Читать книгу Unwordly Secretary, Gorgeous Boss - Lee Wilkinson, Jennie Adams - Страница 8

SINCE the arrival of the opera company and the orchestra that morning for rehearsals the house and grounds had joyfully vibrated with the sound of music and song. Listening in wonderment, Laura wished the children she’d taught could hear what she was hearing now. They might only have been six or seven years old, but they’d quite quickly acquired a fine appreciation of some of the classical pieces that she’d brought into class for them to listen to, as well as enjoying listening to their teacher occasionally playing the piano. They’d all been so eager to learn an instrument too, and Laura had done much to encourage their fledgling interest. But she hadn’t taught her class for over two years now, and as a consequence there was a hollow ache inside her that couldn’t easily be filled.

There had been a time in the past when she’d dreamt of a career performing music herself, but once she’d discovered her love of teaching it to children she had honestly believed she’d found her true calling. Now, after a period of enforced rest and recuperation because of her accident, she would have to start the search for a similar fulfilling post all over again. As soon as she got back from Tuscany she fully intended to redouble her efforts to that end, but at the moment she was pretty much in seventh heaven here, in this stunningly exquisite house, helping out a friend in need. Her spirits and morale were already uplifted by the sound of the music around her.

While Carmela consulted her master plan for the concert, in order to properly explain it all to Laura and make sure she hadn’t left anything important out, her friend busied herself with more practical things. She didn’t want to be idle with so much clearly to be done. Everyone she met seemed to have a hundred and one jobs to do. That being the case, Laura took it upon herself to help out wherever she saw she might be needed.

On checking back with Carmela a while later, she found her still fine-tuning arrangements, as well as making some important phone calls that only she could deal with. Seeing that the kitchen staff were run off their feet, she gave them a hand by carrying trays of drinks and food to the hard grafting workmen on the site, erecting the stage and lighting inside the largest marquee.

‘Buongiorno, Signorina Greenwood.’

Halfway across the lawn, transporting empty glasses back to the kitchen, Laura came to a standstill at Fabian Moritzzoni’s greeting.

‘Buongiorno,’ she replied, aware that her voice was not quite steady.

The man had ruffled her, suddenly confronting her like that when she hadn’t been expecting it. He was wearing a white linen shirt over ecru-coloured chinos, with his sunglasses pushed back on top of his darkly golden head, and his appearance had a raffish sort of Bohemian quality about it, rather than the look of almost intimidating businessman of yesterday—though it would be a foolish individual indeed who believed he was anything less than one hundred per cent sharp … one hundred per cent on the money in every way. Being so painfully aware of the charismatic quality of this man could potentially be the most distracting drawback to this job, Laura concluded. Immediately she recognised the indefinable threat he represented to her peace of mind, and the still tender, wounded part of her wanted to instantly retreat.

‘I see that you are already in the thick of things. An event like this is a lot of work, no?’ He smiled, utilising that gesture with the easy confidence of a man who had had the world’s attention from the moment he was placed into his doting mother’s arms as a baby. Next to the supreme vitality he radiated, Laura felt like a very pale shadow in comparison.

Fabian had forgotten how delicate-looking this replacement assistant for Carmela was. Yesterday he’d had an impression of snow-pale skin and enormous grey eyes in an elfin face, and today her fragility was further emphasised by the sight of a body as slender as the stem of a birch tree at the mercy of strong winds. Her white muslin top and slim fitting skirt could not help but draw his attention to her tiny waist, boyish hips and small breasts, and her fine blonde fringe did its best to conceal a painful-looking scar.

Fabian sensed his smile quickly turn into a frown. ‘Where are you taking that?’ he demanded, jerking his head towards the tray she carried. ‘To the kitchen? Let me take it for you. It looks heavy.’

But as he reached for it Laura moved deftly to the side, her pale cheeks suddenly flooded with pink. ‘I’m stronger than I look, Signor Moritzzoni!’ she announced with spirit, and Fabian silently acknowledged feeling surprised at her vehement response. ‘Presumably you’re not going to pay me for letting someone else do the work?’ she went on. ‘Anyway … I don’t want to hold you up. I’d best get on.’

When she would have moved away, Fabian had the oddest notion to keep her there for a moment. ‘You are not holding me up, and I did not mean to cause offence by offering my help. However, I am surprised to see you doing domestic work when I naturally expected Carmela to be occupying you with the organisation of the concert.’

She blushed even pinker than before. ‘I was just trying to make myself useful while she did some last-minute checking of the plan before showing me the ropes. I’d best take this to the kitchen and get back there, to see if she’s ready for me now.’

‘Signorina Greenwood?’

‘Yes?’

‘Do not forget that at midday we all stop for siesta … no matter how busy we are! The sun is far too hot to work then.’

‘Thank you for the reminder,’ she replied diffidently, before hurrying away from him.

‘Piccolo fiocco di neve … little snowflake.’ Giving quiet voice to the whimsical observation that had crept into his mind, Fabian broodingly watched her as she negotiated her way gracefully across the shimmering sunlit lawns towards the house.

Taking a further moment to remind himself of where he had been heading and why, he realised her appearance had drawn his attention as emphatically as an elegant hovering butterfly ensnared the gaze in an unexpected moment of quiet, contemplative delight.

At her friend’s behest at the end of the day’s work, Laura accompanied Carmela to the piazza in the village to have dinner with her and her husband in one of the bustling atmospheric restaurants there. Eager to experience some of the vivid flavours of Tuscan cuisine, as well as to meet Vincente, she was only too pleased to join them. Carmela’s husband was as charming as she’d guessed he would be, with smouldering good-looks and an engaging sense of humour, and she took to him immediately.

Afterwards, while the newlyweds lingered over their coffee—their eyes clearly only for each other—Laura made her way from the covered eating area of the restaurant into the balmy piazza itself. Leaning against a wide stone wall, with her light stole loosely around her shoulders over her pale lemon summer dress, she observed with interest the parade of beautifully attired men and women who strolled casually by. This, she’d learned, was the passeggiata—a nightly event that took place in many towns and villages all across Italy. It was an opportunity for both sexes to openly admire each other and cast a glance over someone special who had caught their eye. Italians worshipped beauty in all its forms, Carmela had told her friend, and welcomed every chance to display and celebrate it.

Feeling pleasantly tired after her exertions of the day at the Villa de Rosa, Laura experienced no guilt at taking a few moments out simply to enjoy the warm magnolia-scented evening and to join the rest of the onlookers in the piazza. There were some stunning-looking individuals populating the square, but none in her opinion that could hold a candle to the frighteningly attractive Fabian Moritzzoni. Surprised at such an out-of-the-blue and definitely disturbing thought, Laura felt a little flutter of unease in the pit of her stomach.

‘Buonasera, signorina.’

A young man with flashing dark eyes and a dazzlingly white shirt passing by with a friend stopped deliberately in front of her and smiled. Taken aback at his interest, Laura knew the same debilitating sense of panic that she always experienced whenever a man glanced her way. Her scar made her extra-sensitive over her looks, despite her determination to try and ignore it. But she was definitely the odd one out in this outwardly harmless parade of beauty, and she’d best not forget it.

Briefly dipping her head in acknowledgement of the unknown man, and starting to withdraw, she was suddenly aware of something of a commotion not far from where she stood. Laura’s gaze, along with that of the young men beside her, turned towards the tall, broad-shouldered owner of tarnished gold hair, who seemed to be heading their way. His progress was being impeded by several enthusiastic compatriots, eager to shake his hand and acknowledge him. It struck her then that Fabian Moritzzoni must be an important man in this community. His handsome face was wearing a patient smile as he returned the effusive greetings that came his way, and he seemed to command the equivalent adulation of a much admired celebrity, but for some inexplicable reason Laura sensed that all was not well beneath the smile that appeared so natural and sincere. Was it the concert that was troubling him?

Finally, he arrived in front of her.

‘Signorina Greenwood.’

His glance made a desert of her mouth with its piercing directness. For a moment all thoughts were suspended as she bathed in that captivating sea of Mediterranean blue. After a deferential ‘buonasera’, her uninvited companions politely made themselves scarce.

‘Hello,’ she breathed.

‘I knew it was you. Your bright hair and equally bright dress singled you out. What have you done with Carmela and Vincente?’

‘They’re still at the restaurant, enjoying their coffee.’

‘But of course … They are newlyweds and, I suppose, anxious to be alone together. I regret that my poor assistant has had to wait so long for the privilege. My schedule is clearly too insane if it has come to this and she cannot take leave even to go away on honeymoon!’

‘Can you not do something about it?’ Laura enquired.

‘What do you mean?’ His gaze narrowed.

‘Well … sometimes it’s good to have a review of things, don’t you think? Might it not be possible for you to lessen some of your commitments and perhaps think about making your schedule a little less demanding?’

Fabian was still mulling over her surprising response when a gentle breeze lifted the edges of her fringe. Immediately her hand went up to pat it down again, and a shadow seemed to move across eyes the hue and colour of palest moonlight.

‘I think I’d better go …’ She tugged the edges of her stole closer together across the bodice of her lovely yellow dress, her smile uncertain and defensive. ‘Carmela might be looking for me.’

Aware that she was obviously self-conscious about the scar marring her otherwise perfectly unblemished skin, Fabian wondered how she had acquired it. Then he told himself not to be concerned. She was only working for him, and other than affecting her ability to do the job she’d been hired for her personal business was just that … personal.

‘If she was going to give you a lift back to the villa, why not let me take you?’ he heard himself suggest. ‘I am going back there myself shortly. We will go and find her and tell her.’

‘I don’t want to impose.’

‘Nonsense! How could you possibly be imposing when you are working for me as well as sleeping under my roof?’

‘In that case then I accept your offer … grazie.’

The night was inky dark, and roads like treacherous narrow ribbons were illuminated by the car headlights as Fabian smoothly confronted each one as if he regularly negotiated far trickier terrain—in even poorer light and with equal impressive ease. His hands were fascinating to watch. Lean, yet powerful, with flawless tanned skin—they would draw a woman’s eye whether he were sculpting clay, digging in the earth or holding a child …

Laura cut off the thought abruptly, even though the picture it conjured up was almost too tantalising for words.

‘Am I driving too fast for you?’

Both amusement and mockery wove through his compelling voice, and Laura glanced at his smiling profile with no little agitation. ‘I have no doubt that you are perfectly in control, Signor Moritzzoni, but I’d be a liar if I told you that the minuscule width of these roads plus the speed we are travelling at didn’t scare me! Would you mind slowing down just a little?’

The impressive Maserati responded to the lightest touch from Fabian—like something wild suddenly tamed—and immediately Laura sensed the powerful machine slow down to a much more acceptable pace. Her relieved sigh was clearly audible in the intimate confines of the luxurious interior, and a swift glance from Fabian told her that he was still somewhat entertained by her caution. He probably thought she was a complete scaredy cat. She had every reason to be cautious, but her new employer did not know that …

‘Is that better?’

‘Much … Thank you.’

‘So what did you think of our little town, hmm?’

‘I thought it was quite delightful. I got the feeling that there was a real sense of community amongst the inhabitants that’s very appealing to a city girl like me! The passeggiata was fascinating too!’

‘We are a very traditional culture, as you probably know, and that is more often reflected in the smaller towns and villages. But Italy is also very modern … more so in places like Milan or Rome.’

‘They always seem such impossibly glamorous destinations, hearing about them back in England! And although I would definitely like to visit them, I think I might just prefer your small town … even though it might not be so modern.’

‘So you are a traditionalist? The type of woman who would prefer home and family to a career and a glamorous social life?’

‘A glamorous social life has certainly never been on my personal agenda, but the conflict between bearing children and having a career doesn’t seem to get any easier for most women. However, I do think that the decision to have a child is such a momentous one that the child’s needs and welfare should definitely come before the demands of a career—you only get one chance at a childhood. But in an equal partnership that could equally apply to a man making that decision. If that view makes me a traditionalist, then I suppose I must be!’

For a few moments Fabian didn’t reply. Withdrawing his gaze only very briefly from the winding road, he examined Laura’s impassioned expression in the semi-dark, wearing a seriously thoughtful one of his own. ‘It is good to know that there are still young women who care so deeply about the welfare of children that choosing to stay home to take care of them over pursuing a career is not seen as such a sacrifice,’ he commented. ‘When what values we have left in western culture have been so cheapened by television and the media it is reassuring to learn that not everyone is so enamoured of or fooled by them.’

As if by mutual agreement they fell silent after that—as though both of them were privately surprised that they had found some unexpected common ground—and it seemed almost no time had passed before they were travelling the final road to their destination.

‘See?’ Fabian said softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners with a suggestion of pleasure. ‘There are the lights of the villa up ahead. We are almost home.’

Home … Laura wished her dream of what that entailed could be a reality … the reality her heart sorely longed for.

‘Fabian has asked us to join him for lunch,’ Carmela announced absent-mindedly as she breezed into the office midway through the morning. She picked up the master plan for the concert from her desk and glanced down at it with a small frown between her perfectly arched brows.

‘He has?’ On her knees in the middle of the sumptuously carpeted floor, unpacking yet another box of champagne flutes and checking that none was broken, Laura glanced up in shock and surprise.

The heat had descended like a tropical blanket, and the fans dotted round the room were rendered practically useless against such deadening temperatures. Her sleeveless pink linen dress clung stickily to her too-warm skin, yet Carmela looked as fresh and cool as an exotic water lily in comparison.

‘I know I was meant to be leaving at midday, but he insisted I stay for lunch and I agreed.’ Glancing up from her clipboard, the Italian girl rested her lovely gaze on Laura. ‘When Fabian insists on anything, one cannot really argue! Besides … he has been very good to me, and I do not like to disappoint him. He is a considerate, generous man … not a tyrant like some bosses you hear of!’

‘Yes, but why would he invite me too?’ Her brows drawn together in genuine puzzlement, Laura brushed a drifting strand of pale hair away from her face. ‘I’m only here temporarily, and there’s so much to do I really should just crack on. I can eat something later.’

‘That will not do at all!’ Carmela was aghast. ‘I told you. Fabian was most insistent that we both join him. He likes to entertain when he is at home—which is not very often because he travels so much. It helps him unwind, and a lunch like this is also an opportunity for him to get to know you a little before you start to work together, Laura.’

‘Well … in that case I suppose I should go.’

Summoning a smile, Laura silently reflected on the challenge of being driven home by her new employer last night—and now contemplating eating lunch with him today! The intimate arrangement of the seating inside his luxurious sedan, with its attendant and somehow sexy smells of leather and burnished wood, had made her far too aware of the man sitting beside her. So much so that every molecule of air around him had throbbed with the sheer force of his presence, and made it impossible for Laura to feel completely at ease. The conversation they had shared had worked its magic on her too. And even though Fabian had initially been driving too fast for her comfort, it had been a long time since she had felt so safe on a car journey.

The recollection of all this left a far too vivid impression on her already overloaded senses which was hard to dispel. But it was perfectly true what she’d said to Carmela. There was still so much to do, what with the concert scheduled to take place in just four days’ time, and as confident as the Italian girl appeared to be in Laura’s abilities, she had yet to earn that confidence.

Allowing himself the faintest of private smiles as he glanced round the elegantly laid luncheon table, Fabian started to relax. Surrounded by three very beautiful women, he had no argument about not being in his element.

As Aurelia Visconti—a vivacious raven-haired opera star from Verona—chatted to Carmela about her upcoming Caribbean honeymoon, Fabian found his gaze settling on the young Englishwoman. She looked a little flushed from the heat as they sat beneath the luxurious awning outside the orangerie, where they were dining, and her fine blonde hair kept descending in gentle drifts of diaphanous silk around her heart-shaped face …

He realised he was staring. ‘You are a little uncomfortable with our climate, I think, Signorina Greenwood?’ he commented, watching her pale eyes widen, as though she were startled from a dream.

Her fingers moved a little restlessly over the white linen tablecloth. ‘I’ll get used to it. Believe it or not, it was almost as hot in the UK before I left! Climates are changing all over the world, I think.’

‘That certainly seems to be the case.’

‘Still … when you look at the history of the world, the earth always seems to right itself again somehow. I don’t mean to say we can’t take steps to improve things, or admit our part in it, but at the end of the day it’s out of our hands, isn’t it?’

‘Another indication, perhaps, that we are not the ones in charge?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not an entirely comfortable thought for those who like to map out their lives down to the finest detail,’ he remarked with droll humour, leaning back a little in his chair. ‘So … you are not one of those people, Signorina Greenwood—if you believe that our fate is pretty much out of our hands?’

‘No. These days I neither plan nor look too far ahead. Life has a nasty habit of intervening whenever I try to control anything, I find.’

A cloud seemed to pass before her eyes, and Fabian intuited that her mind had visited a dark place for a moment. She was thoughtful and quiet, and seemingly without guile—it struck him how different she was from most women he got into conversation with. For a start there was not the slightest hint of flirtation in her eyes and—without being conceited—he had become accustomed to such an occurrence. Was she in a relationship and perhaps completely devoted to her partner? So much so that she would not dream of making eyes at someone else?

Finding the very concept much too alien to easily embrace, Fabian drummed his fingers on the table. He realised that he would not exactly be averse to Laura flirting a little with him. It was definitely time to divert his thoughts away from such dangerous ground.

‘Carmela tells me that you taught music in England? What ages were your pupils?’

‘Six and seven.’

‘So young!’

‘You are never too young to enjoy music.’

‘And clearly, by the look on your face, you enjoyed teaching the subject to them?’

‘I loved it, as a matter of fact.’ Her blush was in evidence again, and Fabian couldn’t help but derive pleasure from the sight of it. ‘That’s why I was pretty devastated when I lost my job,’ she admitted.

‘What happened?’

‘I was in an accident.’ Appearing as though she’d inadvertently taken a road she would clearly prefer not to go down, Laura grimaced. ‘Consequently I had to take a long period of time off, recuperating. When it was time for me to go back, the school principal told me that the authorities had decided to close down the music department due to lack of funding, and therefore there was no longer a position for me. Music wasn’t exactly a high priority in the school curriculum, but knowing how much the kids loved my classes, I think it’s a crying shame that they took that view.’

Remembering how passionate she’d sounded on the drive home last night when talking about children, Fabian felt an undeniable tug of profound interest.

‘Some educational establishments can be very shortsighted where the arts are concerned … but perhaps that will change in time, with enthusiastic teachers like you to point out the benefits?’ he suggested.

‘It would be nice to think so.’

About to enquire further about her work experience, and curious about the accident that had robbed her of her job, Fabian found his attention suddenly claimed by Aurelia Visconti.

Laying a smoothly plump hand bedecked with diamond rings possessively over his, her ruby-red lips forming a definite pout, ‘Darling!’ she exclaimed dramatically. ‘You are making me feel quite left out, talking to your little English friend over there instead of me! I am sure she has plenty to do, helping to arrange the concert, without monopolising your valuable free time as well!’