Sharon Kendrick Collection. Sharon Kendrick

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СКАЧАТЬ question. ‘It’s a little late for a three-course meal.’

      ‘I—I’ll have the same,’ Romy spluttered, wondering how he managed to be quite so superior.

      ‘And to drink, signore?’

      ‘The Bardolino, please.’ Dominic smiled and lifted curved black brows in query. ‘Unless you would prefer to choose, Romy?’

      He didn’t actually say that if her wine choice was as bad as her table choice then it would leave a lot to be desired, but that was clearly what he meant, thought Romy furiously. She was half tempted to choose the sweetest, most sickly white wine on the menu but thought better of it. ‘Bardolino will be fine,’ she said tightly.

      A distinctly awkward silence descended on them while the waiter bustled around, substituting spoons and swapping knives around and pouring wine, and then at last they were alone and Romy found that all her bravado had suddenly deserted her.

      For the first time in her life she almost wished that she smoked because she was having awful difficulty deciding what to do with her shaking hands.

      In the end she knotted them in her lap and smiled at him inanely. ‘Have all your guests confirmed?’ she babbled. ‘Twelve, wasn’t it?’

      ‘Ten,’ he corrected her, with a frown. He took a sip of his wine and put the glass down, his thick lashes allowing only a glimmer of silver light to shine from his narrowed eyes.

      ‘Pretty small do,’ she commented.

      ‘That’s right.’

      ‘And the purpose of the party?’

      He gave her an ironic look. ‘Do all parties have to have a purpose, then? Can’t it just be for fun?’

      Romy shook her head. ‘If it was just for fun you’d organise it yourself. Wouldn’t you?’

      ‘I doubt it.’ He twirled the stem of his wineglass between thumb and forefinger. ‘The idea of people roaming around my house wanting to be entertained fills me with a certain amount of dread, if you must know.’

      ‘But there’s only going to be ten people,’ she pointed out. ‘That’s hardly going to fill a stadium!’

      ‘It’s quite enough,’ he murmured.

      ‘Well, if you dislike it so much, then why are you doing it?’

      He surveyed her over the rim of his wineglass and his eyes glinted.

      ‘Don’t be so coy, Dominic!’ she snapped, when he didn’t answer. ‘You obviously want to impress someone, don’t you? Maybe a woman?’

      He met her interested stare with a mocking gaze. ‘There’s no need to sound so outraged, Romy,’ he responded with dry evasion, then smiled and leaned back while the waiter deposited a steaming plate full of clam-studded spaghetti in front of each of them. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

      Suddenly Romy wondered if she needed her head examined. Fancy ordering spaghetti when you were feeling nervous! She could barely hold her fork without her fingers shaking—let alone expertly twist strands of the pasta round it, in the way that Dominic was doing.

      She watched a clam disappear down his throat. Lucky old clam, she found herself thinking, and put her fork down.

      ‘Tell me why you’re having this party,’ she persisted, her fingertips unconsciously roving over her bare neck.

      ‘It’s part business, part pleasure,’ he told her, laying his fork down on his plate. ‘Basically, I want to buy some land in the north-east of England to develop into a massive entertainment complex. I love the area—and people up there certainly know how to enjoy themselves! The land in question belongs to Dolly and Archie Bailey, who are trying to decide whether or not to sell it to me. And they’re bringing their son and his wife, too—just to help them decide.’

      ‘And have you offered them a fair price?’

      ‘More than fair,’ he answered drily. ‘What did you expect?’ He shot her a narrow-eyed look. ‘On second thoughts, don’t answer that.’

      ‘So what’s the problem?’

      ‘The problem is that I live in the south of England, and therefore they classify me as a southerner—’

      ‘Which you’re not, you mean?’

      ‘I’m nothing but a nomad, sweetheart,’ he said flippantly, and delivered the most heartbreaking smile.

      The trouble was that the word ‘nomad’ had all kinds of romantic associations. ‘Go on,’ said Romy hastily.

      ‘Archie and Dolly have an old-fashioned distrust of southerners, and they don’t know me well enough to trust me. Yet. The purpose of this weekend is to show them they can. They’re afraid that I just want to make colossal amounts of money without giving much thought to the local people, or to the environment.’

      ‘Which, naturally, you wouldn’t dream of doing?’ she queried caustically.

      ‘Actually, no, I wouldn’t,’ he answered quietly. ‘I find exploitation deeply old-fashioned and deeply offensive. And I feel quite passionate about preserving the environment, if you must know. As for the local people—well, I discovered a long time ago that if you treat the people who work for you fairly, and kindly, then it pays dividends in the end.’

      ‘And does that include me?’ Romy challenged, though her heart couldn’t help warming to his fervent little speech about preserving the environment. ‘Do you promise to treat me fairly and kindly?’

      Their eyes met in a long look which left Romy feeling faintly unsettled. ‘You’re the exception to my rule,’ he answered obscurely. He finished his pasta, and as he drank a mouthful of the Bardolino he noticed her untouched plate. ‘Not hungry?’ he queried.

      ‘Starving!’ she responded sarcastically. ‘Can’t you tell?’

      ‘Makes you edgy if you don’t eat, you know,’ came his unperturbed response.

      ‘No, you make me edgy, Dominic!’

      ‘Do I?’

      ‘Yes! So let’s just stick to the point, shall we, and start discussing the party?’ She leaned across the table towards him and said briskly, ‘You need to tell me what meals you require, and when.’

      ‘But I thought that was your job?’

      Romy thought about it for a moment. ‘OK. If you’re out to convince a northerner that you’re a decent sort then I suggest providing elegant comfort food. Familiar flavours with a different twist. Food that doesn’t pretend to be something it isn’t—that should be our objective.’

      He pushed his plate away and leaned back in the chair again, surveying her unblinkingly. ‘You sound so frighteningly efficient,’ he observed coolly. ‘You’re always talking about motivations and objectives, aren’t you, Romy?’

      ‘Well, that’s my job.’ She shrugged.

      ‘And СКАЧАТЬ