Читать книгу The Italians: Rico, Antonio and Giovanni: The Hidden Heart of Rico Rossi / The Moretti Seduction / The Boselli Bride - Kate Hardy - Страница 11

THE following morning, Rico took Ella to the Vatican on the Metro. As they walked through the museum, Ella was amazed to learn that they were actually walking on original Roman mosaic floors, ones which might once have lain in an emperor’s villa; and then on marble floors that had once graced the Colosseum itself. The tapestries and sculptures were beautiful too, but what really stunned her was the Sistine Chapel.

‘I didn’t think it would be this huge,’ she said to Rico. One corner had been left dark, so you could see how much work had gone into the restoration of the chapel and cleaning the paintwork. Ella just stood and gazed at the paintings, loving the depth to the blue sky. And the famous view of God reaching out to Adam with his finger, something she’d seen on postcards and in magazines, was much more awe-inspiring in real life.

‘That was really incredible,’ she said to Rico as they left the chapel to go to St Peter’s. ‘I honestly wasn’t expecting it to be that special. Thank you so much for bringing me here.’

Outside, there were the two Swiss guards with their saffron-and-purple striped uniforms, and the guide pointed out the building that contained the Pope’s apartment and the window where he gave the blessing every Sunday.

The church itself was gorgeous, and Ella lingered by Michelangelo’s Pietà. ‘It’s amazing to think that he was only twenty-four when he carved it. Four years younger than I am now.’

‘Doing what he loved. Making the most of his gift,’ Rico said. ‘Which is what you’re about to do, too.’

‘I hope so. Though sometimes I wake up and wonder just how crazy I am, setting up a new business in the middle of a recession.’

‘You already have a customer base, and word of mouth will bring you more. And when you have transferable skills that you can use to keep your cash flow ticking over, if you really need to. No, you’re not crazy at all,’ Rico said. ‘You’re doing the right thing. And when you’re old, you can look back without regrets or wondering what would’ve happened if you’d given your dreams a chance.’

‘I guess so.’

They wandered back outside into the sunshine, and Rico showed Ella the disappearing columns.

‘That’s clever.’

‘And you’re thinking about how you can use that on a cake, aren’t you?’ he asked, smiling.

‘Something like that,’ she admitted. She looked at the obelisk in the centre of the square. ‘I take it that that’s another of the Egyptian obelisks that seem to be everywhere?’

‘Yup. Caligula brought it to Rome, and it was moved here from Nero’s circus by the order of Pope Sixtus V,’ Rico told her. ‘Apparently, it took four months to move it across Rome, and the men who moved it had to do it in silence, on pain of death.’

‘Wow. That’s a bit harsh. I assume that’s another medieval thing, like the Mouth of Truth biting off the hands of liars?’

‘Roman history’s not totally gory,’ Rico said, laughing.

‘Gladiators, Nero, Caligula … I rest my case.’ She spread her hands, laughing back.

They walked back into the city, stopping every so often to look at the gorgeous cakes in the windows of the pasticcieri. There were lilacs and orange trees everywhere, and Ella loved every second of it.

As they crossed the Tiber Ella asked, ‘Can I take you to dinner tonight?’

She wanted to take him to dinner? That was a first. Normally, Rico did the asking. And normally, Rico did the paying. The only time someone else offered to treat him, there was usually an ulterior motive—an obvious one at that. Not being able to see a motive made him feel out of his depth, to the point where he was lost for words.

‘Sorry. Of course you’re probably busy. I assumed too much,’ she said when he was silent.

‘No, I’m not busy. And, yes, I’d like to have dinner with you.’

‘And it’s my bill,’ Ella said firmly.

That was what he didn’t get. He couldn’t help asking, ‘Why?’

‘You cooked for me, that first night. Obviously I can’t return the favour because I don’t have access to a kitchen here, so the best I can offer is buying you a meal in a restaurant.’ She smiled. ‘I would say let’s go to the swishest restaurant in Rome, but I’d guess you have to make a reservation months in advance, and anyway I don’t really have anything suitable to wear.’

‘Plus it would be incredibly expensive. Michelin stars and what have you don’t come cheap,’ he warned.

She shrugged. ‘The money doesn’t matter. Remember, I won all that money, and I’m under budget here anyway. I can afford it.’

Rico hid a smile. Ella might be planning a new career as a baker, but she still talked like an accountant.

‘And anyway, it’d be a treat for me as well,’ she added, as if trying to persuade him.

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said. ‘I have a few connections.’

She smiled. ‘Thank you.’

‘Let’s have a coffee and I’ll make some phone calls.’

He gulped his lukewarm espresso down, as usual, and made a few calls. Luckily Ella’s Italian was nowhere near good enough to follow what he was saying. There was one particular restaurant he had in mind; the food was stunning, and there was always a huge waiting list to get a table. But it also happened to be owned by a very good friend of his, and if there was a chance he could call in a favour …

He was in luck. The maître d’ also agreed to let him settle most of the bill beforehand and give Ella a much smaller bill at the end of the night, to Rico’s relief. No way was he letting her pay for a meal that costly, lottery win or no lottery win. And sorting this out beforehand meant that he was still in control. No surprises.

‘The good news is, I have a reservation for us at eight tonight,’ he said when he’d finished the call. ‘The bad news … Do you have a little black dress with you?’

She grimaced. ‘No.’

‘It might be an idea to buy one.’ Normally, he’d just go to the Via Condotti with his current girlfriend and let her loose in the designer shops with his credit card. But he had a feeling that Ella would refuse to let him buy her a dress and shoes. And if he explained that he could afford it—and could more than afford to take her out to one of the fanciest restaurants in Rome every night of the week—he had a feeling that she’d react badly. She’d told him at the park that she didn’t like lying or game-playing. Though he wasn’t playing games—merely taking the chance to be seen for who he was, for once, rather than for what he stood for. And surely one little white lie wasn’t that bad?

‘Can you recommend any shops?’ she asked.

‘It depends what you want. The big designers have shops on the Via Condotti.’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Sorry, I’m not really a designer person. How about something … well, not cheap and cheerful, but not ridiculous designer prices, either?’

He loved the fact that she was so no-nonsense. And he’d just bet that she shopped efficiently, rather than dragging round every shop and then going back to the first one at the end of a long, miserable day. ‘Sure. Let’s go.’

Rico discovered that he’d underestimated her on the efficiency front. ‘Colour me impressed,’ he said. ‘I’ve never met a woman who could choose a dress and shoes all within the space of twenty minutes.’

Ella frowned. ‘That’s incredibly sexist.’

‘No. It’s based on painful experience,’ he said with a grimace.

‘You’ve been dating the wrong kind of woman,’ she teased.

Now he’d met Ella, he was beginning to think that himself. Which was ridiculous. He didn’t want a relationship; he’d seen first-hand just how messy things could get, and he never wanted to be in that position himself. But there was something about Ella Chandler. Something he couldn’t put his finger on. Something that drew him and scared him at the same time.

They bought cold drinks at a caffè and sat watching the world go by for a while, relaxing in the sun.

‘Our table’s booked for eight,’ Rico said. ‘So I’ll have a taxi ready for us at seven-thirty and I’ll pick you up at your room.’

‘That’d be great. Thanks.’

He saw her back to the hotel, then sat on his terrace for a while, thinking about Ella. It would’ve been nice to share the fading afternoon with her here, but the explanations would be way too complicated.

He showered, shaved and changed into a suit, then went to meet Ella. When she opened the door to him, he whistled in appreciation. She’d chosen a very classic black dress and plain high-heeled court shoes: simple, but very effective. ‘You look lovely.’

‘Thank you.’ She blushed prettily. ‘You look nice, too.’

‘Mille grazie.’ He bowed his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. ‘Shall we go?’

At the restaurant, he had a rapid conversation with the maître d’ in Italian to make sure that what he’d arranged that afternoon still stood; and then they were shown to their table. Just what he’d asked for; it was right by the plate-glass windows with a view over the city.

Watching her pay the bill didn’t sit well with him, but he could see that she wanted to do something nice for him, so he smiled. ‘Thank you. That was a real treat.’

‘My pleasure. I’m glad I shared it with you. And the food was fabulous.’

Rico itched to take her to his rooftop garden again and dance with her in the starlight, but he contented himself with taking a taxi back to the hotel and making love to her in the big, wide bed of the honeymoon suite until they were both satiated and drowsy.

‘So tomorrow, you go home,’ he said, lying with her curled in his arms.

‘My flight’s at four in the afternoon.’

‘Which means you need to check in by two, so you need to leave here at, say, one,’ he mused aloud. ‘You can leave your luggage here—the staff can put it in secure storage until you’re ready to collect it—and I’ll drive you there myself.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Very sure.’ He kissed her. ‘And maybe tomorrow I can show you a bit of underground Rome.’

‘The catacombs, you mean?’

‘They’re a bit of a way out of the city. No, it’s a church just round the corner from the Colosseum. There’s a Roman house in the basement, and you can actually hear the river running past as you walk through the rooms.’ He smiled. ‘And then I guess you’d like a last look at the Colosseum before we go to the airport and grab something to eat.’

‘That all sounds great.’

‘And I’d better let you get some sleep. Buona notte, bellezza. Sleep well.’

He lay awake that night, thinking about Ella. On paper, he knew it was completely crazy; they lived in different countries and she was just about to start a business venture that would take up all her time and then some. But she’d made him feel like nobody else had made him feel, and he wanted to get to know her more. To explore where all this was coming from. To find out why she was affecting him this way.

He just had to find the right words to tell her who he really was, and that he’d been a little economical with the truth. Hopefully she’d understand that he hadn’t been trying to hurt her or cheat her; he’d just wanted her to see him for himself, not as Rico the hard-headed businessman or Rico the boyfriend with deep pockets. Then maybe, just maybe, they could find the time to explore where this was taking them.

After breakfast, Ella finished packing and headed down to the hotel reception area to organise leaving her luggage in their secure storage area. Rico was already there, though he was busy talking to some of the other hotel staff. They were speaking rapid Italian, so she didn’t have a clue what they were saying; but something struck her as odd. The hotel receptionist seemed very deferential when she was talking to him. Given that Rico was a tour guide, surely his status would be the same as that of the receptionist? They were colleagues, not boss and employee.

And then she heard the receptionist say, ‘Sì, Signor Rossi.’

That was definitely deferential. Why wasn’t the receptionist calling him by his first name?

‘May I help you, signorina?’ the other receptionist asked.

‘I—um, yes. Grazie. I’d like to check out.’

‘Of course.’ The receptionist sorted out the bill and gave Ella an extra receipt for the city tax.

‘May I ask … who’s that man over there?’ Ella gestured over to Rico, who was still earnestly in conversation with the other receptionist.

‘Signor Rossi. He’s very easy on the eye, no?’ The receptionist smiled.

Yes. Rico was very easy on the eye. But this was the second person to use his formal name rather than his first name. Rossi. Something rang a bell there, and she couldn’t remember why. ‘Who is he?’ she asked.

‘The CEO of Rossi Hotels. We have three sister hotels in Rome,’ the receptionist explained, ‘though Signor Rossi is based here.’

Rico owned the hotel.

So he wasn’t a tour guide at all. He’d lied to her. Ella felt sick. How rubbish was her judgement? Even for a casual fling that wasn’t supposed to matter, she’d managed to find herself someone who lied. So much for the promise she’d made her mother at her deathbed. Promise me you won’t make the same mistakes I did, Ella. Ella had promised. And what had she done? She’d planned to marry a cheat and a liar. OK, so she’d found out the truth in time to stop her making it worse and actually marrying Michael, but here she was in Rome, making the same mistake all over again; having a fling with a handsome, charming and faithless man—someone who’d lied to her right from the start.

What an idiot she’d been. Stupid, naïve and oh, so gullible. She’d thought she’d connected with him—that she knew him. But she hadn’t known him at all.

Well, she’d had more than enough lies in her life. And lying was the one thing she couldn’t forgive or forget: her own, very personal, hot button. If Rico could lie over something as unimportant as his job, what else would he lie about? Had he lied about being single, too? Was that why he’d never suggested spending the night with her—because he’d gone home to his partner?

The idea made her feel sick. And she really, really wanted to go home. Right now.

‘Would you be able to order me a taxi, please?’ she asked the receptionist. ‘To the airport?’

‘Of course, signorina. What time would you like it?’

‘Now, please.’

‘Sì, of course. Would you like to wait in the lounge, round the corner? I’ll come and find you as soon as your taxi arrives.’

‘Grazie.’ With one last look at Rico—the man who’d made her feel like a million dollars, yet had lied to her consistently—Ella went into the lounge.

Please let the taxi be quick.

It was the first time Rico had ever regretted living at the flagship hotel in the Rossi chain. Normally he didn’t mind dropping everything to sort out a problem with a difficult guest. But why did it have to be now?

Stupidly, he hadn’t taken a note of Ella’s mobile phone number, so he couldn’t call her to tell her he was going to be a little late. ‘Mr Banks is waiting for me in his room, yes? I need you to stall him for three minutes, Gaby, while I make a phone call,’ he said.

‘Will do,’ Gabriella said, looking relieved. ‘Thank you, Signor Rossi.’

‘Prego,’ he said politely, trying not to show his irritation.

He rang Ella’s room; there was no answer. So either she was still having breakfast in the hotel’s restaurant or she was in the shower, he guessed.

‘Gaby, can I ask you to get a message to Signora Chandler for me? She’s in the honeymoon suite. Tell her I’ve been delayed, and I’ll be with her as soon as I can. If she’d like coffee, whatever, then it’s on the house, OK?’

‘Of course, Signor Rossi,’ the receptionist said.

Rico took a deep breath and summoned a smile. From what Gabriella had told him, Mr Banks sounded like the kind of guest who’d complain if he couldn’t find something to complain about. But, all the same, he was a guest and deserved courtesy and attention. Hopefully Rico would be able to sort out all the misunderstandings—and then Ella would be waiting for him.

Ella sat in the back of the taxi, barely paying any attention to her surroundings as the driver took her through the outskirts of Rome and onto the motorway towards the airport.

Why had he lied to her? That was what she didn’t understand. Why had he pretended to be somebody else? Was he so rich, spoiled and bored that he got his kicks from making a fool out of people?

What an idiot she’d been, letting herself fall for every word he’d said. Accepting everything at face value. She really ought to have known better. The man she’d spent three days with—the man she’d let into her bed and started to let into her heart—just didn’t exist. Rico the tour guide was a complete fabrication. Rico the CEO was a complete stranger; she knew nothing of his true self.

As for that coin she’d thrown into the Trevi Fountain—well, she had no intention of ever coming back to Rome.

Finally, Rico left Mr Banks smiling and satisfied. The man had to be the most difficult guest he’d ever encountered—the room was too small, the towels were the wrong size and hadn’t been laundered, the pillows were too flat, the bed was too hard, the air-conditioning didn’t suit him, and as for the city tax that tourists had to pay on top of an already extortionate hotel bill …

Rico had listened, empathised and made suggestions. And he’d upgraded the man’s room, even though he suspected that Mr Banks was the kind of customer who booked the cheapest room in every hotel he stayed at and then complained until he was upgraded to the best suite. He’d gently explained that anyone staying in Rome had to pay the city tax, and Mr Banks’ travel agent should have told him when he booked that several other cities in Italy, including Venice and Florence, levied the same tax on visitors. And he’d also very politely pointed out the notice in the bathroom asking guests to help the hotel be more environment-friendly by leaving the towels that needed laundering in the bathtub and putting the ones they didn’t mind re-using on the towel rack. If Mr Banks wanted all his towels laundered every day, that was fine.

He took a deep breath. At least now he could see Ella.

Except she wasn’t waiting for him in the lounge next door to the hotel reception, as he’d expected. Maybe she’d missed the message and was waiting for him in her room, he thought, and rang her room. Again, there was no answer.

He frowned and went over to the reception desk. ‘Gaby, did you manage to get hold of Signora Chandler?’

‘Ah, Signor Rossi. I’m afraid not. She’d already checked out and left.’

What? He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Why had Ella gone without a single word to him?

‘Maria booked a taxi for her.’ Gabriella gestured to the other receptionist.

‘A taxi?’

‘To the airport.’

‘Right.’ He could see that Maria was busy with a guest. ‘Can you ask her to come to my office for a quick word when she’s free?’

‘Of course, Signor Rossi.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, keeping a lid on the hurt and anger that threatened to bubble over, and headed for his office.

‘Rico? I thought you were taking three days off?’ Lina said when he walked through the door.

‘I changed my mind.’ Warning her silently not to ask, he closed his office door behind him.

Ten minutes later, there was a rap on the door. ‘Signor Rossi? Gaby said you wanted a word.’ Maria looked worried.

‘Come and sit down,’ he said, forcing himself to give her a reassuring smile. It wasn’t her fault that Ella had left without even saying goodbye. ‘I believe you booked a taxi for Signora Chandler?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did she leave a message for me?’

‘No.’ Maria frowned. ‘Is something wrong?’

Yes. But how could he explain it without making himself look a fool? ‘She’s a friend of the family,’ he fibbed. ‘I was going to give her a lift to the airport this morning, but then …’

Maria rolled her eyes. ‘Signor Banks.’

He should’ve reminded her that they should always be ultra-polite about a guest, however difficult, but he understood exactly what she meant. ‘Gaby was going to give Signora Chandler the message that I’d been delayed, but she’d already left before Gaby could find her.’

‘But Signora Chandler pointed you out in the lobby and asked me who you were. I told her.’ Maria frowned. ‘If you were giving her a lift to the airport, why didn’t she know who you were?’

Oh, great. Now he was tangled in a real web of lies. His own fault, for not being honest in the first place. All he could do was bluff it out. ‘Nonna knows her grandparents. We don’t really know each other.’ That last bit at least was true. He’d thought he knew Ella—but how wrong he’d been. ‘I guess she saw I was busy and thought I might not be able to get her to the airport in time.’ He smiled at Maria. ‘I just wondered if she’d left me a message. But no matter. Thanks for clearing that up for me.’

‘Prego.’ Maria smiled back and left his office.

Rico leaned back in his chair. Maria had told Ella who he really was—and Ella had obviously realised that he’d lied to her. But it had been a white lie. He hadn’t done it to hurt her, and she’d completely overreacted to the situation.

Perhaps it was just as well that she’d gone and they’d never have to see each other again. He could go back to his normal life. No more strange feelings that something was missing. What he’d shared with her had been good sex and nothing more. A holiday fling. He’d obviously spent too long in the sun—and that crazy idea of trying to make things work between London and Rome was just that. A crazy idea. Ella Chandler was nothing special. He didn’t need her, he didn’t want her, and he was perfectly happy with his life as it was.