nodded. ‘She should.’
There was a ruthless set to his jaw, the spark of anger in his black eyes. If Charles thought Bruno did not resent the way his mother had been treated, he was clearly wrong. Bruno resented it bitterly. Martine shivered. She hoped Charles hadn’t made a fatal mistake. Yet what threat could Bruno present to him? Charles owned a majority of the shares in the bank; Bruno couldn’t hurt him.
Charles smiled at him, apparently blithely unaware of the dark feeling in the younger man. ‘I want to make up for the past, Bruno. I want you in the family business, where you belong.’
Martine shifted restlessly, frowning. Haven’t you got eyes? she wanted to ask Charles. Can’t you see what he’s like under the good looks and the formal good manners?
Bruno flicked one of those brief, cold glances her way. Charles might not be picking up her agitation, but Bruno Falcucci was, and her dismay didn’t bother him. He looked into her eyes, then away, one black brow curling sardonically.
A hard spot of red burnt in her cheeks. She knew what that lifted eyebrow had said. She might oppose him but she wouldn’t be a problem, he could deal with her.
Well, that was what he thought! They would see about that.
Charles signed the bill, folded some notes into the leather wallet in which the bill had arrived, and stood up, yawning, looking suddenly drained and white.
‘I’m sorry, Martine,’ he said in a wearily apologetic voice. ‘I’d planned to drive you home myself, but I’m barely able to stay on my feet—will you be very cross if I just put you into a taxi back to Chelsea?’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ she began, but Bruno interrupted.
‘I have my car parked outside; I’ll drop her off.’
‘I thought you said you were staying at the Savoy? There’s no need to drive out to Chelsea, I can easily get a taxi.’ Martine certainly didn’t want him driving her home. The very idea of being alone with the man even for five minutes sent shivers down her spine.
‘It’s still early. I would enjoy a drive along the river,’ he shrugged.
Charles beamed. ‘And you can get to know each other! That’s a wonderful idea, I should have thought of it myself. Martine is indispensable to me, Bruno. She can tell you all you need to know about the way the bank runs.’
His car was parked across the street. As he began to walk towards it Martine caught Bruno Falcucci’s secret smile, and tensed. If she hadn’t known how it would upset Charles she would have slapped his face.
Turning away, she walked with Charles to his car, watching him with concern.
‘You look quite ill, Charles. You’ve been working too hard for far too long. I think you need a long holiday. Why don’t you take a few days off work and get away?’
‘I will, soon,’ he said quietly, bent and kissed her cheek. ‘You’re my guardian angel—don’t think I’m not aware of it. Now, be nice to Bruno. I want him to join us, Martine, sell the bank to him. I’ve done some quiet research on him and he has quite a record, he’s pulled off some brilliant deals. Even if he wasn’t family, I’d want him, but as he is a Redmond, even though his name is different, I’m determined to get him by hook or by crook.’
‘Well, in that case I’ll do what I can,’ she promised as Charles got behind the wheel of his silver Rolls. She meant what she said, despite her private reservations about the man. She would certainly sell the bank to Bruno Falcucci, but she doubted if it would be necessary. She had the feeling no persuasion would be required to get him to join them. He had always planned to do so.
Charles smiled at her through the window as he started the softly purring engine.
‘I know I can always trust you. Goodnight, Martine, see you tomorrow.’
He drove off and she turned to find Bruno Falcucci right behind her, lounging against a long, sleek, vintage black Rolls-Bentley. It was one of the loveliest cars she had ever seen; her mouth watered at the sight of it. She loved old cars.
He opened the passenger door, his body graceful as he held the door for her. ‘Where am I to take you?’
‘Do you know Chelsea?’ she curtly asked, having already discovered that he had been to London a number of times.
He nodded. ‘Vaguely. I make for Parliament Square and head off along the Embankment, right?’
She nodded. ‘I live a stone’s throw from the Tate Gallery, I’ll guide you after we get to Millbank.’
She slid into the Bentley’s interior, instinctively stroking the soft, pale cream leather seats, giving the dashboard an appreciative inspection.
‘Is this yours, or have you borrowed or hired it?’ she asked as Bruno got in beside her.
His tanned hands lightly holding the wheel he turned his black head and gave her a long, cool look.
‘It’s mine. I just bought it.’
It must have cost a fortune; she wondered how much he earned a year to be able to afford a toy like this. Well, she would find out soon, when he and Charles began negotiations.
‘You aren’t married, Mr Falcucci?’
He shook his head, that sardonic smile in evidence again.
‘Have you ever been?’ she asked.
‘No, have you?’
‘No,’ she said tersely.
‘You’re a devoted secretary, though,’ he drawled. ‘Lucky Charles.’
He turned his head again, deliberately, to meet her stare and Martine let all her dislike and distrust of him show in her face.
‘If you hurt Charles in any way I’ll kill you!’ she told him.
His brows shot up and he gave her that cool, sardonic smile, then took her breath away by what he said next.
‘If he was going to marry you, he’d have done so long ago, you know. You’re wasting your time waiting for him; which seems a pity, looking the way you do.’ His dark eyes flicked down over her body and a wave of heat flowed through her. Softly he added, ‘I’m sure a lot of men would be only too happy to help you forget Charles. I might even volunteer myself!’
Martine went dark red, her hands clenching, her teeth together, but she refused to play his game by answering or defending herself, explaining that he was wrong. Information was power, Charles had taught her long ago. Never give it away, use it for your own purposes and do so sparingly. So she let Bruno Falcucci imagine that he had hit on the truth, just gave him one icy glance, then said in a tight, brusque voice, ‘Take the next turn on the right, would you?’
The Bentley spun round the corner and began moving along the wide street of rather stately Victorian houses.
‘No comment, then?’ Bruno Falcucci asked her, watching her out of the corner of his eyes.
‘Stop here, please,’
