Tall, Dark and Italian. Carol Marinelli
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Because you are here?’ He snapped his long fingers impatiently. ‘You bought tickets to Milano but you must have changed planes at Genova. When the plane landed at Malpensa, you and Marco were not on board. Di conseguenza, I had no choice but to come here. Be thankful I have found you.’
‘But, I’m not—’
‘Prego ?’
‘I mean—’ Tess knew she sounded crazy ‘—I’m not Miss Daniels. Well, I am.’ Oh, God, if only she could get her words straight. ‘But I’m not Miss Ashley Daniels. She’s my sister.’
The man’s eyes conveyed his disbelief. ‘Is that the best you can do?’
‘It’s the truth.’ Tess was indignant now. ‘My name is Tess. Teresa, actually. But no one calls me that.’
His eyes, those strange predator’s eyes, swept over her, rejecting her contention out of hand. ‘It’s the truth,’ she said again, unknowingly defensive. Then, on a wave of inspiration, ‘I can prove it. I have my passport with me. Is that good enough for you?’
The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘Let me see it.’
Tess’s eyes widened at the command but there was something about him that made her hurry into the office to collect her bag. The passport was zipped into the side pocket of the backpack and she brought it out triumphantly. But when she turned to go back into the showroom she found he was behind her and with a gesture of defiance she thrust it into his hand.
He was successfully blocking her exit now, she realised, aware of a stirring sense of panic. What did she know about this man, after all? Only that he apparently knew her sister—or rather knew of her—and what he knew seemed hardly flattering.
Or true?
‘Look,’ she said as he continued to flick through the mostly empty pages of her passport, ‘I don’t know who you are or what you want but I don’t think you have any right to come in here and accuse me—accuse Ashley—of—of—’
‘Kidnapping my son?’ he suggested scornfully, tossing the passport down onto the desk, and Tess’s heart skipped a beat at the ridiculous accusation. ‘Attenzione, Miss Daniels,’ he added, sweeping back the thick swathe of dark hair that had invaded his forehead as he studied the pages, ‘just because you are not your sister changes nothing. Marco is still missing. He left with your sister. Therefore, you must have some idea where they are.’
‘No!’ Tess hardly knew what she was saying. ‘I mean—I do know where Ashley is. She’s at her mother’s house in England. Her mother is ill. Ashley is looking after her.’
His expression didn’t alter. ‘And that is why you are here taking her place?’
‘Yes. I’m a schoolteacher. I was on holiday. That’s how I was able to help her out.’
‘You are lying, Miss Daniels. Why are you not caring for your mother? I have just read in your passport that you live in England. So tell me why you are not taking care of your mother in your sister’s place?’
‘She’s not my mother,’ Tess exclaimed hotly. ‘My father married again after my mother died.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Now, I think that answers your question. I’m sorry your son is missing but it’s nothing to do with us.’
‘You are wrong.’ He didn’t accept her explanation but at least he stepped back into the passageway to give her some room. When Tess escaped into the comparative safety of the showroom, he followed her. ‘Whatever you say, Miss Daniels, your sister is not caring for her sick mother,’ he insisted. ‘She and Marco are still in Italy. He does not have his passport with him, capisce?’
Tess pressed nervous hands to her bare midriff, feeling the quivering beat of her heart palpating between her ribs. ‘You said—she’d kidnapped him,’ she reminded him tensely. ‘That’s a ridiculous accusation. If—and it’s a big if—Ashley and your son are together, then surely that’s their affair, not yours?’ ‘Non credo. I do not think so.’ He was contemptuous. ‘My son is sixteen years of age, Miss Daniels. He belongs in school, with young people of his own age, not chasing around the country after your sister.’
Tess swallowed convulsively. Sixteen! She couldn’t believe it. Ashley wouldn’t—couldn’t—be involved with a boy of sixteen! The whole idea was laughable. Involved with him, perhaps. That Tess could believe. But not with his teenage son.
Besides, she told herself again, clinging to what she knew and not what he suspected, Ashley was in England. Dammit, she’d spoken to her just a couple of nights ago. That was why Tess was spending part of her Easter break filling in for her. Ashley couldn’t leave the gallery unattended and she’d promised it would only be for a few days.
‘If you’ve not met my sister, how can you be sure that she’s involved?’ she asked unwillingly, realising she couldn’t dismiss his claim out of hand. Ashley might not have been in England when she’d phoned her. She could have used her mobile. How could she be sure?
The man gave her an impatient look now. ‘I may have met her once, but that was some months ago and I have met many people since then. In any case, the person who has been watching her would not make a mistake. I have been out of the country, regrettably, but my assistant contacted your sister just a week ago. She swore then that she would speak to Marco, that she would tell him there was no future in their—association. She is what? Twenty-four? Twenty-five? Much too old for a boy of sixteen.’
Tess pressed her lips together. ‘She’s twenty-eight, actually,’ she said, as if that made any difference, and watched his scowl deepen as he absorbed her words. She didn’t know what to say; she hardly knew what to think. But if it was true, she agreed with him. Could Ashley have told her an outright lie?
She could, she reflected ruefully. And she had to admit that when Ashley had asked her to help her out while she took care of her mother, it had seemed a little out of character. Ashley’s mother, Andrea, had never been a particularly strong woman and since their father had died of a heart attack just over a year ago, she’d suffered from a series of minor complaints. Tess had suspected that that was why Ashley had taken this job in Italy. Looking after a fretful parent who was halfway to being a hypochondriac had never seemed her style.
All the same, this situation was no less incredible. Surely even Ashley would draw the line at getting involved with a boy of sixteen? There was only one way to find out and that was to ring Ashley’s mother. But Tess was loath to do it. If Ashley was there, it would look as if she didn’t trust her.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ she murmured now, her fingers threading anxiously through the wisps of pale blonde hair at her nape. She’d had her hair cut before she came away and she wasn’t totally convinced the gamine style suited her. She’d hoped it would give her some maturity, but she had the feeling it hadn’t succeeded. He was looking at her as if she were no older than one of her own pupils. Oh, Lord, what was she going to do?
‘You could tell me where they are,’ the man declared tersely. ‘I realise you must feel some loyalty towards your sister, but you must also see that this situation cannot be allowed to continue.’
‘I don’t know where they are,’ Tess insisted. ‘Honestly, I don’t.’ And then, realising what she’d said, she added hastily, ‘As far as I know, Ashley’s in England, as I said.’
‘Bene, then you can ring her,’ he said, voicing the thought Tess had had a few minutes before. ‘If she is with her mother, I will offer you my sincerest apologies for troubling you.’
‘And if she’s not?’
Tess looked up at him, unable to disguise her apprehension, and for a moment she thought he was going to relent. But then, with a tightening of his lips, he corrected her. ‘You are confident she will be there,’ he said, and she had the fanciful thought that this man would take no prisoners. She just hoped Ashley had taken that into consideration before