‘Ah, you’re talking to a girl with two and a half GCSEs,’ said Valentina. She wasn’t entirely brainless. Not like Serena, she thought with a smirk of pride.

‘I’m still intrigued.’

‘I knew you were a friend of Mac Mackenzie,’ she explained. ‘So I rang him. He gave me your home phone number. Then I phoned your home and spoke to someone called Maxine. She told me you were staying at the Randolph and gave me the number for that. I called the Randolph, asked to speak to you ... and here I am!’ She giggled. ‘There, does that put you out of your misery?’

Guy, sounding amused, said, ‘Oh, absolutely. Thanks.’

‘Which is nice, because ‘I didn’t even expect you to be here in London,’ Valentina continued, her tone artless. ‘But since you are, how would you feel about having dinner with me?’

He hesitated for a second. ‘You mean tonight?’

‘No, New Year’s Eve, 2005.’ This time she laughed. ‘Of course, tonight. What’s the problem, are you already booked? Tell them you’ve had a better offer ...’

Guy had run across more than his fair share of upfront women in his time, but even he was taken aback. Valentina, he thought, was forward with a capital ‘F’.

‘I know, I know,’ she said good-naturedly, reading his mind. ‘I’m a pushy cow. Go on, you can say no if you want to. My ego will be crushed but I dare say I’ll get over it. In a few years or so.’

It had been a long day. Guy hadn’t been planning anything more arduous than a hot bath and maybe a quick drink in the bar downstairs before grabbing the opportunity of an early night and eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

But Maxine’s joking remark the other day, that what he needed was a woman in his life, had stayed in his mind. Faintly put out at the time to think that she and Janey had been discussing his imperfect love life, it had nevertheless struck a semi-painful chord. Maybe he should be making more of an effort. All he had to do, after all, was say yes.

‘OK,’ he said, before she started to wonder if he had hung up. ‘Dinner sounds good. Where would you like to go?’

Bed, thought Valentina with a triumphant smile. But even she wasn’t that blatant.

‘The Ivy,’ she replied. ‘Nine o’clock sharp. I’ll meet you outside.’

‘I’d better give them a ring first.’ Reaching across the bed, Guy picked up the phone directory. ‘They may be fully booked.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Valentina laughed, because she was practically their resident tourist attraction. ‘They always find room, for me.’

Heads turned when Valentina di Angelo entered the restaurant. Heralded all over the world as the new Audrey Hepburn, she took the expression ‘gamine’ to its limits. Despite having been born and raised in Tooting, her southern Italian parentage clearly showed; skilfully cropped black hair framed an immaculate, olive-skinned face, conker-brown eyes three times bigger than Bambi’s and possibly the most sensual red mouth on the planet. Around her long, impossibly slender neck she wore a narrow satin choker, a Valentina trademark copied by teenagers everywhere. And if anyone had ever thought it was impossible to look fabulous in a pink leather jacket, lime green Lycra cycling shorts and red trainers, Valentina proved otherwise.

She looked positively angelic, thought Guy, despite the bizarre, Mimi-esque outfit.

Everyone else in the room was covertly watching her. He only hoped she didn’t takeit into her head to object and start creating her usual mayhem.

But Valentina was in high spirits. She was hungry, too. Over a dinner of watercress soup, lamb cutlets and sinfully rich chocolate pudding she set out to prove to Guy Cassidy just how much of a perfect partner she could be. The sense of distance she had noted last week was still there, but it was definitely lessening. Another bottle of Chablis, she felt, could well be all that was needed to do the trick.

‘So how old are your kids?’ she asked, resting her chin in her cupped palm and fixing him with her liquid brown eyes. When a man looked this good in a plain white linen shirt and dark blue chinos the prospect of checking out the body underneath was positively enthralling. ‘It’s a boy and a girl, isn’t it? Have you got any photos I can see?’

‘Josh is nine. Ella’s nearly eight. And photographs of other people’s children are boring.’

Guy, who had a couple in his wallet, kept them there.

‘Don’t be so defensive,’ Valentina scolded, almost disappearing under the table as she reached for her bag. After rummaging energetically, she pulled out a battered leather wallet of her own. ‘Come along now, don’t be shy. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’

He smiled. ‘You don’t have any children.’

‘Ah, but I do have an extremely fertile family. Two brothers, three sisters, five nephews and eleven nieces. So grit your teeth,’ said Valentina happily, ‘and prepare to be bored out of your skull.’

‘Tell me if it’s none of my business,’ she said twenty minutes later, ‘but wasn’t it weird being with Serena, knowing how much she hated kids?’

The fact that there was no love lost between Serena and Valentina was no secret. Guy, however, had no intention of providing additional fuel for gossips. There had been enough speculation already about the ending of his affair with Serena.

‘She doesn’t hate kids,’ he replied easily. ‘She just doesn’t swoon over the idea of them.’

Idly, Valentina swirled her spoon through the double cream and chocolate sauce on her plate. ‘How can anyone not love children?’ Then, observing the expression on Guy’s face — the distance was returning -- she shook her head and grinned. ‘I suppose you get this kind of thing all the time. Eager women dying to get their claws into you, banging on about how much they adore kids because they think it’ll make you like them more.’

‘Pretty close.’ He found her perception and honesty appealing. ‘Do you always say what you think?’

‘Oh, always!’ This time her eyes glittered with amusement. She had a tiny smudge of chocolate on her lower lip. Instinctively he reached across the wiped the smudge away with his thumb. Smiling, Valentina kissed it. ‘There, I did warn you. Say what I think, do what I want.

That’s my motto.’

According to Maxine and Janey, he needed a woman in his life. They hadn’t had much time for Serena; maybe Valentina would meet with their approval. Guy was entertained by the idea of parading her before them like a prospective champion at Crufts. At least she was about as far removed from Serena as it was possible to be.

‘And what do you want?’ he said, entering into the spirit of the game. Beneath the table Valentina had slipped off her trainers. One bare foot was now lazily caressing his thigh.

‘More chocolate pudding,’ she answered and the famous smile widened. ‘Then you.’

The paparazzi were waiting outside on the pavement. The moment Valentina emerged from the restaurant with her pink leather jacket draped casually over her shoulders Italian-style, flashbulbs began exploding like fireworks.

‘No pictures. I said no fucking pictures!’ she yelled, glaring at them with disdain. ‘We’re having a private evening out, for God’s sake. What are you, a bunch of animals?’

They loved her, of course. She made them a fortune. Seldom did a week go by without Valentina di Angelo featuring centre stage in the celebrity montages of the Sunday supplements.

An encounter with Valentina was guaranteed to line their pockets and brighten their day. The public, it went without saying, lapped it all up like cream.

‘Come on, Val, give us a smile,’ one of them shouted. ‘You know you can do it!’

‘And you know what you can do,’ she retorted, tossing her inch-long black hair.

‘How about a quote then?’ another ginger-bearded freelancer said hopefully. ‘Are you and Guy Cassidy an item?’

‘Are your legs breakable?’

‘Hey, Guy! What’s the idea? Did you take her out for a bet or something?’

Guy simply grinned and said nothing. He was content to leave the insults to the experts.

‘Hey, Val. show us what you’re hiding under that cheap jacket!’ goaded one old hand who knew her well. ‘Is it true you’ve had your tits fixed?’

This was the moment Valentina had been waiting for. This was the man who had started the rumour a fortnight ago, and she was ready for him.

‘Why don’t you come and take a closer look?’ she said sweetly, and the other men grinned.

Guy, who knew what was about to happen, took a discreet step to one side.

‘Yeeuch, you bitch!’ howled the photographer as the bowl of ice cream she had been concealing beneath the folds of the pink leather jacket cascaded down his face and chest. It was particularly splendid ice cream, honey and walnut, but well worth wasting on such a good cause and wonderfully photogenic against a black polo-neck sweater. Serve him right, Valentina thought happily, for being too stupid to tell the difference between plastic surgery and a tissue-packed Wonderbra.

Another volley of flashbulbs exploded, another feature in the tabloids was instantly guaranteed. Having made her mark, Valentina handed the empty bowl to one of the other members of the pack and reached for Guy’s arm.

‘Come on,’ she murmured under her breath, as they moved towards their waiting cab.

‘That’s the business taken care of. Now for the pleasure ...’

Chapter 47

‘No?’ Valentina shrieked, scarcely able to believe what she was hearing. In her agitation, she almost catapulted off the bed. ‘No? What the hell do you mean, no?’

The realization that he was making a huge mistake had crept up on him even as they made their way up to his hotel room. Having initially fended her off with a drink from the mini-bar, Guy had spent the last fifteen minutes searching for an acceptable way out of the situation he’d so stupidly got himself into. And it was a supremely ironic situation, he couldn’t help thinking, because ninety-nine per cent of men would no doubt drool like dogs at the prospect of a night of passion with Valentina di Angelo.

It wasn’t even as if she had done anything wrong. Beauty apart, she was funny and honest, great company and altogether about as engaging a person as anyone — paparazzi excluded —

could wish to meet. But he just couldn’t go through with it. For some unfathomable reason, he knew he would be making a terrible mistake.

‘I’m sorry.’ Guy shook his head, forcing himself to look at her. There was resignation in his dark blue eyes. ‘I really am. It’s been a great evening, but ...’

‘But what?’ wailed Valentina, overcome with a sudden rush of fear. ‘What have I done wrong? What’s the problem, for God’s sake?’ Casting around for a reason ... any reason ... she said helplessly, ‘Am I too fat?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ It was every model’s greatest fear. What was worse, he thought with an inward sigh and a glance at her stick-thin legs, was that she really meant it. ‘You aren’t fat and you haven’t done anything wrong. It’s me.’

Relief mingled with suspicion. Valentina’s fingers continued to clench and unclench against the bedspread. ‘What, then? If you’re going to try and tell me you’re impotent,’ she warned, ‘I may have a bit of trouble believing you.’

Guy had to smile. If he had been impotent, it would have been so much simpler. She would have felt sorry for him and he would have been off the hook. But ‘won’t play’ was harder for Valentina to bear than ‘can’t play’, and now thanks to him she was feeling sorry for herself.

‘No,’ he said gently. ‘Look, you’re a gorgeous girl and I’m probably going to kick myself in the morning, but right now I just know it would be ... well, the wrong thing to do.’

Valentina didn’t. As far as she was concerned it was the most absolutely right thing to do in the entire world. Her brown eyes clouded; what the hell was the big deal anyway, she thought with renewed frustration. It wasn’t as if she was asking him to hitch-hike barefoot across bloody Antarctica. It was only sex, after all.

‘More like you get a kick out of leading girls on,’ she retaliated, still smarting from the humiliation of being rejected for no good reason at all by the most attractive man she’d clapped eyes on in years. And after such a promising start, too.

‘It’s not that, either.’

‘Bastard,’ murmured Valentina under her breath.

She wasn’t taking it at all well. Guy pushed his fingers through his hair in a gesture of mild despair. ‘Look, that’s just what I’m trying not to be. If we spent the night together, I’d be a real bastard. You see, there’s .. . somebody else,’ he admitted with reluctance. ‘I’m already involved with someone, and it wouldn’t be fair to either of you if I ...’