Czytaj książkę: «Secretary Mistress, Convenient Wife»
‘In order to have the heir that I wish for, I obviously need a wife too,’ Fabian said. ‘What I am proposing, Laura, is that you enter into a strictly business arrangement with me to achieve both those ends. In return, you will lead a comfortable, prosperous life as the mistress of the Villa de Rosa and the mother of my child.’
It was as though a cyclone had swept through the room and left her stunned and dazed. It had appeared out of nowhere, without warning… After such a shocking visit, the room, and her, would never be the same again. In contrast, Fabian radiated extreme calm—the absolute antithesis of her own wild tumult.
‘I can hardly take it in… Are you being serious?’
The plastic wallet of papers slid out of her grip and onto her lap. She grabbed it just in time, before it fell onto the floor.
‘Do you think I am making a joke?’ He scowled. ‘I know my proposition may come as something of a surprise, even a shock…but trust me. I do not come to such decisions lightly, or without giving them the proper consideration and thought.’
‘But if you are in earnest about such a proposal… why pick me?’
The day Maggie Cox saw the film version of Wuthering Heights, with a beautiful Merle Oberon and a very handsome Laurence Olivier, was the day she became hooked on romance. From that day onwards she spent a lot of time dreaming up her own romances, secretly hoping that one day she might become published and get paid for doing what she loves most! Now that her dream is being realised, she wakes up every morning and counts her blessings. She is married to a gorgeous man, and is the mother of two wonderful sons. Her two other great passions in life—besides her family and reading/writing—are music and films.
SECRETARY MISTRESS, CONVENIENT WIFE
BY
MAGGIE COX
MILLS & BOON
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To everyone at the Miracle Café for the inspiration I receive every time I go there!
CHAPTER ONE
‘MIO Dio!’
Jet-lagged and irritable, Fabian Moritzzoni pressed his fingers between his brows and sighed heavily. Finally, in complete exasperation, he rose up from his seat. Outside, the sound of passionately raised voices sliced through the atmosphere—an ill-timed bombardment he was unprepared for and could well have done without. And the loudest voice of all belonged to his housekeeper, Maria.
By the time Fabian reached the twin front doors of his palatial home, the tail-lights of a battered silver Fiat were careening away at speed down the wide, gravelled drive, and Maria stood glaring after them, her hands planted firmly on her amply fleshed hips as though she was quite prepared to take on the whole Roman army if she had to.
‘Are we being invaded?’ Fabian demanded in his native Italian. ‘Because that’s what it sounds like!’
‘The nerve of these people! The audacity! Who do they think they are?’ Turning her affronted gaze towards her employer, Maria passionately elaborated, ‘They were from the press, Signor Moritzzoni. I caught them sneaking around, taking pictures of the villa. Then, when I confronted them, they demanded an interview with you about the anniversary concert and about the celebrities that are going to be there. I sent them packing with a flea in their ear, I can tell you!’
‘They should be speaking to Carmela if they want an interview. No doubt she has organised something to that effect already.’
Shaking his head from side to side, Fabian sighed. Then, in spite of his irritable mood, he found himself succumbing to the wryest of grins.
‘I am fortunate indeed to have you around to protect my privacy, Maria. It is better than having a personal guard! But do me a favour, eh? Keep the volume down first thing in the morning…respect for my poor head, yes?’
‘Of course, Signor Moritzzoni. Shall I make your coffee now and bring it to you?’
‘That would be very good. Thank you.’
Taking his espresso coffee with him, Fabian followed the long, winding concrete path down to the elegant orangerie at the end of his lush private garden. Sitting down beside an intricately fashioned wrought-iron table outside on the terrace, he glanced back towards the graceful Palladian house that dazzled in the early-morning Tuscan sunshine, and at the plethora of pristine white marquees that had been erected in front of it. At the end of the coming week those marquees would be milling with the cream of Italian glitterati, as well as family and friends, all attending the now famous concert that Fabian organised every year in memory of Roberto Moritzzoni— his father.
The house was, inevitably, a hive of activity, in preparation for the big event. Add to that the altercation outside earlier with the press, and he craved some time alone to drink his coffee and think his thoughts in peace. Although the notion of peace and his father definitely did not go hand in hand…
The prospect of the coming concert had been playing on Fabian’s mind for days now, and had induced the tension and irritation in him that he’d come to know only too well. Add to that a frightening schedule, travelling here there and everywhere, and he had to own to not receiving the same satisfaction and pleasure from his work as he normally did. As a highly successful businessman, dealing in valuable art as well as giving support to several important and worthy charities, his presence seemed to be in almost constant demand, and lately he had had the compelling notion that he ought to jump ship for a while and really look at where his life was going. God knew, a review was well overdue.
Scraping his hand through the strands of his dark gold hair, he grimaced. With such a gruelling work schedule a restorative vacation seemed light years away, never mind the possibility of the other pressing item that had been on his mind of late—marriage and children.
‘So this is where you are hiding. Maria said that she’d seen you head this way.’
Her pretty mouth shaped into a teasing grin, his PA, Carmela, suddenly hove into view. He’d been so preoccupied with his thoughts that Fabian hadn’t even registered her approach. Inevitably accompanied by her trusty notepad and pen, she was clearly primed and ready for work. So much for time on his own to sit in quiet contemplation!
‘I have been back but one day in my own house, after my trip to America, and it is like returning to a football stadium! Apart from my private suite, I swear there is not one room anywhere that is not overflowing with people! Do you wonder that I have to hide?’ Fabian grumbled.
Carmela gave him another broad grin. ‘Poor Fabian! But I have some good news for you, so perhaps hearing it will cheer you up.’
‘And what is this good news you have to cheer me? You are not going on honeymoon just before the concert after all?’
Carmela’s grin disappeared. ‘Of course I am going on honeymoon, Fabian! I have already postponed it once in deference to the demands of work. Vincente is a patient man, but not that patient! No…I came to tell you that my friend Laura will be arriving from the UK later on this afternoon, and I will be showing her the ropes so that she can take over from me when I leave the day after tomorrow.’
‘Stepping into your shoes and handling such an important event is a big responsibility to put on the shoulders of a novice, Carmela. Are you sure this friend of yours will be up to the task?’
‘She’s been a music teacher for some years now, and has also organised some local concerts where she lives, so she’s not exactly inexperienced. And she will, of course, be very familiar with the artistic aspect of the work.’
‘Does she speak Italian?’ Pressing his fingers against the tender spot between his dark gold brows again, Fabian winced, as though some medieval instrument of torture was doing its best to bring him to his knees.
‘She’s a very fast learner, and when I was at school with her in London she was always top of the class in languages. Anyway, your own English is practically perfect, so you won’t have to worry.’
‘Good…just as long as she does not expect me to hold her hand and guide her every step! Quite frankly, I will be very glad when this whole tedious affair is over and my home can return to normal.’
Tossing back her head of raven curls, Carmela took instant umbrage. ‘The concert is a wonderful event that raises a lot of money for the children’s hospice. Surely you do not regard the privilege of holding it as “tedious”, Fabian?’
‘Of course not! That is not what I meant at all!’ Now it was his turn to display offence. ‘Okay,’ he continued impatiently, ‘let us get back to your friend. I am very grateful that you have found her for us. Has she been to Tuscany before?’
‘No. I have invited her many times, but in the past few years things have been rather difficult for her, and circumstances did not allow her to make the trip. She tells me she is definitely overdue for some sunshine, and I know she will fall in love with this place and the beautiful Villa de Rosa… who could not? That reminds me… I must speak with Maria to check if Laura’s rooms are ready. That is the other positive aspect of the situation that should help make things less stressful for you, Fabian. She’ll be here on the premises whenever you need her. Shall I get you another coffee? That one looks as though it is going cold.’
‘Please.’ Pushing the cup in its matching cream saucer towards Carmela, Fabian could no longer suffer in silence. ‘And bring me a glass of water and something for a headache, will you?’
‘Perhaps you shouldn’t have any more coffee if you have a headache?’
‘So you are my mother now, as well as my assistant?’
‘I was only trying to—’
‘You should know by now I am impossible without my coffee in the morning! But take heart, Carmela… In a day or two you won’t have to think of my needs. It will be your very fortunate husband who will command all your attention!’
Yet again her boss’s wry humour prevented her from feeling too indignant, and his young assistant immediately forgave him his grouchy mood. She realised he had a lot on his plate, and that he was probably handling it a lot better than most would do in his situation.
‘I will bring what you ask and make sure you are not disturbed for an hour at least… will that help?’
‘If you can do that you are a miracle-worker!’
‘A moment ago I was your mother!’
Rolling her eyes heavenwards, Carmela hurried away, and as he watched her retreat Fabian found himself considering yet again the rather intricate subject of a wife and heir. Intricate because he was not at present in a relationship, nor intended to be. When a man had been scorched by flame once in his life he got wise to the danger, and learned never to stand so close to the fire again. But he was thirty-seven years old, and time was not standing still.
Because of his considerable wealth, and the responsibilities that came with the ownership of the palatial Villa de Rosa—the home that had been in his family for centuries—he needed a son or daughter to inherit. No…there simply had to be another way to get what he wanted other than embarking on some doomed love affair. Over the next few days he would seriously apply himself to finding the solution.
‘It’s so good to have you here at last! It’s been such a long time…too long! Of course I am looking forward to my honeymoon, but it would be so nice to be able to spend some time with you. Promise me you won’t run off straight away when I return in two weeks’ time?’
Regarding the perfectly groomed, curvaceous brunette who had been her best friend at school, Laura wondered how the intervening years since they’d last met had flown by so quickly. It had been at least ten years since they’d seen each other. Of course they’d kept in regular contact by letter and e-mail, and sometimes by phone, but it wasn’t the same as seeing someone on a regular basis and having the chance to deepen your friendship with them. But now that she was here in Tuscany Laura was determined to make the best of the opportunity that had fortuitously come her way.
Carmela’s offer of a job—albeit a temporary one— had been a Godsend, quite frankly. Laura didn’t even mind that this was to be no holiday, because music was her absolute passion. Just to be around it would do wonders for her spirit and morale, she was certain.
‘I don’t have a job to return to as yet, Carmela,’ she answered now. ‘So I have nothing to rush back to the UK for.’
‘That is good to hear. Not that you don’t have a job, of course, but that you will be able to stay and visit me properly!’
‘I’ve been looking forward to renewing our friendship for a long time.’
Laura crossed her arms over the pretty white antique lawn and lace blouse she wore with a pastel blue skirt, and her smile was genuinely heartfelt. Then, with a soft sigh, she turned her grey eyes away for a moment, drawn by the beautiful sunlit gardens she saw through the huge Palladian windows.
The white roofs of the elegant marquees glinting in the afternoon sunshine reminded her of a medieval joust, where richly dressed lords and ladies would make their entrance at any moment to take their seats for the coming performance. The sea of white made a stunning contrast against the surrounding shimmering green of the perfectly mown lawns. In the distance was an ornate white marble balustrade, with steps just beyond it leading into what was clearly a much more private section of the garden. Meanwhile, the scents of honeysuckle and wisteria drifted through the opened windows, filling the air with a soporific fusion of rare delight. It was like stepping into a dream…
‘And what do you think of your rooms?’ the dark- haired girl pressed eagerly. ‘I’ve put you near the back of the house, where it is a bit more private should Fabian have guests staying, and the views from your windows are quite spectacular!’
‘They’re lovely, Carmela—just lovely! I shall be able to indulge every girl’s fantasy of being a princess with such elegant rooms to myself, as well as sleeping in that beautiful four-poster bed!’
‘Carmela—have you spoken to the press yet? This morning they—Excuse me. I did not realise that you had company.’
At the sound of that richly voiced Italian, Laura turned. Viewing the man that was responsible for it, she saw him momentarily hesitate, his glance sweeping over her with mild surprise, before entering the room. There was a strange kind of tension immobilising her, that made her thought-processes feel as if someone had pressed a slow motion button. Was this Carmela’s boss? If it was, he was the antithesis of what she’d been expecting.
Golden-haired, blue-eyed, with a strong, lean jaw and of an imposing height, he might easily have hailed from Denmark, Sweden or even Germany. Yet the confident, slightly arrogant way he bore himself, and the way he wore his clothes—as though they and he were in complete enviable accord—easily convinced her he was a true son of Italy.
Azure, they called the colour that was so reminiscent of the Mediterranean, and that was the startling hue conveyed by this man’s disturbingly direct glance as he focused it on Laura. Feeling heat assail her from all sides, she quickly looked away—taken aback that she should experience such an emphatic reaction to someone she’d only just met.
‘Fabian! You’re just in time to meet Laura. She arrived only an hour ago, and I was just about to come and find you to introduce you.’ Putting her hand behind the fair-haired girl’s back, Carmela impelled her forward, as if concerned she would be too reticent. ‘Laura, this is Signor Fabian Moritzzoni… owner of the Villa de Rosa and my employer. Fabian, this is my dear friend Laura Greenwood.’
Automatically Laura held out her hand, and felt the man’s large cool palm enclose hers, his clasp neither too firm nor too slack, yet without a doubt signifying authority—and she found herself immediately under disquieting surveillance.
‘My pleasure, Signorina Greenwood. It appears I am indebted to you for agreeing to stand in as my assistant in Carmela’s absence. You had a good journey from the UK, I trust?’
‘I did, thank you.’
‘And this is your first time in Tuscany, I hear?’
‘It is, but that’s not because of any lack of desire. Carmela’s been asking me to visit for ages, but somehow it never seemed to be the right time. Still…I’m here now and I hope that I’ll be able to be a real help to you, Signor Moritzzoni.’
‘That is my wish too, Signorina Greenwood.’ Fabian’s tanned brow furrowed slightly as he gazed back at Laura. ‘So. You will take the rest of the day off to settle in, and presumably start work tomorrow? Carmela will put you in the picture about what needs to be done. Does that meet with your approval?’
His unsettling examination didn’t waver for an instant. He had the glance and acuity of focus of the shrewdest of businessmen. Laura would not like to be on the receiving end should she be someone who was trying to deceive him. But then she thought of something else. Had he seen the scar? Was that what he was looking at so intently? She lifted her hand automatically to touch the pale golden strands of her fringe, suddenly self-conscious of the disfigurement beneath it. No doubt it must displease him, in this land of the terrifyingly good-looking to gaze upon a woman whose already average looks were marred by an ugly scar. She wished he would finish talking to Carmela and go. Her confidence and determination in taking this job and making a success of it had not disappeared— but it had definitely been a little shaken.
‘There’s no need for me to wait until tomorrow to make a start,’ she said. ‘If Carmela needs me to give a hand straight away, then that’s fine with me. I want her to be able to leave for her honeymoon with a settled mind, knowing that she’s left the situation in good hands. The sooner I get to grips with what needs to be done, the better.’
‘You see, Fabian?’ Carmela cheerfully exclaimed. ‘I told you there would be nothing to worry about with Laura here!’
‘I am sure that you are right.’
His voice was smooth as amontillado and oloroso sherry combined—nonetheless, Laura detected a definite edge to the Italian’s disturbing glance that seemed to say I will be extremely disappointed if you should let me down. Inwardly she shivered as her eyes determinedly met his, and it took every ounce of will she possessed to hold his gaze and not look away.
CHAPTER TWO
SINCE the arrival of the opera company and the orchestra that morning for rehearsals the house and grounds had joyfully vibrated with the sound of music and song. Listening in wonderment, Laura wished the children she’d taught could hear what she was hearing now. They might only have been six or seven years old, but they’d quite quickly acquired a fine appreciation of some of the classical pieces that she’d brought into class for them to listen to, as well as enjoying listening to their teacher occasionally playing the piano. They’d all been so eager to learn an instrument too, and Laura had done much to encourage their fledgling interest. But she hadn’t taught her class for over two years now, and as a consequence there was a hollow ache inside her that couldn’t easily be filled.
There had been a time in the past when she’d dreamt of a career performing music herself, but once she’d discovered her love of teaching it to children she had honestly believed she’d found her true calling. Now, after a period of enforced rest and recuperation because of her accident, she would have to start the search for a similar fulfilling post all over again. As soon as she got back from Tuscany she fully intended to redouble her efforts to that end, but at the moment she was pretty much in seventh heaven here, in this stunningly exquisite house, helping out a friend in need. Her spirits and morale were already uplifted by the sound of the music around her.
While Carmela consulted her master plan for the concert, in order to properly explain it all to Laura and make sure she hadn’t left anything important out, her friend busied herself with more practical things. She didn’t want to be idle with so much clearly to be done. Everyone she met seemed to have a hundred and one jobs to do. That being the case, Laura took it upon herself to help out wherever she saw she might be needed.
On checking back with Carmela a while later, she found her still fine-tuning arrangements, as well as making some important phone calls that only she could deal with. Seeing that the kitchen staff were run off their feet, she gave them a hand by carrying trays of drinks and food to the hard grafting workmen on the site, erecting the stage and lighting inside the largest marquee.
‘Buongiorno, Signorina Greenwood.’
Halfway across the lawn, transporting empty glasses back to the kitchen, Laura came to a standstill at Fabian Moritzzoni’s greeting.
‘Buongiorno,’ she replied, aware that her voice was not quite steady.
The man had ruffled her, suddenly confronting her like that when she hadn’t been expecting it. He was wearing a white linen shirt over ecru-coloured chinos, with his sunglasses pushed back on top of his darkly golden head, and his appearance had a raffish sort of Bohemian quality about it, rather than the look of almost intimidating businessman of yesterday —though it would be a foolish individual indeed who believed he was anything less than one hundred per cent sharp…one hundred per cent on the money in every way. Being so painfully aware of the charismatic quality of this man could potentially be the most distracting drawback to this job, Laura concluded. Immediately she recognised the indefinable threat he represented to her peace of mind, and the still tender, wounded part of her wanted to instantly retreat.
‘I see that you are already in the thick of things. An event like this is a lot of work, no?’ He smiled, utilising that gesture with the easy confidence of a man who had had the world’s attention from the moment he was placed into his doting mother’s arms as a baby. Next to the supreme vitality he radiated, Laura felt like a very pale shadow in comparison.
Fabian had forgotten how delicate-looking this replacement assistant for Carmela was. Yesterday he’d had an impression of snow-pale skin and enormous grey eyes in an elfin face, and today her fragility was further emphasised by the sight of a body as slender as the stem of a birch tree at the mercy of strong winds. Her white muslin top and slim fitting skirt could not help but draw his attention to her tiny waist, boyish hips and small breasts, and her fine blonde fringe did its best to conceal a painful- looking scar.
Fabian sensed his smile quickly turn into a frown. ‘Where are you taking that?’ he demanded, jerking his head towards the tray she carried. ‘To the kitchen? Let me take it for you. It looks heavy.’
But as he reached for it Laura moved deftly to the side, her pale cheeks suddenly flooded with pink. ‘I’m stronger than I look, Signor Moritzzoni!’ she announced with spirit, and Fabian silently acknowledged feeling surprised at her vehement response. ‘Presumably you’re not going to pay me for letting someone else do the work?’ she went on. ‘Anyway…I don’t want to hold you up. I’d best get on.’
When she would have moved away, Fabian had the oddest notion to keep her there for a moment.
‘You are not holding me up, and I did not mean to cause offence by offering my help. However, I am surprised to see you doing domestic work when I naturally expected Carmela to be occupying you with the organisation of the concert.’
She blushed even pinker than before. ‘I was just trying to make myself useful while she did some last-minute checking of the plan before showing me the ropes. I’d best take this to the kitchen and get back there, to see if she’s ready for me now.’
‘Signorina Greenwood?’
‘Yes?’
‘Do not forget that at midday we all stop for si esta…no matter how busy we are! The sun is far too hot to work then.’
‘Thank you for the reminder,’ she replied diffidently, before hurrying away from him.
‘Piccolo fiocco di neve…little snowflake.’ Giving quiet voice to the whimsical observation that had crept into his mind, Fabian broodingly watched her as she negotiated her way gracefully across the shimmering sunlit lawns towards the house.
Taking a further moment to remind himself of where he had been heading and why, he realised her appearance had drawn his attention as emphatically as an elegant hovering butterfly ensnared the gaze in an unexpected moment of quiet, contemplative delight.
* * *
At her friend’s behest at the end of the day’s work, Laura accompanied Carmela to the piazza in the village to have dinner with her and her husband in one of the bustling atmospheric restaurants there. Eager to experience some of the vivid flavours of Tuscan cuisine, as well as to meet Vincente, she was only too pleased to join them. Carmela’s husband was as charming as she’d guessed he would be, with smouldering good-looks and an engaging sense of humour, and she took to him immediately.
Afterwards, while the newlyweds lingered over their coffee—their eyes clearly only for each other— Laura made her way from the covered eating area of the restaurant into the balmy piazza itself. Leaning against a wide stone wall, with her light stole loosely around her shoulders over her pale lemon summer dress, she observed with interest the parade of beautifully attired men and women who strolled casually by. This, she’d learned, was the passeggiata—a nightly event that took place in many towns and villages all across Italy. It was an opportunity for both sexes to openly admire each other and cast a glance over someone special who had caught their eye. Italians worshipped beauty in all its forms, Carmela had told her friend, and welcomed every chance to display and celebrate it.
Feeling pleasantly tired after her exertions of the day at the Villa de Rosa, Laura experienced no guilt at taking a few moments out simply to enjoy the warm magnolia-scented evening and to join the rest of the onlookers in the piazza. There were some stunning-looking individuals populating the square, but none in her opinion that could hold a candle to the frighteningly attractive Fabian Moritzzoni. Surprised at such an out-of-the-blue and definitely disturbing thought, Laura felt a little flutter of unease in the pit of her stomach.
‘Buonasera, signorina.’
A young man with flashing dark eyes and a dazzlingly white shirt passing by with a friend stopped deliberately in front of her and smiled. Taken aback at his interest, Laura knew the same debilitating sense of panic that she always experienced whenever a man glanced her way. Her scar made her extra- sensitive over her looks, despite her determination to try and ignore it. But she was definitely the odd one out in this outwardly harmless parade of beauty, and she’d best not forget it.
Briefly dipping her head in acknowledgement of the unknown man, and starting to withdraw, she was suddenly aware of something of a commotion not far from where she stood. Laura’s gaze, along with that of the young men beside her, turned towards the tall, broad-shouldered owner of tarnished gold hair, who seemed to be heading their way. His progress was being impeded by several enthusiastic compatriots, eager to shake his hand and acknowledge him. It struck her then that Fabian Moritzzoni must be an important man in this community. His handsome face was wearing a patient smile as he returned the effusive greetings that came his way, and he seemed to command the equivalent adulation of a much admired celebrity, but for some inexplicable reason Laura sensed that all was not well beneath the smile that appeared so natural and sincere. Was it the concert that was troubling him?
Finally, he arrived in front of her.
‘Signorina Greenwood.’
His glance made a desert of her mouth with its piercing directness. For a moment all thoughts were suspended as she bathed in that captivating sea of Mediterranean blue. After a deferential ‘buonasera’, her uninvited companions politely made themselves scarce.
‘Hello,’ she breathed.
‘I knew it was you. Your bright hair and equally bright dress singled you out. What have you done with Carmela and Vincente?’
‘They’re still at the restaurant, enjoying their coffee.’
‘But of course… They are newlyweds and, I suppose, anxious to be alone together. I regret that my poor assistant has had to wait so long for the privilege. My schedule is clearly too insane if it has come to this and she cannot take leave even to go away on honeymoon!’
‘Can you not do something about it?’ Laura enquired.
‘What do you mean?’ His gaze narrowed.
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