my last job for two years before the—’ She stopped abruptly. ‘Before I decided to leave and come to London,’ she continued quickly.
The dark eyes had narrowed slightly at her hesitation but he made no comment, merely nodding slowly. ‘And of course you have references, certificates, that sort of thing?’ he asked easily.
‘Of course.’ Where was this leading? Daisy had the impression this conversation was more than mere social intercourse and she felt very uneasy now.
‘This is good.’ And he smiled slowly.
For a moment the slight accent she had detected before was more evident, increasing the impression of foreignness his terminology had caused. Daisy didn’t smile back.
‘Is it?’ She stared at him. ‘Why?’ she asked bluntly.
‘I have a problem you might be able to help me with, Daisy,’ he said coolly, ‘and it would be a means of solving the present dilemma in a way that would suit us both. You seem determined to repay me—although it is not at all necessary—is that correct?’ He raised dark eyebrows as he waited for her reply.
‘It certainly is,’ she said firmly. He was the last man in all the world she wanted to feel an obligation to, and this room must be costing a small fortune. The accident had been all her fault, totally, and she wasn’t at all sure she hadn’t caused some damage to his car—although no doubt that would be covered by insurance. Nevertheless, she was deeply in his debt and it made her want to squirm. Oh, boy, didn’t it just!
‘I thought so.’ Black eyes met honey-brown. ‘Then perhaps if I outline the situation as I see it we can go from there?’ He didn’t wait for a response from her before he continued, ‘You are going to be somewhat incapacitated for two or three weeks, and, however large your nest-egg, rent and other living expenses will soon make a hole in your capital. Agreed?’
Capital? She wouldn’t exactly call her four hundred pounds capital, Daisy thought bleakly. She had paid the rent on her minute bedsit three months in advance—thank goodness—but a few weeks with no salary would soon make her destitute.
‘Agreed?’ he persisted smoothly as she stared at him without speaking, her brain trying to assimilate what he was saying.
Daisy nodded stiffly. She had the feeling he had made a pretty good guess as to the state of her bank balance.
‘Which brings us to my problem.’ He settled himself more comfortably on the chair and she tried to ignore what the movement did to her nerve-endings as the dark power of his masculinity became tangible.
‘I have an apartment in London, but my main home is in Italy,’ he continued quietly, ‘and that is where my family live.’
His family? A little dart of something, something she didn’t want to examine, brought Daisy’s eyes wide. She hadn’t had him down as a family man somehow, but the Italian connection explained both the dark good looks and the accent.
‘My mother is Italian but my father was English,’ he continued as though in explanation of her thoughts. ‘I lived in England for the first twenty years of my life but then when my father died and my mother moved back to her own country my life became a little more complicated. I took over my father’s business interests here but spent a good deal of time with my mother’s people; my wife’s family is part of the far-reaching clan.’
He was married. Well, hadn’t she sensed it the moment he had mentioned family? Daisy asked herself silently. And of course a man like him wouldn’t remain single for too long—some enterprising female, more beautiful and tenacious than the rest, would have been sure to have snapped him up. And she was welcome.
The last thought was unexpected but carried a wealth of bitterness that surprised her in spite of herself. But he was too good-looking, too charismatic, too dynamic to make a comfortable partner to be with, she affirmed to the accusing voice in her head that said she was being unfair. And if anyone should know she should. She’d had enough of good-looking men to last her a lifetime.
‘My wife was reluctant to live in England so we made our home in Italy and I continued to divide my time between the two countries.’ If Slade noticed the shadows in her eyes he made no comment on it, and his voice was cool and matter-of-fact as he said, ‘When my son was born Luisa became even less inclined to travel. In fact she became almost phobic about her home.’
‘You have one child?’ Daisy asked carefully.
He nodded. ‘Francesco is six years of age,’ he said quietly, his voice softening on the name. ‘The accident which took his mother’s life was also the cause of putting him in a wheelchair eighteen months ago.’
Daisy was too shocked to do more than gasp.
‘He is walking again now,’ Slade said quickly, ‘but he is a difficult little boy. I feel this is less to do with his mother’s death than the outrageous spoiling he receives at the hands of his maternal grandparents and aunties and uncles. Of course it is understandable—’ this last was said in a tone which suggested Slade did not understand or accept it at all ‘—but it cannot continue. When Luisa died her mother undertook the task of hiring a nanny and nurse for Francesco when he came out of hospital. I let her do this because she was still devastated by Luisa’s death and needed something to occupy her mind, but it was a mistake. The nurse left once Francesco was walking again, six months later, but Luisa’s mother is at the house most days and the nanny is completely under her influence.’
‘And your mother?’ Daisy asked quietly, totally immersed in the story. ‘Does she live near you?’
‘She married again four years ago and now lives in Madesimo, which is a village high in the Spluga Valley close to the border of Switzerland. It is far enough away from Merano to prevent daily visits,’ he added drily. ‘Now Francesco’s nanny is getting married and leaving my employ it is time for someone to take a firm hand with Francesco when I am not around to do so, and I intend to see that this happens. I also feel it is time for my son to develop his English heritage, and to that end I have had it in mind to advertise for an English nanny. You have saved me the trouble, maybe?’ he added with a wry twist to his lips.
‘Me?’ Daisy squeaked nervously. He had to be joking! It appeared he was not.
‘There is a reason why this would be impossible?’ he asked steadily, the brilliant gaze hard on her flushed face.
Too true, and it was sitting a foot or so away from her, Daisy thought desperately. But she couldn’t very well say so.
‘You have no commitments to keep you in England from what the nurse tells me,’ Slade said calmly, ‘and you have recently come to London to begin afresh.’
Daisy hadn’t told the nurse what she wanted to get away from and Slade Eastwood didn’t enquire either. She wouldn’t have told him anyway, and perhaps he had sensed that? She asked herself.
‘That being the case, one place is as good as another. Francesco’s nanny told me of her impending marriage at the weekend and wishes to leave my employ in three months’ time.’ His mouth tightened. ‘My wife’s mother is not getting involved this time,’ he added grimly. ‘Not in the smallest way.’
‘But…but you don’t know me,’ Daisy murmured helplessly. This was crazy, surreal; it couldn’t be happening.
‘I know your circumstances make it
