind, Luca refused to pick up.

Which left Emma to deal with the fallout.

‘I’m sorry, Daniela,’ she said for the umpteenth time. ‘He really can’t be disturbed—is there anything that I can help you with?’

‘You can ask why he no come, why all he can give me on my special day is two hours of his precious time, familia is everything, my own brother…’ It really was rather draining to listen to, yet she was being paid fabulously to do so. And dealing with Daniela’s histrionics was actually easier than dealing with Luca right now— as the wedding approached his mood blackened. Oh, nothing had been said, he was still his fastidious, energetic self, barking orders, making her laugh every now and then, but there was this tension to him that was palpable—this grey, gathering cloud that seemed to be following him wherever he went.

‘I’m going over to Hemming’s.’ Evelyn came to her desk. ‘Luca needs some files and I have to speak with the accountant.’

‘Sure.’

‘Whatever you do, Emma—’ Evelyn’s voice was serious ‘—don’t put Daniela through—with Luca in this mood, he’ll surely say something he regrets and guess who will have to deal with it?’

‘What is going on?’ Emma asked for the fiftieth time. ‘Why can’t he just go for the weekend? He does it for his clients all the time.’

‘I’ve no idea.’ Suddenly Emma realised Evelyn wasn’t putting her off with vague answers. ‘I’ve worked for Luca for years now and have had little to do with his family, but since this wedding was announced, they’re on the phone every five minutes, and it’s doing nothing to improve his mood.’

‘I had worked that one out.’

‘Get me Dr Calista on the phone.’ Luca’s voice through the intercom was a brusque order and Evelyn rolled her eyes as Emma picked up the phone.

‘Good luck.’

It was rather like knowing there was a wild bear in the building with the door unlocked.

Luca wandered out every now and then, snarling and sniping, giving his orders and then retreating. The phones were ringing red hot and with Evelyn out, Emma rang the deli and had some sandwiches sent up for her own lunch. Luca had snapped, when she’d asked him, that he didn’t want anything.

‘What’s in them?’ He peered at her lunch and selected the smoked salmon and cream cheese without a word, but Emma was used to him now, and the second he slammed the door of his office she opened her drawer and pulled out her own smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwiches, smiling at her own foresight as she picked up the phone.

She wasn’t smiling now—the sandwich like sawdust in her mouth as she faced a new challenge, wondering if she should ring Evelyn and check, completely unsure what to do.

‘Luca…’ she swallowed the mouthful of water she had quickly taken ‘…it’s your mother on the phone.’

‘I’ll call her later,’ came the curt reply.

Which she relayed, to no avail.

‘Luca…’ She felt as if she were pressing the demolition button as she pressed the intercom again.

‘What?’

‘She’s crying. I don’t know if something’s happened…’

When he swore in Italian, Emma held her breath, hardly letting it out when she saw the red light on and realised he had taken the call, wondering if she had done the right thing. The thick door to his office meant she could hear nothing and Emma paced up and down, staring at the red light, knowing they were talking, wondering if she should go in and apologise afterwards, berating herself for not checking with Evelyn what she should do in these circumstances. And then, after an interminable time, the red light went off.

She waited a moment for his angry summons but, worse than that, there was only silence and a closed door.

She knocked—as he insisted she did.

And knocked again, ignoring that he didn’t answer—deciding to ‘practise some of the assertion this job demands’. Taking a deep breath, she walked in. Afterwards, she fervently wished she hadn’t, but by then it was already too late.

He couldn’t stand it—he just couldn’t stand it!

For weeks Daniela had been ringing, every day, then every hour, and now and then his mother too.

And now had come the tears.

The pleading.

‘Familia, Luca.’

He hated familia!

‘Just this—all I ask of you, all I have done for you, all I have suffered for you!’

For him?

Always his mother twisted things—and she was twisting them now, telling him she had suffered for him, that she had taken the beatings, the hell, the agony—for him.

And now, supposedly, he had to repay the favour.

He hated this!

There was a rip of anger in him, this fury that sixteen years living away from home had only slightly dimmed, because it was always there, churning beneath the surface. His vast office was tiny, too small to contain his fury, his loathing, his hate.

Then he became distantly aware that his mobile was ringing.

Ma.

Ma.

Ma.

He picked the mobile up and threw it across the room—but still it rang.

He picked up his landline phone and tossed that too.

Ah, but soon would come the emails…

So with one swoop he cleared his entire desk of its contents, the computer, papers, his lamp, his coffee, everything, crashing in one swoop, a smash of glass and chaos, with no relief, no reprieve because Emma walked in.

‘Out!’

He roared it at her, but she just stood there, frozen.

‘Get out now!’ Except she didn’t, just stood there eyes wide in shock and then, worse, with tears in them…refusing to leave, refusing to go. So he stormed out of his office and on to the lift, pounded on the button and then gave in, resting his head on his forearm and dragging in air.

He would explain.

He must explain.

He hadn’t wanted her to see him like that…

Luca turned and walked back, calmer now, together now, and then he saw her.

Kneeling on the floor, crying and scared and shaking, picking up the lamp, retrieving shards of glass—trying to clear up the chaos so that it might appear to have never happened.

It could have been his mother twenty years ago— only this time it was he who had caused the chaos, and he who had reduced Emma to frightened tears.

‘I’m sorry!’ Her voice was shaky as she took the blame, and that was what almost killed Luca. ‘I should never have put her through to you.’

It almost killed him, because Luca realised with a dread that had been building for years now—he was turning into his father.