The Arranged Marriage. Emma Darcy

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ you done, Marco? Why aren’t you in the backyard?”

      He gave her his triumphant achievement look, his brown eyes dancing with mischief, an appealing smile flashing from his adorable little face, his mop of dark curls bobbing as he proudly confessed, “I got boxes an’ climbed up an’ opened the gate.”

      Which meant he wasn’t safely contained here at work anymore. Gina heaved a deeply exasperated sigh. “Then what?”

      “I rode my bike.”

      “He was out on the street, pedalling his tricycle at wild speed, and almost ran into me,” came the telling accusation.

      Gina stood very straight, facing the music as best she could. “I’m terribly sorry that his lack of control put you at risk, Mrs. King, and I’m grateful you’ve brought him in to me. I thought he was playing safely in the backyard.”

      “It seems your son is an enterprising child. Boys will be boys. You must always keep their very active ingenuity in mind.”

      This softer piece of advice reduced Gina’s tension considerably. “I will. Thank you again for returning him to me, Mrs. King.”

      She was subjected to more scrutiny, as though everything about her was being meticulously catalogued; her long streaky-brown hair, the bangs that swept across her forehead, her thickly lashed amber eyes, her too wide mouth, the bone structure of her face, her long neck, the obvious curves of her full breasts underneath her sleeveless blouse, the neatness of her waist, emphasised by the belt on her skirt, the breadth of her hips, the shape of her bare legs and her feet, which were simply encased in sandals.

      It was embarrassing, as though she was being measured for being a careless creature who didn’t have enough interest in looking after her son properly. Which wasn’t true at all. Gina prided herself on being a good mother. It was just that Marco could be a little devil at times.

      “I understand you are a widow.”

      The knowing statement surprised her into replying, “Yes, I am.”

      “How long?”

      “Two years.”

      “Perhaps the boy needs a man’s hand.”

      Gina flushed at the implied criticism. “Marco does have uncles.”

      “You are a very attractive young woman. No one is courting you?”

      “No. I…uh…haven’t met anyone I…um,…” She floundered hopelessly under the direct beam of those intensely probing eyes.

      “You were very attached to your husband?”

      “Well, yes…”

      “This is not good for the boy—your working in a shop, unable to supervise him properly. You need a husband to support you. The right man would lift this burden from you.”

      “Yes,” she agreed. What else could she do? Arguing with Isabella Valeri King was far too daunting an option. She could only hope her aunt, who was standing silently by, would not take offence. It was a family favour that she had a part-time job here, and allowed to bring Marco with her.

      As long as he didn’t make a nuisance of himself!

      She would definitely be in trouble once Isabella Valeri King departed. However, no immediate exit took place. Despite having delivered her lecture on Gina’s situation, the old lady stood her ground and suddenly took an entirely different tack.

      “You are also a wedding singer.”

      “Yes.” How did she know these things about her?

      “Your agent sent me a tape of your songs. You have a lovely voice.”

      Finally enlightenment. “Thank you.”

      “You are aware that weddings are held at King’s Castle?”

      “Yes, of course.” The most exclusive and expensive weddings!

      “I am always looking for good singers and I have found it wise to test a voice in the ballroom. The acoustics are different to those in a recording studio.”

      The fabled ballroom! Gina had never been there but stories about the castle abounded. Was this a chance to be actually hired as a singer for fabulous weddings? Could she ask for a much bigger fee? Travelling money? It was an hour’s drive from Cairns to Port Douglas. Her mind zipped through a whole range of exciting possibilities.

      “I would require a trial run. Are you free to come on Sunday afternoon?”

      “Yes.” It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d asked for the moon, Gina would have said yes. This was a huge opportunity for her to earn far more than the peanuts she was usually paid for singing.

      “Good. Three o’clock. And bring the boy with you.” She looked down at Marco whose hand she still held firmly. Amazingly he hadn’t tried to wriggle his fingers free of captivity. In fact, he appeared fascinated by this lady who spoke with such authority to his mother. “You will come to visit me with your madre, Marco.”

      “I could have him minded,” Gina quickly suggested, anxious not to have her audition disturbed by any mischievous behaviour from her unpredictable son.

      That earned a stern glare. “You will not.” As though realising her tone was too sharp, she smiled, firstly down at Marco, then at Gina. “He is quite an endearing little boy. I shall enjoy watching him at play. We will have afternoon tea in the loggia and let him run free in the grounds.”

      “That’s…very kind. Thank you.”

      “Go to your madre now, Marco.” She released his hand and lightly patted his curls. “And do not ride your bike in the street again. It is not the place to play.”

      He obediently trotted over to Gina’s side and took her hand.

      “How old is he?”

      “Two and a half.”

      “He rides very well for his age,” came the astonishingly approving comment. “The tricycle is by the door.”

      “Thank you.”

      “Three o’clock Sunday,” she repeated imperiously.

      “We’ll be there, Mrs. King. And thank you once again.”

      Ten minutes to three…Gina slotted her little Honda Swift under one of the bougainvillea and vine-laden pergolas that flanked the steps up to King’s Castle. This was the visitors’ parking area, and apart from her own car it was empty, which made her feel all the more nervous.

      For the umpteenth time she checked that the backing tape for her songs was in her handbag. It might not be needed. She had no idea if she was expected to sing with or without music for this audition. At least she had it if it could be used. The driving mirror reflected that her make-up was still fine, not that she wore much—a touch of eyeliner, mascara, lipstick. Her hair was freshly washed and blow-dried to curve around her shoulders. She hoped she looked like a professional singer.

      Marco СКАЧАТЬ