the email he’d been working on. Her cheeks flushed, Ruby retreated to the far end of the large sofa and ate her sandwich in silence.
When she’d finished her dinner, she stood up and replaced the empty plate on the trolley, then she hovered for a moment. He hadn’t touched either the food or the wine. She wanted to say something, but she didn’t know what; then she interrupted herself with a yawn. It was almost ten and it had been a long day. Maybe she should just go and get ready for bed.
Still, as she made her way towards her bedroom door she lingered, fingers on the handle, her eyes drawn to the silent figure hunched over his laptop in the corner. It was a long while before she pressed down on the metal fixture and pushed the door open.
As she got undressed in the semi-dark, careful not to wake the sleeping child, she thought about Max and all his quiet dedication and commitment. Maybe he was rubbing off on her, because suddenly she wanted to rise to the challenge in front of her.
She knew it seemed as if she’d come by this job almost by accident, but maybe that was just fate sending her a big, flashing neon sign? This way, Ruby... Maybe being a nanny was what she was meant to do. Hadn’t Max said she was exactly what he needed? And Sofia already seemed very attached to her.
She held her breath as she slid in between the cool cotton sheets and pulled the covers up over her chest. Maybe this was her calling. Who knew? But for the next week—possibly two—she’d have her chance to find out.
* * *
Max looked up from his plans and papers and noticed a club sandwich sitting on the edge of the desk. How long had that been there? His stomach growled and he reached for it and devoured it in record time.
Ruby must have put it there. He frowned. Something about that felt wrong.
And not just because taking care of him wasn’t part of her job description. He just wasn’t used to being taken care of full stop, mainly because he’d carefully structured his life so he was totally self-sufficient. He didn’t need anyone to look after him. He didn’t need anyone, at all. And that was just as well. While his father had been his rock, he hadn’t been the touchy-feely sort, and work had always kept him away from home for long hours. And his mother...
Well, he hadn’t had a mother’s influence in his life since he’d been a teenager, and even before the divorce things had been...explosive...at home.
A rush of memories rolled over him. He tried to hold them at bay, but there were too many, coming too fast, like a giant wave breaching a sea wall in a storm. That wall had held fast for so many years. He didn’t know why it was crumbling now, only that it was. He rubbed his eyes and stood up, paced across the living room of the suite in an effort to escape it.
This was why he hated this city. It was too old, full of too much history. Somehow the past—anyone’s past—weighed too heavily here.
He shook his head and reached for the half-drunk bottle of wine on the room-service trolley and went to refill his glass. The Pinot had been perfect, rich and soothing. Just what he’d needed.
He didn’t want to revisit any of those memories. Not even the good ones. Yes, his mother had been wonderful when she’d been happy—warm, loving, such fun—but the tail end of his parents’ marriage had been anything but happy. Those good times were now superimposed with her loud and expressive fits of rage, the kind only an Italian woman knew how to give, and his father’s silent and stoic sternness, as he refused to be baited, to be drawn into the game. Sometimes the one-sided fights had gone on for days.
He took another slug of wine and tried to unclench his shoulder muscles.
His relationship with his mother had never been good, not since the day she’d left the family home in a taxi and a cloud of her own perfume. He hadn’t spoken to her in at least a year, and hadn’t seen her for more than three.
He looked down at his glass and noticed he’d polished it off without realising. There was still another left in the bottle....
No. He put his glass down on the desk and switched off his laptop. No more for tonight. Because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he’d need a clear head to deal with his mother come morning.
MAX WALKED OUT of his bedroom then stopped, completely arrested by the sight in front of him. What the heck?
And it wasn’t the spray of cereal hoops all over the coffee table or the splash of milk threatening to drip off the edge. Nor was it the sight of his niece, sitting cross-legged on the carpet and eating a pastry, no sign of a tantrum in sight. No, it was the fact that the nanny he’d hired yesterday bore no resemblance to the one who was busily trying to erase the evidence of what had obviously been a rather messy breakfast session.
She froze when she heard him walk in, then turned around. Her gaze drifted to the mess in the middle of the room. ‘Sofia doesn’t like cereal, apparently,’ she explained calmly. ‘And she felt the need to demonstrate that with considerable gusto.’
He blinked and looked again.
The voice was right. And the attitude. But this looked like a different girl.... No—woman. This one was definitely a woman.
Gone was the slightly hippy-looking patchwork scarecrow from the day before, to be replaced by someone in a bright red fifties dress covered in big cartoon strawberries. With the full skirt and the little black shoes and the short hair swept from her face, she looked like a psychedelic version of Audrey Hepburn.
Hair! That was it!
He looked again. The purple streaks were still there, just not as apparent in this neater style. Good. For a moment there, he’d thought he’d been having a particularly vivid dream.
‘Good morning,’ he finally managed to mutter.
She raised her eyebrows.
Max covered up the fact that the sight of all those strawberries had made him momentarily forget her name by launching in with something she’d like—details. ‘After breakfast we’re going to visit Sofia’s grandmother.’ He paused and looked at the slightly milk-drenched, pastry-flake-covered child in front of him. ‘Would you be able to get her looking presentable by ten?’
The nanny nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘Good.’ Max felt his stomach unclench. ‘My mother is not someone who tolerates an untidy appearance.’ And then he turned to go and fire up his laptop, but he could have sworn he heard her mutter, ‘What a shocker...’ under her breath.
* * *
The water taxi slowed outside a large palazzo with its own landing stage leading up to a heavy front door. They’d travelled for maybe fifteen minutes, leaving the Grand Canal behind and heading into the Castello district of the city.
The building was almost as large at the hotel they’d just left, but where its plaster had been pristine and smooth, this palace was looking a little more tired round the edges. Green slime coated the walls at the waterline, indicating the height of the high tide. Some of the pink plasterwork had peeled off at the bottom of the structure leaving an undulating wave of bare bricks showing.
There
