Never Say No to a Caffarelli

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‘I did warn you.’

‘Likewise.’ His black-as-pitch gaze held hers with a glint of implacable determination. ‘When I want something, I don’t give up until I have it.’

‘Thank you for bringing Chutney home,’ she said holding the door open for him. ‘Don’t let me keep you.’

Those dark-as-night eyes lowered to her mouth for a moment before returning to mesh with her gaze. ‘Aren’t you going to do the neighbourly thing and invite me in for a nightcap since I so gallantly returned your dog?’

Poppy knew it would appear churlish of her to refuse him entry. But wouldn’t inviting him in so late at night send him the message she actually wanted his company?

Of course she didn’t want his company. She had plenty of company. She had her three little dogs, didn’t she? ‘I’m kind of busy right now.’

‘I’m house-trained, if that’s what’s worrying you.’ His hint of a smile was devastatingly attractive. ‘I won’t cock my leg on the furniture or try and bury bones in the backyard.’

‘I’m not in the habit of inviting men I barely know into my house late at night.’

Was that a glimmer of respect she saw in his eyes? ‘Are you worried about what the neighbours will think?’ he asked.

‘You’re the only neighbour for miles,’ she pointed out.

A more serious note entered his voice and was reflected in his gaze as it held hers. ‘You’re quite safe with me, Miss Silverton. I might have a reputation but I have the utmost respect for women and always have.’

‘How reassuring.’

‘You don’t believe me.’

‘Some of the comments your ex-mistress posted online about you were rather derogatory,’ Poppy said.

‘It’s not my best character reference, that’s for sure. But she was unhappy about being made redundant, so to speak. I’ll get my secretary to send her a parting gift to soften the blow. It was remiss of me not to think of it earlier. I bet once Zandra gets several thousand pounds’ worth of rubies or sapphires she’ll take the comments down.’

Poppy arched her brow at him. ‘Why not diamonds?’

‘I never give diamonds.’

‘Why not? It’s not as if you can’t afford them.’

‘Diamonds are for ever,’ he said. ‘When I find the right girl to give them to, I’ll buy them, but not before.’

Poppy gave him a sceptical look. ‘So you’re actually planning to give up your partying and playboy lifestyle at some point?’

His shrug was noncommittal. ‘It’s not on my immediate agenda.’

She couldn’t keep the derision from her tone or from the angle of her chin. ‘Too busy out there sowing your wild oats?’

His eyes glinted as they held hers. ‘There are a few fresh fields I have yet to plough. After that, who knows? Don’t they say reformed rakes make the best husbands?’

‘What sort of wife will you require?’ Poppy asked. ‘A plaster saint with a blue-blooded background similar to your own?’

A sparkle of playfulness entered his gaze. ‘Are you thinking of auditioning for the post?’

She pulled her chin back in against her throat. ‘You must be joking. You’re the very last person I would ever think of marrying.’

He gave her a mock bow before he turned to leave. ‘The feeling is mutual, Miss Silverton. Bonsoir.’

CHAPTER FOUR

‘I JUST RAN into Mr Compton on my way to work,’ Chloe said the following morning. ‘He said Rafe Caffarelli came in again yesterday.’

‘He just had coffee.’ Poppy turned to put the cream she had just whipped back in the fridge. ‘Quite frankly, I don’t know why he bothers. What’s the point of going to a tearoom if you don’t drink tea and you don’t eat cake?’

‘Mr Compton also told me Rafe asked you to provide evening meals for him up at the manor.’ Chloe picked up her apron and began to tie it around her waist. ‘That’s exciting. The way to a man’s heart and all that. What are you going to cook for him?’

‘I’m not cooking for him.’

Chloe blinked. ‘Are you crazy? He’s going to pay you, isn’t he?’

Poppy set her mouth stubbornly. ‘That’s not the point.’

‘I’ll cook for him, then,’ Chloe said. ‘I’ll do three meals a day and morning and afternoon tea. I’ll even give him breakfast in bed. God, I’m having a hot flush just thinking about it. I bet he’s amazing between the sheets. He looks like he pumps some serious iron. I bet he could go all night.’

Poppy gave her a withering look. ‘There is more to a man than how he looks. What about intellect and morals? What about personal values?’

Chloe grinned at her. ‘You fancy him like rotten, don’t you? Go on—admit it. And I reckon he fancies you. Mr Compton reckons so too. Why else would he come in for coffee two days in a row?’

Poppy stalked over to put the cupcakes on the glass cake-stand. ‘Raffaele Caffarelli has had more lovers than you and I have had hot dinners. He thinks that just because he wants something or someone he can have it. His sense of entitlement is beyond arrogant. It’s deplorable.’

Chloe’s eyes began to twinkle. ‘You really are all fired up over him, aren’t you? This can’t just be about your house. Why do you dislike him so much?’

Poppy carried the cake-stand out to the tearoom. ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’

Chloe followed close behind. ‘Mr Compton said Rafe’s going to turn Dalrymple Manor into a luxury hotel and spa. It could be really good for the village if he does. There’d be heaps of jobs for the locals, and we might even get a bit of extra business as a result.’

Poppy plonked the cake-stand down and turned to glare her. ‘For the last four-hundred-and-seventy-five years, the manor has been a family home. Generations of the Dalrymple family have been born and have died there. Turning it into a plush hotel will totally destroy its character and desecrate its history.’

‘I expect Rafe Caffarelli will do a very tasteful conversion,’ Chloe put in. ‘I checked out some of his other developments online. He’s big on keeping things in context architecturally. He draws up most of the preliminary plans himself.’

Poppy was still on her soapbox and wasn’t stepping down any time soon. The thought of the paparazzi hiding in the hedges in her beloved village to get their prized shot of hedonistic celebrities partying up at the manor was sickening. ‘Lord Dalrymple will be spinning in his grave if this preposterous project goes ahead. What was his cousin thinking of, selling to a developer? Why couldn’t they have sold to a private family instead? Another family could bring life and vibrancy to the place instead of filthy rich people wining and dining and partying at all hours.’

‘You really love that old place, don’t you?’

Poppy blew out a long breath. ‘I know it sounds ridiculously sentimental but I think Dalrymple Manor needs a family to make it come alive again. It’s spent the last sixty years grieving. You can feel the sadness when you walk in there. It’s almost palpable. The stairs creak with it, sometimes even the foundations groan with it.’

Chloe’s eyes rounded. ‘Are you saying it’s haunted?’

‘I used to think so when I was a kid, but no, it’s just a sad old place that needs to be filled with love and laughter and family again.’

‘Maybe Rafe Caffarelli will settle down there with one of his lovers,’ Chloe suggested.

‘I can’t see that happening,’ Poppy said with an expression of disdain. ‘He doesn’t keep a lover more than a month or two. Playboys like him don’t settle down, they just change partners.’

Chloe gave her a speculative look. ‘So I take it I’m not the only one who’s done a little online searching on the illustrious Rafe Caffarelli?’

Poppy went back to the kitchen with her head at a haughty height. ‘I’m not the least bit interested in what that man does or who he does it with. I have much better things to do with my time.’

* * *

Just before lunch Mr Underwood, Poppy’s landlord, came in to the tearoom. He usually came in on a Friday afternoon for a cup of tea and a slice of the cake of the day. Poppy desperately hoped this Tuesday visit wasn’t a business one. She had a list of expenses to see to on the dower house. The place needed painting inside and out, and the garden needed urgent attention. There was an elm tree close to her bedroom that needed lopping as it was keeping her awake at night with its branches scratching at the window. Even a modest rise in rent at the shop would just about cripple her financially now.

‘Your usual, Mr Underwood?’ she said with a bright and hopeful smile.

‘Er, can I have a word, Poppy?’ John Underwood asked.

‘Sure.’ Poppy’s smile tightened on her face. Please don’t ask for more rent.

‘I thought I should let you know I’ve been made an offer on the building,’ John said. ‘It’s a good one, the best I’ve had, so I’m going to take it.’

She frowned. ‘But I didn’t realise you were even thinking of selling.’

‘I’ve been toying with the idea for a while. Jean wants to travel a bit more. We’ve got three young grandchildren in the States now and we want to spend a bit more time with them. I’m selling this building and another investment property I have in Shropshire.’