Читать книгу Secrets of a Powerful Man - Шантель Шоу, Chantelle Shaw - Страница 9

CHAPTER THREE

‘IT IS MY fault you were delayed tonight, and I feel bad at the thought of you driving home to cook a meal this late in the evening.’ Salvatore forestalled the argument he could see Darcey was about to make. ‘Also, my chef is French, and very temperamental. If he is upset he’s likely to serve me frogs’ legs for breakfast.’

Darcey chewed on her bottom lip, disconcerted by the revelation that Salvatore had a sense of humour. She was torn between wanting to leave, which was by far the most sensible option, and a wholly emotional response to his daughter, who aroused her sympathy.

While she dithered Salvatore opened the door to the dining room. ‘Come and eat,’ he invited.

His harsh tone had softened and the sensual warmth in his voice melted Darcey’s resistance. Against her better judgement she followed him.

The moment she sat down at the table the butler appeared, to serve a first course of classic French consommé. The piquant aroma rising up from the bowl teased her tastebuds and her stomach gave a growl, reminding her that it was hours since she had eaten a sandwich for lunch.

The butler offered her wine, but knowing that she had to drive home she refused and opted for water. To her surprise, Salvatore did the same. She glanced at chiselled features that gave no clue to his thoughts and sensed that his mind was far away. He was not the most talkative host, she thought ruefully as she searched her mind for something to say to break the silence.

‘Why did you choose to become a vintner?’

He shrugged. ‘As a child I was drawn to the vineyards. I was fascinated to see the grapes swell on the vines and I wanted to understand the process by which they were turned into wine. I was lucky enough to have a good teacher.’

‘Your father?’

‘No.’

Salvatore saw that Darcey was surprised by his curt reply, but her questions had ripped open his heart and exposed the pain he had been trying avoid for the past hours. He did not have time to mourn for Pietro now. He would pay his respects to his old friend when he returned to Sicily. But for one of only a few times in his life his emotions threatened to overwhelm him and grief lay heavy in his heart. The painkillers he had taken had not kicked in yet, and his head throbbed. He wished he could be alone, but it was important that he secured Darcey Rivers’s agreement to take the job as Rosa’s speech therapist.

Truly, she had never met such a surly man as Salvatore, Darcey thought as she gave up trying to make conversation and finished her soup. She could see it was going to be hard work to persuade him to interact with his daughter.

It was a relief when the butler arrived to serve the main course of herb-crusted salmon and new potatoes. She picked up her knife and fork and realised that they were made of solid silver, to match the ornate candelabra standing in the centre of the table. Glancing around the sumptuous dining room, she found her attention caught by the painting on the wall that she had noticed when she had brought Rosa down to dinner earlier.

‘That can’t be an original Monet?’ she murmured. She had recently read in a newspaper that one original Monet painting had sold for several million pounds.

Salvatore flicked a brief glance at the painting. ‘It is.’

Darcey looked at him curiously. ‘Are you interested in art?’ An appreciation of art suggested that beneath his granite exterior he might actually be human.

‘I am interested in artwork for its investment value.’

She grimaced. ‘That’s not what I meant. Are you only interested in things for their financial worth?’

‘Money makes the world go round,’ he said sardonically. ‘And, speaking of money...’ He slid a piece of paper across the table towards her. ‘This is the amount I am prepared to pay if you will agree to come to Sicily.’

Her heart lurched as she stared at the figure scrawled on the cheque.

‘I hope you will find the amount adequate recompense for forgoing your holiday. I thought the money would be useful for when you establish your private practice.’

‘It certainly would be,’ she said faintly. If she accepted the money she would not have to apply for a bank loan to set up her business, Darcey mused. Heck, she wouldn’t have to work at all for a year. ‘You must have a huge amount of faith that I will be able to help Rosa.’

Salvatore shrugged. ‘I trust James Forbes’s judgement that you are an excellent speech therapist, and of course I checked your qualifications before I made the decision to appoint you.’

Darcey stared at Salvatore’s hard-boned face and felt chilled by his complete lack of emotion. It was no good telling herself that Rosa was not her problem. The little girl needed her—just as her sister had needed her help and support when Mina had struggled to cope with her deafness. But Salvatore’s arrogant assumption that she would be impressed by his wealth infuriated her. He was going to find out that, although he might be used to flashing his money around to get whatever he wanted, he could not buy her.

‘You have no idea, do you?’ she said as she tore up the cheque and pushed the pieces back across the table.

Salvatore’s eyes narrowed. Why had he thought that Darcey might be different from the countless other women he had met who were seduced by his wealth? he asked himself derisively. Clearly she was out to get what she could, and having recognised an original Monet on the wall had decided to push for more.

‘Is it not enough money?’ he demanded curtly.

‘It’s an obscene amount of money.’

He frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I know—and that’s the saddest part. You think money can buy you anything you want. But money won’t help your daughter learn to speak. Rosa needs time, patience and support—and not only from a speech therapist,’ Darcey said, guessing what Salvatore was about to say. ‘She needs those things from you.’

Darcey stared at Salvatore’s shuttered expression and despaired of making him understand how vital his input would be with his daughter’s therapy. With a resigned sigh she mentally waved goodbye to her holiday in France. Her conscience would not allow her to abandon Rosa.

‘I have decided to go Sicily with you.’ She saw a flash of surprise cross his hard features as he glanced at the torn up cheque. She continued crisply, ‘My fee will be the same as the monthly salary I was paid by the health authority. I don’t want any more than that. I am prepared to stay at your castle and give Rosa intensive speech therapy for three months, during which time I will help you to find another therapist who can provide her with long-term support. I have to be back in London at the end of September. That’s non-negotiable,’ she added, seeing the questioning look in Salvatore’s eyes.

‘Why do you have to be back then?’

‘Personal reasons.’

Darcey briefly considered explaining why she had to return to London at the end of the summer, but she was reluctant to reveal that she was a member of the famous Hart family. She’d had previous experiences of people trying to befriend her because of her family connections—not least her ex-husband.

Memories crowded her mind: an image of Marcus in their bed with a naked woman. He hadn’t even had the decency to look repentant, she remembered. But worse humiliation had followed in the ensuing row, when he had admitted that he had not married her because he loved her, but for the kudos of being Joshua Hart’s son-in-law and the potential boost that would give his own acting career.

In the eighteen months since her divorce the pain of Marcus’s betrayal had faded, but deep down Darcey felt ashamed that she had been such a gullible fool as to trust him. It was not a mistake she intended to make again.

There was no reason for her to give Salvatore details of her private life, she assured herself. She had agreed to go to Sicily in her professional capacity and the only thing he needed to know was that she was prepared to carry out her job to the best of her ability.

‘Because of the fire at the winery I have decided to return to Sicily tomorrow,’ he told her. ‘Can you be ready to leave mid-morning? We’ll travel on my private jet. Give me your address and I’ll send the car for you.’

The man was a steamroller, Darcey thought ruefully. She shook her head. ‘I have a few things to do. I won’t be ready to leave with you. I’ll book a commercial flight and come at the weekend.’

Salvatore was used to his staff following orders without question, and he felt a flare of irritation that Darcey seemed determined to argue about everything. ‘It would suit me better if you come tomorrow.’

It occurred to him that if she had accepted the salary he had offered he would have had more control over her. He still could not quite get over the fact that she had ripped up the cheque, and he was aware that now the balance of power was in her favour. For the first time in his life money had not been the solution to a problem.

‘But it will suit me better to fly out at the weekend,’ Darcey said coolly, refusing to drop her gaze from his hard stare. ‘I’m having lunch with my parents tomorrow.’

‘Fine. I’ll delay our flight time for a few hours and we will leave in the afternoon. You were going to go to France on Friday,’ Salvatore reminded her. ‘What difference will it make if you leave with me two days earlier? Rosa will be happier if you fly out with us—especially now that Sharon has gone.’

Darcey sighed. She suspected that Salvatore understood she had formed an emotional attachment to his deaf daughter and would not want to disappoint the little girl. ‘I’ll be ready to leave at three o’clock,’ she said resignedly. She stood up from the table. ‘But now you will have to excuse me so that I can go home and finish packing.’

‘I’ll escort you to your car.’

He walked across the room and held open the door. Darcey’s stomach muscles clenched as their bodies brushed when she passed him. She breathed in the sensual musk of his cologne and wondered why he used it when the black stubble shading his jaw indicated that he had not shaved today. With his dark, brooding good looks he reminded her of a pirate, and she sensed that he was just as dangerous.

In the hall she slipped on her jacket, thankful that it concealed her treacherous body. Her breasts felt heavy, and she would be mortified if he noticed that her nipples had hardened and were straining against the thin material of her blouse. She followed him out of the house. The night air cooled her hot face, but her fierce awareness of him did not lessen as she walked beside him along the pavement to where her car was parked. She must have been mad to have agreed to go to Sicily with him, she thought despairingly. It’s not too late to pull out, a voice in her head whispered. She hadn’t signed a contract. She unlocked the Mini and slid into the driver’s seat. Her fingers fumbled to insert the key in the ignition.

‘Rosa will be excited when I tell her that you will be staying at the castle with us.’ Salvatore held the car door open and leaned down so that his face was almost level with hers.

Oh, hell! Her gaze was drawn involuntarily to his stern mouth before lifting to his eyes. Something flickered in his dark expression and for a breathless few seconds she thought he was going to lower his head and kiss her. Time slowed and her heartbeat raced. His warm breath whispered across her mouth and she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue in an unconscious invitation.

‘Goodnight, Darcey.’ Abruptly he stepped back and closed the car door.

Darcey tried to quash her disappointment. Of course she had not wanted him to kiss her, she assured herself as she turned the key in the ignition. She would go to Sicily for Rosa’s sake, but she intended that her relationship with Salvatore would remain firmly within the boundaries of employer and employee.

* * *

‘Hello, darling! What are you doing here?’

Joshua Hart greeted Darcey with a vague smile when she arrived at her parents’ house in London’s Notting Hill the following day. Her father held open the front door to allow her to step into the hallway.

‘I thought you were on holiday.’

‘I told you the last time I saw you that I going away at the beginning of July.’ Darcey forbore to ask her father why he was wearing pyjamas and a dressing gown at midday. ‘I’ve come to have lunch with you and Mum.’

‘Oh, well—your mother never said. No one tells me anything,’ Joshua grumbled. He pushed open his study door. ‘You won’t mind if I don’t join you? I’m up to my eyes in Othello. The new production opens at the National Theatre next week and I’ll never be ready,’ he stated dramatically. He paused in the doorway and turned his piercing blue eyes on Darcey. ‘Have you been studying the script I sent you? Remember, rehearsals for my play begin at the end of September.’