her.
‘I got you pizza because you’re Italian. The fish and chip shop sells all sorts,’ she said, opening the carton containing her fish and chips.
‘Thanks.’ Lorenzo opened the box. ‘I think … ‘ he drawled, eyeing what passed for a pizza in an English holiday town with some trepidation. He didn’t want to know what the assorted toppings and cheeses were, but it was nothing like any pizza he had ever seen.
‘I am ready to listen, so fire away,’ Lucy said, shooting Lorenzo a sidelong glance, secretly amused. He was eyeing the pizza as if it was going to jump up and bite him, not the other way around. How were the mighty fallen … He must want something from her pretty badly to lower himself to sitting on a harbour wall and eating a takeaway pizza.
‘We have a problem, Lucy.’
There is no we were the words that sprang to mind, but Lucy resisted the urge to taunt him with the words he had used the last time they were together. Let him hang himself, she thought. There was something immensely satisfying in knowing that whatever Lorenzo was after he was not going to get it. Instead she picked up a chip and ate it.
‘We do?’ she queried. Stringing the superior devil along was going to be fun. Breaking off a piece of battered cod, she popped it in her mouth and glanced up at him with fake concern, licking her lips.
‘Yes.’ Lorenzo tore his gaze away from the small pink tongue running along her top lip. ‘Remember the wedding?’ She arched a delicate brow in his direction. Stupid question—of course she did. ‘Unfortunately Teresa Lanza called in to my mother to fill her in about the wedding—including the fact that Lucy Steadman was the bridesmaid. Then she showed her the photographs she had taken—quite a few of you and I.’
‘Is this story going anywhere?’ Lucy cut in. She had finished her fish and chips, and she had finished with Lorenzo, but sitting close to him on the wall, with the brush of his thigh against her own, was testing her resolve to the limit. Stringing him along had lost its appeal.
‘The upshot is that my mother wants me to invite you to visit her in Italy. She also wants to commission a portrait of Antonio. Obviously I don’t want you anywhere near her. I can put her off for a while, but unfortunately she is determined lady. If I don’t ask you she says she will ask you herself. If she does, you are to refuse any offer she makes.’
‘Don’t worry—I will. I’m not a masochist. Listening to you denigrating my brother and I was more than enough,’ Lucy said and, standing up, walked along the harbour to the nearest littler bin and deposited the carton in it.
Lorenzo followed her. She noted he hadn’t eaten even half the pizza as he tipped it in the bin, and wasn’t surprised. But she was surprised he had come all this way to tell her not to speak to his mother. That hurt. As if she needed telling again how low he thought her.
She walked on.
‘Wait, Lucy.’ He grasped her upper arm. ‘I have not finished.’
‘I have,’ she said flatly, glancing up at him and doing her best to ignore the warmth of his hand around her arm. ‘I’ve got the message loud and clear. I am not usually impolite, but if by any remote chance your mother calls me I will make an exception and tell her to get lost. As you said, no contact of any kind ever again between a Steadman and a Zanelli can only be a good thing—and you can start by letting go of my arm and getting out of my life for good.’
His face darkened, and if she wasn’t mistaken he looked almost embarrassed, but he did let go of her arm and she carried on walking back the way they’d come.
‘I don’t want you to be rude to her,’ he said, walking along beside her. ‘My mother does not know what I know about Damien. She believes your brother did his best to try and save Antonio, and I don’t want her disillusioned and hurt again. You must make no reference whatsoever to my argument with Damien. Total silence on the subject—do you understand?’
He glanced down at her, and Lucy had the spiteful thought that he had had no problem disillusioning her when she had for a moment imagined herself falling in love with him, or hurting her feelings. Why should his mother be exempt?
‘Okay, I’ll let her down gently but firmly and keep silent about you,’ she said, with a hint of sarcasm in her tone that went straight over his arrogant head.
‘Good. I propose that you regretfully suggest any reminder of Damien and Antonio upsets you so much you could not possibly face the prospect of bringing it all back—something along those lines. I’ll leave the excuses up to you—women are good at dissembling—and in return I will give you the bank’s holding in Steadman’s. Naturally my lawyer has drawn up a confidentiality agreement that will be binding on both sides. I have it in the car. All I need is for you to sign and it is a done deal.’
Lorenzo obviously adored his mother, and wanted to protect her, but he was just as controlling with the frail little woman as he was with everything else, Lucy thought. For a second she had been sympathetic to his predicament of trying to save his mother from any hurt, even though she knew he was wrong about Damien, but his insulting comment that women were basically good at lying, and his offer to buy her off with his bank’s share of Steadman’s, had killed any sympathy she felt stone-dead.
‘I’ll think about your offer as we walk back,’ she said noncommittally. But inside she was seething. He had no qualms about deceiving his mother, albeit he believed it to be for her own good. But that he had the arrogance—the gall—to ask Lucy to do the same, and say that he would pay her for her trouble, was beyond belief. The man thought he could buy anyone and anything, from sex to silence. She almost said no. But a grain of caution—not something she was known for—told her that just in case anything went wrong with her plan to save the factory she should say yes …
Lucy didn’t speak to him or look at him again, but she could feel his eyes on her—could sense the growing tension in him with every step she took until they finally reached her home.
‘So, Lucy, do your agree?’ he asked, stopping by his car.
‘Yes. But with one proviso … no, two,’ she amended. ‘If your mother calls I will not lie to her—though I will remain silent about you and Damien and refuse any invitation she may make politely and finally.’
‘Excellent.’ Lorenzo smiled cynically. Money never failed. He opened the car door to get the briefcase containing the documents.
Lucy wasn’t finished. ‘But as far as the confidentiality agreement goes—forget it. You will have to take my word. And as for commissioning a painting … wait here a minute.’
And while Lorenzo was hastily extracting himself from the car, with a resounding bump on his proud forehead, Lucy ducked inside the house, locking the door behind her.
She made straight for her studio at the rear of the gallery, ignoring the hammering on the front door. When she found what she was looking for among the stack of paintings she looked at it for a long moment, a sad, reflective smile on her face, before picking it up. About to leave, she hesitated. Finding her sketch of Lorenzo, she took that as well.
If Lucy had learnt anything over the last twelve years it was not to dwell on the past and what might have been but to cut her losses and get on with living. Straightening her shoulders, the painting and the sketch under her arm, she retraced her steps. She opened the door to see Lorenzo bristling with anger, his fist raised and ready to knock again.
‘I
