Surprised by Love (5 page)

Quietly,
Alessandro asked, “What happened to her?”

Connie
smiled.  “I told her I would put her up in the Hilton overnight, and take
her the next day to Bob’s lawyer, Marcella Mellis.  Actually, she is my
lawyer, not Bob’s.  But I spoke to Marcella later that day and she agreed
to make sure that Violet got the inheritance Bob had left me—several million
dollars.”  She made a little moue.  “He was reasonably well off, but
he wasn’t as rich as he wanted people to believe.  Anyway, from what
Violet told me, it was obvious that Bob had made no provisions for her at
all—maybe he thought there was lots of time to do that—and then there was that
terrible accident.”

Connie
smiled.  “In any case, having the money made Violet’s mourning a bit
easier.  Fortunately she decided to move back to Nebraska, where her
parents and other relatives lived—in modest circumstances, it seemed to me from
some things she said.  I was glad she was leaving Florida—less chance of
her finding out that her marriage had been bigamous.”

Alessandro
picked up Connie’s hand and brought it to his lips.  “That was a very kind
and generous thing you did for Violet,” he said.  “Having got to know you
a bit, may I say that it doesn’t surprise me in the least?  Even when I
first met you, I sensed your generous nature.”

Connie
smiled.  “Help me polish my halo?”

Alessandro
laughed.  “I’ll buy you a self-polishing halo,” he promised, and got to
his feet to pour more
Krug. 
 

 ****

Their
dinner at the
Café de Paris
was delicious.  Somewhat to Connie’s
surprise, she discovered that Alessandro had asked Lucien, the
maître d’,
and Henri, the
sommelier,
to devise a dinner for them.  Alessandro
said calmly, “I don’t want my dinner guest hunting through the menu trying to
find something to eat.”

“You’re
right, I much prefer to sit down to a dinner that has been planned for me—for
us.  Thank you.”

Their
dessert platter was brought, and there were six different desserts to choose
from.  By this time, they had become friends, it seemed to
Alessandro,  and he was amused when Connie offered him a taste of her
dessert.  Declaring hers delicious, he quickly reciprocated—letting her
taste his.  Neither of them seemed to notice that they were feeding each
other desserts by the spoonful, and having an amazingly good time doing
this.     

Both
refused refills of the espresso, and Alessandro asked, “Would you like to walk
on the beach for a while before I take you home?”

Connie
glanced at him, surprised.  “I’d love it, Alessandro.  How did that
occur to you?”

He
shrugged one shoulder negligently.  “I didn’t want our evening to end
yet.  You?”

Oops—that
puts me on the spot.  Still, might as well be truthful.

“Yes,
I agree with you.  Let’s prolong our evening with a walk.”

“I’m
very glad you feel that way, Connie.”

Chapter
4.

At
the office, Connie’s conduct seemed to be the same as always, and yet
Alessandro sensed that a change had taken place in their relationship.  A
week later, he strolled into her office. 

“How
soon can you be ready to come with me to Italy?”

Connie
glanced at him in some surprise.  “As soon as I have managed to book us on
Alitalia…”

Alessandro
shook his head.  “Didn’t I tell you?  I have another plane, big
enough for transatlantic flights.”

Connie
nodded.  “Alice is up to speed to deal with developments on all our
current projects.”

Alessandro
smiled.  “I know you’ve got the business end under control—I expected
nothing less.  How soon can you be packed?  Take some formal dresses,
we will have to attend some dinners, receptions, not to mention working
luncheons.  And we’ll have to sit through at least one of my mother’s dinners.”

Connie
gazed at him in surprise.  “Your mother will expect me to attend one of
her dinners?”

Alessandro
nodded.  “In spite of the fact that I’ve told her you are my PA,  she
will want to make sure I don’t get any ideas about you, nor you about me.” He
grinned ruefully.  “Particularly not you about me.  She will give a
dinner with at least three convent-educated ninnies, I will be seated between
two of them, the other one across, and you will be sitting as far from me as
possible.  She will then bore you with tales about my having to marry the
proper bloodlines and only the daughters of most highly regarded families will
be considered.”  He laughed.  “In her dreams.” 

Suddenly
he looked like a mischievous schoolboy.  “She doesn’t realize that I will
not tolerate any of that, and will stop her in her tracks before she can get
started.  First, I’ll tell one of the ninnies to change places with you.”

“Alessandro,
you mustn’t!”

“Trust
me, I’ll do just that.”

****

Vespucci,
Florence’s
international airport, around noon.

Connie
was used to flying in private planes, but she admitted to herself that the
quiet luxury of Alessandro’s big plane was impressive.  She was amused
when the flight attendant proved to be a young man.  Slanting a look at
Alessandro, she saw him grinning at her.  “Why stack the deck against me
on purpose?  I want to have a restful time when I’m flying
somewhere.” 

They
belted themselves in for take-off, and when the seatbelt sign went off,
Alessandro said, “Let me show you the amenities.”  He gestured
ahead.  “That door is my own bedroom suite.  This door here—” he
opened it—“is yours.”   He glanced inside and nodded,
satisfied.  “Your luggage has already been placed here.  Would you
like to freshen up?  I’m going to.”

Connie
nodded and entered her suite—pleased by her surroundings—a room done in ivory,
pale coffee and light blue.    When she had washed her hands,
she went out again, taking her laptop.  She sat down on one of the
love-seats facing each other across a beautifully carpeted area in the centre
of the plane, her laptop on her lap.  This would indicate to Alessandro
that she was ready to do whatever work he needed her to do.

To
her surprise, Alessandro shook his head at her, as he sat down beside
her.  “No work on our flight.  We’ll just relax and be
passengers.  Is there anything you’d like to do?”

Like
what?
Connie wondered, and he seemed to read her mind again,
suggesting, “Reading, or we could play four-handed
patience?”

Connie
glanced up, surprised.  “My father and I used to play that, with playing
cards that were about half the size of regular cards…”

“You
too?”  He smiled.  “I used to play it with my father.  Want to
try?”

Alessandro
unanchored a side-table and placed it between their knees against the
love-seat.  He opened a drawer in the table and took out a double pack of
small playing cards.  “Look familiar?” he asked.  Connie nodded,
delighted.

They
played two games, and were obviously well matched—Alessandro won the first,
Connie the second.  

At
a signal from Alessandro, the attendant brought a platter of small snacks, and
a deliciously cool, still wine.  “I don’t like drinking champagne just
before retiring for the night, too fizzy.  This is the best white wine
from my vineyards.  See what you think?”

Connie
sipped and her eyes widened.  “This is exceptional, Alessandro!” she
exclaimed.  He smiled, glad that she liked his favourite wine.

“We’ll
land around noon local time, which will feel like 6 a.m. Florida time,” he
warned.  “We’d better try to get some sleep.  Maybe the wine will
help.”  He got to his feet, holding out a hand to Connie, who took it, and
felt herself pulled up.  They walked together to her bedroom, and
Alessandro said, “Good night, Connie.”

“Good
night, Alessandro,” she echoed, and went into her room.

****

After
a minimum of formalities on arriving at Florence’s airport—during which Connie
heard
‘Conte’
a number of times—Alessandro took Connie over to a sleek,
black limousine, a uniformed chauffeur holding the rear door open.

“When
we drive to the vineyards, I’ll drive us myself.  I prefer having the limo
when arriving at the airport, and when going to business appointments,” he
explained. 

When
Connie nodded, he went on.  “There’s something else—I would like you to
stay at my penthouse, rather than at an hotel.  This is your first visit
to Florence, isn’t it?”  Connie nodded again.  “As I thought.  I
don’t want you alone, trying to cope with people whose grip on English might be
tenuous at best…”

“I
do speak a little Italian,” Connie said.  “But I prefer your penthouse to
an hotel.  More efficient for one thing.  All that phoning back and
forth…”

“I’m
glad you agree with me on this.”  He slanted her a glance.  “I should
warn you that my mother will put the most sordid interpretation on it.” 
He shook his dark head.  “Amazing how carefully brought up ladies always
assume the worst of everybody—and particularly their sons.”

“That
won’t bother me,” Connie said sunnily.  “There was a certain amount of
speculation when I was Leandros’s PA.  His first wife didn’t care, but
rode herd assiduously—I suspected her of hoping to find ammunition against
him.  His second wife knew that Leandros only had eyes for her.  That
was what mattered.  I’ve never cared what ‘people’ might think about
me.”        

“A
considerable difference with your late husband’s views.”

Connie
grinned.  “You got that right.”

****

When
the limo slowed, Connie realized to her susprise that they had arrived at an
elegant
palazzo. 
There was no other word to describe the imposing
 building set in spacious grounds.  Tall wrought-iron gates opened
automatically, and they were driven through beautiful gardens to a canopied
side-entrance.  The chauffeur quickly opened the door on Alessandro’s
side.  Connie was glad when she could follow his rapid Italian. 
“Thank you, Aldo,” he said.  “You take the rest of the day off—we’ll get
acclimatized to the different time-zone.”

“Grazie,
Signor Conte,”
said Aldo, and—after assisting his passengers out of
the limo—he got their luggage out of the trunk, walking with it to a small,
private elevator inside the
palazzo’s
wide entrance hall.
 On
a signal from Alessandro, he put the luggage into the elevator, stepping back
quickly.   
                                        

“I’ll
phone you tomorrow when I’ve decided what we’ll be doing.”

“Grazie,
Signor Conte,”
Aldo replied, and left them.

I’ll
have to remember to call him Conte in business situations,
Connie
mused. 

Alessandro
said, “Took me a while to wean Aldo from yelling “
Excellenza!”
at every
turn.”  He shrugged and gestured for Connie to step into the
elevator.  He pressed the top button, and they ascended to his eyrie.

 “You
like top floors,” Connie observed, and Alessandro nodded.  “I like the
views,” he explained briefly.  When the elevator stopped, a dignified man
of middle age bowed to Alessandro. “
Signor Conte,”
he murmured,
gesturing to another man to take the luggage.  The man took the luggage
some 10 feet away, and then seemed to wait for the older man to give
instructions.

Alessandro
said, “Nìccolo.  I’m glad to be home again.”  He turned to
Connie.  “My major-domo, Nìccolo Manuali.  Nìccolo bowed. 
Gesturing to Connie, Alessandro said, “This lady is my guest,
Signora
Sherwood.  She will have the first guest room.”  Nìccolo gestured to
the other man, who picked up the luggage and disappeared.

Alessandro
said to Connie, “He’ll take your luggage to your suite.  When you’ve
freshened up, come to the main reception room,” he casually indicated a
spacious room to his left, “and I’ll give you a tour of the penthouse.” 
He turned to Nìccolo.  “Will you bring us some of my best white wine?”

“Immediately,
Signor Conte.”  
Nìccolo walked away as fast as his dignity would
allow, evidently in search of the wine Alessandro had asked for.

 “Who
else lives here, Alessandro?”

“No
one—I own the
palazzo. 
Of course the staff maintains the other
floors properly, but I never bother to go there.  A bone of contention
with my mother, who would like nothing better than to help me give party after
party here.”  He shrugged fastidiously.  “Not while I still breathe.”

Connie
had merely glanced at the smaller reception room when Alessandro showed her
around.  Now, she gazed about her, entranced. Exceptional antiques,
classic Italian furniture and furnishings, silk-covered walls, paintings again
suspended from a plate-rail about a foot below the high, coffered
ceiling.  She glanced at some of the
objets d’art,
particularly a
collection of jewel-studded gold and silver boxes.