voice was slightly less acerbic. ‘But we should not quarrel, Alessio. Your life is your own, whereas Paolo has—obligations, which he must be made to recognise. Therefore this—relazione amorosa of his must end, quanta prima tanto meglio.’
Alessio frowned again. ‘But sooner may not be better for Paolo,’ he pointed out. ‘They may be genuinely in love. After all, this is the twenty-first century, not the fifteenth.’
The Signora waved a dismissive hand. ‘The girl is completely unsuitable. Some English sciattona that he met in a bar in London,’ she added with distaste. ‘From what I have gleaned from my fool of a son, she has neither family nor money.’
‘Whereas Beatrice Manzone has both, of course,’ Alessio said drily. ‘Especially money.’
‘That may not weigh with you,’ the Signora said with angry energy. ‘But it matters very much to Paolo.’
‘Unless I break my neck playing polo,’ Alessio drawled. ‘Which would make him my heir, of course. My preoccupation with dangerous sports should please you, Zia Lucrezia. It opens up all kinds of possibilities.’
She gave him a fulminating look. ‘Which we need not consider. You will, of course, remember in due course what you owe to your family, and provide yourself with a wife and family.
‘As matters stand, you are the chairman of the Arleschi Bank. He is only an employee. He cannot afford to marry some pretty nobody.’
‘So, she’s pretty,’ Alessio mused. ‘But then she would have to be, if she has no money. And Paolo has Ramontella blood in his veins, so she may even be a beauty—this…?’
‘Laura,’ the Signora articulated coldly. ‘Laura Mason.’
‘Laura.’ He repeated the name softly. ‘The name of the girl that Petrarch saw in church and loved for the rest of his life.’ He grinned at his aunt. ‘I hope that isn’t an omen.’
‘Well,’ the Signora said softly, ‘I depend on you, my dear Alessio, to make certain it is not.’
‘You expect me to preach to my cousin about family duty?’ He laughed. ‘I don’t think he’d listen.’
‘I wish you to do more than talk. I wish you to bring Paolo’s little romance to an end.’
His brows lifted. ‘And how am I supposed to do that?’
‘Quite easily, caro mio.’ She gave him a flat smile. ‘You will seduce her, and make sure he knows of it.’
Alessio came out of his chair in one lithe, angry movement. ‘Are you insane?’
‘I am simply being practical,’ his aunt returned. ‘Requesting that you put your dubious talents with women to some useful purpose.’
‘Useful!’ He was almost choking on his rage. ‘Dio mio, how dare you insult me by suggesting such a thing? Imagine that I would be willing even for one moment…’ He flung away from her. Walked to the window, gazed down into the street below with unseeing eyes, then turned back, his face inimical. ‘No,’ he said. ‘And again—no. Never.’
‘You disappoint me,’ the Signora said almost blandly. ‘I hoped you would regard it as—an interesting challenge.’
‘On the contrary,’ he said. ‘I am disgusted—nauseated by such a proposal.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And from you of all people. You—astound me.’
She regarded him calmly. ‘What exactly are your objections?’
He spread his hands in baffled fury. ‘Where shall I begin? The girl is a complete stranger to me.’
‘But so, at first, are all the women who share your bed.’ She paused. ‘For example, mio caro, how long have you known Vittoria Montecorvo, whose hasty departure just now I almost interrupted?’
Their eyes met, locked in a long taut, silence. Eventually, he said, ‘I did not realise you took such a close interest in my personal life.’
‘Under normal circumstances, I would not, I assure you. But in this instance, I need your—co-operation.’
Alessio said slowly, ‘At any moment, I am going to wake up, and find this is all a bad dream.’ He came back to his chair. Sat. ‘I have other objections. Do you wish to hear them?’
‘As you wish.’
He leaned forward, the dark face intense. ‘This romance of Paolo’s may just be a passing fancy. Why not let it run its course?’
‘Because Federico Manzone wishes my son’s engagement to Beatrice to be made official. Any more delay would displease him.’
‘And would that be such a disaster?’
‘Yes,’ his aunt said. ‘It would. I have entered into certain—accommodations with Signor Manzone, on the strict understanding that this marriage would soon be taking place. Repayment would be—highly inconvenient.’
‘Santa Maria.’ Alessio slammed a clenched fist into the palm of his other hand. Of course, he thought. He should have guessed as much.
The Signora’s late husband had come from an old but relatively impoverished family, but, in spite of that, her spending habits had always been legendary. He could remember stern family conferences on the subject when he was a boy.
And age, it seemed, had not taught her discretion.
Groaning inwardly, he said, ‘Then why not allow me to settle these debts for you, and let Paolo live his life?’
There was a sudden gleam of humour in her still-handsome face. ‘I am not a welcome client at the bank, Alessio, so are you inviting me to become your private pensioner? Your poor father would turn in his grave. Besides, the lawyers would never allow it. And Federico has assured me very discreetly that, once our families are joined, he will make permanent arrangements for me. He is all generosity.’
‘Then why not change the plan?’ Alessio said with sudden inspiration. ‘You’re a widow. He’s a widower. Why don’t you marry him yourself, and let the next generation find their own way to happiness?’
‘As you yourself are doing?’ The acid was back. ‘Perhaps we could have a double wedding, mio caro. I am sure honour will demand you ask the lovely Vittoria to be your wife, when her husband divorces her for adultery. After all, it will make a hideous scandal.’
Their glances met again and clashed, steel against steel.
He said steadily, ‘I was not aware that Fabrizio had any such plans for Vittoria.’
‘Not yet, certainly,’ the Signora said silkily. ‘But if he or my good friend Camilla, his mother, should discover in some unfortunate way that you have planted horns on him, then that might change.’
Eventually, Alessio sighed, lifting a shoulder in a resigned shrug. ‘I have seriously underestimated you, Zia Lucrezia. I did not realise how totally unscrupulous you could be.’
‘A family trait,’ said the Signora. ‘But desperate situations call for desperate measures.’
