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wondered what it would feel like, being held in his arms, moving with
him to music. Her pulses picked up and beat faster.
"Music?' He turned on a tape player and a guitar began throbbing;
gypsy music, Spanish, she thought vaguely.
'One of yours?'
'Of course.' He turned his head, smiling, his teeth a white flash against
brown skin. 'Andrea suggests you might like to sit in at the studio one
day next week. I'll fix it.'
'Thank you.' The deep passionate beat of the music sounded inside
her, in her bloodstream, in her body.
The city was crammed with traffic, as usual, those narrow streets hot
and stuffy with petrol fumes and noisy with the sound of engines
roaring. Ricco drove without speaking, his tanned hands resting on
the wheel, his body poised patiently, and she watched him drowsily,
beginning to admit that she wanted to touch him, to trace .the hard
contours of that face, learn the feel of his body under her hands. The
gypsy music beat higher, she could hardly breathe.
Ricco turned into a less busy road and picked up speed. He shot her a
look that gleamed with awareness, and her eyes quickly dropped. He
knew she had been staring; had he picked up what she was feeling?
Oh, God, I hope not, she thought, very hot. A moment later he had
parked and shut off the music, and Vicky stumbled out of the car
without waiting for him to move first.
It was a pleasant evening, after all. Andreai's wife, Lucy, was a calm,
friendly woman at least ten years older than Vicky, perhaps more.
Their children were lively and easy with adults, used to having
grown-up conversations, interested in what went on around the table,
able to enter into discussions about music and books and television.
The food was very good; Lucy had made a fruit cocktail to start with,
and then served a dish of green and white tagliatelle with a meat
sauce which was quite delicious. 'Straw and hay,' Lucy told her when
Vicky asked what the dish was called.
The children laughed. Vicky looked at them, glanced at Ricco.
'No, really? What is it called?'
'Paglia e fieno,' said Ricco, grinning.
'And what does that mean?'
'Straw and hay,' they all chorused, laughing, and when she refused to
believe them Lucy went off to find a dictionary and proved that they
weren't making it up.
Lucy didn't look particularly English, her skin was so brown and her
eyes were even darker. At a glance she would certainly pass for an
Italian, but her accent betrayed her when she opened her mouth, and
she had curly brown hair with a streak of red in it.
She and Vicky washed up together after the meal. Vicky had to insist;
she wanted a chance to get to know Lucy better without the men
around. As they worked she told Lucy about Susan and David.
'Susan's made some friends, with the wives of men who work with
David, but her Italian isn't very good yet and she feels a bit lonely
here. That's partly, why I'm staying on I know Susan likes having
me near her.'
'It isn't easy, when you first move to Italy, but once you can speak the
language it gets easier. You have to make the effort to find friends,
but that applies anywhere. If you moved to a strange town in England
you'd have the same problem.'
'I'm planning to have a small housewarming party soon mostly
people from the office. I hopeyou'll come. I'd like you to meet Susan.'
'I'd love to," said Lucy, putting away plates in a wall cupboard.
'Andrea tells me you're living in part of Ricco's house.' She glanced
round. 'The empty wing, isn't it?'
'That's right,' Vicky said guardedly, wondering what Lucy thought of
that.
'I like Ricco, he's been very good to us. When my eldest boy, Pierd,
was knocked down by a car Ricco insisted on paying for a specialist
from Milan, the best man in the country. I think if he hadn't done that
Piero might have lost his sight. He had to have a very difficult
operation immediately. Even a delay of a few days might have meant
his chances were remote, but thanks to Ricco the operation was
performed almost at once and was a hundred per cent successful. I'll
never be able to forget what he did for us. Neither will Andrea.' Lucy
turned, wiping her hands on a tea towel. 'He's a nice man.' She smiled.
'Far too nice to get caught by someone like Bianca Fancelli!'
Vicky carefully put down the coffee cup she was drying. 'You think
he may marry her?' she asked, hoping she sounded casual.
Lucy grimaced. 'I hope not.'
Vicky's stomach was clenched as if someone had just hit her there.
She listened as Lucy talked, trying to look calm.
'Bianca's a singer first and last a singer! Everything else in her life
has to fit her work, she doesn't care twopence for anyone but Bianca
Fancelli and her career.' Lucy's face was ironic. 'If she does marry
Ricco it will be because he's useful to her, and she'll give him hell.
She's ruthless, spoilt, selfish a typical star.'
Vicky felt a cold jab of comprehension, recognising the
description Bianca and Miller were two of a kind, their careers were
what mattered, and the people who got involved with them were
unimportant and expendable. Their amorality was instinctive, a
defence against the many people who tried to use them. They made
sure that they were the users, and in a way that was understandable,
but it made them poor risks for anyone stupid enough to love them.
'Do you think he's in love with her?' she asked huskily, and Lucy shot
her an odd look.
i wouldn't like to guess Ricco plays his cards close to his chest, but
he has seen a lot of her over the past couple of years, although he
couldn't really avoid doing so considering she's such a major
recording star.'
'She's good, isn't she?' said Vicky, grimly determined to face facts.
'Good?' Lucy looked at her drily. 'She's fabulous, and she knows it.'
'Does Andrea talk about his work much?'
'Endlessly.'
'Do you go to the opera often?'
'Whenever we can get a baby-sitter. We have all our favourite operas
on disc, but however good the recording it can't compare with a stage
performance, that's a feast for the eye as well as the ear, and the
singers get more of a buzz from having an audience, their
performances are often better. Bianca, in particular, comes over the
footlights like a typhoon. She has tremendous stage presence; when
she's on, even if she has her mouth shut, you can't take your eyes off
her.'
Vicky's teeth set like concrete; she went on smiling, but it hurt. Why
should she imagine that Ricco was interested in her when Bianca had
ten times her sex appeal, plus all that talent, beauty, sheer knockout
presence? She should have remembered her first impression of
him like Miller, he was a flirt.
Lucy opened the kitchen window wider. The dark night sky was
cloudy, the air heavy and humid. 'I've got a hunch it may rain
overnight. We haven't had any rain for days, so it will do the gardens
good.' She turned, smiling. 'Shall we see what the men are up to?'
The children were in bed and asleep by now. The men were talking
shop, but when Lucy and Vicky came in Ricco got up, stretching his
long body with a smothered yawn.
'I'm afraid we must be going, Lucy. I think a storm is on the way,
don't you? I'd like to get home before it breaks. Thanks for a
wonderful evening.'
Vicky added her own thanks. 'And don't forget my party I'll let
Andrea know when I've fixed the date.' [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]