Latin Lovers. Helen Bianchin
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and keyed in the appropriate digits.
Giuseppe answered on the third ring. ‘Aysha? Something is wrong?’
‘No, Papà. I’ll be home in about fifteen minutes. Can you fix security?’
Thank heavens it wasn’t Teresa who’d answered, for her mother would have fired off a string of questions to rival the Spanish Inquisition.
Aysha ignored Carlo’s brief encompassing glance as the car whispered along the suburban street, and she closed her eyes against the image of her mother slipping on a robe in preparation for a maternal chat the instant Aysha entered the house.
A silent laugh rose and died in her throat. At this precise moment she didn’t know which scenario she preferred... The emotive discussion she’d just had with Carlo, or the one she was about to have with Teresa.
Aysha had no sooner stepped inside the door than her mother launched into a series of questions, and it was easier to fabricate than spell out her own insecurities.
She justified her transgression by qualifying Teresa had enough on her plate, and nothing could be achieved by the confidence.
‘Are you sure there is nothing bothering you?’ Teresa persisted.
‘No, Mamma.’ Inspiration was the mother of invention, and she used it shamelessly. ‘I forgot to take the samples I need to match up the shoes tomorrow, so I thought I’d come home.’
‘You didn’t quarrel with Carlo?’
Quarrel wasn’t exactly the word she would have chosen to describe their altercation. ‘Why would I do that?’ Aysha countered.
‘I’ll make coffee.’
All she wanted to do was go to bed. ‘Don’t bother making it for me.’
‘You’re going upstairs now?’
‘Goodnight, Mamma,’ she bade gently. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Gianna and I will meet you for lunch tomorrow.’ She mentioned a restaurant. ‘I’ll book a table for one o’clock.’
She leaned forward and brushed lips to her mother’s cheek. ‘That sounds nice.’
Without a further word she turned and made for the stairs, and in her room she slowly removed her clothes, cleansed her face of make-up, then slid in between the sheets.
‘I’LL be there in half an hour,’ Carlo declared as Aysha took his call early next morning. ‘Don’t argue,’ he added before she had a chance to say a word.
Conscious that Teresa sat within hearing distance as they shared breakfast she found it difficult to give anything other than a warm and friendly response.
‘Thanks,’ she managed brightly. ‘I’ll be ready.’ She replaced the receiver, then drained the rest of her coffee. ‘That was Carlo,’ she relayed. ‘I’ll go change.’
‘Will you come back here, or go straight into the city?’
‘The city. I need to choose crockery and cutlery for the house.’ Pots and pans, roasting dishes. Each day she tried to accumulate some of the necessities required in setting up house. ‘I may as well make an early start.’
In her room, she quickly shed shorts and top and selected a smart straight skirt in ivory linen, added a silk print shirt and matching jacket, slid her feet into slim-heeled pumps, tended to her hair and make-up, and was downstairs waiting when Carlo’s Mercedes slid to a halt outside the front door.
Aysha drew a calming breath, then she walked out to the car and slipped into the passenger seat. ‘There was no need for you to collect me,’ she assured him, conscious of the look of him, the faint aroma of his cologne.
‘There was every need,’ he drawled silkily as he sent the car forward.
‘I don’t want to fight with you,’ she said ingenuously, and he spared her a swift glance.
‘Then don’t.’
A disbelieving laugh escaped her throat. ‘Suddenly it doesn’t seem that easy.’
‘Nina is a woman who thrives on intrigue and innuendo.’ Carlo’s voice was hard, his expression an inscrutable mask.
Oh, yes, Aysha silently agreed. And she’s so very good at it. ‘She wants you.’
‘I’m already spoken for, remember?’
‘Ah, now there’s the thing. Nina abides by the credo of all being fair in love and war.’
‘And this is shaping up as war?’
You’d better believe it! ‘You’re the prize, darling,’ she mocked, and incurred his dark glance.
‘Yours.’
‘You have no idea how gratifying it is to hear you say that.’
‘Cynicism doesn’t suit you.’ Carlo slanted her a slight smile, and she raised one eyebrow in mocking acquiescence.
‘Shall we change the subject?’
He negotiated an intersection, then turned into Rose Bay.
‘I’ve booked a table for dinner tonight. I’ll collect you at six.’
They’d had tickets for tonight’s première performance by the Russian corps de ballet for a month. How could she not have remembered?
The remainder of the short drive was achieved in silence, and Carlo deposited her beside her car, then left as she slid in behind the wheel of the Porsche.
City traffic was horrific at this hour of the morning, and it was after nine when Aysha emerged onto the inner city street.
First stop was a major department store two blocks distant, and she’d walked less than half a block when her mobile phone rang.
She automatically retrieved the unit from her bag and heard Teresa’s voice, pitched high in distress.
‘Aysha? I’ve just had a call from the bridal boutique. Your headpiece has arrived from Paris, but it’s the wrong one!’
She closed her eyes, then opened them again. It had taken a day of deliberation before making the final choice... How long ago? A month? Now the order had been mixed up. Great. ‘OK, Mamma. Let’s not panic.’
Her mother’s voice escalated. ‘It was perfect, just perfect. There wasn’t another to compare with it.’
‘I’ll go sort it out.’ A phone call from the boutique to the manufacturer in Paris, and the use of a courier service should see a successful result.
Aysha should have known it couldn’t be that simple.
‘I’ve already done that,’ the boutique owner relayed. ‘No joy, unfortunately. They don’t have another in stock. The design is intricate, the seed pearls needed are held up heaven knows where, and the gist of it is, we need to choose something else.’
‘OK, let’s do it.’ It took an hour to select, ascertain the order could be filled and couriered within the week.
‘That’s definite,’ the vendeuse promised.
Now why didn’t that reassure her? Possibly because she’d heard the same words before.
An hour later she had to concede there were diverse gremlins at work, for the white embroidered stockings ordered hadn’t arrived. The lace suspender belt had, but it didn’t match the garter belt, as it was supposed to do.
Teresa would consider it a catastrophe. Aysha merely drew in a deep breath, ascertained the order might be correctly filled in time, decided might wasn’t good enough, and opted to select