Lucy Gordon - Her Italian Boss’s Agenda

There was a blast on the horn from the driver behind her. Startled, she turned the car swiftly to the side, realising too late that she’d chosen the wrong one.

‘Damn!’ she muttered, trying to brake, turn and see where she was going, all at once. ‘Oh, no!’

A shadow had appeared on her windscreen, a shadow that vanished with alarming suddenness.

‘Oh, no!’ she cried again, flinging herself out of the car. ‘What have I done?’

‘Covered me with bruises,’ said a man’s voice from the ground. Mercifully he sounded robust, even amused.

‘I didn’t actually hit you, did I?’

‘No, I jumped out of the way when you swerved, and missed my footing.’ He climbed to his feet, moving gingerly. ‘Those kerbs are very sharp when you fall on them,’ he complained, rubbing his elbow.

A bellow of sound from behind reminded her that other drivers were waiting to move.

‘I’ve got to go,’ she said, ‘but I can’t just leave you here. Can you get into my car?’

‘Why don’t I drive it for you?’

‘That might be better,’ she said with relief. ‘The roads in Naples are-I don’t know-’

When they were in the car and he was guiding them through the traffic he said, ‘It’s not just Naples. The roads in the rest of Italy are pretty hair-raising too. You’re not Italian, are you?’

‘You guessed! Neither are you by the sound of it. English?’

‘Let’s say I started out that way. Nowadays I’m not sure what I am. What’s your name?’

‘Olympia Lincoln.’

‘Luke Cayman.’

‘Cayman?’ She looked at him quickly. ‘Are you any relation to Jack Cayman?’

Before he could answer, a sleek sports car swept right in front of them, forcing Luke to brake sharply and utter a stream of Neapolitan curses. By the time things had sorted themselves out with lots of honking and bawling, Luke had had time to catch his breath and partly understand the situation.

Now, if ever, was the moment to watch every word. Brother Stuffed-Shirt Primo had certainly been up to something. But what? That was the million dollar question that he was going to enjoy exploring.

‘Sorry,’ he said at last. ‘What was the name?’

‘Jack Cayman. I met him in England. He works for Leonate. Surely you must be related? Two Englishmen with the same name, in Naples.’

As his thoughts settled he realised that he might have overreacted. Primo sometimes used his father’s name for wheeling and dealing in England, thinking it would make him less conspicuous. It might mean nothing.

‘It sounds like my brother,’ he mused.

‘Your brother?’

‘That’s right. We both come from England originally.’

‘Are you part of the firm too?’

‘Leonate? Not part of, but I’m in the same line of electronics and I’ve just sold them some goods, so I’d just dropped in to sign the papers. Jack and I don’t see much of each other because he travels a lot. Look, I know a little trattoria just down here and I need some sustenance after the fright you gave me.’

She suppressed a childish desire to say, Oh, yeah? The mere idea of this man taking fright was incongruous. He was like a rock. A pleasant, attractive rock, but a rock just the same. It was there in the shape of his head and his jaw line.

When at last they were seated, eating pizza and drinking coffee, he said, ‘I never take my car when I visit Leonate. The roads near it are so bad that it’s quicker on foot. But how did you come to be driving out of that building?’

‘I work there-well, sort of. I come from Curtis in England.’

‘So you’ve been taken over?’

‘I suppose I have. I’m here to learn the business and the language, and anything else I can.’

‘Was that Jack’s idea?’

‘Mine mainly. I sort of forced his hand.’

‘You-forced Pr-forced his hand?’ Luke asked carefully. ‘Not an easy man to force.’

She nodded. ‘I wanted to come to Naples. A way presented itself and in the end he saw things my way.’

To Olympia’s amazement Luke threw his head back and roared with laughter.

‘You don’t know how it sounds to hear you say that,’ he said at last. ‘That’s how he talks-do it my way. And people always do, because he gives them no choice. I guess you’ve heard him.’

‘No, I’ve never heard him say that,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t sound like him at all.’

‘Doesn’t sound-? We can’t be talking about the same man. Is something the matter?’

He’d noticed her looking over his shoulder and turned, half expecting to find Primo. Instead, it was his mother that he saw standing just inside the door, trying to attract his attention.

‘Mamma!’ He rose to embrace her and she hugged him back enthusiastically.

‘I’ve been trying to call you, but you turned your phone off,’ she reproved him. ‘Now introduce me to your friend.’

‘Mamma, this is Miss Olympia Lincoln. Miss Lincoln, this is my mother.’

Olympia regarded the newcomer with admiration. She looked between fifty and sixty, with an elegant figure and a face that was a tribute to the power of the massage parlour. She was fighting off encroaching age, and doing it very skilfully.

She shook hands with Olympia, giving her the welcoming but sharp-eyed look of a mother with too many unmarried sons. She evidently liked what she saw, for her smile broadened.

‘Mamma, sit down and have coffee with us,’ Luke said.

‘I have no time. I must hurry back to the villa to finish preparations for tonight.’ To Olympia she said, ‘We’re having a family party and you must come.’

‘Oh, no-thank you, but-if it’s a family party-’

‘Of course you must come. I won’t take no for an answer. Luke, you hear me now and bring this nice girl to us tonight.’

She paused to regard Olympia with admiration.

‘We’ll have some dancing and I just know you’ll look wonderful in a long dress.’

‘Mamma!’ Luke covered his eyes.

‘Well, she will. Crimson, I think.’

‘Crimson?’ Olympia exclaimed in surprise. ‘I’ve never thought of it as my colour.’

‘But it is. You must wear crimson, if not tonight then the next time I see you.’

She kissed Luke and hurried out before either of them could answer.

‘You do realise that you’ve just been given your orders, don’t you?’ Luke said with a grin. ‘Mamma’s rather overwhelming, but she means it kindly.’

‘I know she does, and she’s made me feel so welcome.’

Luke suppressed the thought that this was because Hope was preparing to swallow Olympia alive in the name of ‘acquiring daughters-in-law’, and merely said, ‘You will come, won’t you? Just to keep her happy? She always gets cross if her sons turn up without girlfriends. She accuses us of only associating with the kind of girls a man can’t take home to his mother.’

‘Rightly?’ Olympia asked, her eyes full of fun.

He cleared his throat. ‘It’s a long story. She thinks she’s right and I just go along with it. We all do. But boy, does she ask a lot of questions! I swear it’s like being interrogated by the Inquisition, but if you’re there I’ll be spared.’

‘You won’t, you know,’ she chuckled. ‘You’ll just be asked a different kind of question, and probably twice as many.’

He groaned. ‘How horribly true!’

‘Questions are what mothers do,’ she said sympathetically. ‘One way or the other.’

‘But you will come, won’t you? It’s the least you can do after knocking me down.’

‘All right,’ she said, laughing.

It would be better than spending the evening alone, wondering when Jack would return. She had tried to call him earlier but his cellphone had been switched off.

Luke drove her back to the Vallini and whistled at the sight of her destination. Once inside she went straight to the hire shop, seeking a suitable dress for that night. She was resolute in her determination to make her own choice, but somehow the gown that suited her best just happened to be deep crimson satin. She hired it and some gold jewellery, then bought gold sandals to go with it.

When the hairdresser had come to her suite and whipped up her hair into an elaborate confection, she was ready for the evening.

She tried to call Jack, but for the third time she couldn’t get through. She frowned, puzzled by the odd silence and wishing with all her heart that he could be here and see her looking like this.

His brother was nice, but it was chiefly his relationship to Jack that made him so. She would see the house which had been their home and learn something about him.

If only he could be here, she thought sadly, regarding the vision in the mirror that he wouldn’t see.

Luke’s frank admiration was balm to her soul, although he couldn’t resist saying, ‘You’ll give Mamma ideas, dressing like that.’

‘It’s not because of anything she said. This was the perfect dress. She was right about that.’

‘I’ll believe you. She won’t.’

‘Is it far?’ she asked, diplomatically changing the subject.

‘No distance. Just at the top of this hill. You’ll see it as soon as we’re on the road.’

Just as he’d said, the family home loomed up above them as they climbed the hill. All the lights were on and they seemed to blaze out a welcome over the whole of the surrounding city, the countryside, the bay, even as far as Vesuvius.

‘When you’re up there the volcano looks very near because there’s nothing in between but clear air,’ Luke told her. ‘The least little murmur from Vesuvius, the tiniest puff of smoke, seems to be happening right on top of you.’

‘You mean things happen even these days?’

‘Nothing to worry about. The old man gives the odd grumble from deep in the earth, just to remind us not to take him for granted, but the last actual eruption was sixty years ago. Toni’s father saw it happen and he used to warn us always to tell the truth, because Vesuvius was listening and would growl with displeasure if we offended. So every time there was the faintest murmur we all used to jump nervously.’

At last they swung into the great courtyard of the villa. As they left the car a door in the house opened and his mother emerged, throwing up her arms in joyful greeting.

‘Mamma!’ Luke called cheerfully, climbing the steps, Olympia’s hand in his. ‘You see, I’ve brought her.’

His mother gave him a perfunctory kiss before welcoming Olympia eagerly, her eyes flickering over the red dress.

‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘It suits you, as I knew it would.’

‘It’s just an accident that she chose that dress, Mamma,’ Luke said quickly. ‘She told me so.’

‘Of course she did. Olympia, my dear, you are very welcome. Now come and meet the rest of my family.’

As Olympia went into the house Hope drew Luke aside, murmuring, ‘She’ll make a beautiful bride.’

‘Mamma, you don’t know her.’

‘I can tell these things. She looks like my daughter-in-law.’

‘For which one of us?’ he asked, amused.

‘Whichever one she will deign to have,’ Hope informed him caustically. ‘She may take her pick.’

‘Oh, no,’ he said at once. ‘She’s all mine.’

‘Congratulations, my son. Your taste is improving.’

As they entered the warm house Olympia turned towards her. ‘Mrs Cayman-’

Luke’s mother laughed. ‘Oh, my dear, I’m sorry. We’re all so casual about names. I’m not Mrs Cayman any more. That was years ago. I’m Signora Rinucci.’

‘Rinucci? You mean-?’

‘Toni’s name is Rinucci, and this is the Villa Rinucci.’

‘Then-you know Primo Rinucci?’

‘My stepson. He should have been here tonight but he was called back to England very suddenly. But of course, if you work for Leonate you must know him.’

‘No, I don’t. Somehow we’ve always just missed each other.’

‘Wait a moment,’ said Hope, going to a cupboard and reaching inside.

She brought out a large photo album and laid it down on a small table, turning the heavy pages until she came to a picture and pointed to it.

‘That’s him,’ she said triumphantly.

Smiling, Olympia gazed down at the face of Primo Rinucci. And her smile faded.

FOR a long moment Olympia felt absolutely nothing. What she was seeing was so impossible that there could be no reaction.

Her hostess was explaining, ‘Primo was the son of my first husband, Jack Cayman. His mother was a Rinucci and he took the family name when he came to live here.’

Olympia barely heard the words. Her stomach was churning as the dreadful truth finally became real, sharp. This was Primo Rinucci. The man she had trusted, confided in, to whom she had revealed her whole ambitious strategy, had been keeping this secret all the time.

What a laugh she must have given him!

‘So that’s Primo,’ she said at last, surprised to find that she could speak normally. ‘No, I don’t know him.’