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‘Well, not actually propose in so many words,’ Izzy admitted. ‘And believe me, it wasn’t romantic.’
‘So has he been in touch since yesterday?’
‘No, and he’s booked out of the Fox.’ Izzy hoped she had seen the last of Roman Petrelli … didn’t she?
Later that day Izzy was interrupted from her power walking back home by her phone ringing. Chest heaving, she stopped to pull the phone from her pocket halfway up the steep country lane. The calm objectivity she was trying to exhaust herself into still eluded her.
Roman’s I’ll be back threat still haunted her.
It was all about what he wanted, and, yes, today he wanted to be a father, but what did he know about being a parent? Nothing, he had said as much himself, and would he be equally enthusiastic when the novelty of the situation wore off?
‘Yes!’ she breathed into the phone.
‘Izzy, is that you?’ Layla, the owner of the interior design agency she had worked for straight from college, sounded startled … and small wonder.
Izzy took a deep breath. ‘Yes, Layla … sorry, I was just …’
Layla as always got straight to the point. ‘I’ve got a job for you, a big job. It’s perfect, it’s … I’ve got it down somewhere, but it’s in the middle of the country—you like the country, darling.’
‘That sounds great, Layla, and I appreciate you thinking of me, but until Lily is older and at school it’s difficult. The commission in Keswick last month was great, but anything bigger …?’ The older woman had continued to put some part-time commissions her way and Izzy was grateful.
‘Oh, I didn’t think about you, darling—the client specifically requested you.’
‘Me?’
‘Seems like he saw the Dublin town-house project you worked on before Lily was born—did you know it was on the market? Anyhow, apparently he was blown away.’
Izzy felt a stab of pride. She had been pretty pleased with the project herself. ‘So the client is Irish?’
‘Not a clue, darling.’
Izzy frowned and glared at the nail she had just caught herself nibbling before thrusting her hand in her pocket. ‘So you don’t actually know who this client is?’
‘What does that matter? A film star, a royal, an oil-rich sheikh—he won’t be there. Apparently there’s just a skeleton staff. The point is he’s got pots of money, expense is no object and he’ll give you a free hand.’
‘Free hand? There must be a remit?’
‘Nope. He’s apparently willing to put himself entirely in your hands. The only stipulation is that it is a suitable family home to take his bride to … lucky girl. Oh, yes, it is a he.’
‘It sounds too good to be true …’ Izzy found herself almost hoping that there would be a catch; it would make it easier to justify refusing it.
It wasn’t that she regretted her decision to take a career break, but the sense of guilt she felt lingered.
Her own mother had worked up until the day before Izzy’s birth and had returned to work two weeks after. She had always encouraged ambition in her daughter and instilled the importance of having a career and being independent, and she would have been appalled that Izzy had taken even a temporary career break to look after her baby.
Ironically it was thanks to her mother that Izzy was financially able to take time off at all to spend with Lily. Izzy was still receiving healthy royalties cheques from her mother’s successful writing career.
‘A gig like this could make your career, Izzy.’
‘True.’ And two years ago Izzy would have jumped at the golden opportunity. ‘And I appreciate the offer, but the timing’s not right,’ she said firmly.
‘Is this about leaving Lily? Because, you know, you don’t have to. Part of the remit is to make the place child friendly, not just a show house—a family home. Lily could be your guinea pig!’
‘Really?’ Izzy’s thoughts raced. That did put a different slant on it.
‘I’d say go and think it over but the only problem is—’
‘I knew this was too good to be true.’
‘They want you to start immediately.’
‘How immediately?’
‘Right away … as in tomorrow.’
Izzy was shaking her head. Organising Lily for a trip to the local supermarket took her an hour. ‘Well, that’s just not …’ She stopped, an arrested expression stealing across her face as she thought, What am I doing?
Suddenly she felt her excitement growing. Far from being bad timing, this could actually be perfect timing! ‘Tomorrow?’
‘You’ll take it …’ The relief in the older woman’s voice was unmistakeable.
‘Where is this place?’
‘Oh, you won’t need directions,’ Layla replied when Izzy asked for the address and a contact number. ‘There will be a car to pick you up at the station. It couldn’t be simpler. Just let me know what train you’ll be on and I’ll pass on the details. And don’t forget to keep your receipts. The client is willing to pay all travel expenses and I didn’t even have to ask.’
Simple—if she didn’t already know that Layla was childless this phrase would have cleared up any confusion, Izzy decided as she disembarked from the train with a baby buggy and her baggage.
She felt hot and sticky as Lily’s beaker of juice had spilled down her linen trousers. On the plus side the stain distracted from the creases in her trousers and she decided that linen had perhaps not been the best choice. But she had wanted to make a good first impression and the wide-legged trousers teamed with her favourite silk shirt had seemed to say professional competence. Ah, well, fingers crossed her new client was not someone who judged by appearances.
It wasn’t until she exited the railway station that it occurred to Izzy she had no idea where she was going, let alone who was picking her up. A situation a normal person could be relaxed about, but not one with a baby.
As she manoeuvred the buggy laden with bags she saw a silver four-wheel drive taking up several parking spaces. As she approached the door opened and a man wearing a dark suit got out from the massive car with blacked-out windows.
The man did not hesitate, but approached her directly. ‘Miss Fitzgerald?’
Her brows rose. She hadn’t been expecting the strong Italian accent. ‘Yes, that’s me.’ She tipped her head in acknowledgement and nodded, registering the width of his shoulders. ‘How did you know?’
The man removed his dark glasses and shot out a hand to stop the holdall balanced on top of her case from falling to the ground.
‘The boss described you.’
Presumably a woman with a baby.
‘Here, I’ve got it,’ he added, taking the buggy she had lifted Lily from and snapping it closed with an expert action.
‘You look like an expert, Mr …?’
‘Gennaro, miss, just Gennaro. Grandchildren,’ he added by way of explanation.
‘Hello, Gennaro, and thank you,’ she added as he tossed the heavier of her suitcases into the boot space beside the buggy with impressive ease. Those shoulders were not just for show, it seemed.
He flashed her what she presumed passed as a smile in his world, but might have been a grimace. The man had a face that made a granite rock face look expressive.
‘Is it far?’ Izzy asked as she settled herself in the back seat. Lily was strapped securely into a baby seat beside her, her lavishly lashed eyes already closing.
The driver glanced at her in the rear-view mirror. His shades were back in place. ‘No.’
Izzy didn’t press him for more information, partly because he was negotiating rush-hour traffic through a busy market town and partly because he did not look a man who wanted to chat. She leaned back in her seat and decided to enjoy the journey.
Once they had left the town behind the countryside in this area proved pretty. As she gazed at the passing scenery her thoughts began to wander into territory she had been avoiding.
Would Roman have fulfilled his threat of ‘I’ll be back’—expecting her to give ground? What would he do when he discovered she was gone?
The thoughts going through her mind made Izzy frown. She chewed her lip and tried to summon some of the defiant certainty that she had begun the journey with.
Relax, she told herself. This is the right thing to do. Annoyed that she felt the need to justify her actions, she shook her head and with a spurt of defiance said out loud, ‘What could he do?’
Embarrassed, she looked around. Lily was still sleeping, her face flushed, and the driver gave no hint of having heard her, concentrating hard on the road ahead.
Izzy lowered her rigid body back into the leather seat, not realising until that moment how knotted the muscles in her neck and spine were.
Your trouble, Izzy, she told herself, is that you worry too much and have a tendency to overanalyse.
She had taken a job, not made a life-changing decision! True, she would feel better about it if her father and Michelle had not expressed their concerns over her decision to take the job, or at least the timing.
They had reluctantly agreed to her request not to give Roman any information about her whereabouts if he asked. In retrospect she could see that it was unfair of her to put them in that position. This was her problem, not theirs.
As her mum would have said, Your mess, Izzy, you clean it up. And she’d have been right.
Izzy exhaled a long gusty sigh, finally acknowledging the voice in the back of her mind she’d been trying very hard not to hear all day. When she rang the farm this evening to give them the address as promised, Izzy decided she would tell them they didn’t have to lie for her. She leaned back in her seat, feeling some of the tension leave her shoulder blades. She felt a lot better having made that decision.
She would contact Roman herself and explain the situation. She recognised the real risk he’d come rushing down here throwing around his ultimatums and trying to take over her life, but it was one she felt she had to take. He did have a right to know where his daughter was.
She chewed her lip, fretfully gnawing at the soft flesh. Running away from her problems was just so not her. It made her seem … spineless, but the timing of the perfect job offer when she had been feeling so cornered by Roman had been too much of a temptation.
Well, the job was still perfect and on the plus side it might make Roman see her in a different light. This was an opportunity to show him she could have a career and be a good mother, that the two were not mutually exclusive. She needed to establish from the outset that she wasn’t someone he could push around.
Izzy spent the next fifteen minutes of the journey working out what she would say to him, mentally rewriting and editing the conversation in her head, anticipating all his comments and coming up with some killer comebacks. By the time the car pulled off the highway and onto a long straight driveway lined with copper beeches she was confident that she had made her argument forcibly but in a calm, reasonable way.
And she would not make the mistake of apologising. Roman was the sort of man who equated apology with weakness. She had a perfect right to take a job without consulting him and she would make that quite clear.
As they reached the rise in the drive she leaned forward, looking through the windscreen anticipating seeing a house, but the drive just stretched on bounded either side by parkland grazed by sheep and a few cattle. ‘Are we here?’
‘Next bend you’ll see it.’
Izzy sat up straighter in her seat, holding on to the door as the four-wheel drive negotiated a wooden bridge. ‘Does all this land belong to the house? Oh, my goodness!’
‘Sì, it is a bit of a dump,’ came the dour response to her amazed gasp.
Izzy couldn’t decide from his expression if he was joking or not because the dump he spoke of was an enormous golden-stoned mansion.
Izzy took a deep breath. ‘It’s beautiful.’ Actually beautiful did not do the building justice; it was stunning, with mullioned windows and mellow golden stone—totally breathtaking!
Gennaro brought the car to a halt on the gravelled area in front of the house. ‘The boss said—’
‘Where is …?’ Gennaro pulled open his door and she raised her voice, adding, ‘When will I be meeting him and his wife?’
It was fine by her if the elusive clients did not want to be hands-on, but, as she had told Layla, it was essential that she at least meet them. Her job was not about ticking off a list of requirements or filling a place with the current fashionable must haves; a home had to reflect a person’s personality.
‘The boss isn’t married—’
Izzy frowned as the man crunched around to her side. ‘But I thought …’ She accepted the hand he offered as she jumped down.
‘And I’d say you’re about to meet him.’ In response to Izzy’s questioning frown, he nodded his head to a point behind her. ‘Here he is now. Don’t worry about the baby. I’ll get her out.’
Izzy turned around to face the direction the burly Italian indicated in time to see a tall, lithe figure vaulting over the six-bar gate that kept the sheep from straying into the garden.
‘Oh, my God!’ Izzy felt as if a giant hand had pushed into her chest and for several heart-thudding moments she literally couldn’t breathe. How do I get out of here?
Roman, seemingly oblivious to her state of near collapse, walked straight up to the older man, who nodded and removed his shades. ‘Any problems, Gennaro?’
‘No, boss, the train was actually on time.’ Gennaro unfastened the baby seat complete with baby and lifted it out.
‘I’ll take that.’
Izzy watched, too stunned to protest, as Roman took hold of the baby carrier.
‘Should I take the bags up?’
‘If you would. Oh, and could you ask Mrs Saunders to send some coffee through to the library, and maybe some sandwiches? Then I won’t be needing either of you until tomorrow.’
Gennaro nodded his thanks at Roman and tacked something on the end of his conversation in Italian that made Roman laugh.
Izzy wasn’t laughing.
She wasn’t even capable of acknowledging Gennaro’s nod as, with a case under each arm, he walked up the shallow flight of steps towards the open front door.
‘Good trip, Isabel?’
He spoke as though this was a prearranged meeting, which of course it was—only she hadn’t been kept in the loop. She had stepped right into the trap he’d so cleverly baited. He knew exactly what her weakness was; she’d told him about her guilt at being a stay-at-home mum even if she could afford it financially. And he had sown the seeds of doubt when he had suggested that it might not be so easy to step back into the job market after a lengthy break. This was the set-up to end all set-ups!
Why hadn’t she seen it coming? The too-good-to-be-true offer … why hadn’t she smelt a rat?
Possibly because she wasn’t twisted and sneaky. She wanted to laugh or throw something at him or both. Instead she stood like a rabbit caught in the headlights, thinking, Any moment now I’ll wake up and realise this was all a dream—a nightmare.
‘So what do you think?’ he asked, gesturing towards the building behind them, but looking at Izzy.
She shivered at his voice. The dictionary would sound like an indecent proposal when read in that deep, husky, dangerously seductive timbre.
