Body And Soul

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Déjà vu, she told herself hurriedly. That was what it was, déjà vu, because this was almost a re-run of the night they’d met—and she remembered with another shudder the way their reflections had shimmered in the dark glass behind the bar. It had seemed significant then; more so now.

He’s dangerous to me, she thought. Dangerous to Charles. To the bank.

Yet there was something darker involved, something she had never quite faced.

She did so now. I’m afraid of him, she admitted, ice trickling down her spine. He terrifies me.

She thought of Charles’s pale face and tired eyes, the sadness in his heart, and she hated Bruno Falcucci. Charles was helpless against him; he didn’t have the drive or the desire to fight back if he was attacked, but Bruno wasn’t going to destroy Charles if she could stop him, so she pushed her fear away and began to walk towards him through the crowded bar.

Her auburn hair glowed like dark flame in the light of chandeliers, her oval face a classical cameo, green-shadowed eyes, elegant nose, wide, full, generous red mouth. Her slender, rounded figure swayed under the tight dark green velvet, the low neckline drawing eyes to her high, white breasts, her pale legs moving gracefully, the skirt constantly sliding up to give glimpses of her slim thighs.

The lively hum of voices, the clink of glasses, the laughter, died away and people’s heads turned to watch her, although Martine herself was completely unaware of her effect on the others in the bar because she was too absorbed in staying cool, getting herself under control.

The only watching eyes of which she was aware were Bruno’s; she didn’t meet them but she felt them fixed on her, black, brilliant, intent, and the way they watched her made a pulse beat hard in her throat.

He stood up to greet her, she slid into the deep-upholstered seat beside him, and the noise in the bar broke out again.

‘That was quite an entrance!’ Bruno drily said. ‘What will you have to drink?’

She looked at his glass and wasn’t surprised to see that it was mineral water with a twist of lime in it. ‘The same as you, thanks.’

He ordered the drink and handed her a menu. ‘I’ve already decided what I want, but take your time to choose. The food is terrific here, and as it is a special occasion I thought we might try a glass or two of an excellent Italian wine they have on their list. You do drink wine, don’t you?’

‘Sometimes, not often,’ she agreed, looking at the menu and realising suddenly that she was hungry. She hadn’t eaten on the plane because she hated unreal food, and with surprise it dawned on her that her last meal had been breakfast at the airport. ‘What a huge menu! I don’t know what half these dishes are!’ Remembering suddenly that he was a Swiss of Italian extraction, she asked him, ‘Can you recommend something?’

He shifted along the seat and leaned over her shoulder. She felt his thigh touching hers, his arm against her, smelt his cologne.

‘This is probably good at this time of year,’ he suggested, pointing. ‘Autumn is the best time for wild mushrooms, and I love them served with seafood.’

Martine read the name of the dish falteringly: funghi e frutti di mare.

‘Mushrooms and seafood?’ she asked.

‘Exactly.’ Bruno’s deep voice had a husky tone, she felt his warm breathing on her bare shoulder.

‘OK, I’ll have that,’ she hurriedly said, nervously aware of his body somehow even closer. ‘And I suppose I’ll just have pasta for the main course.’ She would have moved away then but Bruno shook his head, pointing to the menu again.

‘Don’t be so predictable!’ he softly said, very close to her ear. ‘Try the saltimbocco...’

‘What’s that?’

‘It means...hmm..."jump in the mouth"...it’s veal escalope, rolled in ham, flavoured with sage, fried and then simmered in Marsala wine. Very rich, but it’s a Roman speciality, you must try it once, at least. While you’re in Italy, and especially in Rome, you must be more adventurous, take a few risks for once in your life!’

She tensed, picking up the undertone, the hidden meaning, and hedged instinctively. ‘Risks and banking don’t go together!’

‘Oh, but they do,’ he drawled. ‘Lending money is always a risk, but if you don’t gamble you don’t accumulate, as you know very well. You’ve been working for Charles for too long. Charles has the excuse of being middle-aged, but you’re not.’

‘Charles isn’t middle-aged!’ she threw back, flushed and angry now. ‘He’s only in his forties.’

Bruno laughed coldly. ‘That is middle-aged!’

‘Yes, well, Charles is still very...’ She broke off the sentence, not sure how she had been meaning to finish it, and Bruno finished it for her in a hard, sardonic voice.

‘Attractive? Was that what you were going to say? I know you worship the ground he walks on, and I’d be curious to know why you’re so fixated on a man who was at university before you were even born! Does he remind you of your father? Or didn’t you have a father? If I had a crude mind, I’d suspect it might be Charles’s money you were really interested in, and that thought did occur to me before I got to know you, but I’ve realised you aren’t that materialistic. No, it’s Charles himself, isn’t it?’ His dark eyes watched her tense profile closely. ‘You have a real problem, Martine. The gap’s too wide. You’d regret it bitterly sooner or later if Charles was crazy enough to take what you’re dying to give him.’

Her face was burning and a choking rage filled her throat. She turned on him furiously, her green eyes stormy with resentment.

‘How dare you...?’ She stopped as the waiter approached. Quivering, dark red, Martine had to swallow the words boiling to get out.

Bruno was as cool as the ice-cubes in their drinks. He smiled blandly at the waiter. ‘Ah, ready to take our order? Right.’ He ordered for them both, without consulting Martine again, which at any other time would have infuriated her, but which she accepted without comment then because she knew she couldn’t have said a word without her voice shaking.

By the time the waiter had gone Martine had had time to work out what she really wanted to say to Bruno, but, before she could start, someone else came up to their table.

Before she actually spoke, Martine picked up the heady, musky fragrance of her perfume. It enveloped them like a cloud.

‘Bruno, caro!’ a warm voice said, and Bruno got up, smiling. Martine watched coldly as he was engulfed in what looked like a very passionate embrace. The woman was in her thirties, her black hair wreathed at the back of her head in coils and pinned there with a huge black lace bow, her skin olive, but glowing with a golden tan she had not got in Italy at that time of year. She had a figure like a fairground switchback, curving in and out exaggeratedly: full, warm breasts, a tightly belted waist, with rounded hips giving a curved line to the black satin evening suit she wore. It glittered with diamanté on the neck and cuffs and hem. Diamonds shone in her ears, at her throat, at her wrists; her hands sparkled with rings, too.

She was certainly not a wallpaper person, thought Martine drily. In fact, she obviously dressed to be noticed, in every sense of the word.

The way she was kissing Bruno, they must surely have been lovers at one time. Good friends didn’t kiss on the mouth like that. So, that was the sort of woman he liked?

Martine’s green eyes chilled. Every little detail about him was important, told her new facts about him, might help her defeat whatever he had planned against Charles. But she wouldn’t have expected him to like a woman who looked like that.

A second later, Bruno turned her way to introduce her. ‘Angelina, this is a colleague from London, Martine Archer. Martine, this is the wife of an old friend of mine, Angelina Fabri.’

Martine smiled politely and coldly, offered her hand. The other woman took it, her own smile equally cool, studying her with shrewd, sophisticated eyes.

‘You are in banking?’ She spoke English with a strong Italian accent, her phrasing slightly off most of the time. ‘Yes, I can tell you are. A career woman, obviously. And if it gives you all you need, why not? For some women it is the answer; we don’t need to get married these days, after all!’

Martine kept her face cool, her teeth together, but she knew she had just been patronised and insulted.

Bruno smoothly intervened, openly amused by the instant hostility between the two women.

‘I think your friends are about to leave, Angelina.’

She turned to look across the room at a group near the door, and waved, nodding.

‘Yes, I must go, caro! Will we see you while you’re here? Now, promise we will!’

‘I’ll do my best. Give Carlo my best wishes, tell him I’ll ring, as soon as I can. Unfortunately, I have too many engagements during the conference, but my last day here is free, maybe we could meet then?’

‘You must come to dinner, caro