Bride By Choice

‘There’s nothing to straighten out,’ she said coolly. ‘I’ll drop you off at the Elroy and go on alone.’

‘I see,’ he said glumly. ‘The frozen mitt treatment.’

‘You’re lucky it’s not the frozen sock-on-the-jaw treatment.’

She should have known better. He stuck out his chin, pointing to it hopefully.

‘Oh, stop it,’ she said, trying not to smile. He was wicked and irresistible.

‘No, go on, thump me if it’ll make you feel better.’

She abandoned the struggle not to laugh, clenched her fist and punched his chin very, very gently. Another mistake. He seized her hand and kissed it.

The swift action took her by surprise, invading her senses before she could suppress the memory of that other kiss, full on the lips, by a young man who kissed subtly and with intent. It all came back to her now, so that although his lips were moving across her hand she seemed to feel them on her mouth. She must tell him now, coolly and primly, that this must stop at once.

But she felt neither cool nor prim. She felt as though waves of warmth were laving her, and thoughts of wine and roses were going through her head.

Just when she was starting to panic, he stopped, releasing her hand suddenly and abandoning her to a sense of loss that sent warnings jolting through her. Basta! Enough!

‘There’s Elroys,’ she said, with relief. ‘Don’t worry about my parents. I’ll call them tomorrow and explain that you and I won’t be seeing each other in future.’

‘But what about our wedding?’ he asked, sounding hurt.

‘I shall tell Momma that we decided against it.’

‘After what she saw?’

‘We got carried away. On reflection we realised we were mistaken.’

In the semi darkness of the cab she could see his teeth gleam. ‘About what?’

‘About—about being carried away.’

‘I don’t mind if you want to carry me away. We could—’

‘Now you cut it out,’ she flashed. ‘That innocent little boy charm may floor my mother but it leaves me cold.’

‘I was afraid it did,’ he said mournfully.

The cab drew to a halt. ‘Goodnight, Mr Martelli. It was a pleasure meeting you and I wish you every success.’

‘No, you don’t. You wish you could boil me in oil.’

‘I was giving you the polite version.’

‘In that case, thank you, Miss Angolini, for a lovely evening. I hope our paths cross again one day.’

She returned his smile with deadly intent. ‘Not if I can prevent it,’ she said. ‘Goodnight. Sleep well.’

She watched him go into the hotel and vanish from sight. That was that. Somehow she would contrive not to see him again.

She gave the driver the address of the apartment on East 77th Street that she shared with Dilys.

Her friend was home ahead of her, dressed for bed. ‘So how was your evening?’ she asked. ‘I saw you talking to the life-guard. Any good?’

‘’Fraid not,’ Helen said, yawning. ‘Handsome on the outside, but nothing to him. Boring really.’

Next morning Helen found a message to report to Jack Dacre.

‘I’ve got a new assignment for you,’ he said, ‘and seeing as how you and Signor Martelli have already broken the ice, I know you’ll enjoy it.’

‘Really?’ Helen was holding herself in neutral.

‘I want you to look after him. Apparently his English isn’t as good as I first thought. He admits that a lot of the time he’s only pretending to understand. He’s happier in Sicilian dialect, which I gather you speak, so you can act as his interpreter. That way you can keep an eye on his other dealings. It all works out very well.’

‘Especially for Lorenzo Martelli,’ Helen murmured wrathfully as she knocked on Lorenzo’s door.

It opened apparently of its own accord. She walked in and found him tucked behind the door, regarding her with apprehension.

‘Will you stop playing the fool?’ she said, half laughing, half exasperated.

‘It’s nice to see you.’

‘You’re just up to your tricks again. Pretending your English is no good, when I know it’s perfect.’

‘Is true, is true,’ he clowned in excruciating stage Italian. ‘Me no spikka da English.’

She just looked at him, trying not to smile, but it was hard to be severe when the dancing light in his eyes was tempting her to dreams of delight.

‘I’ve been detailed to assist you,’ she said, trying to sound business like. ‘Shall we discuss the programme for the day?’

‘Why don’t you show me the sights?’

‘Mr Martelli, I’m a busy woman.’

‘OK, OK,’ he said in resignation. ‘It was worth a try. Here’s a list of places I have to visit. There are no other hotels in New York, but several restaurants.’

‘None of these are Italian restaurants,’ she objected, studying the list.

‘Of course. That’s the idea. I’m out to make converts and Italians already know that Martelli produce is the best.’

‘I shouldn’t have asked.’

‘True. As a good Sicilian, you should have known.’

‘Lorenzo—’

‘I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it. Let’s go.’

Over the next few hours she began to give him a grudging respect. Lorenzo was a first-class salesman who used his charm to get himself into the customer’s good graces before knocking him for six with the quality of his product. By the evening he had a solid wad of orders, all of which he’d promised to fulfil by the next day, having taken the precaution of hiring a warehouse and filling it in readiness.

‘And I’m exhausted,’ he complained at last. ‘Let’s go in here and relax.’

The place he’d chosen at random was called Fives, and it overlooked the Hudson. Darkness had fallen and lights glittered along the river, entrancing Helen, even though she was used to such views. Tonight all her senses seemed heightened. Even edge was a little clearer, each colour a little sharper.

She felt good. It had been a pleasant day with a delightful companion, for when Lorenzo wasn’t being maddening he was amusing. Recently her life had been all hard work and not enough laughter, she realised.

‘I feel as though I’d done a week’s work in one day,’ he observed.

‘So do I.’

‘I shouldn’t have made you work so hard, should I?’

‘Right. I was only supposed to be translating for you.’

‘But I don’t need a translator,’ he said innocently.

‘No, but you sure needed a dogsbody—make a note of this, jot that down—’

He blew a kiss at her. ‘You take the best notes in the business. Let’s get them into the computer while they’re still fresh.’ He produced his laptop and studied some scraps of paper. ‘I can’t read your writing.’

‘I’ll put them into the computer. You get me something to eat before I faint with hunger.’

The waiter arrived with the menu. Lorenzo ordered drinks, and when they were alone he made an excited exclamation.

‘This is a vegetarian restaurant. Just what I need. We’ll try as many dishes as possible to see where we can improve them.’ He began to read from the menu, pausing at each dish to observe, ‘I’ll bet I can improve on that.’

The drinks arrived, and between taking sips and tapping into the laptop Helen failed to notice that the waiter had returned, taken an order from Lorenzo, and departed.

‘But I didn’t tell you what I wanted,’ she protested.

He looked awkward. ‘The things is, I thought we should cover as wide a range as possible between us so—’

‘So you ordered for me something that suited you?’

‘Well—yes.’

‘That’s the sort of thing my father would do,’ she said wrathfully.

‘Ah, but that’s different. Your father is simply an old-fashioned patriarch. I act from nobler motives.’

‘Such as?’

‘I’m making money.’

It was no use trying to out-talk him. She sighed, but her lips were twitching.

‘Talking about your father,’ he said, as their starters arrived, ‘I begin to understand what you mean. He’s very traditional, to put it mildly.’

Helen nodded. ‘In some ways Papa is a wonderful man. He’s kind, and he works long, long hours for his family. But in return he expects to make all the big decisions. Mamma simply has no say.’ Her mischievous spirit made her add, ‘A bit like you just now.’

‘No,’ he said seriously. ‘I was nine years old when my father died, but I remember him well, and I’m sure he never spoke to his wife as brusquely as your father does. I’m also sure I’ll never speak to mine like that.’

She pointed a courgette at him. ‘I’m not marrying you, Martelli.’

He grinned. ‘Tell your father that. He was practically planning the wedding present last night.’

‘You tell him. You’re the man, the authority, the one who speaks while the little woman is silent.’

‘Who, me?’ He looked alarmed.

‘Yes, you. Are you a man or a mouse?’

‘A mouse,’ he said promptly. ‘It’s much safer that way.’

‘You mean you don’t have to explain to my father,’ she chuckled.

He regarded her askance. ‘You’re so contrary you’d refuse to marry me just to annoy him.’

‘That and plenty of other reasons,’ she assured him.

He made a parade of relief. ‘Phew! Then I’m safe!’

‘Eat your starter,’ she advised him. ‘The next course will be here soon and I can’t wait to find out what The Great Man ordered on my behalf.’

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