he answered dryly. ‘And, please … it is about time you started to call me Fabian. Formality only gets in the way when we are working so closely together.’
‘If that’s what you prefer. Now, there are a couple of things I need to ask you concerning the supper party after the concert.’ Turning back to her desk, she picked up a sheaf of paper and a pen.
There was something quite irresistible about the expression she got on her face whenever she was concentrating, Fabian realised. It had the strange effect of making all his muscles tighten with what he had to acknowledge was most assuredly sensual pleasure. He clenched his jaw a little as she approached. Her captivating summery scent reached him first, and he was genuinely perturbed that his reaction to her was so acute. It was an unexpected discovery that could no doubt lead to some unnecessary complications if not handled correctly.
‘What is it you want to know?’ he asked, frowning.
‘It’s about the protocol for the evening.’
To his further discomfiture, she came round to stand by his side, then crouched down low, so that he could clearly see the list of invitees with their various titles and designations. But all Fabian could really focus on right then was how her hair seemed to be woven through with dancing sunlight, and how with her small straight nose and delicate jaw her profile was like the most exquisite cameo …
‘Si.’ Taking the list out of Laura’s hands, Fabian heard the dismissive tone in his voice. ‘I will make some notes in English at the side of each name for you. In the meantime I have some important phone calls to make. This afternoon after lunch we will go through the entire plan and programme together, and find out exactly the state of play.’
‘That would be good. Thank you.’
He had said to Carmela that he hoped his new assistant would not expect him to hold her hand or guide her step by step, yet here he was—her desk conveyed to his office and a strangely inexplicable impulse in him not to leave her to cope on her own …
Moving away from him, she suddenly paused. ‘Your father must have loved music very much … and this is such an exquisite setting for such an event. Was it your idea to hold a concert in his memory each year?’
Stunned by the question, Fabian stared hard at Laura. A muscle throbbed in his cheek and for a long moment he struggled to stem the swift tide of resentment that flowed through his bloodstream. ‘Music meant a lot to him, yes. He considered himself an avid aficionado of the opera. He considered himself an expert in many things as a matter of fact! But holding the concert was not my idea. Far from it! My father left instructions in his will. Even in death, Roberto Moritzzoni wanted to ensure that he was not forgotten. He did not easily let go of his possessions or his life.’
‘I see.’
‘I doubt that you do, Laura. But perhaps one day before you leave the Villa De Rosa … I will explain.’
Moving his coffee cup out of the way, Fabian concentrated his focus on the list of dignitaries in front of him. They were all—with the exception of some of the key performers in the concert—ex cohorts of his father’s who still ‘milked’ their association with Roberto Moritzzoni for all it was worth. As if they had not dined in the style of kings enough throughout the years at the expense of Fabian’s family! At that moment he honestly felt like putting a lighted match to that damned list and having done with it. Glancing up, he saw that Laura had quietly made her way back to her desk, her attention captured by whatever was on the computer screen in front of her. What would Roberto have said if Fabian had introduced someone like her to him as his wife-to-be? He could hear the old man’s mocking laughter even now, after all these years, at the thought that he would even entertain such an absurdity! Everything about her would have been wrong, he realised—starting with the fact that she was not Italian. Add to that the probability that she had no important or useful family connections—that would be two more strikes against her suitability. As for her looks and figure—Roberto would no doubt have disparagingly dismissed her as too pale, too thin, and not maternal or voluptuous enough to be the bearer of his grandchildren …
‘Bigoted old fool!’ he muttered savagely beneath his breath.
‘Is something the matter?’ At the other side of the sun-filled room, Laura studied him in surprise. ‘You seem upset,’ she pressed, when he did not immediately reply.
‘You are right. I am upset. Thinking about my father usually ensures that reaction. He was not the most—shall we say … pleasant of men, Laura. He could be quite cruel in fact … especially to those that were closest to him. Does that shock you?’
Her sweetly shaped mouth turned down a little and her big eyes looked concerned. ‘Cruelty always shocks me … even though I know it is hardly rare in the world.’
Fabian grimaced. ‘Then let us change the subject and think about something more pleasant. If you want to restore my good mood, perhaps you would be kind enough to go and get me some more coffee?’
‘Of course. I’ll go and find Maria and get you some.’
She was on her feet immediately, her shy gaze touching him briefly as she left the room, and as Fabian watched her go he was filled with a longing that he didn’t dare examine too closely. The kind of longing that could definitely play havoc with their fledgling boss/secretary relationship.
CHAPTER FOUR
SOME of Fabian’s well-heeled friends turned up unexpectedly for lunch, and he insisted that Laura join them. They ate al fresco, at a table on another spectacular terrace overlooking a lush sea of olive groves. The sun shone and the wine flowed, and although her boss showed an interest in the conversations that went on around him—even occasionally laughing or smiling with his companions—Laura detected that his mind was not entirely focused on the present.
As she cut a sweet red apple into neat quarters and bit into one, she recalled his surprising comments about holding the concert in his father’s memory. The revelation that he had been a cruel man had disturbed her—mostly because of how that must have affected the young Fabian, growing up. Now that she’d gleaned his relationship with Roberto had been less than idyllic—and that obviously this concert held in his memory was reminding him of the fact—she wasn’t surprised that Fabian’s thoughts appeared to be elsewhere. She couldn’t begin to imagine the money, time and effort it took to organise one of these impressive events—and how much must he be resenting that if it was something he did out of duty and not love? Could it be that he was willing the whole event to be over instead of anticipating it with pleasure?
Her curiosity and concern deepening, Laura lifted her gaze—only to find it on a collision course with Fabian’s. Next to her, an Italian count with an unpronounceable name laughed hard at a joke he had made—but she barely registered the sound because once again she’d dived into that flawless blue ocean and found herself short on oxygen. Expecting him to say something, she was honestly deflated when he didn’t, but simply glanced away again and started talking to the elderly gentleman beside him.
‘Lo zio, Fabian!’
A small girl with glossy brown pigtails and eyes the colour of luscious cocoa appeared at the top of the terrace steps, ran towards the table and climbed onto Fabian’s lap. Weaving her sturdy brown arms around his neck, she buried her head into his chest.
‘Cybele!’
There followed an affectionate demonstration of delight bar none from Fabian,
