said without looking around, ‘So, you’ve poisoned the wells for me. Did you do the same in Italy?’
‘I didn’t have to. A man called Paolo Cresti did it for me. He thinks you’re having an affair with his wife.’
Rome swung back to face him. ‘That’s a lie,’ he said coldly. ‘I haven’t set eyes on her since her marriage.’
Matt’s smile was thin. ‘That’s not what she’s let her husband believe. You should have remembered the old saying—hell have no fury like a woman scorned.’
Rome stared at him bitterly. ‘I should have remembered much more than that,’ he said. He walked back to the bed and picked up the cutting. ‘Has it occurred to you that this girl may not find me attractive?’
‘Plenty of women have, by all accounts. Why should she be an exception?’
‘And I may not fancy her,’ Rome reminded him levelly.
‘But you’ll fancy the money you’ll get from old Grant.’ Matt leered at him. ‘Just keep thinking of that. And keep your eyes shut, if you have to.’
Rome’s mouth twisted in disgust. He looked down at the photograph. ‘This tells me nothing. I need to see her properly before I decide.’
‘I can’t argue with that.’ Matt handed him an elaborately embossed card from the folder. ‘A ticket in your name for a charity ball at the Park Royal Hotel tomorrow night. She’ll be there. He won’t. You can look her over at your leisure.’
There was a tap at the bedroom door, and Kit Sansom appeared with a tray of coffee.
‘We shan’t need that,’ her father said. ‘Because Rome is leaving. He’s got some serious thinking to do.’ His smile was almost malicious. ‘Haven’t you—boy?’
Rome hadn’t spent all the intervening time thinking, however. He’d attempted to make contact with some of the financial contacts on his list, but without success, no one wanted to know him, he realised bitterly. Matt Sansom had done his work well.
And now, for Montedoro’s sake, he was committed to the next phase of this war of attrition between two megalomaniac old men.
He groaned, and tossed down the rest of his whisky. If ever he’d needed to get roaring, blazing drunk, it was tonight.
As he walked back inside to refill his glass, someone knocked at the door of his suite. A porter faced him.
‘Package for you, sir. Brought round by special messenger.’ He accepted Rome’s tip, and vanished.
Frowning, Rome slit open the bulky envelope. He realised immediately that he was looking at a complete dossier on Cory Grant—where she lived, how she spent her spare time, where she shopped, her favourite restaurants. Even the scent she used.
No detail too trivial to be excluded, he acknowledged sardonically.
But it was chillingly thorough. Matt must have been planning this for a long time, he thought. And the screwed-up land deal was just an excuse.
He poured himself another whisky, stretched out on the bed and began to read.
‘You made me look a complete idiot,’ said Philip. ‘Walking out like that.’
Indignation added a squeak to his voice, Cory thought dispassionately. And who needed a man who squeaked?
She kept her tone matter-of-fact. ‘I didn’t think you’d notice I was gone.’
‘Oh, come off it, Cory. I told you—I ran into some old friends—lost track of time rather. And I’m sorry if you felt neglected.’ He paused. ‘But I’ll make it up to you.’ His voice became chummy, almost intimate. ‘Why don’t we have dinner? I promise I’ll give you my undivided attention.’
Cory gave her cordless phone receiver a look of blank disbelief.
She said politely, ‘I don’t think so, thanks. We don’t have enough in common.’ Except, she thought, that your father is one of Gramps’s main sub-contractors, and you realise you may have rocked the boat.
‘Look, Cory.’ He sounded hectoring again. ‘I’ve apologised. I don’t know what else you want me to say.’
‘Goodbye would do quite well.’
‘Oh, very amusing. Know something, Cory? It’s time you got off that high horse of yours and came down to earth, or you’re going to end up a sad old maid. Because I don’t know what you want from a man. And I suspect you don’t know either.’
She said, ‘It’s quite simple, Philip. I want kindness. And you just don’t qualify.’
She replaced her receiver, cutting off his spluttering reply.
She should have let her answering machine take the call, she thought. She simply wasn’t up to dealing with Philip’s efforts at self-justification after her disturbed night.
And she wasn’t up to dealing with the reasons for the disturbed night either.
With a sigh, she went into her tiny kitchen, poured orange juice, set coffee to percolate and slotted bread into the toaster.
Gramps would be next, she thought, eager to know how the evening had gone, and she’d make up a kindly fib to satisfy him.
Only it wasn’t her grandfather who rang almost at once, but Shelley.
‘Cory—are you there? Pick the phone up. I have news.’
Cory hesitated, frowning slightly.
Her ‘hello’ was guarded, but Shelley didn’t notice.
‘I’ve found your mysterious stranger,’ she reported happily. ‘I did a quick check, and he bought one of the last tickets. His name’s Rome d’Angelo. So, the ball’s in your court now.’
‘I don’t see how.’
Shelley made an impatient noise. ‘Come on, babe. You won’t find many men with that name to the square acre. I’d start with directory enquiries.’
‘Perhaps—if I wanted to find him,’ Cory agreed, her lips twitching in spite of herself.
‘I thought he’d made a big impression.’
‘But not one I necessarily wish to repeat.’ God, Cory thought, I sound positively Victorian. She hurried into speech again. ‘Thanks for trying, Shelley, but I’ve made a major decision. If I get involved again, I want someone kind and caring, not sex on legs.’
‘You could have both. Isn’t this guy worth a second look?’
‘I doubt if he was worth the first one,’ Cory said drily. ‘I’m sorry, love. I’m a hopeless case.’
‘No,’ Shelley said. ‘You just think you are. So, if you’re not going man-hunting, what do you plan for your day?’
‘I’m doing the domestic thing.’
