Читать книгу The Helen Bianchin Collection - HELEN BIANCHIN, Helen Bianchin - Страница 47
ОглавлениеAYSHA’S four bridesmaids were the first to arrive, followed by Gianna and a few of Teresa’s friends. Two aunts, three cousins, and a number of close friends.
There were beautifully wrapped gifts, much laughter, a little wine, some champagne, and the exchange of numerous anecdotes. Entertainment was provided by a gifted magician whose expertise in pulling at least a hundred scarves from his hat and jacket pockets had to be seen to be believed.
Coffee was served at three-thirty, and at four Teresa was summoned to the front door to accept the arrival of an unexpected guest.
The speed with which Lianna, Aysha’ chief bridesmaid, joined Teresa aroused suspicion, and there was much laughter as a good-looking young man entered the lounge.
‘You didn’t—’ Aysha began, and one look at Lianna, Arianne, Suzanne and Tessa was sufficient to determine that her four bridesmaids were as guilty as sin.
A portable tape-recorder was set on a coffee table, and when the music began he went into a series of choreographed movements as he began to strip.
It was a tastefully orchestrated act, as such acts went. The young man certainly had the frame, the body, the muscles to execute the traditional bump-and-grind routine.
‘You refused to let us give you a ladies’ night out, so we had to do something,’ Lianna confided with an impish grin as everyone began to leave.
‘Fiend,’ Aysha chastised with affectionate remonstrance. ‘Wait until it’s your turn.’
‘What’ll you do to top it, Aysha? Hire a group of male strippers?’
‘Don’t put thoughts into my head,’ she threatened direly.
The caterers tidied and cleaned up, then left fifteen minutes later, and Aysha crossed to the table where a selection of gifts were on display.
From the intensely practical to the highly decorative, they were all beautiful and reflected the giver’s personality. A smile curved her lips. Lianna’s gift of a male stripper had been the wackiest.
‘You had no idea of Lianna’s surprise?’ Teresa queried as she crossed to her side.
‘None,’ Aysha answered truthfully, and curved an arm around her mother’s waist. ‘Thanks, Mamma, for a lovely afternoon.’
‘My pleasure.’
Aysha grinned unashamedly. ‘Even the stripper?’ she teased, and glimpsed the faint pink colour in her mother’s cheeks.
‘No comment.’
She began to laugh. ‘All right, let’s change the subject. What shall we do with these gifts?’
They set them on a table in one of the rooms Teresa had organised for displaying the wedding presents, and when that was done Aysha went upstairs and changed into tailored trousers and matching silk top.
It was after six when she entered Carlo’s penthouse apartment, and she crossed directly into the kitchen to deposit the carry-sack containing a selection of Chinese takeaways she’d collected en route from home.
‘Let me guess. Chinese, Thai, Malaysian?’ Carlo drawled as he entered the kitchen, and she directed him a winsome smile.
‘Chinese. And I picked up some videos.’
‘You have plans to spend a quiet night?’
She opened cupboards and extracted two plates, then collected cutlery. ‘I think I’ve had enough excitement for the day.’ And through last night.
‘Care to elaborate on the afternoon?’
Her eyes sparkled with hidden devilry. ‘Lianna ordered a male stripper.’ She decided to tease him a little. ‘He was young, built, and gorgeous.’ She wrinkled her nose at him. ‘Ask Gianna; she was there.’
‘Indeed?’ His eyes speared hers. ‘Perhaps I need to hear more about this gorgeous hunk.’
Carlo had her heart, her soul. It never ceased to hurt that she didn’t have his.
‘Well...’ She deliberated. ‘There was the body to die for.’ She ticked off each attribute with teasing relish. ‘Longish hair, tied in this cute little ponytail, and when he let it free... wow, so sexy. No apparent body hair.’ Her eyes sparkled with devilish humour. ‘Waxing must be a pain... literally. And he had the cutest butt.’
Carlo’s eyes narrowed fractionally, and she gave him an irrepressible grin. ‘He stripped down to a thong bikini brief.’
‘I imagine Teresa and Gianna were relieved.’
She tried hard not to laugh, and failed as a chuckle emerged. ‘They appeared to enjoy the show.’
His lips twitched. ‘An unexpected show, unless I’m mistaken.’
‘Totally,’ she agreed, and viewed the various cartons she’d deposited on the servery. ‘Let’s be really decadent,’ she suggested lightly. ‘And watch a video while we eat.’
The first was a thriller, the acting sufficiently superb to bring an audience to the edge of their seats, and the second was a comedy about a wedding where everything that could go wrong, did. It was funny, slapstick, and over the top, but in amongst the frivolity was a degree of reality Aysha could identify with.
In between videos she’d tidied cartons and rinsed plates, made coffee, and now she carried the cups through to the kitchen.
She felt pleasantly tired as she ascended the stairs to the main bedroom, and after a quick shower she slid between the sheets to curl comfortably in the circle of Carlo’s arms with her head pillowed against his chest.
Within minutes she fell asleep, and she was unaware of the light touch as Carlo’s lips brushed the top of her head, or the feather-light trail of his fingers as they smoothed a path over the surface of her skin.
They woke late, lingered over breakfast, then took Giuseppe’s cabin cruiser for a day trip up the Hawkesbury River. They returned as the sun set in a glorious flare of fading colour and the cityscape sprang to life with a myriad of pin-prick lights.
Magic, Aysha reflected, as the wonder of nature and manmade technology overwhelmed her.
Tomorrow the shopping would begin in earnest as Teresa initiated the first of her many lists of Things to Do.
‘Mamma, is this really necessary?’
As shopping went, it had been a profitable day with regard to acquisitions. Teresa, it appeared, was bent on spending money . . . Serious money.
‘You’re the only child I have,’ Teresa said simply. ‘Don’t deny me the pleasure of giving my daughter the best wedding I can provide.’
Aysha tucked her hand through her mother’s arm and hugged it close. ‘Don’t rain on my parade, huh?’
‘Exactly.’
‘OK. The dress, if you insist. But...’ She paused, and cast Teresa a stern look. ‘That’s it,’ she admonished.
‘For today.’
They joined the exodus of traffic battling to exit choked city streets, and made it to Vaucluse at five-thirty, leaving very little time to shower, change and be ready to leave the house at six thirty.
‘You go on ahead,’ Teresa suggested. ‘I’ll put these in the room next to yours. We can sort through them tomorrow.’
Aysha raced upstairs to her bedroom, then discarded her clothes and made for the shower. Minutes later she wound a towel round her slim curves, removed the excess moisture from her hair and wielded the hairdrier to good effect.
Basic make-up followed, then she crossed to the walk-in robe, cast a quick discerning eye over the carefully co-ordinated contents, and extracted a figure-hugging gown in black.
The hemline rested at mid-thigh, the overall length extended slightly by a wide border of scalloped lace. The design was sleeveless, backless, and cunningly styled to show a modest amount of cleavage. Thin shoulder straps ensured the gown stayed in place.
Sheer black pantyhose? Or should she settle for bare legs and almost non-existent thong bikini briefs? And very high stiletto-heeled pumps?
Minimum jewellery, she decided, and she’d sweep her hair into a casual knot atop her head.
Half an hour later she descended the stairs to the lower floor and entered the lounge. Teresa and Giuseppe were grouped together sharing a light aperitif.
Her father turned towards her, his expression a comedic mix of parental pride and male appreciation. Any hint of paternal remonstrance was absent, doubtless on the grounds that his beloved daughter was safely spoken for, on the verge of marriage, and therefore he had absolutely nothing to worry about.
Teresa, however, was something else. One glance was all it took for those dark eyes to narrow fractionally and the lips to thin. Appearance was everything, and tonight Aysha did not fit her mother’s required image.
‘Don’t you think that’s a little...?’ Teresa paused delicately. ‘Bold, darling?’
‘Perhaps,’ Aysha conceded, and directed her father a teasing glance. ‘Papà?’
Giuseppe was well versed in the ways of mother and daughter, and sought a diplomatic response. ‘I’m sure Carlo will be most appreciative.’ He gestured towards a crystal decanter. ‘Can I fix you a spritzer?’
She hadn’t eaten much throughout the day, just nibbled on fresh fruit, sipped several glasses of water, and taken three cups of long black coffee. Alcohol would go straight to her head. ‘I stopped by the kitchen when I arrived home and fixed some juice,’ she declined gently. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Unless I’m mistaken, that’s Carlo now.’
The light crunch of car tires, the faint clunk of a door closing, followed by the distant sound of melodic door chimes heralded his arrival, and within seconds their live-in housekeeper ushered him into the lounge.
Aysha crossed the room and caught hold of his hand, then offered her cheek for his kiss. It was a natural gesture, one that was expected, and only she heard the light teasing murmur close to her ear. ‘Stunning.’
His arm curved round the back of her waist and he drew her with him as he moved to accept Teresa’s greeting.
‘A drink, Carlo?’
‘I’ll wait until dinner.’
It would be easy to lean in against him, and for a moment she almost did. Except there was no one to impress, and the evening lay ahead.
Giuseppe swallowed the remainder of his wine, and placed his glass down onto the tray. ‘In that case, perhaps we should be on our way. Teresa?’
At that moment the phone rang, and Teresa frowned in disapproval. ‘I hope that’s not going to make us late.’
Not unless the call heralded something of dire consequence; there wasn’t a chance. Aysha bit back on the mockery, and sensed her mother’s words even before they were uttered.
‘You and Carlo go on ahead. We won’t be far behind you.’
Sliding into the passenger seat of the car was achieved with greater decorum than she expected, and she was in the process of fastening her seatbelt when Carlo moved behind the wheel.
A deft flick of his wrist and the engine purred to life. Almost a minute later they had traversed the curved driveway and were heading towards the city.
‘Am I correct in assuming the dress is a desire to shock?’
Aysha heard the drawling voice, sensed the underlying cynicism tinged with humour, and turned to look at him. ‘Does it succeed?’
She was supremely conscious of the amount of bare thigh showing, and she fought against the temptation to take hold of the hemline and attempt to tug it down.
He turned slightly towards her, and in that second she was acutely aware of the darkness of his eyes, the faint curve of his mouth, the gleam of white teeth.
‘Teresa didn’t approve.’
‘You know her so well,’ she indicated wryly. ‘Papà seemed to think you’d be appreciative.’
‘Oh, I am,’ Carlo declared. ‘As I’m sure every other man in the room will be.’
She directed him a stunning smile. ‘You say the nicest things.’
‘Careful you don’t overdo it, cara.’
‘I’m aiming for brilliance.’
For one brief second her eyes held the faintest shadow, then it was gone. He lifted a hand and brushed light fingers down her cheek.
‘A few hours, four at the most. Then we can leave.’
Yes, she thought sadly. And tomorrow it will start all over again. The shopping, fittings, social obligations. Each day it seemed to get worse. Fulfilling her mother’s expectations, having her own opinions waved aside, the increasing tension. If only Teresa wasn’t bent on turning everything into such a production.
Suburban Point Piper was a neighbouring suburb and took only minutes to reach.
Carlo turned between ornate wrought-iron gates and parked behind a stylish Jaguar. Four, no, five cars lined the curved driveway, and Aysha experienced a moment’s hesitation as she moved towards the few steps leading to the main entrance.
There had been countless precedents of an evening such as this, Aysha reflected as she accepted a light wine and exchanged pleasantries with fellow guests.
Beautiful home, gracious host and hostess. The requisite mingling over drinks for thirty minutes before dinner. Any number between ten to twenty guests, a splendid table. An exquisite floral centre-piece. The guests carefully selected to complement each other.
‘Carlo, darling.’
Aysha heard the greeting, recognised the sultry feminine purr, and turned slowly to face one of several women who had worked hard to win Carlo’s affection.
Now that the wedding was imminent, most had retired gracefully from the hunt. With the exception of Nina di Salvo.
The tall, svelte fashion consultant was a femme fatale, wealthy, widowed, and selectively seeking a husband of equal wealth and social standing.
Nina was admired, even adored, by men. For her style, beauty and wit. Women recognised the predatory element existent, and reacted accordingly.
‘Aysha,’ Nina acknowledged. ‘You look...’ The pause was deliberate. ‘A little tired. All the preparations getting to you, darling?’
Aysha summoned a winsome smile and honed the proverbial dart. ‘Carlo doesn’t permit me enough sleep.’
Nina’s eyes narrowed fractionally, then she leaned towards Carlo, brushed her lips against his cheek, and lingered a fraction too long. ‘How are you, caro?’
‘Nina.’ Carlo was too skilful a strategist to give anything away, and too much the gentleman to do other than observe the social niceties.
He handled Nina’s overt affection with practised ease and minimum body contact. Although Nina more than made up for his reticence, Aysha noted, wondering just how he regarded the glamorous brunette’s attention.
She saw his smile, heard his laughter, and felt the tender care of his touch. Yet how much was a facade?
‘Do get me a drink, caro,’ Nina commanded lightly. ‘You know what I like.’
Oh, my, Aysha determined as Carlo excused himself and made his way to the bar. This could turn into one hell of an evening.
‘I hope you don’t expect fidelity, darling,’ Nina warned quietly. ‘Carlo has...’ she paused fractionally ‘... certain needs not every woman would be happy to fulfil.’
Cut straight to the chase, a tiny voice prompted. ‘Really, Nina? I’ll broach that with him.’
‘What will you broach, and with whom?’
Speak of the devil... Aysha turned towards him as he handed Nina a slim flute of champagne.
Quite deliberately she tilted her chin and gazed into his dark gleaming eyes with amused serenity. She’d had plenty of smile practice, and she proffered one of pseudo-sincerity. ‘Nina expressed her concern regarding my ability to fulfil your needs.’
Carlo’s expression didn’t change, and Aysha dimly registered that as a poker player he would be almost without equal.
‘Really?’
It seemed difficult to comprehend a single word could hold such a wealth of meaning. Or the quiet tone convey such a degree of cold anger.
The tension was evident, although Carlo hadn’t moved so much as a muscle. Anyone viewing the scene would assume the three of them were engaged in pleasant conversation.
‘Perhaps Nina and I should get together and compare notes,’ Aysha declared with wicked humour.
Nina lifted the flute to her lips and took a delicate sip. ‘What for, darling? My notes are bound to be far more extensive than yours.’
Wasn’t that the truth? She caught a glimpse of aqua silk and saw Teresa and Giuseppe enter the room, and wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed at their appearance.
Her mother would assess Nina’s presence in an instant, and seek to break up their happy little threesome.
Aysha began a silent countdown... Three minutes to greet their hosts, another three to acknowledge a few friends.
‘There you are, darling.’
Right on cue. Aysha turned towards her mother and proffered an affectionate smile. ‘Mamma. You weren’t held up too long, after all.’ She indicated the tall brunette. ‘You remember Nina?’
Teresa eyes sharpened, although her features bore a charming smile. ‘Of course. How nice to see you again.’
A lie, if ever there was one. Polite society, Aysha mused. Good manners hid a multitude of sins. If she were to obey her base instincts, she’d tell Nina precisely where to go and how to complete the journey.
There was an inherent need to show her claws, but this wasn’t the time or place.
‘Shall we go in to dinner?’
A respite, Aysha determined with a sense of relief. Unless their hostess had chosen unwisely and placed Nina in close proximity.
The dining room was large, the focal point being the perfectly set table positioned beneath a sparkling crystal chandelier of exquisite design.
The scene resembled a photograph lifted out of the social pages of a glossy magazine. It seemed almost a sacrilege for guests to spoil the splendid placement precision.
Although there were, she noted, a waiter and waitress present to serve allotted food portions at prearranged intervals. Likewise the imported wine would flow, but not at a rate that was considered too free.
Respectability, decorum, an adherence to exemplary good manners, with carefully orchestrated conversational topics guaranteed to stimulate the guests’ interest.
Aysha caught Nina’s gleam of silent mockery, and had an insane desire to disrupt it. A little, just a little.
Nothing overt, she decided as she selected a spoon and dipped it into the part-filled bowl of mushroom soup.
The antipasto offered a superb selection, and the serving of linguini with its delicate cream and mushroom sauce couldn’t be faulted.
‘Could you have the waiter pour me some wine, darling?’ Aysha cast Carlo a stunning smile. She rarely drank alcohol, and he knew it. However, she figured she had sufficient food in her stomach to filter the effect if she sipped it slowly.
Her request resulted in a slanted eyebrow, and she offered him the sweetest smile. ‘Please.’
If he hesitated, or attempted to censure her in any way, she’d kill him.
A glance was all it took for the waiter to fill her glass, and seconds later she lifted the crystal flute to her lips and savoured the superb Chablis.
Giuseppe smiled, and lifted his own glass in a silent salute.
A few glasses of fine wine, good food, pleasant company. It took little to please her father. He was a man of simple tastes. He had worked hard all his life, achieved more than most men; he owned a beautiful home, had chosen a good woman as his wife, and together they had raised a wonderful daughter who was soon to be married to the son of his best friend and business partner. His life was good. Very good.
Dear Papà, Aysha thought fondly as the wine began to have a mellowing effect. He was everything a father should be, and more. A man who had managed to blend the best of the Old Country with the best of the new. The result was a miscible blend of wisdom and warmth tempered with pride and passion.
The main course was served... tender breast of chicken in a delicate basil sauce with an assortment of vegetables.
Her elbow touched Carlo’s arm, and she lowered her hand to her lap as she unconsciously toyed with her napkin. His thigh was close to her own. Very close.
Slowly, very slowly, she moved her leg until it rested against his. It would be so easy to glide her foot over his. With extreme care, she cautioned silently. Stiletto heels as fine as hers should almost be registered as a dangerous weapon. The idea was to arouse his attention, not cause him an injury.
Gently she positioned the toe of her shoe against his ankle, then inched it slowly back and forth without moving her heel, thereby making it impossible for anyone to detect what she was doing.
This could be fun, she determined as she let her fingers slide towards his thigh. A butterfly touch, fleeting.
Should she be more daring? Perhaps run the tip of her manicured fingernail down the outer seam of the trousered leg so close to her own? Maybe even...
Ah, that brought a reaction. Slight, but evident, nonetheless. And the slight but warning squeeze of his fingers as they caught hold of her own.
Aysha met his gaze fearlessly as he turned towards her, and she glimpsed the musing indolence apparent beneath the gleaming warmth of those dark brown depths.
Without missing a beat, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed each finger in turn, watching the way her eyes dilated in startled surprise. Then he returned her hand to rest on his thigh, tracing a slow pattern over the fine bones, aware of her slight tremor as he deliberately forestalled her effort to pull free.
It was fortunate they were between courses. Aysha looked at the remaining wine in her glass, and opted for chilled water. Wisdom decreed the need for a clear head. Each brush of his fingers sent flame licking through her veins, and she clenched her hand, then dug her nails into hard thigh muscle in silent entreaty.
She experienced momentary relief when Carlo released her hand, only to suppress a faint gasp as she felt his fingers close over her thigh.
