Betrayal (20 page)

'And we Italians believe that all Englishmen are bad lovers. I am quite sure such generalisations are ludicrous!'

Neal blinked in surprise. There was a look in Bellini's eyes that he didn't care for, and the insult was no less blatant for being disguised as a joke. He counted silently to ten, remembering that the Italian wouldn't always be in England but while he was he had to be treated civilly.

'Of course,' he managed at last. 'How are things in the banking world?'

'In the world in general, very good. For us personally, not quite so wonderful. I have much to do here. It is possible that our director is not entirely honest.'

'You were robbed a while back, weren't you?'

'That is my father's affair. I deal with more mundane matters.'

Like hell you do, thought Neal to himself. Not only was Renato physically big and fit, it was plain that his mind was razor sharp. This was no playboy on a trip to England to justify his income.

'How is your good wife?' asked Renato casually. 'Being good in the heart of the country.'

The Italian's eyes were appraising. 'We heard she was unwell.' 'She's asthmatic but that's under control. No, the truth is, Naomi doesn't care for the bright lights of London. She's a home bird at heart.'

'How fortunate then that you have the lovely Lisa to deputise for her.'

'Yes.'

'A beautiful companion and an understanding wife. Your life is well organised. Such a pity about Kay Masters.'

Neal stared at him. 'Did you know her?' 'We were acquainted.'

'I didn't know.'

Renato shrugged. 'It was nothing. Ships that pass in the night, yes? Now, perhaps we should join the ladies? I would like to talk to the young woman who spent a year studying art in my country and speaks only of the men she met there!'

'Felicity's talked of nothing but Italians since she got back.'

'Living proof that an empty head does not mean an empty bed. Personally, I prefer a woman of some intelligence.' 'You do?'

'Certainly! And you?'

'There can be disadvantages.' 'I suppose so.'

The conversation irritated Neal out of all proportion. Even when Bellini left with Felicity he continued to feel annoyed, and once all the guests had gone he vented his ill-humour on Lisa.

'When I asked you to be nice to Bellini, I didn't mean you had to monopolise him during the entire meal.'

Utterly exhausted, Lisa was sitting slumped on the very sofa where they had first become lovers. 'I couldn't stop him talking.'

'He must have been bowled over by your I.Q. He's keen on intelligent women.'

'Then he's in for a shock tonight. Felicity only reads strip cartoons.'

'You liked him, didn't you?' demanded Neal, standing in front of her and looking down on her bent head.

'I'm not too keen on such practised charm but he was pleasant enough.'

'Come now, you were head to head during dinner! What did you talk about if he wasn't charming you all the time?'

'His son,' she said wearily, unaware that Neal was both annoyed and jealous.

'I'd have thought a man of his education would have better things to talk about than a four-year-old child.'

'Perhaps he thought I wouldn't understand the intricacies of banking. Look, I'm tired and I'd imagined things went well tonight. If you aren't pleased, I'm sorry, but right now I want to go home.' 'I thought that was coming. You aren't exactly eager for love-making, are you?' 'Not tonight.' 'Not any night.'

She looked at him in surprise. 'That's not true. I enjoy it, but… ' 'I don't think you do enjoy it.'

Lisa felt like screaming at him to shut up. She was so tired she could scarcely concentrate on what he was saying. She knew that for the first time he was annoyed with her, but she didn't know what she'd done. 'I thought I'd made it plain enough.'

'You say the right things but you never climax, do you?' 'Look, this isn't really the right time… '

'Why not? I've already heard what rotten lovers Englishmen are once this evening. You could make it a double.'

She swallowed hard. He sounded so aggressive it was like going back in time. Surely she couldn't be making a second mistake? she thought frantically. 'Don't do this!' she shouted at last. 'I can't help it. If I'm not satisfactory you'd better find someone else but don't start picking a quarrel with me because I can't stand it, not again.' She burst into tears.

All the annoyance drained out of Neal and he looked at her shaking shoulders in consternation. How could he have been so stupid? he wondered. He'd let the Italian get under his skin and then risked losing Lisa simply because he hadn't been able to vent his annoyance on Bellini himself. Feeling ashamed he put a hand gently on the back of her neck.

'I'm sorry, darling. I can't think what got into me. I didn't mean it.' 'You did!' she sobbed. 'I know I'm not very good in bed yet, but I thought you understood. You seemed to, and I do like you making love to me. It's only that tonight I'm too tired.'

He sat next to her and pulled her against him, making soothing noises as he ran his fingers through her hair. 'It's all right,' he whispered. 'It was my fault not yours. I was jealous of the attention Bellini paid you.'

'Jealous?' She lifted her head in astonishment. 'Jealous of a business colleague?'

'I'm afraid so. He was sitting talking to you and I wasn't. Ludicrous, isn't it!'

She rested her face against his. 'I only talked to him because you asked me to.'

'You didn't find him attractive?'

She thought of the shiver of excitement that had gone through her when he'd kissed her hand and remembered the compassion she'd seen in his expressive eyes when she was talking about Jessica. 'No,' she lied. 'He isn't my type at all.'

He held her for a few more minutes and then took hold of her hand. 'I'll get you home. I suppose it's Jessica wearing you out again?'

'Not entirely. I've felt off colour all day.'

'Spend some time in bed tomorrow. On your own, of course!'

They both laughed and Lisa tried not to imagine what it might be like to lie next to the tall Italian, with the long-fingered, sensitive hands, who'd wanted to talk to her again. She didn't dare to think about him. Not now, when she was just beginning to believe that in Neal she had everything she could possibly want. No, this was no time for adolescent daydreams.

As dinner parties went this wasn't going to be a particularly exciting one, thought Renato Bellini ruefully as he struggled with his bow tie. He wouldn't have bothered to go if it weren't for the fact that their banking director had organised it especially in his honour. Refusal would have been insulting.

He glanced at his diary to see who he was taking with him before remembering that Giovanni had offered to supply an extra woman. Had, in fact, been most anxious to supply an extra woman. It didn't bother Renato; he would be charming and never see her again. His life was full of such women. Sometimes he wondered if they found it embarrassing. In their place, he would.

Before leaving, he looked in on his son. He was the complete opposite of his father, who worshiped him even more as a result. Renato lightly touched the sleeping boy's head and murmured a prayer for his safety. Of his mother, the gentle French girl, Helene, who had killed herself during post-natal depression, Renato thought not at all. The marriage had been good for business but she had never touched his heart. Only their child had managed that.

As he left the room, Luciano turned and murmured in his sleep. Did he think of his mother? wondered Renato. Was it possible that he could remember her? He'd only been ten months old when she died but there was the studio portrait by his bed that he always kissed at night, and probably there were fantasies that had assumed the stamp of reality over the years. He needed a mother, but Renato would never marry again without love. His marriage was the only time in his life that he'd felt lonely, an experience he had no wish to repeat.

His host and hostess greeted him effusively. There was a touch of anxiety in Giovanni Muti's eyes, but he hid it behind a spate of rapid Italian in which he gave Renato information on some of the guests before leading him to a small group of five, including the girl who was quite obviously the extra women.

'This is Deborah Sinclair,' said Giovanni with a note of pride. Renato wondered why being the third daughter of a minor Scottish earl should be considered any great achievement but plainly Giovanni was impressed by her. He took her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed the air above it; a token gesture that charmed whilst being meaningless.

Deborah, who'd seen Bellini several times in Italy and France without ever having been introduced, felt her pulse race but she kept her light blue eyes cool and smiled, her head tilted becomingly to the left because Terry O'Neill had once told her it gave her a kittenish charm.

Renato's dark eyes swept over her in swift appraisal. She was a little over average height, and her dark blonde hair was swept up into a complicated french pleat that would probably be quite difficult to release should he so wish.

She had a lovely complexion, but he'd noticed that this was true of most British women, and was certainly very attractive if not quite beautiful. He moved slightly closer to her, not close enough for their bodies to touch but close enough for her to think that they might, and smiled carefully.

'Giovanni tells me you work ,' he said smoothly, wondering why he was bothering to soften his voice when she really didn't interest him at all.

'Not exactly. I've set up my own bureau in London. I put people in touch with other people who work!'

'I do not understand.'

'Well, I don't actually do anything. I don't design clothes or help in a nursery school or cook meals for people's parties, but I know loads of people who actually do these things and I give their names and numbers to other people who want a dress by a new designer or… '

'Or a child from a nursery school?' he queried, half-turning his body towards her and thus effectively isolating them from the rest of the group. She managed a flicker of a smile but he decided that humour wasn't her style.

'You do get paid?' he asked, wondering if her dress was a Saint Laurent. It was a fuchsia pink velvet with a plunging neckline, crossing over at mid-thigh and caught up by a black bow beneath her left breast. This meant that he could see the top of her breasts, virtually all of her legs—which were shapely and attractive—but none of her arms or hands because it was long-sleeved and she wore matching wrist-length gloves with three buttons on the side. He thought he'd enjoy peeling off the gloves.

'I get some commission if that's what you mean.' She was plainly embarrassed. 'The main thing is, it makes me feel useful,' she rushed on. 'I got so tired of doing nothing all day. Sometimes I used to go off to Paris on a spending spree because I was utterly bored. That can't be right, can it? Not when children are starving in Ethiopia.'

'I doubt if they'd begrudge you your Parisian wardrobe. They're more interested in food than clothes!'

'Now you're teasing me!' She gave a little giggle that could have come from the mouth of Fiona, Isabella, Alexandra or any of the other girls he'd met in London recently.

'Just a little,' he agreed, putting a hand lightly on her left wrist and drawing her away from the group. 'Let's find ourselves another drink and some space,' he suggested, feeling guilty because he was being totally irrational tonight.

Deborah was probably a very nice girl, and she was typical of all the women he met these days. These were people he was used to, the type of women he'd always enjoyed. Until yesterday night when he saw Neal Gueras's girlfriend. He glanced down at Deborah's upturned face and saw that her mouth was soft and moist. He might take her home with him after all. He could hardly start leading the life of a monk because of a woman he didn't really know.

'What do you think of him?' Eleanor Muti asked Deborah as they went in to dinner.

'Divine! He's so exciting. And those eyes! I feel as though he's looking right through me and knows everything I'm thinking!'

'He's single!' laughed Eleanor. 'What a catch he'd be. He's incredibly rich, you know. Italian bankers always are.'

'Giovanni's an Italian banker. '

'He only works for Renato's family. He doesn't own any bank. I wish he did.'

'You're not exactly poor, darling!' responded Deborah a trifle tartly.

'Heaven forbid, but there's money and there's money! Come along, Julia St Clair's been watching you both like a hawk. She's obviously longing to get herself introduced to Renato, and you know what she's like once she's got a foot in the door.'

'I haven't heard anything about her feet!' laughed Deborah, and the two women went into the dining-room together.

Renato ate the salmon mousse, the poached turbot, the pink roast beef and the strawberry shortcake automatically, but afterwards he couldn't have said what he'd eaten. His attention had been caught by a young woman further down the table. She had titian hair that fell in carefully controlled ringlets to her exposed shoulders, and her black taffeta dress rustled every time she moved, making him think of silk underwear and creamy skin that a man could bury himself in.