Kay Thorpe – The Italian Match (страница 2)

‘I’m here to see the owner,’ she stated before he could speak, wishing she had thought to get a name from her mechanic friend. ‘Padrone,’ she tagged on, dredging the depths of her scanty vocabulary.

The man shook his head emphatically, loosed a single, terse sentence, and began to close the door again. Gina stopped the movement by placing her hands flat against the wood and shoving.

‘Padrone!’ she insisted.

From the look on the man’s face, she wasn’t getting through. Which left her with only one choice. She slipped past him before he could make any further move, heading for one of the doors leading off the wide, marble-floored hall with no clear idea in mind other than to block any immediate attempt to remove her from the premises.

There was a key in the far side lock. She slammed the heavy dark-wood door to and secured it, leaning her forehead against a panel to regain both her breath and her wits. That had been a really crazy thing to do, she admitted. A move hardly likely to impress the owner of the establishment, whoever he or she was.

A knock on the door was followed by what sounded like a question. Gina froze where she stood as another male voice answered, this time from behind her. She spun round, gaining a hazy impression of a large, book-lined room as her gaze came to rest on the man seated at a vast desk on the far side of it.

Slanting through the window behind him, the sun picked out highlights in the thick sweep of black hair. Dark eyes viewed her from beneath quizzically raised brows, the lack of anger or even annoyance on his leanly sculptured features something of a reassurance.

‘Buon pomeriggeo,’ he said.

‘Parla inglese?’ Gina asked hopefully.

‘Of course,’ he answered in fluent English. ‘I apologise for my lack of perception. I was deceived by the blackness of your hair into believing you of the same blood as myself for a moment, but no Italian woman I ever met had so vividly blue a pair of eyes, so wonderfully fair a skin!’

A fairness that right now was more of a curse than an asset, Gina could have told him, dismayed to feel warmth rising in her cheeks at the sheer extravagance of the observation. She was unaccustomed to such flowery language from a man. But then, how many Latins had she actually met before this?

‘It should be me apologising for breaking in on you like this,’ she said, taking a firm grip on herself, ‘but it was the only way to get past the door guard.’

A smile touched the strongly carved mouth. ‘As Guido speaks little English, whilst you obviously speak even less Italian, misunderstandings were certain to arise. Perhaps you might explain to me what it is that you are here for?’

Feeling like a stag at bay with her back braced against the door, Gina eased herself away, conscious of a sudden frisson down her spine as the man rose from his seat. No more than the early thirties, he had a lithe, athletic build beneath the cream silk shirt and deeper-toned trousers. Rolled shirt sleeves revealed muscular forearms, while the casually opened collar laid the strong brown column of his throat open to inspection.

‘I need to see the head of the household,’ she said, blanking out the involuntary response.

He inclined his head. ‘I am Lucius Carandente.’

Shock robbed her of both speech and clarity of thought for a moment or two. She gazed at him with widened eyes. There had to be more than one Carandente family, she told herself confusedly. This couldn’t possibly be them!

Yet why not? asked another part of her mind. She knew nothing of the family other than the name. Why assume it more likely that they be of proletarian rather than patrician stock?

The dark brows lifted again, a certain amused speculation in his gaze. ‘You appear surprised.’

Gina pulled herself together. ‘I was expecting someone older,’ she prevaricated, in no way ready to plumb any further depths as yet. ‘The father, perhaps, of a girl who drives a blue tourer.’

Speculation gave way to sudden comprehension, all trace of amusement vanished. ‘Donata,’ he said flatly. ‘My younger sister. What did she do?’

‘She caused me to crash my car an hour or so ago. Down in Vernici. It’s going to need new parts. The garage down there tells me they’ll have to be ordered from Florence, and it’s going to take a lot of time—to say nothing of the cost!’

‘You carry no insurance?’

‘Of course I carry insurance!’ she returned with asperity, sensing an attempt to wriggle off the hook. ‘Waiting for the go-ahead from my company would take even more time. In any case, it’s your sister’s insurance that should be responsible for the damage—always providing she carries some!’

She paused there, seeing his lips take on a slightly thinner line and aware of allowing her tongue to run away with her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she tagged on impulsively. ‘That was very rude of me.’

‘Yes, it was,’ he agreed. ‘Though perhaps not entirely unmerited. If you will kindly unlock the door behind you and allow Guido entrance, I will take the necessary steps.’

Gina obeyed with some faint reluctance, not at all certain that he wouldn’t order Guido to toss her out on her ear. The manservant entered the room without haste, his glance going directly to his master as if she didn’t even exist.

Lucius Carandente spoke in rapid Italian, despatching the older man with a final ‘Subito!’

‘Please take a seat,’ he told Gina, indicating the nearest of the deep club chairs.

He didn’t sit down himself, but leaned against the desk edge as she complied, placing her at a distinct and probably intentional disadvantage. No matter, she thought resolutely; she could always stand up again if she felt the need.

‘You have yet to give me your name,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry,’ she proffered once more. ‘I’m Gina Redman.’

‘You are here on vacation?’

It was easier at the moment to say yes, Gina decided, not yet convinced that the name wasn’t just a coincidence. Other than the obvious characteristics, this man bore no great resemblance to the photograph in her handbag.

‘I’m touring,’ she acknowledged. ‘I’ve driven all the way through France and Switzerland without a single mishap. If your sister hadn’t been going so fast…’

Lucius held up a hand. ‘It would be better that we wait until she is available to speak for herself, I think. She arrived home, I know, so it should not be long before she joins us. Until then,’ he added in the same courteous tones, ‘we will talk of other matters. The colour of your hair does not suggest the English rose. Is it possible, perhaps, that you have mixed parentage?’

Short of telling him to mind his own business, Gina was left with no choice but to answer. ‘My father was Italian.’

‘Was?’

‘He died before I was born.’ She forestalled the next question, hoping he would leave it at that until she had time to consider just how she was going to find out if he was indeed one of the Carandentes she had come so far to find. ‘I was adopted by my English stepfather.’

‘I see.’

To her relief he refrained from asking the name discarded for Redman. He probably assumed that her mother had never held title to it to start with.

The opening of the door heralded the entry of a girl whose appearance was totally at odds with her surroundings. Multilayered and finger-raked into a rough tumble about her tempestuous young face, her hair looked more like a bird’s nest than the crowning glory it must once have been. She was clad in black leather, the trousers skin-tight about rounded hips, the jacket outlining a well-endowed figure.

It was apparent at once that she recognised Gina, though she gave no sign of discomfiture. She addressed her brother in Italian, switching to English with no more effort than he had displayed himself when told to do so—and with even greater fluency.

‘The blame wasn’t mine,’ she declared flatly, without glancing in Gina’s direction. ‘There’s no damage to my car.’

‘Only because I managed to avoid what would have been a head-on crash!’ Gina asserted before Lucius could respond. ‘You were going too fast to stop. You didn’t even attempt to stop! Even to see if I was all right!’ She was sitting bolt upright in the chair, not about to let the girl get away with her denials. ‘Leaving the scene of an accident is against the law where I come from—especially where there are possible injuries to either party.’

‘If you’d been injured you wouldn’t be sitting here,’ Donata returned.

Gina kept a tight rein on her temper. ‘That’s not the point. I’m going to be stuck in Vernici until my car can be repaired—with a hefty bill at the end of it. At the very least, I need your insurance details to pass on to mine.’

‘But what you really want is for Lucius to give you money now!’ flashed the younger girl.

Her brother said something short and sharp in Italian, increasing the mutinous set of her jaw. When she spoke again it was with sullen intonation. ‘I’m sorry.’

Lucius made no attempt to stop her from leaving the room. His mouth tautened as the door slammed in her wake.

‘I add my apologies for the way Donata spoke to you,’ he said. ‘I also apologise for her appearance. She returned last week from her school in Switzerland…’ He broke off, shaking his head as if in acknowledgement that whatever he had been about to say was irrelevant to the present matter. ‘I believe it best that I take responsibility for the financial affairs,’ he said instead. ‘You have accommodation already arranged?’