Challenge Page 14

  'Even their headscarves are designer prints,' said Sue gloomily, watching a tanned blonde go past wearing brief white shorts with the emblem of a famous fashion house on the back pocket. 'I feel outclassed.'

  'Don't worry about it,' advised Jessica. 'These people make being beautiful their life work.'

  Sue glanced at her quickly. Between them, unspoken, was the name of Leandro Volpi. Both of them looked away and the moment passed.

  Yes, it was almost a good morning.

  When the time came to return to the yacht, it was with the greatest reluctance that Jessica went to where they had agreed to meet the launch. She felt exhausted, not so much from the shopping and sunshine as from the emotional impact of the previous night. She certainly did not feel happy about the prospect of meeting Prince Giorgio. Of Leandro she tried hard not to think at all.

  Of course it was hopeless; he had intruded too much upon her life. As, she remembered with a twist of the lips, he had always intended to do. He had even told her so. What he had not told her was why.

  Last night… Well, last night he had made her feel

  as if there really was a strong attraction running between them, something exceptional. She had felt as if she could trust him, too. Unlike Chuck, he gave the impression that he knew what he was doing, that he knew exactly how important the hypothetical relationship would be to her. And she had felt that it would be equally important to him.

  Yet his mother thought otherwise. Sitting silently while Sue chatted to Gianni in fractured Italian, Jessica examined her feelings about that interview with Ida Volpi. She did not like the woman. She hardly knew her, but she had no reason to mistrust her. Presumably she knew her son very well. And she had nothing to gain by coming between Jessica and Leandro, if Leandro was serious.

  But for a Riviera heartbreaker, how serious was serious? Jessica stared out across the flat calm of the bay, not seeing its beauties. They were so different. It was all very well for him to tell her to enjoy the differ-

  ences between them, but he did not take her hesitation seriously. And she—she could not begin to guess what he would take seriously.

  She went over in her mind everything they had said to each other from their first meeting. They had sparked at once, crossing swords over his pleasure-loving idleness, her puritanical devotion to work. Their battles had been fun. Jessica acknowledged that.

  But last night it had been something more than a battle. And he had not tried to seduce her—or not tried very seriously. Was that because he realised, and accepted, that it was too soon for her, that it would make her feel uncomfortable with herself and him? Or was it rather because he really did not care very much one way or the other?

  She could not tell. She had no way of telling. She knew nobody like him, by whom she could judge him. She had known Chuck, of course, who came from the same sort of privileged, luxurious background. But Chuck had been intensely ambitious. She had always known that, even when they were first attracted. Leandro was not intensely anything. Except perhaps laid back, she thought with a reminiscent smile curling her lips. Oh, God, he was so charming. She could love him so much.

  She stopped her thoughts right there. She could love him. It would be stupid to deny it, at least to herself. But she did not love him yet. She retained enough of her natural caution to keep hold of her heart for the time being, Jessica told herself. He was gorgeous, but she did not know him well enough to commit herself irretrievably, particularly not after her experience with Chuck.

  She dismissed the thought that maybe this was not a situation over which she had the control to decide whether she was committed or not. Instead, she held

  on hard to the reflection that they were still virtual strangers. Leandro knew a great deal about her—he had set out to do so—but she still knew very little about him. And still, at the back of her mind, was the faint, uneasy feeling that there was something she did not understand in his professed attraction to herself, something, as she had once told Sue, with a purpose. She did not see what that purpose could possibly be, but nevertheless the suspicion remained.

  Prince Giorgio was too busy to see her when they returned to the yacht. He sent a charming message, hoping she would not be inconvenienced and suggesting that she did everything she could to enjoy herself. The facilities of the boat were at her disposal; she was to take the speedboat if it would amuse her. Or she and Miss York were welcome to play table tennis or billiards. There was a lunchtime barbecue for several guests on the foredeck which he hoped they would attend although, regrettably, he would not be able to be present himself.

  All of this Enrico delivered deadpan. Jessica thought about it.

  `Why are you telling me this instead of Sandra?' she asked at last. 'Surely it's the sort of message you expect to get from a secretary.'

  His eyes flickered. 'I—believe Prince Giorgio's secretary has left the yacht, signorina.'

  `I see.' She hesitated. 'And Prince Giorgio too?' `So I am informed.'

  `We didn't see him come ashore in Portofino,' she remarked idly.

  Enrico inclined his head and murmured something about helicopters. Jessica was surprised. The yacht was large, but she had not thought it was of a size to carry a helicopter launch pad. However, Enrico was clearly determined to say no more, so she did not press him.

  Instead, as instructed, she went to the barbecue.

  It had clearly been in full swing for some time. She was met by the smell of grilling steaks even before she rounded the corner and saw a white-hatted chef turning meat over on a substantial waist-high barbecue table. There were maybe thirty people there, including Sue and, to her surprise, Simone Spinoletti. Signora Volpi was nowhere to be seen. Nor was Leandro.

  One of the waiters whom she recognised greeted her and gave her a plate.

  'There is salad, signorina. And king prawns. And salmon in aspic which the Signor likes.'

  She thanked him and helped herself from the generously loaded table. It was too hot for large amounts of red meat she thought wryly, sitting next to a couple who were vaguely familiar. They proved to be guests from a previous cocktail party which she had reluctantly attended during her stay on the yacht, and were interested in the progress of her project.

  'I hear Giorgio's very pleased,' said the man, who was perhaps sixty, dressed in flannels and blazer, and holding a plateful of steak and freshly baked bread. 'He was singing your praises.'

  'I hear there's a hitch,' said his wife. She was slender and casually elegant, hung about with thin gold chains that must, thought Jessica ruefully, be worth a king's ransom. She looked at Jessica curiously but quite kindly. 'Is that why he's not here?'

  Jessica, truthfully, denied all knowledge.

  'Nor Leandro,' added her husband.

  The woman made a face. 'Oh, darling, you know what Leo's like. He's probably off on one of his crazy schemes, building a bridge somewhere.'

  Jessica raised her eyebrows at this unlikely speculation.

  The husband laughed, though, and agreed. 'But I thought he was out of commission for a while after. .

  Before he could finish his sentence, however, the object of the discussion had appeared on deck. Jessica was startled at how glad she was to see him, how she was immediately aware of his presence before anyone else. And it seemed he felt something similar. His eyes scanned the crowd and seemed to discover her at once. He strolled over.

  He was wearing jeans but otherwise, at least by his standards, his dress was formal. He had on a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to show muscular forearms, the deep collar open at the neck. Over his shoulder a dark jacket was thrown negligently.

  The husband remarked on his dress at once. 'You're a bit over-dressed aren't you, Leo?'

  Leandro grinned. 'I've been to town. Decency prevailed.'

  He kissed the woman's cheek and she gave him her hand.

  `Darling,' she said. 'You always look so handsome, even when you're decent.'

  Leandro chuckled. 'I wish everyone
agreed with you.' He turned to Jessica and put his arm round her with a casual air of ownership that set her hackles up and raised their companions' eyebrows.

  `I,' she said captiously, 'have never denied that you look handsome.'

  `But. . .' he murmured, laughing down at her; and before she could answer kissed her full on the mouth.

  It was a real kiss, not just a conventional brush of the lips in greeting, such as she expected. It was brief, but it was warm and wickedly intimate. His laughing eyes, not hidden for once by dark glasses, defied her to protest. Much to her chagrin, Jessica swallowed and found that she did not have the resolution to protest. He let her go.

  'I'm starving,' he announced. He sounded very pleased with himself. 'I've been to Genoa and back and all I had for breakfast was flat orange juice. I need sustenance.'

  The woman laughed. 'It looks like it, darling.' She tapped his wrist. 'All those wonderful muscles wilting.'

  'They will if I don't get outside a substantial steak,' he agreed, not at all embarrassed by the intimate gesture, Jessica noticed. He flicked a hand at a passing steward. 'Food,' he said. 'Drink. Lots of them.'

  The man grinned. 'Si, signor.'

  Leandro sat down on a slatted bench and stretched his long legs out in front of him. Quite as if he were entitled to—as if he knew it would be welcome—he took Jessica's hand and held it lightly.

  `What were you doing in Genoa?' asked the man, with a quick look at his wife in which amusement and surprise seemed to be compounded equally.

  Jessica was glad he had asked. She did not like to ask herself; it sounded too possessive. She did not want to give anyone, least of all Leandro, the idea that she wanted to be possessive of him. She met his lazy grin with some indignation.

  'Clearing something up,' he said cheerfully in answer. 'Eventually.'

  'Satisfactorily?' asked the blonde.

  'Very much so. A distinct triumph.'

  'Another conquest, darling?' the blonde asked, with a faintly barbed look at Jessica. 'Another broken heart?'

  He frowned but said pleasantly enough, 'I don't regard broken hearts as an achievement, Sara. And even if I did, I don't think I am so lethal.'

  'You wouldn't, darling. You see everything from a man's point of view. Jessica and I know you're lethal,' Sara told him.

  `Don't be foolish,' said Leandro, annoyed.

  `It's hardly foolish.' The blonde seemed to be in a provocative mood which Jessica recognised was caused, at least in part, by the fact that she was attracted to Leandro herself. 'Remember. .

  There followed a teasing list of conquests by Leandro and imputed to Leandro which plainly made him furious. Her husband tried and failed to stop the flow. Maybe Sara had had too much sun and wine, or maybe she was feeling reckless in the face of Leandro's indifference. Anyway, she produced a catalogue that, if Jessica had not been wary already, would have worried her extremely.

  `Oh, come on, Leo, admit it,' she ended. 'You're an expert on women, from frightened virgins onwards.'

  Her husband intervened in a last praiseworthy attempt to deflect the conversation. 'Frightened virgins are a myth, Sara. At least, I've never met one. What do you think, Leo?'

  `A myth?' Leandro was thoughtful. Whatever he thought about Sara's comprehensive anatomising of his past life, no anger showed in his face, thought Jessica, admiring his control. She knew in her bones that he was angrier than she had ever known him before. `A myth? No, I don't think so. But I don't think they present quite the difficulty that Sara thinks.'

  `Why?' asked her husband.

  Leandro shrugged. 'Well, they don't know what they're afraid of. You can talk them out of it, or so I'm told. I've never done it myself.' He gave Sara a cold smile which made her flush and look away. `No, the real problem is with the frightened lady who is not a virgin and therefore knows exactly what there is to be afraid of.'

  Jessica went rigid and withdrew her hand. She managed not to look at him and she managed not to blush,

  but it was a struggle. She was indignant that he should try to tease her in this cruel fashion in front of other people, but when she looked at him, she saw the seriousness behind the social manner and realised he was not teasing at all.

  She stared at him, wondering. He held her eyes very steadily. His smile was lopsided, rueful, but he was definitely not teasing. As if in a dream she put her hand out again. Something flashed in his eyes, quickly veiled, and he covered her fingers with his own.

  Sara's husband was talking, still lightly, in that amused, sophisticated fashion. `. . . gone over to the opposition,' he said.

  Leandro squeezed Jessica's hand, unseen by the others.

  `I don't think I regard a relationship of this kind as quite the battle you and Sara seem to believe it is.'

  Sara gave a little scream of laughter. 'Darling, you sound like a social worker! Of course it's a battle. Too dreary if it weren't. Where would be the fun?'

  Leandro grinned. 'I could think of one or two areas,' he drawled.

  His food arrived and with it glasses and a bottle of champagne.

  `Ah, good,' he said, pleased. Now I can show Jessica how champagne ought to be opened.'

  The smile he gave her was full of complicity, of awareness of what they had already shared, unknowable by their companions. This time Jessica did not manage not to blush.

  Leandro took a white napkin from the steward and, having stripped the gold foil and restraining wire from the cork, took the bottle firmly in his right hand, draping the napkin about its neck.

  `Observe,' he said. 'Hold the cork firmly. It will probably be beginning to move out on its own anway

  under pressure from the wine. If it is not, then it is wedged very tightly and the pressure will be that much greater when it is eventually released.'

  Sara giggled and put her hands over her ears. Jessica scorned to do so, but she winced slightly, watching the threatening cork.

  `All that is needed,' instructed Leandro airily, `is perfect co-ordination of hand and eye. And a strong nerve. The secret is to turn the bottle, not the cork.' He proceeded to do so. 'And when the cork eventually goes—' there was a restrained pop which made Jessica blink `—keep it close to the mouth of the bottle so that the gas escapes in a controlled fashion, without making the wine fizz all over your shoes.'

  There was a faint hiss. It died eventually. Leandro then whipped the cork away and poured the liquid very slowly into four tall flutes. Even the pouring was done carefully so that the wine did not froth up in the glass. Sara applauded enthusiastically. Leandro bowed.

  'Voila!'

  Jessica accepted her glass from him rather austerely. It was an impressive talent, she conceded, but one which spoke all too clearly of the habits that made up his life. She gave him a sweet smile.

  `If you ever get tired of lotus-eating, you should have an excellent career open to you as a wine waiter,' she informed him.

  Sara gasped, but Leandro grinned at her, flicking her nose. 'I've had several offers. I might even consider them.' His eyelids drooped wickedly. He leant towards her and whispered for her ears alone, 'If I were saved by the love of a good woman, for instance.'

  Jessica could have kicked him. What was the point of convincing herself that she had lots of room to manoeuvre before she need decide whether or not to fall in love with him when he made her blush and tingle with

  amusement and excitement like this?

  'Thank you,' she said repressively.

  'Not at all.' His eyes laughed at her before he turned away to give wine to Sara and her husband. 'You can do it next time.'

  'Open the champagne?' she asked, challenging him. She knew quite well that was not what he meant. It was part of his private teasing of her.

  He nodded. 'Our very next bottle.' He managed one of his ardent looks. 'I look forward to it.'

  Jessica plunged her nose into her champagne flute, positive that even the tips of her ears were scarlet. Damn the man! Why did he think it was such fun to behave like
this? And why couldn't she stay immune to his teasing? She was hardly a child, after all.

  She bore very little part in the conversation that followed. It was clear that Leandro knew the couple fairly well. They spoke of places and people that were unknown to Jessica. It was almost as if Sara was trying to exclude her, trying to demonstrate that she was not one of the crowd. Maybe also she was trying to hint that she, Sara, knew Leandro better than anyone in Jessica's position would ever begin to. Not, thought Jessica wryly, that that needed demonstrating.

  She was not, however, convinced by the hints that Sara threw out, very delicately, that she and Leandro were more than friends. She told him so when, Sara having been claimed temporarily by a mutual acquaintance and her husband being at the bar, Leandro turned to her anxiously.

  'I don't know why she's behaving like this,' he said under his breath. 'I've known her for years and never laid a hand on her.'

  'Maybe that's why,' returned Jessica under her breath.

  He gave her a searching look. You believe me?'

  She said drily, 'Shouldn't I?'

  `Yes, but that doesn't usually seem to determine whether you do or not,' Leandro said, equally drily. `Have you decided to trust me, after all?'

  Jessica swallowed. `I—don't know.'

  `Then come with me. Come with me now,' he said urgently. 'Before they get back.'

  She was taken aback. 'But won't it look rude?' Leandro shrugged. 'I don't give a damn. Do you?' he challenged.

  She gave an excited little laugh. 'No, I don't suppose I do,' she acknowledged.

  `Then come. Now.'

  He pulled her hand, taking her after him along the deck. She was amused. She felt like a child escaping from school. She wondered what Sara would think when she returned from her conversation. The woman would not be pleased, she knew. She might not have any claim on Leandro, but she would not want to relinquish the chance of a flirtation—certainly not to a foreigner and an unbeautiful one at that.