better to do. Noticing the ice-cream stains on her skirt, which she had forgotten, she groaned. She would have to buy a change of clothes before she could make a second call on Lucca, who had long since impressed her with the reality that whether she approved or otherwise, people made value judgements on the basis of appearance.
It took some time for her to find her way back to an area where she was familiar with the shops and it took even longer for her to locate a suitable outfit. Stiff with reluctance, for she absolutely loathed wearing anything that attracted the least attention to her person, Vivien chose an ice-blue dress. Lucca had always preferred to see her clothed in light, bright colours. Letting the pale golden weight of her hair fall loose round her shoulders, she brushed it smooth.
She took a taxi to the elegant residential square where Lucca now owned a Georgian townhouse. His interior designer had sold illicit pictures to a glossy magazine and Bernice had drawn her sister’s attention to the article. It seemed especially ironic to Vivien that Lucca should finally have given up the vast minimalist apartment that she had loathed only after their marriage had broken down.
Her body taut with tension, she climbed out of the taxi with thoughts that were wholly dominated by the enervating challenge of what she should say to Lucca. Someone shouted her name and, when she glanced up in surprise, a man with a camera took a picture of her and urged her to stay where she was to enable him to take another. At the same time other people were running across the road towards her, shouting questions. For a split second she was so taken aback by the onslaught, she was paralysed to the spot, and then she dropped her head and raced as fast as she could up the steps to ring the bell on Lucca’s front door.
The paparazzi crowded round her in a suffocating crush. ‘How do you feel about Jasmine Bailey now, Mrs Saracino?’
‘You were seen at your husband’s office this afternoon.’ A microphone was thrust in Vivien’s stricken face and more cameras clicked. ‘Is it true that Lucca made you wait for hours before he would agree to see you?’
‘Are you aware that Lucca is currently seeing Bliss Masterson? She’s one of the most beautiful women in the world. How does that make you feel? Do you find that intimidating?’ Horrified by the shocking intrusiveness of that cruel interrogation, and backed up against the door in her desperate desire to escape, Vivien could easily have fallen when the door opened abruptly. Happily, a strong arm braced her and lifted her smoothly over the threshold.
‘Vivien…are you trying to save your marriage?’ the last reporter screeched like a vulture just before the door thudded shut.
‘Are you all right?’ Wearing an expression of concern, her rescuer urged her down into a chair in the huge gracious hall. It was Arlo, Lucca’s Chief of Security, who had always been very kind to her
‘F-fine…’ Vivien stammered, her teeth chattering together while she struggled to still the tremors of shock still coursing through her slender body.
‘That’s good, cara.’ Another, infinitely less sympathetic voice interposed from several feet away. ‘I would hate to be deprived of the opportunity of telling you that coming here tonight has to be the stupidest thing you have ever done!’
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