At The Italian's Command. Cathy Williams
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mouth twitched with unconcealed amusement. ‘Yes,’ he said gravely, ‘it’s all highly illegal goings-on and I don’t want you there in case you blow my cover.’
‘Very funny, Rafe. Why can’t you try and treat me like an adult?’
‘Okay. Meet me there at nine-fifteen. I’ll make my own way there and get George to collect you from your house. Satisfied?’
‘Very. Thank you.’ She sat back and gave him a smug smile. ‘Have a nice evening.’
She felt curiously alive for the remainder of the evening. The project was going well, she told herself, hence her high spirits. The image of Rafe, dressed to kill, floated in her head and she squashed the picture hurriedly. He wasn’t a man to her, he was an object of an exercise.
Still, she took care dressing the following morning. Instead of her normal attire of flowing skirt and jumper, she wore a pair of grey trousers and a slim-fitting woollen grey top with little pearl buttons halfway down the front, something she had worn a couple of times to functions at her previous office. As an afterthought, she did away with the assortment of useless clips and instead braided her hair into a French plait. Not quite as neat, but less severe than scraping the lot back and at least escaping tendrils wouldn’t look so inappropriate.
With her briefcase and her now dry coat, she arrived at the small, shabby building feeling the epitome of the career girl.
Her mother, she thought, would be startled and a little taken aback at the image. Grace had always wanted her daughter to work, somehow, in the field of art. Granted, the publishing job met with slightly more favour than the office one had, but anything that essentially lacked creativity would be a disappointing waste of her daughter’s talent as far as she was concerned.
Sophie resolved to live up to her image and make sure that there were no emotional outbursts of any kind. Hence the brisk smile on her face as she greeted Rafe, who nodded curtly at her. Next to him was an elderly man, short, plump, with anxious, kindly eyes and a shiny grey suit that looked clean but old. The small front room was empty and, with the exception of a young girl behind a desk manning two phones, there was no sign of activity anywhere. Not a place she would have associated with the thrusting Rafael Loro, although he looked not in the slightest ill at ease with his surroundings. If anything, he seemed impatient to be off, quickly introducing her and then cutting short pleasantries by glancing at his watch.
‘I want to get this wrapped up as soon as possible, Bob,’ he said, practically herding them towards a door at the side of the room. ‘We’ve chatted enough times and now I want your answer.’
Sophie trailed behind them, watching their body language from behind. The old man’s somehow defeated, Rafe’s eloquent of that restless energy that could be so unnerving.
‘It’s a big decision, Mr Loro,’ Bob said as soon as the door was closed behind them. He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and rested both arms on the table separating them. Sitting just behind him, she couldn’t see the expression on his face, but from his voice she could tell that whatever transaction was being completed was not to the old man’s liking.
‘It’s not really that big, Bob.’ Rafe’s voice implied that he had gone over this ground many times before. ‘Your company is on the rocks without hope of salvation. You owe people left, right and centre. You have had to lay off the majority of your staff and those who remain do so without any certainty of payment. I am offering to take all those cares off your hands.’
‘It’s a family company, Mr Loro! My grandfather built this up from scratch.’
‘And would hate to have seen it in the hands of receivers, who can be very impersonal when they do their job.’
And so it went on over a painful hour and a half. Rafe, brutally realistic and determined, the old man looking for ways of making the sale less unpalatable.
Eventually, Rafe looked at his watch and stood up. No handshake this time. He merely looked dispassionately at Bob and said in a low, level voice, ‘We’ve run out of talk now. You either sell or you don’t, and I’m giving you precisely one week to put my offer to your family. If you agree, then I will fix up all the necessary meetings with lawyers. If you don’t…’ He shrugged, heading for the door. ‘The world is full of sharks and if you think that I am one of them, then let me tell you that there are many with far sharper teeth.’
‘How could you?’ Sophie accused as soon as they were once more in the car. George had stayed on the premises, obviously warned in advance that their meeting would not be an all-day event.
‘How could I what?’ Rafe’s voice was cold and silky.
‘That poor old man. He was utterly intimidated by you!’
‘You’re shadowing me, Sophie, not offering comments on how I run my business. My advice to you is to stick to what you know.’
‘I know basic decency!’
‘You know nothing,’ Rafe intoned coldly. He turned to her as soon as they were in the car. ‘Life isn’t about living in a cosy little cocoon. It’s about being one step ahead of the game. Take notes, Sophie, because this bit’s important. I’m where I am today because I stay ahead of the game. It’s not a crime and it’s not a sin, it’s just life.’
‘You mean you stay ahead of the game at the expense of other people!’
Rafe looked at her flushed face through narrowed eyes. Just about now, he should shrug and let her stew in her own blinkered misconceptions. After all, since when did he ever feel compelled to justify his behaviour to anyone? His mother, yes, perhaps, but even she knew that what he did in business was not her concern.
‘I’m saving Bob from a worse fate,’ he said finally. ‘His company has made furniture for decades and with each passing year the demand for expensive handmade furniture has become less and less. It can’t compete with the cheap imitations and that’s just a fact of life, whether you like it or not. So here’s the simple equation for you—either Bob sells to me, and my offer is about the most generous he’ll get, or he goes under, sees every small asset whipped away from under him and finds himself liable for his outstanding debts, which are not inconsiderable. There is no way he can sell the company as a going concern.’
‘Then why are you so interested in buying it?’
Rafe sighed irritably. ‘Why are you so interested in the outcome of a deal you will have long left behind you in a few days’ time?’
‘Because it’s a reflection of you!’ Sophie told him. ‘Which,’ she made sure to add quickly, ‘is what I’m here for. To find out about you.’ Her blue eyes tangled with his green ones and something inside her stirred uneasily. Was that the whole truth? The question fluttered inside her, just a shadowy thought that gently tugged at the foundations, nothing alarming, just…
She gave him a bright, conciliatory smile. ‘Hence the nosiness. I know you don’t like it, but you could say that it’s my job…’
‘Okay. Here’s a question for you, in that case—what did you notice about the building?’
Sophie frowned in puzzlement. ‘It seemed a little tired and very quiet…’
‘And also sitting in quite a bit of derelict land, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘You’re buying that poor man’s family business because of the land?’
Rafe flushed, annoyed with himself for offering an explanation that was essentially none of her business. What had possessed him? The girl was like a damned dog with a bone, a small, energetic, questioning and highly irritating dog. Furthermore that horrified, accusatory look in her eyes was getting on his nerves.
‘What exactly is your problem here?’
‘What are you going to do with the land? It’s in the middle of nowhere!’
‘I am going to sit on it for a while