every two seconds, ignored the question.
‘I want to get back before it gets dark.’ Sam felt guilty when her friend’s face dropped, but stuck to her guns. She was pretty sure that if called upon to make polite small talk with Alessandro she might make a total fool of herself. Whether this would involve slapping him or begging him to kiss her was a matter she didn’t want to think too hard about!
‘I thought you were staying with your mum and dad tonight?’
That was before one of your guests kissed me and I kissed him back. ‘Change of plan.’ She flashed a smile. Her guilt injected a couple of extra million volts into it.
Emma took in the brilliance and grinned back. ‘What’s his name? Do I know him? Are we talking husband material?’
An image of Alessandro’s dark, devastating features flashed into Sam’s head. Anything less like husband material would be hard to find. Some women would just look, but there would always be those ready and willing to lead him astray.
She wasn’t saying being totally gorgeous to look at automatically made a man incapable of fidelity, but it would take a woman who was supremely confident in herself to be able to take the covetous stares of other women in her stride.
The woman who married Alessandro would have to be a supremely confident creature or totally gorgeous—probably both. In short the female equivalent of him.
‘I had a phone call…publisher…’ She shrugged.
Emma looked dissatisfied by her response, but beyond subjecting her friend to an uncomfortably searching look made no further protests beyond, ‘Well, you definitely can’t go without saying goodbye to Paul. When last seen,’ she revealed with a smile, ‘he had retreated with half the other men to the Orangerie. I think they’re talking cricket.’ She rolled her eyes.
‘Lead on,’ Sam said, picking up her handbag and following her friend down the plush carpeted corridor that led to the Orangerie. Emma’s husband, Paul, and half a dozen of the other male guests were indeed there, but they weren’t talking cricket. They were huddled in one corner displaying varying degrees of horror and discomfort as they watched the object responsible for the ear-splitting din that Sam had heard halfway down the corridor.
When Sam had last seen the blond-haired three-year-old he had been enchanting the adults with his sunny smile and a lisping rendition of a nursery rhyme. Now he was lying in the middle of the floor, his red tear-stained face contorted with fury, as he screeched and drummed his heels on the floor.
On seeing his wife, Paul Metcalf hurried across. ‘Thank God you’re here, Emma. It’s Harry. Simon got a call, and he asked me to keep an eye on Harry for a minute.’
‘How long,’ Emma asked, wincing as the toddler hit a high note, ‘has he been like that?’
‘It feels like hours,’ her harassed husband responded dourly.
Emma exchanged glances with Sam. ‘I think he needs his mum. Do you know where Rachel is, Sam?’
Sam shook her head. ‘Shall I go and look for her?’
Despite the fact that Rachel, whose father was the local vicar, was a couple of years older than both herself and Emma, the three girls had always been inseparable. And, unlike many childhood alliances, theirs had not fizzled out when they reached adulthood and went their separate ways. Rachel, who combined a career in banking with being wife to a very dishy New Yorker, had asked Sam to be godmother to Harry, her firstborn. When she had uprooted and followed her husband to the States the previous year both Sam and Emma had visited, but had been delighted when Simon’s firm had decided to resettle them in London.
Paul caught Sam’s arm. ‘No, you stay here. I’ll go,’ he offered eagerly, before his wife told him very firmly to stay put.
Sam paused before going to console her godson, her amused glance sliding around the group of men. ‘Didn’t it occur to any of you lot to do anything for the poor little mite?’
‘Have you seen the state of him?’ her indignant host demanded, speaking on behalf of the other men present. ‘There is enough chocolate cake on that kid to feed the five thousand, and I’m wearing my best suit. And,’ he added, eyeing the flailing legs, ‘the “poor little mite” has a kick like a mule.’
‘Wimp!’ his wife retorted scornfully.
‘This situation obviously calls for the female touch,’ Paul observed with dignity. ‘Either that or a good child psychologist,’ he added under his breath.
Emma caught his arm. ‘You think so?’ she said. ‘Look at that,’ she invited, venting a loud, incredulous laugh as she nodded towards the prone toddler. ‘He doesn’t seem too bothered about getting his suit dirty. My God—this is marvellous!’
Along with Paul, Sam turned in time to see a tall, elegant figure squat down beside the screaming youngster. She watched in total amazement as Alessandro, balancing on his heels and appearing totally unfazed by the pandemonium or the risk to his designer suit, began to talk casually to the screaming toddler.
‘The man has guts—I’ll give him that.’ Paul’s brows knitted as an expression of horror spread across his face. ‘Our sweet little Laurie is never going to do anything like that, is she…?’
Ignoring her husband’s worried enquiry, her fascinated gaze trained on the man and baby, Emma said knowledgeably to Sam, ‘It’s a cultural thing. Mediterranean men have no problem showing affection to babies and children—unlike our homegrown variety…’ she added, directing a scornful sniff towards her spouse.
Alessandro carried on talking as he loosened the knot on his tie. Sam was too far away to make out what he was saying, but the child obviously could, and it appeared to have an immediate and nothing short of magical effect on the distraught youngster.
‘My God!’ Emma breathed, as the child’s cries became noticeably less strident, then faded totally. ‘What is he saying, do you suppose?’ she wondered in an awed undertone.
The child lifted his tear-stained face towards Alessandro and chuckled.
Sam didn’t respond. For some insane reason, when she saw Alessandro respond to the child with a smile that made him look relaxed and at least ten years younger, she got an empty, aching feeling in the pit of her stomach.
‘Come!’
Responding to Alessandro’s imperious command and to his open arms, the toddler climbed into them without a moment’s hesitation and wound his grubby hands around the man’s neck.
There were several gruff murmurs of appreciation as Alessandro got to his feet.
The genuine quality of Alessandro’s smile became—to Sam’s mind, at least—forced when he noticed her. Sam, the lapel of her criminally unattractive suit clasped in one hand, expelled a gusty breath and tried to act as if every nerve in her body wasn’t screaming.
Beautiful man…baby…the whole thing was so painfully clichéd she would have to be a total idiot to fall for it. But falling she was…Oh, what is wrong with me? I must be one of those women who are only attracted when there’s no chance of their feelings being returned, she decided. Even if in this case they were shallow and lustful. A shrink would have a field-day
