The Italian's Price

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

INSTRUCTING THE TAXI driver to wait, Cesare Saracino swung his long legs to the wet pavement and headed towards the small, old-fashioned butcher’s shop at the end of the largely deserted narrow high street, his dark eyes grim with determination.

His investigator had tracked down her widowed mother’s home address with no difficulty at all. Personally he couldn’t see Jilly Lee actually returning here, never mind living in a flat above a butcher’s in a small market town on the border of Wales where nothing much ever happened. She needed bright lights, the company of admiring free-spending males. Glitz and glamour.

She wouldn’t be here but her mother would know where she had gone since her sneaky disappearance from the villa. Jilly Lee—a soft and silly name for a first class bitch—would be made to pay. He’d find her and haul her back to Tuscany, demand reparation, force her to put her hunt for a wealthy husband and her thieving activities on hold and do the job she’d been hired to do.

His mouth tightened with pain. The way things were going, Jilly Lee wouldn’t be in harness for long. Nonna was visibly growing more frail, though it galled him to have to admit that since the arrival of the Lee woman she’d brightened considerably.

‘There are no signs of clinical disease,’ her specialist had informed him three months ago, early in the new year. ‘But your grandmother is well over eighty and has been a widow for how long?’

‘Thirty years.’

‘And one by one she will have seen most of her contemporaries pass away. The body gets increasingly frail and so the will to live dwindles, there is less and less to look forward to.’

Hating the thought that Nonna was simply letting go, he’d kicked against it and suggested hiring a congenial companion.

‘Someone to read to me while I do my embroidery? And drone on in a tedious, elderly way about the misdeeds of modern day youngsters and bore me with interminable tales of her own long-gone youth?’ She’d patted his hand, her smile, as ever, kind and fond. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Someone to keep you company.’

‘Rosa can do that.’

‘Rosa has her hands full of housekeeping duties. She can’t spare the time to go around the garden with you while you snip things off!’

A dry look. ‘There are plenty of gardeners to pick me up if I fall over while I’m deadheading—if that’s what worries you!’

He’d taken both her frail hands in his. ‘I spend as much time here at the villa as I can but I’m often away. Of course I worry about you. You took me in when I was a stroppy twelve-year-old. You cared for me. Let me now care for you. And there’s no law that says a paid companion has to be in her dotage.’

He’d drafted the advertisement himself, offered sky-high wages, sat in on the interviews and had noted the first spark of any real interest in the faded old eyes when Jilly Lee had been shown in.

On first sight she’d seemed vaguely familiar. A face glimpsed at a nightclub in Florence when he’d been entertaining an American client who’d expressed an interest in unwinding in a hot spot? But then these out-on-the-prowl bimbos all looked alike. Flowing long blonde hair, pouty scarlet lips, skimpy dresses designed to show pneumatic bosoms and endless legs. Ten a penny. He’d been hit on by enough of them during his thirty-four years to know the type. No wonder Nonna called him cynical.

He’d dismissed the impression. True, Ms Lee had long silky blonde hair but it had been neatly tied back with a black velvet band and the blue shift dress she’d been wearing, although doing nothing to detract from her blatant curves, was demure enough in the hemline stakes.

As in the three previous interviews he’d simply observed, leaving Nonna to run the show, only inputting when he’d felt the need for clarification.

On the face of it she had seemed ideal. Twenty-five years old, so definitely not the middle-aged bore Nonna had stated she wouldn’t countenance. English, but with very passable Italian. Excellent references from a famous London store. The time spent in the interim travelling in Italy, picking up the language, taking odd jobs to eke out her savings, moving on, never staying in one place for very long. Now she wanted to settle permanently in this beautiful country.

Rarely sparing him a glance, she’d chatted away with ease, charming and outgoing, and when Nonna—already captivated—had asked her to withdraw for a moment, told him with the first flash of excitement he’d seen coming from her in months, ‘I like her. She’s young, lively and lovely to look at. Just what I need since you point blank refuse to marry and bring a young bride here to brighten my days and keep me on my toes! Plus, we can practice my English together. I once spoke it as well as you do, but now I am rusty. What do you think? Shall we hire her?’