Italian Tycoon, Secret Son. Lucy Gordon
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but this truth is very interesting. You are an unspeakable scoundrel—’
‘No doubt about it.’
‘A crook—’
‘Guilty.’
‘A ham actor—’
‘That’s going too far.’
‘A fraud, a man without scruple—’
He’d reached the door now, opened it, paused in the gap.
‘I just want to say that you were brilliant,’ he said quickly.
‘Go!’
‘And thank you.’
‘If you don’t get out of here—’
He paused just long enough to blow her a kiss. Then he was gone.
Mandy stood, torn between exasperation and laughter. He was everything she’d called him and worse, but she felt mysteriously invigorated as never before in her life.
Swiftly she put out the lights, tossed aside the robe and jumped into bed, mulling him over.
Where did he come from? She’d heard him mutter to himself in Italian, and he spoke in a Continental accent.
What had possessed him to make those crazy jumps? Fear of an enraged husband? No way. He was a lithe and powerful athlete who could have handled any number of husbands. Yet he’d chosen to run for it, risking his life in the process.
A man without fear, then, but also a man with some very kooky values. The way he’d said, ‘She swore she was divorced, and how’s a man to know?’ implied many other similar incidents.
And it didn’t bother him. It was just how he lived, from one woman to the next. He loved, he escaped, he went on. And he laughed. He’d been laughing all the time she’d berated him, not outwardly but inside. It had been there in his whole attitude, but mostly in his gleaming eyes.
Curse him for seeing her robe fall open. Just let him dare get ideas about her. She didn’t have a husband, but she did have a very useful left hook.
The thought made her feel better, and she fell asleep.
Next morning Mandy set out to walk the short distance through the snow-lined streets of Chamonix that led to the office where she was to join the expedition. Up ahead loomed the dazzling white mountains, inviting her to forget everything earthbound.
As she reached the office of Pierre Foule, expedition organiser, she could see a group of young people outside, looking around and up, impatient for the pleasure to begin.
‘When I told them at work that I was going to be climbing the Alps,’ a man was saying, ‘they were really impressed. Especially the girls.’
‘And aren’t you just going to make the most of it when you get back!’ another man ribbed him.
From behind Mandy a young female voice joined in the banter. ‘You want to be careful. These days we climb them ourselves, and we get to the top before you.’
There was a good-natured laugh. Mandy turned to see a woman of about her own age, with a cheerful face and a robust appearance.
‘Hi, I’m Joan Hunter,’ she said. ‘I’m going on the Mont Blanc trip.’
‘Me too. I’m Mandy Jenkins.’
They looked each other over approvingly.
‘I’ve just been in there to register,’ Joan said. ‘But it’s a madhouse. Pierre Foule, who was supposed to be leading us, is off sick, so someone else is standing in, and the girls are crowding round him, sighing. Not that he’s fending them off.’
‘Oh, heavens!’ Mandy said cynically. ‘One of them.’
‘Them?’
‘All easy charm and full of himself.’
As soon as they went inside she saw what Joan had meant. A female crowd was converging around a man she couldn’t see clearly. Then he turned and her blood froze.
‘It can’t be,’ she whispered.
But there was no mistaking that smile, that air of being on top of life and ready for anything. She breathed hard.
‘Hello, everyone,’ he said. ‘I’m Renzo Ruffini. I’m taking charge of this trip, but I’m still missing someone.’ His voice faded as Mandy appeared before him.
She had the pleasure of seeing him disconcerted, which she guessed didn’t happen very often.
‘You,’ he whispered.
‘Yes, me. I’m glad you remember me among the crowd.’
‘But of course I do. You saved my life.’
‘I think the least said about that the better, don’t you?’
‘Definitely.’ He pulled himself together. ‘How do you come to be here?’
‘I’m Mandy Jenkins.’
‘You?’ he queried. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Well, I’ve been Mandy Jenkins for twenty-seven years. If there was a mistake, I’m sure I’d have noticed by now.’
‘I only meant—you’re not quite what I expected.’ He surveyed her five foot two inches. ‘It’s a very demanding climb. I wonder if you’re strong enough.’
‘I’ve filled in the forms, answered all the health questions. I meet your requirements, otherwise I wouldn’t have been accepted by Pierre Foule.’
‘That’s true, but if Pierre had realized you were quite so delicate—’
‘Oi!’ she said. ‘Delicate, my left foot! I’m as tough as old boots.’
To prove it, she adopted a boxing stance, which he immediately copied, declaring, ‘Put ’em up.’ Then he ruined the effect by asking, ‘That is what they say, isn’t it?’
‘That’s what they say when they’re going to thump someone. I’ll thump you.’
‘No, no, ti prego, ti prego,’ he said in a comically placating tone. ‘You may not be delicate but I am.’
‘Will you please stop your nonsense?’
‘Anything you say,’ he vowed, giving her a delightful smile.
It was so obvious that this came from the manual of ‘how to deal with awkward customers’ that she nearly did thump him.
‘Look,’ she said in a low voice, ‘I don’t like this any more than you do, but we’re stuck with each other. I joined to go up the Alps, and that’s what I’m going to do.’ She glowered in what she hoped was a threatening manner, not easy as he was ten inches taller. ‘Do you understand?’
‘Signorina,’ he said solemnly, ‘I vow to you that if I was an Alp I’d be shaking in my shoes.’
‘Perhaps you should be,’ she warned him.
Then he murmured something in Italian, clearly not expecting her to understand. But she did. He’d said, ‘Why does this kind of thing always happen to me?’
She answered him in Italian. ‘Some people act like a magnet for trouble.’
She had the reward of seeing him embarrassed.
‘I shall have to beware of you, shan’t I?’ he said wryly.
‘Definitely. You have been warned.’
‘If you’ll excuse me, I must speak to the others.’
Renzo moved away hastily.
‘Cheeky devil,’ she murmured. ‘So certain that he’s got everything sussed.