Lucy Gordon - Her Italian Boss’s Agenda

It was a let-out and he should have seized it, but some demon urged him on to say, ‘I should have thought it made me useless. If nothing works with me, how are you going to know what works with him?’

‘Aha!’ She seemed much struck by this point of view. After considering for a moment she asked, ‘Do you and he have the same tastes?’

‘Pretty similar,’ he said, crossing his fingers and wishing he’d never started this.

‘Is he-or you-sophisticated or corny?’

‘How do you mean, corny?’

‘You remember those old Hollywood films where the heroine wore her hair tight back, then pulled it loose to signify that she was starting a new life? That kind of corny.’

‘I don’t think I ever saw those films,’ he said, rashly tempting fate.

‘Like this.’

With a swift movement, she tugged at her hair so that it came free, flooding over her bare shoulders like a black silky fountain. Some of it fell down the sides of her face, throwing her features into mysterious shadow.

Una strega. Una bellissima strega magica.

‘That’s how they do it,’ she said, ‘and the hero takes one look at her and goes gaga, because he’s thinking, How can that grim-faced harpy have turned into this seductive creature? And she doesn’t tell him the truth, which is that it took six hours and the entire make-up department, and if he’s fool enough to marry her it’s the grim harpy he’ll find on the pillow in the morning. Oh, no, she lets him think it’s the power of ler-rrve.’

The satirical inflection she put on the last word had him choking with laughter. At the same time, he wished she hadn’t used the words ‘pillow’ and ‘in the morning’. This was hard enough without her turning it into a testing ground for self-control.

‘They tend to believe in ler-rrve in films,’ he said. ‘If they showed your point of view, nobody would go. No-leave it as it is.’ She’d begun drawing her hair back again. ‘Keep it like that while I do some thinking. It might give me some ideas to improve your technique.’

‘I’m glad you have a sense of proportion about this,’ she said. ‘It’s a great help. Unless-’ She stopped as a horrible thought assailed her. ‘Jack, you’re not-? I mean, this isn’t all pointless, is it? You’d have told me?’

‘Told you what?’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘No, I don’t.’ In fact he did, but he’d be blowed if he’d let her off the hook that easily. Let her suffer for a change.

‘You’re not-are you?’

He gave her a twisted smile. ‘Are you trying to ask me if I’m gay?’

‘Well-are you?’

‘On the principle that anyone who doesn’t try to rush you into bed is pointing in the other direction? Hm! Well, it’s a thought.’

‘Are you?’

‘Would it matter?’

‘Of course it would matter. How could you advise me about him if you-?’

‘Well, maybe he is too.’

‘Is he?’

‘How would I know? I’ve never propositioned him.’

She glared at him. ‘Have I been wasting my time?’

‘Doesn’t your womanly intuition tell you one way or the other?’ He was getting his own back now and it felt great. ‘Am I not interested, or am I simply the perfect gentleman? Strange how hard it is to tell the difference these days.’

‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’ she fumed.

‘You bet I am. And why shouldn’t I? The joke’s been on me all this time, now it’s your turn.’

‘What do you mean? How has the joke been on you?’

With his feet at the very edge of the precipice, he pulled back sharply. He’d forgotten how little she knew.

‘Nothing,’ he said quickly.

‘It must have meant something.’

‘Then I’ll just leave you to wonder. And in the meantime-Olympia-Olympia?’

The speed with which she’d switched her attention away from him would have been comic if it hadn’t been dismaying. Now she was looking out into the semi-darkness on the dance floor.

‘What is it?’ he asked, taking her hand and squeezing it to get her attention.

‘Nothing, I-I must have imagined it.’

‘Whatever you imagined seems to have upset you. Can’t you tell me?’

‘I just thought I saw someone I knew-but in this light I’m probably mistaken.’

Unconsciously her hand had tightened on his until he winced from the pressure.

‘Who is it?’ he asked.

‘My ex-husband.’

HE STARED at her. ‘Your ex? Are you sure?’

‘Yes, that’s David-I think.’

‘Does it matter?’ he asked, shocked to realise that she was trembling. ‘It’s not as though you still love him-do you?’

‘No, of course not. But it’s the first time I’ve seen him since we split. Perhaps it isn’t him,’ she added, almost hopefully.

‘But you can’t be easy until you’re sure?’

Suddenly her carefully honed confidence deserted her. ‘What can I do? I can’t walk over there and take a look.’

‘You can if we’re dancing.’

‘But-’

‘Olympia, you’ve got to do this. If you flunk it you’ll never be able to look yourself in the mirror again.’

She knew it, but she was too nervous to think straight.

‘Let’s leave it,’ she whispered. ‘The past is the past.’

His hand tightened over hers. ‘Nonsense. The past is never the past until you’ve faced it and told it to get the hell out of your way. What happened to the “can do” tycoon I’ve got to know?’

‘She turned into a “can’t do” wimp,’ she said with a shaky laugh.

‘No, she didn’t. She just needs a friend to take her hand, like this.’

Giving her no chance to refuse, he drew her to her feet and on to the dance floor.

With a shock Olympia realised that he was finally holding her. So many times he could have taken her into his arms, and so many times he’d refused. Now he’d done so under the guise of a dance. But that was what dancing was for-to embrace, to hold each other closely and feel the pressure of each other’s body and the exchange of warm breath, without admitting that was what you were doing.

‘Which way?’ he murmured, his breath brushing her cheek.

‘Near the orchestra.’

Closer and closer they went while her eyes searched the tables at the edge of the dance floor until she found what she was seeking.

Her first thought was to wonder how she’d ever recognised him. David was plumper, sleeker, beginning to lose his hair, and there was an expression of discontent on his face that mirrored that of the woman sitting near him.

Rosalie! It took Olympia a moment to identify this stodgy creature with the elegant nymph who had persisted in her memory, but this was Rosalie now.

‘Is that him?’ her partner asked.

‘I think-yes, it is.’

‘And the woman with him?’

‘Rosalie, his wife.’

‘He made a bad bargain when he traded you for her,’ said her friend.

Now Olympia saw that there were six people at the table. David’s father-in-law was there with his wife, David and Rosalie, and two men who Olympia guessed were business contacts being entertained. One of them asked Rosalie to dance. Smiling, she took the floor with him.

It seemed to Olympia that there was an element of relief in that smile, as though anything was better than her husband’s company. As she glided around the floor in her partner’s arms, David watched them sourly.

Suddenly the movements of the dance brought Olympia close to the couple. Rosalie’s eyes flickered vacantly over Olympia before moving on to the man holding her in his arms. She seemed suddenly interested, turning her head as she moved, trying to keep him in view. Only at the last minute did she really seem to notice Olympia and then there was a shocked look in her eyes, disbelief, almost outrage.

‘She didn’t know you at first,’ Primo whispered, ‘but she does now.’

‘I guess I’ve changed a bit since those days.’

The dance ended and the other couple headed back to their table. But the next dance started at once and Olympia found herself whirled into it without a by-your-leave.

His hand was in the small of her back, holding her close against him as his legs moved against hers. The sight of David had been a shock, bringing back sharp memories that she’d spent years banishing, but, faced with the reality, they were fast fading. It was hard to be aware of anything but the man swinging her around and around, holding her so close that their bodies were as one.

The room was whirling about her, making her cling to him as the only fixed point in the world. He’d said he was her friend, and that was partly why she held him so eagerly. And partly it wasn’t that at all. Everything seemed to vanish but his face. She must make him stop this, but she wanted him never to stop.

At last he slowed and the room came back into focus. Now, she could see David again, listening to Rosalie, who was talking to him with animation and pointing back on to the floor. He rose and they started to dance together.

‘She’s told him,’ Primo murmured. ‘Now he wants to see for himself if it’s you. Look, they’re working their way towards us.’

‘Oh, no!’ she said involuntarily.

‘Why “oh, no!”? This is your moment of triumph.’

‘Is it?’

‘Isn’t it? Look at them. Sad and middle-aged before their time because they’ve made too many compromises, betrayed too many people. Then look at you, young and beautiful as a mermaid, every man’s head turned to you in admiration. They’ve had it, and now it tastes sour. You’ve got it all before you, and it’s going to be great.’

‘Yes,’ she breathed excitedly. ‘Oh, yes!’

‘Let him find out what he threw away. Make him sorry he let you go. Then hold your head high and walk out of here with me.’

‘You’re right.’

Again there was that frisson of excitement at how totally he understood her, as though their minds were linked even more closely than their bodies.

Closer and closer they danced until she was a couple of feet away from the man who had once filled her world, then broken her heart when he’d declared her not up to standard.

As Jack had promised, there was satisfaction in seeing the shock in his face as he recognised her. Her partner kept her there, dancing on the spot so that David could be in no doubt who he was seeing. Olympia met David’s eyes in a moment of blazing victory.

‘Look up at me,’ said a voice close to her ear.

She did so, and immediately felt his lips on hers. She gasped, almost stumbling, but his arms held her safe, keeping her in the dance so that her feet seemed to move of their own accord while her mouth relished his.

It meant nothing, she thought desperately. He was a friend, helping her to make a point to David, boosting her pride like the true friend he was. She must accept his kiss in the same spirit, keeping a cool head, ignoring the wild feelings that went through her.

‘Is he watching?’ she gasped against his mouth.

‘His eyes are on stalks,’ he murmured back. ‘And so are hers. Let’s give them a repeat run. Kiss me-as though you really meant it.’

‘Right!’

Her arms slid up about his neck, one hand curving pleasurably against his head, drawing him down to her, ready for him, eager for him. She did as he’d said, giving it everything as though she meant it, and felt his answering response.

Now he’d released her hand and tightened both arms around her, holding her so that she would have been helpless to resist, if that was what she’d wanted. But she had no thought of resistance. Her body had been aching for this, longing to know how it would feel to be held by him, and all the time she had been denying her instincts the need had been building within her.

If only they were not in public so that she could yield to the need that was overwhelming her, the need to touch him again and again and offer herself to his touch.

But that was what she mustn’t do, she thought wildly. Being alone with him would tempt her to reveal too much. Touch would follow touch, deeper and more intimate until touching wasn’t enough.

However hard it was, she must try to keep her distance. But this felt like a very strange way of keeping her distance.

He released her just enough for her head to fall back so that she was looking into his face. He seemed to be frowning as though something had startled him, and she understood that reaction because she felt the same.

‘What’s happening?’ she whispered.

‘I’m not-quite-sure-’

And suddenly the world seemed to burst in a glitter of flashlights. People cheered, champagne bottles popped, red roses fell on them. Olympia saw that they were surrounded by waiters, all waving champagne and cheering.

‘What on earth-?’ she said.

A man in a glittering coat, who seemed to be the Master of Ceremonies, made his way towards them and bowed.