and gave a short laugh. ‘I wouldn’t be sitting here if I hadn’t.’
‘I’ll get you a taxi.’
‘No!’ she cried quickly. ‘I can’t afford one. And,’ she said as he opened his haughty mouth to speak, ‘you can forget any ideas about offering to pay for one. I don’t take charity. I’ve got my van down the road.’
‘You look very pale. I don’t think you should drive,’ he insisted sternly.
‘I’m perfectly all right.’ Flustered, she slipped her feet into the shoes, only to see him cross to his desk and punch the intercom button.
‘Get my driver to bring the limo to the front,’ he ordered abruptly.
It sounded wonderful, but her mother would have hysterics if she turned up in a limo with a chauffeur. ‘I’d rather he didn’t. Thanks for the tea,’ she said politely, roughly tying the ribbon laces. ‘I’m grateful—and sorry to have taken up your time.’
‘I’m seeing you home,’ he said firmly. ‘You can show my chauffeur where your van is and he’ll drive it for you. No arguments,’ he said, holding up his hand when she rose in protest. ‘My sense of honour would be wounded if I didn’t treat a lady in distress with Sicilian gallantry.’
‘You are Sicilian, then!’ she cried in astonishment. ‘So’s my husband.’
His mouth had tightened. ‘As I said, Colleoni is a common name there,’ he said stiffly.
Debbie passed a hand over her forehead, feeling she’d missed something vital. ‘I’m sorry. It seemed such a coincidence...’
‘Remarkable, isn’t it?’ he said smoothly, taking her elbow. ‘Now, no arguing. Let’s get you home and then I can come back and eat my lunch in peace.’
‘You’ll like it,’ she said, allowing herself to be guided into the lift. ‘It’s awfully good.’
He seemed to fill the lift. The air squeezed in on her, making her breathe faster. He looked steadily at her but she studied her feet, feeling dreadfully conscious of his proximity. She squirmed irritably and heard his soft laugh.
Scowling at him from under her thick brows, she said boldly, ‘Give me another chance to do your catering. Your staff don’t want doughnuts and beefburgers, or plastic-tasting sandwiches. We can—’
‘Family comes first,’ he cut in with quiet decisiveness. ‘I have promised Pia, my sister-in-law, that her franchises can supply my banks.’
‘Banks? Plural banks?’ she asked, her eyes widening.
‘Plural banks,’ he confirmed in amusement.
‘Good grief, you must be as rich as Croesus! My statement’s always in the red.’
‘Things are bad, then?’ he enquired thoughtfully.
‘Awful,’ she admitted. ‘I’m not playing for the sympathy vote, but if there’s a chance...’
‘No. I might have to persuade my sister-in-law to reorganise her catering till it’s to my satisfaction, but I will keep the promise I made. I must—you must see that.’
Debbie nodded gloomily. Their business would be wiped out if City Lights improved its food drastically and used real, fresh produce. She visualised the final nails being hammered into her coffin. Fate was kicking them both into the gutter again; she dreaded going back to her mother with the news. Her stomach sank with the lift as the floors ticked themselves off on the display unit above, not only gravity sucking away her insides, but despair too.
‘Tell her to sort out her ethics as well as make improvements to the food,’ she muttered, and her baleful eyes clashed with his. ‘I expect no more dirty tricks from her! A fair fight—’
‘Surely it can’t be fair?’ he pointed out as they walked out into the foyer. ‘She can cut costs by buying in bulk—’
‘But we can work all the hours God sends us and cook home-made stuff that knocks spots off anything produced in quantity,’ she defended vigorously. ‘Look,’ she said, stopping in the middle of the marble floor and gazing earnestly up at him, ‘get her in line. That’s all I ask.’
‘You think I can?’ he murmured, his mouth twitching.
‘You can do anything you want,’ she said tartly. ‘You’ll always do anything you want. That’s how you are. I’m right, aren’t I?’
‘Possibly.’ The mobile mouth had softened into a smile.
‘OK, well, listen.’ Debbie was fighting for her livelihood now. And for her mother’s health. She didn’t care that people were stopping and staring, giggling, muttering behind their hands at the sight of the great Luciano talking to a gesticulating shepherdess straight out of a nursery rhyme.
She gave two back-from-lunch typists a haughty stare and returned to the matter in hand, a little surprised that Luciano was still standing there patiently, waiting for her to continue. But she had the impression that he was finding this amusing—at last. And so she’d play on that in order to get what she wanted. Justice.
‘City Lights has to stop working on other people’s patches,’ she said firmly. ‘I told you the kind of tricks they pull. My girls have turned up several times and found someone else has already delivered, hàving persuaded the customers that we’ve gone out of business. We’ve had staff nobbled outside our premises and offered better money. You think of a dirty trick, they’ve played it. It’s got to stop or I’ll implicate you.’
‘I agree,’ he said placidly.
She breathed a sigh of surprised relief. It wasn’t entirely what she’d wanted. It would have been better if she’d been given the chance to continue catering for his company. However, it would do. So she treated him to a shy smile which faltered after a moment.
Luciano was looking at her oddly. It could have been admiration. It could have been anything, because she wasn’t thinking straight any more. A strange, jelly-like consistency had taken up residence in her limbs, and she pressed down on her thighs in the hope that she could stop her legs trembling. He followed the movement of her hands, and then she watched in helpless fascination as his gaze made its way unhurriedly all the way up her body again till it reached her huge dove-grey eyes.
‘You must have caused traffic jams right across the city,’ he said softly.
Debbie floundered, lost for words. She was out of her depth with compliments like that—because, judging by the expression on his face, it was meant to be flattering. Was he about to make some kind of proposition? This was worrying, especially if they were going to spend time in the back of some limo.
Her aunt had said that Italians had funny morals and shocking libidos. Gio had been within earshot and had coldly reminded everyone that Italians weren’t the same as Sicilians at all. But, however he identified himself, Luciano was giving out interested vibes and therefore he must be indifferent to the fact that she was married. Since he had no idea that her marriage was dead and buried, that made him immoral.
Instinctively she dragged back her tumble of blonde hair and twisted it at the nape of her neck so that it reduced
