Wanted: Mistress and Mother

Carol Marinelli

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Cover

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

COMING NEXT MONTH

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

INAPPROPRIATE.

It was the first word that sprang to mind as dark, clearly irritated eyes swung round to face her, black eyes that stared down at Matilda, scrutinising her face unashamedly, making her acutely aware of her—for once—expertly made-up face. The vivid pink lipstick the beautician had insisted on to add a splash of colour to her newly straightened ash blonde hair and porcelain complexion seemed to suddenly render her mouth immovable, as, rather than slowing down to assist, the man she had asked for directions had instead, after a brief angry glance, picked up speed and carried on walking.

Inappropriate, because generally when you stopped someone to ask for directions, especially in a hospital, you expected to be greeted with a courteous nod or smile, for the person to actually slow down, instead of striding ahead and glaring back at you with an angry question of their own.

‘Where?’

Even though he uttered just a single word, the thick, clipped accent told Matilda that English wasn’t this man’s first language. Matilda’s annoyance at this response was doused a touch. Perhaps he was in the hospital to visit a sick relative, had just flown in to Australia from…In that split second her mind worked rapidly, trying to place him—his appearance was Mediterranean, Spanish or Greek perhaps, or maybe…

‘Where is it you want to go?’ he barked, finally deigning to slow down a fraction, the few extra words allowing Matilda to place his strong accent—he was Italian!

‘I wanted to know how to find the function room,’ she said slowly, repeating the question she had already asked, berating her luck that the only person walking through the maze of the hospital administration corridors spoke little English. That the tall, imposing man she had had to resort to for directions was blatantly annoyed at the intrusion. ‘I’m trying to get there for the opening of the hospital garden. I’m supposed to be there in…’ She glanced down at her watch and let out a sigh of exasperation. ‘Actually, I was supposed to be there five minutes ago.’

‘Merda!’ As he glanced at his watch the curse that escaped his lips, though in Italian, wasn’t, Matilda assumed, particularly complimentary, and abruptly stepping back she gave a wide-eyed look, before turning smartly on her heel and heading off to find her own way. He’d made it exceptionally clear that her request for assistance had been intrusive but now he was being downright rude. She certainly wasn’t going to stand around and wait for the translation—she’d find the blessed function room on her own!

‘I’m sorry.’ He caught up with her in two long strides, but Matilda marched on, this angry package of testosterone the very last thing she needed this morning.

‘No, I’m sorry to have disturbed you,’ Matilda called back over her shoulder, pushing the button—any button—on the lift and hoping to get the hell out of there. ‘You’re clearly busy.’

‘I was cursing myself, not you.’ He gave a tiny grimace, shrugged very wide shoulders in apology, which sweetened the explanation somewhat, and Matilda made a mental correction. His English was, in fact, excellent. It was just his accent that was incredibly strong—deep and heavy, and, Matilda reluctantly noted, incredibly sensual. ‘I too am supposed to be at the garden opening, I completely forgot that they’d moved the time forward. My secretary has decided to take maternity leave.’

‘How inconsiderate of her!’ Matilda murmured under her breath, before stepping inside as the lift slid open.

‘Pardon?’

Beating back a blush, Matilda stared fixedly ahead, unfortunately having to wait for him to press the button, as she was still none the wiser as to where the function room was.

‘I didn’t quite catch what you said,’ he persisted.

‘I didn’t say anything,’ Matilda lied, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her, or, at the very least, the blessed lift would get moving. There was something daunting about him, something incredibly confronting about his manner, his voice, his eyes, something very inappropriate.

There was that word again, only this time it had nothing to do with his earlier rude response and everything to do with Matilda’s as she watched dark, olive-skinned hands punching in the floor number, revealing a flash of an undoubtedly expensive gold watch under heavy white cotton shirt cuffs. The scent of his bitter, tangy aftershave was wafting over towards her in the confined space and stinging into her nostrils as she reluctantly dragged in his supremely male scent. Stealing a sideways glance, for the first time Matilda looked at him properly and pieced together the features she had so far only glimpsed.

He was astonishingly good-looking.

The internal admission jolted her—since her break-up with Edward she hadn’t so much as looked at a man—certainly she hadn’t looked at a man in that way. The day she’d ended their relationship, like bandit screens shooting up at the bank counter, it had been as if her hormones had been switched off. Well, perhaps not off, but even simmering would be an exaggeration—the hormonal pot had been moved to the edge of the tiniest gas ring and was being kept in a state of tepid indifference: utterly jaded and completely immune.

Till now!

Never had she seen someone so exquisitely beautiful close up. It was as if some skilled photographer had taken his magic wand and airbrushed the man from the tip of his ebony hair right down to the soft leather of his expensively shod toes. He seemed vaguely familiar—and she tried over and over to place that swarthy, good-looking face, sure that she must have seen him on the TV screen because, if she’d witnessed him in the flesh, Matilda knew she would have remembered the occasion.

God, it was hot.

Fiddling with the neckline of her blouse, Matilda dragged her eyes away and willed the lift to move faster, only realising she’d been holding her breath when thankfully the doors slid open and she released it in a grateful sigh, as in a surprisingly gentlemanly move he stepped aside, gesturing for her to go first. But Matilda wished he’d been as rude on the fourth floor as he had been on the ground, wished, as she teetered along the carpeted floor of the administration wing in unfamiliar high heels, that she was walking behind instead of ahead of this menacing stranger, positive, absolutely positive that those black eyes were assessing her from a male perspective, excruciatingly aware of his eyes burning into her shoulders. She could almost feel the heat emanating from them as they dragged lower down to the rather too short second half of her smart, terribly new charcoal suit. And if legs could have blushed, then Matilda’s were glowing as she felt his burning gaze on calves that were encased in the sheerest of stockings.

‘Oh!’ Staring at the notice-board, she bristled as he hovered over her shoulder, reading with growing indignation the words beneath the hastily drawn black arrow. ‘The opening’s been moved to the rooftop.’

‘Which makes more sense,’ he drawled, raising a curious, perfectly arched eyebrow at her obvious annoyance, before following the arrow to a different set of lifts. ‘Given that it is the rooftop garden that’s being officially opened today and not the function room.’

‘Yes, but…’ Swallowing her words, Matilda followed him along the corridor. The fact she’d been arguing for the last month for the speeches to be held in the garden and not in some bland function room had nothing to do with this man. Admin had decided that a brief champagne reception and speeches would be held here, followed by a smooth transition to the rooftop where Hugh Keller, CEO, would cut the ribbon.

The logistics of bundling more than a hundred people, in varying degrees of health, into a couple of lifts hadn’t appeared to faze anyone except Matilda—until now.

But her irritation was short-lived, replaced almost immediately by the same flutter of nerves that had assailed her only moments before, her palms moist as she clenched her fingers into a fist, chewing nervously on her bottom lip as the lift doors again pinged open.

She didn’t want to go in.

Didn’t want that disquieting, claustrophobic feeling to assail her again. She almost turned and ran, her mind whirring for excuses—a quick dash to the loo perhaps, a phone call she simply had to make—but an impatient foot was tapping, fingers pressing the hold button, and given that she was already horribly late, Matilda had no choice.

Inadeguato.

As she stepped in hesitantly beside him, the word taunted him.

Inadeguato—to be feeling like this, to be thinking like this.

Dante could almost smell the arousal in the air as the doors closed and the lift jolted upwards. But it wasn’t just her heady, feminine fragrance that reached him as he stood there, more the presence of her, the…He struggled for a word to describe his feelings for this delectable stranger, but even with two languages at his disposal, an attempt to sum up what he felt in a single word utterly failed him.

She was divine.

That was a start at least—pale blonde hair was sleeked back from an elfin face, vivid green eyes were surrounded by thick eyelashes and that awful lipstick she’d been wearing only moments ago had been nibbled away now—revealing dark, full red lips, lips that were almost too plump for her delicate face, and Dante found himself wondering if she’d had some work done on herself, for not a single line marred her pale features, her delicate, slightly snubbed nose absolutely in proportion to her petite features. She was certainly a woman who took care of herself. Her eyes were heavily made up, her hair fragranced and glossy—clearly the sort of woman who spent a lot of time in the beauty parlour. Perhaps a few jabs of collagen had plumped those delicious lips to kissable proportions, maybe a few units of Botox had smoothed the lines on her forehead, Dante thought as he found himself scrutinising her face more closely than he had a woman’s in a long time.

A very long time.

He knew that it was wrong to be staring, inadeguato to be feeling this stir of lust for a woman he had never met, a woman whose name he didn’t even know.

A woman who wasn’t his wife.

The lift shuddered, and he saw her brow squiggle into a frown, white teeth working her lips as the lift shuddered to a halt, and Dante’s Botox theory went sailing out of the absent window!

‘We’re stuck!’ Startled eyes turned to him as the lift jolted and shuddered to a halt, nervous fingers reaching urgently for the panel of buttons, but Dante was too quick for her, his hand closing around hers, pulling her finger back from hitting the panic button.

She felt as if she’d been branded—senses that had been on high alert since she’d first seen him screeched into overdrive, her own internal panic button ringing loudly now as his flesh closed around hers, the impact of his touch sending her into a spin, the dry, hot sensation of his fingers tightening around hers alarming her way more than the jolting lift.

‘We are not stuck. This lift sometimes sticks here…see!’ His fingers loosened from hers and as the lift shuddered back into life, for the first time Matilda noticed the gold band around his ring finger and it both disappointed and reassured her. The simple ring told her that this raw, testosterone-laden package of masculinity was already well and truly spoken for and suddenly Matilda felt foolish, not just for her rather pathetic reaction to the lift halting but for the intense feelings he had so easily evoked. She gave an apologetic grimace.

‘Sorry. I’m just anxious to get there!’

‘You seem tense.’

‘Because I am tense,’ Matilda admitted. The knowledge that he was married allowed her to let down her guard a touch now, sure in her own mind she had completely misread things, that the explosive reaction to him hadn’t been in the least bit mutual, almost convincing herself that it was nerves about the opening that had set her on such a knife edge. Realising the ambiguity of her statement, Matilda elaborated. ‘I hate this type of thing—’ she started, but he jumped in, actually nodding in agreement.

‘Me, too,’ he said. ‘There are maybe a hundred places I have to be this morning and instead I will be standing in some stupido garden on the top of a hospital roof, telling people how happy I am to be there…’

‘Stupid?’ Matilda’s eyes narrowed at his response, anger bristling in her as he, albeit unwittingly, derided the months of painstaking work she had put into the garden they were heading up to. ‘You think the garden is stupid?’ Appalled, she swung around to confront him, realising he probably didn’t know that she was the designer of the garden. But that wasn’t the point—he had no idea who he was talking to, had spouted his arrogant opinion with no thought to who might hear it, no thought at all. But Dante was saved from her stinging response by the lift doors opening.

‘Don’t worry. Hopefully it won’t take too long and we can quickly be out of there.’ He rolled his eyes, probably expecting a sympathetic response, probably expecting a smooth departure from this meaningless, fleeting meeting, but Matilda was running behind him, tapping him smartly on the shoulder.

‘Have you any idea the amount of work that goes into creating a garden like this?’

‘No,’ he answered rudely. ‘But I know down to the last cent what it cost and, frankly, I can think of many more important things the hospital could have spent its money on.’

They were walking quickly, too quickly really for Matilda, but rage spurred her to keep up with him. ‘People will get a lot of pleasure from this garden—sick people,’ she added for effect, but clearly unmoved he just shrugged.

‘Maybe,’ he admitted, ‘but if I were ill, I’d far rather that the latest equipment was monitoring me than have the knowledge that a garden was awaiting, if I ever made it up there.’

‘You’re missing the point…’

‘I didn’t realise there was one,’ he frowned. ‘I’m merely expressing an opinion and, given that it’s mostly my money that paid for this “reflective garden”, I happen to think I am entitled to one.’

‘Your money?’

‘My firm’s.’ He nodded, revealing little but at least allowing Matilda to discount the movie-star theory! ‘Initially I was opposed when I heard what the hospital intended spending the donation on, but then some novice put in such a ridiculously low tender, I decided to let it go ahead. No doubt the landscape firm is now declaring bankruptcy, but at the end of the day the hospital has its garden and I appear a man of the people.’ All this was said in superior tones with a thick accent so that Matilda was a second or two behind the conversation, blinking angrily as each word was deciphered and finally hit its mark. ‘Never look a gift pony in the mouth.’

‘Horse,’ she retorted as she followed this impossible, obnoxious man up the disabled ramp that she had had installed to replace the three concrete steps and opened the small door that led onto the rooftop. ‘The saying is never look a gift horse…’ Her words petered out, the anger that fizzed inside, the nerves that had assailed her all morning fading as she stepped outside.

Outside into what she, Matilda Hamilton, had created.

The barren, concrete landscape of the hospital roof had become available when the helipad had been relocated to the newly built emergency department the previous year. The hospital had advertised in the newspaper, inviting tenders to transform the nondescript area into a retreat for patients, staff and relatives. A landscape designer by trade, most of her work to that point had been courtesy of her fiancé, Edward—a prominent real estate agent whose wealthy clients were only too happy to part with generous sums of money in order to bolster their properties prior to sale, or to transform Nana’s neglected garden into a small oasis prior to an executor’s auction. But as their relationship had steadily deteriorated, Matilda’s desire to make it on her own had steadily increased. Despite Edwards’s negativity and scorn, she’d registered a business name and duly made an appointment to take measurements of the rooftop and start her plans. Though she hadn’t expected to make it past the first round, the second she had stepped onto the roof, excitement had taken over. It was as if she could see how it should be, could envision this dry, bland area transformed—endless potted trees supplying wind breaks and shade decorated with fairy lights to make it magical at night, cobbled paths where patients could meander and find their own space for reflection, mosaic tables filled with colour, messages of hope and inspiration adorning them like the stained-glass windows of a church where families could sit and share a coffee.

And water features!

Matilda’s signature pieces were definitely in the plural—the gentle sound of running water audible at every turn, blocking out the hum of traffic or nearby people to enable peace or a private conversation. Hugh Keller had listened as she’d painted her vision with words, her hands flailing like windmills as she’d invited him into her mind’s eye, described in minute detail the image she could so clearly see—a centre piece of water jets, shooting from the ground at various, random intervals, catching the sun and the colour from the garden—a centre piece where the elderly could sit and watch and children could play. And now that vision was finally a reality. In just a few moments’ time, when Hugh cut the ribbon, the water features would be turned on and the garden declared open for all to enjoy!

‘Matilda!’ From all angles her name was being called and Matilda was glad for her momentary popularity—glad for the excuse to slip away from the man she’d walked in with. Not that he’d notice, Matilda thought, accepting congratulations and a welcome glass of champagne, but cross with herself that on this, perhaps the most important day of her life, a day when she should be making contacts, focusing on her achievement, instead she was recalling the brief encounter that had literally left her breathless, her mind drifting from the vitally important to the completely irrelevant.

He’d been nothing but rude, Matilda reminded herself firmly, smiling as Hugh waved through the crowd and made his way over towards her.

Very rude, Matilda reiterated to herself—good-looking he may be, impossibly sexy even, but he was obnoxious and—

‘Hi, Hugh.’ Matilda kissed the elderly gentleman on the cheek and dragged her mind back to the important event that was taking place. She listened intently as Hugh briefed her on the order of the speeches and part she would take in the day’s events, but somewhere between Hugh reminding her to thank the mayor and the various sponsors Matilda’s mind wandered, along with her eyes—coming to rest on that haughty profile that had both inflamed and enraged her since the moment of impact. Watching a man who stood a foot above a dignified crowd, engaged in conversation yet somehow remaining aloof, somehow standing apart from the rest.

And maybe he sensed he was being watched, perhaps it was her longing that made him turn around, but suddenly he was looking at her, making her feel just as he had a few moments ago in the lift, plunging her back to sample again those giddy, confusing sensations he somehow triggered. Suddenly her ability to concentrate on what Hugh was saying was reduced to ADHD proportions, the chatter in the garden fading into a distant hum as he blatantly held her gaze, just stared directly back at her as with cheeks darkening she boldly did the same. Although the sensible part of her mind was telling her to terminate things, to tear her eyes away, turn her back on him, halt this here and now, somehow she switched her internal remote to mute, somehow she tuned out the warnings and focused instead on the delicious picture.

‘Once things calm down, hopefully we can discuss it.’ Someone inadvertently knocking her elbow had Matilda snapping back to attention, but way too late to even attempt a recovery, Matilda realised as Hugh gave her a concerned look. ‘Are you OK?’

‘I’m so sorry, Hugh.’ Reaching for her mental remote control, Matilda raised the volume, glanced at the gold band on the stranger’s ring finger and, pointedly turning her back, flashed a genuinely apologetic smile. ‘I really am. I completely missed that last bit of what you said. I’m a bundle of nerves at the moment, checking out that everything’s looking OK…’

‘Everything’s looking wonderful, Matilda,’ Hugh soothed, making her feel even guiltier! ‘You’ve done an amazing job. I can’t believe the transformation—just a bare old helipad and rooftop and now it’s this oasis. Everyone who’s been up here, from porters to consultants, has raved about it. I’m just glad it’s finally going to be open for the people who really deserve to enjoy it: the patients and relatives.’

‘Me, too.’ Matilda smiled. ‘So, what was it you wanted to discuss, Hugh?’

‘A job.’ Hugh smiled. ‘Though I hear you’re rather in demand these days.’

‘Only thanks to you,’ Matilda admitted. ‘What sort of job?’

But it was Hugh who was distracted now, smiling at the mayor who was making his way towards them. ‘Perhaps we could talk after the speeches—when things have calmed down a bit.’

‘Of course.’ Matilda nodded. ‘I’ll look forward to it!’ More than Hugh knew. The thought of giving a speech—of facing this crowd, no matter how friendly—had filled her with dread for weeks now. The business side of running a business was really not her forte, but she’d done her best to look the part: had been to the beautician’s and had her hair and make-up done—her hair today was neatly put up instead of thrown into a ponytail, expensive foundation replacing the usual slick of sun block and mascara. And the shorts, T-shirts and beloved Blundstone boots, which were her usual fare, had been replaced with a snappy little suit and painfully high heels. As the dreaded speeches started, Matilda stood with mounting heart rate and a very fixed smile, listening in suicidal despair as all her carefully thought-out lines and supposedly random thoughts were one by one used by the speakers that came before her. Tossing the little cards she had so carefully prepared into her—new—handbag, Matilda took to the microphone, smile firmly in place as Hugh adjusted it to her rather small height and the PA system shrieked in protest. Staring back at the mixture of curious and bored faces, only one really captured her, and she awaited his reaction—wondered how he would respond when he realised who he had insulted. But he wasn’t even looking—his attention held by some ravishing brunette who was blatantly flirting with him. Flicking her eyes away, Matilda embarked on the first speech in her adult life, carefully thanking the people Hugh had mentioned before taking a deep breath and dragging in the heady fragrance of springtime and, as she always did, drawing strength from it.

‘When I first met Hugh to discuss the garden, it was very clear that the hospital wanted a place that would provide respite,’ Matilda started. ‘A place where people could come and find if not peace then somewhere where they could gather their thoughts or even just take a breath that didn’t smell of hospitals.’ A few knowing nods from the crowd told her she was on the right track. ‘With the help of many, many people, I think we’ve been able to provide that. Hospitals can be stressful places, not just for the patients and relatives but for the staff also, and my aim when I took on this job was to create an area void of signs and directions and overhead loudspeakers, a place where people could forget for a little while all that was going on beneath them, and hopefully that’s been achieved.’

There were probably a million and one other things she could have said, no doubt someone else who needed to be thanked, but glancing out beyond the crowd, seeing the garden that had lived only in her mind’s eye alive and vibrant, Matilda decided it was time to let Mother Nature speak for herself, to wrap up the speeches and let the crowd explore the haven she had tried so hard to create. She summed up with one heartfelt word.

‘Enjoy!’

As Hugh cut the ribbon and the water jets danced into life, thin ribbons of water leaping into the air and catching the sunlight, Matilda felt a surge of pride at the oohs of the crowd and the excited shrieks of the children, doing just as she had intended: getting thoroughly wet and laughing as they did so. Only there was one child that didn’t join in with the giggling and running, one little toddler who stood perfectly still, staring transfixed at the jets of water with huge solemn eyes, blonde curls framing her face. For some reason Matilda found herself staring, found herself almost willing the little girl to run and dance with the others, to see expression in that little frozen face.

‘It’s pretty, isn’t it?’ Crouching down beside her, Matilda held one of her hands out, breaking the stream of one of the jets, the cool water running through her fingers. ‘You can touch it,’ Matilda said, watching as slowly, almost fearfully a little fat hand joined Matilda’s. A glimmer of a smile shivered on the little girl’s lips, those solemn eyes glittering now as she joined in with the simple pleasure. As she saw Hugh coming over, Matilda found herself strangely reluctant to leave the child, sure that with just another few moments she could have had her running and dancing with the rest of the children.

‘My granddaughter, Alex,’ Hugh introduced them, crouching down also, but his presence went unnoted by Alex, her attention focused on the water running through her hands. ‘She seems to like you.’

‘She’s adorable.’ Matilda smiled, but it wavered on her lips, questions starting to form in her mind as the little girl still just stood there, not moving, not acknowledging the other children or her grandfather, just utterly, utterly lost in her own little world. ‘How old is she?’

‘Two,’ Hugh said standing up, and pulling out a handkerchief, dabbing at his forehead for a moment.

‘Are you OK,’ Matilda checked, concerned at the slightly grey tinge to his face.

‘I’ll be fine,’ Hugh replied. ‘I’ve just been a bit off colour recently. She’s two,’ he continued, clearly wanting to change the subject. ‘It was as actually Alex that I was hoping to talk to you about.’

‘I thought it was a job…’ Her voice trailed off, both of their gazes drifting towards the little girl, still standing there motionless. But her face was lit up with a huge smile, utterly entranced at the sight before her though still she didn’t join in, she still stood apart, and with a stab of regret Matilda almost guessed what was coming next.

‘She’s been having some problems,’ Hugh said, his voice thick with emotion. ‘She was involved in a car accident over a year ago and though initially she appeared unharmed, gradually she’s regressed, just retreated really. She has the most appalling tantrums and outbursts followed by days of silence—the doctors are starting to say that she may be autistic. My wife Katrina and I are frantic…’

‘Naturally.’ Matilda gave a sympathetic smile, genuinely sorry to hear all Hugh was going through. He was a kind, gentle, friendly man, and even though they’d chatted at length over the last few months, he’d never given so much of a hint as to the problems in his personal life. But, then again, Matilda thought with a sigh, neither had she.

‘I told my son-in-law last night that my wife and I would like to do this for Alex as a gift. There’s a small gated area at the back of his property that I’m sure would be perfect for something like this—not on such a grand scale, of course, just somewhere that doesn’t have rocks and walls and a pool…’

‘Somewhere safe,’ Matilda volunteered.

‘Exactly.’ Hugh gave a relieved nod. ‘Somewhere she can’t fall and hurt herself, somewhere she can run around unhindered or just sit and look at something beautiful. Look, I know you’re booked up solidly for the next few months, but if one of the jobs gets cancelled could you bear me in mind? I hate to put pressure on you, Matilda, but I saw the joy in the children’s faces when they saw the garden today. And if it can help Alex…’ His voice trailed off and Matilda knew he wasn’t attempting to gain her sympathy, Hugh would never do that. ‘My son-in-law thinks that it’s just a waste of time, that it isn’t gong to help a bit, but at the very least Alex would have a garden that’s safe and gives her some pleasure. I’m sure I’ll be able to talk him around. At the end of the day he adores Alex—he’d do anything to help her.’

Matilda didn’t know what to say—her diary was fill to burst with smart mews townhouses all wanting the inevitable low-maintenance, high-impact garden—but here was the man who had given her the head start, given her this opportunity. And more importantly, Matilda thought, her eyes lingering on Alex, here was a little girl who deserved all the help she could get. Her mind was working overtime—she could almost see the lazy couple of weeks’ holiday she’d had planned before plunging into her next job slipping away out of her grasp as she took a deep breath and gave a small smile.

‘Hugh, I’d need to get some details and then I’d need to actually see the site before I commit, but I have a couple of weeks off before I start on my next job, and I’m on pretty good terms with a few people. If I called in a few favours maybe I could do it for you. Where does Alex live?’

‘Mount Eliza.’ Hugh saw her give a small grimace. It had nothing to do with the location—Mount Eliza was a stunning, exclusive location overlooking Port Phillip Bay—but the distance from the city meant that it would cut down Matilda’s working day considerably. ‘It was their holiday residence before the accident, but since then…Look, would it make it easier if you stayed there? There’s plenty of room.’

‘I don’t think I’d be able to do it otherwise,’ Matilda admitted. ‘I’ll have workers arriving at the crack of dawn and I’m going to need to be there to meet them and show them what I need done.’

‘It won’t be a problem,’ Hugh assured her, and after a moment of deep thought Matilda gave a small nod and then followed it up with a more definite one.

‘I’d be happy to do it.’

‘You mean it?’

‘Of course.’ Matilda smiled more widely now, Hugh’s obvious delight making her spur-of-the-moment choice easily the right one.

‘I feel awful that you won’t even get a break.’

‘That’s what being in business is all about apparently.’ Matilda shrugged her shoulders. ‘Anyway, I’m sure lean times will come—it won’t stay spring for ever and anyway it mightn’t be such a big job. I’d be glad to do it, Hugh, but I do need a few more details from you, and you need to get your son-in-law’s permission—I can’t go digging up his land and planting things if he doesn’t want me there in the first place. Now, I need to know the size of the land, any existing structures…’ Matilda gave in as yet another group was making its way over, and Hugh’s secretary tapped him on the arm to take an important phone call.

‘It’s impossible to discuss it here.’ Hugh gave an apologetic smile. ‘And it’s probably inappropriate. You should be enjoying the celebrations—perhaps we could do it over dinner tonight. I’ll see if my son-in-law can come along—I’m sure once he hears first hand about it he’ll be more enthusiastic. Actually, there he is—I’ll go and run it by him now.’

‘Good idea,’ Matilda agreed, crouching down again to play with Alex, her head turning to where Hugh was waving. But the smile died on her face as again she found herself staring at the man who had taken up so much of her mental energy today—watching as he walked around the water feature, a frown on his face as he watched her interact with his daughter.

‘Dante!’ Clearly not picking up on the tension, Hugh called him over, but Dante didn’t acknowledge either of them, his haughty expression only softening when Matilda stepped back, his features softer now as he eyed his daughter. Matilda felt a curious lump swell in her throat as, with infinite tenderness, he knelt down beside Alex, something welling within as he spoke gently to his daughter.

‘I’ll have a word with Dante and make a booking for tonight, then,’ Hugh checked hopefully—too pleased to notice Matilda’s stunned expression. The most she could manage was the briefest of nods as realisation started to dawn.

She’d barely managed two minutes in the lift with him and now she was about to be his house guest!

He’s a husband and father, Matilda reminded herself firmly, calming herself down a touch, almost convincing herself she’d imagined the undercurrents that had sizzled between them.

And even if she hadn’t misread things, even if there was an attraction between them, he was a married man and she wouldn’t forget it for a single moment!

CHAPTER TWO

SHE didn’t want to do this.

Walking towards the restaurant, Matilda was tempted to turn on her stilleto heels and run. She hated with a passion the formalities that preceded a garden makeover, looking at plans, talking figures, time-frames—and the fact she hadn’t even seen the garden made this meeting a complete time-waster. But, Matilda was quickly realizing, this type of thing was becoming more and more frequent. As her business took off, gone were the days where she rolled up on a doorstep in her beloved Blundstone boots, accepted a coffee if she was lucky enough to be offered one and drew a comprehensive sketch of her plans for the owners, along with a quote for her services—only to spend the next few days chewing her nails and wondering if they’d call, worrying if perhaps she’d charged too much or, worse, seriously underquoted and would have to make up the difference herself.

Now her initial meetings took place in people’s offices or restaurants, and even if she was lucky enough to be invited into their homes, Matilda had quickly learnt that her new clientele expected a smart, efficient professional for that first important encounter.

But it wasn’t just the formalities that were causing butterflies this evening. Ducking into the shadowy retreat of a large pillar beside the restaurant, Matilda stopped for a moment, rummaged in her bag and pulled out a small mirror. She touched up her lipstick and fiddled with her hair for a second, acknowledging the real reason for anxiety tonight.

Facing Dante.

Even his name made her stomach ball into a knot of tension. She’d wanted him to remain nameless—for that brief, scorching but utterly one-sided encounter to be left at that—to somehow push him to the back of her mind and completely forget about him.

And now she was going to be working for him!

Maybe this dinner was exactly what she needed, Matilda consoled herself, peeling herself from the pillar ready to walk the short distance that remained to the restaurant. Maybe a night in his arrogant, obnoxious, pompous company would purge whatever it was that had coursed through her system since she’d laid eyes on him, and anyway, Matilda reassured herself, Hugh was going to be there, too.

An impressive silver car pulling up at the restaurant caught Matilda’s attention and as the driver walked around and opened the rear door in a feat of self-preservation she found herself stepping back into the shadows, watching as the dignified figure of Dante stepped out—she had utterly no desire to enter the restaurant with him and attempt small talk until she had the reassuring company of Hugh.

He really was stunning, Matilda sighed, feeling slightly voyeuristic as she watched him walk. Clearly she wasn’t the only one who thought so. From the second he’d stepped out of the car, heads had turned, a few people halting their progress to watch as if it were some celebrity arriving on the red carpet. But just as the driver was about to close the car door, just as the doorman greeted him, a piercing shriek emanating from the car had every head turning.

Especially Dante’s.

Even from here she could see the tension etched in his face as he walked back towards the car, from where an anxious young woman appeared, holding the furious, livid, rigid body of his daughter. Grateful for the shadows, Matilda watched with something akin to horror as, oblivious to the gathering crowd, he took the terrified child from the woman and attempted to soothe her, holding her angry, unyielding body against his, talking to her in low, soothing tones, capturing her tiny wrists as she attempted to gouge him, her little teeth like those of a feral animal. Matilda had never seen such anger, never witnessed such a paroxysm of rage, could scarcely comprehend that it could come from someone so small.

‘That child needs a good smack, if you ask me,’ an elderly lady volunteered, even though no one had asked her. Matilda had to swallow down a smart reply, surprising herself at her own anger over such a thoughtless comment—tempted now to step out from the shadows and offer her support, to see if there was anything she could do to help. But almost as soon as it had started it was over. The fight that had fuelled Alex left her, her little body almost slumping in defeat, the shrieks replaced by quiet, shuddering sobs, which were so pain-filled they were almost harder to bear. After a moment more of tender comfort, with a final nod Dante handed her back to the woman, his taut, strained face taking in every detail as the duo headed for the car, before, without deigning to give the crowd a glance, he headed into the restaurant.

Pushing open the door, though shaken from what she had just witnessed, Matilda attempted assurance as her eyes worked the restaurant, her smile ready for Hugh, but as the waiter took her name and guided her towards the table, she was again tempted to turn tail and run.

It was definitely a table for two—but instead of the teddy bear proportions of Hugh, instead of his beaming red face smiling to greet her, she was met by the austere face of Dante, his tall muscular frame standing as she approached, his face expressionless as she crossed the room. If Matilda hadn’t witnessed it herself, she’d never have believed what he’d just been through, for nothing in his stance indicated the hellish encounter of only moments before.

In her peripheral vision she was aware of heads turning, but definitely not towards her, could hear flickers of conversation as she walked towards him.

‘Is he famous…?’

‘He looks familiar…’

He looked familiar because he was perfection—a man that normally glowered from the centre of the glossiest of glossy magazines, a man who should be dressed in nothing more than a ten-thousand-dollar watch or in the driver’s seat of a luxury convertible.

He certainly wasn’t the type of man that Matilda was used to dining with…

And certainly not alone.

Please, Matilda silently begged, please, let a waiter appear, breathlessly dragging a table over, and preferably, another waiter, too, to hastily turn those two table settings into three. Please, please, let it not be how it looked.

‘Matilda.’ His manners were perfect, waiting till she was seated before sitting down himself, patiently waiting as she gave her drink order to the waiter. She was pathetically grateful that she’d chosen to walk to the restaurant—no mean feat in her fabulous new shoes, but there was no chance of a punctual taxi this time on a Friday evening, and by the time she’d parked she could have been here anyway.

Good choice.

Good, because she could now order a gin and tonic, and hopefully douse some of the rowdier butterflies that were dancing in her stomach

‘Hugh sends his apologies.’ Dante gave her a very on-off smile as Matilda frowned. The Hugh she knew would be the last person to have bailed—no matter how important the diversion. After all, he’d practically begged her to do the garden.

‘He had a headache after the opening. He didn’t look well, so I walked him back to his office where he had…’ Dante snapped his fingers, clearly trying to locate his word of choice. ‘He had a small turn,’ he said finally, as Matilda’s expression changed from a frown to one of horror.

‘Oh, my goodness…’

‘He’s OK,’ Dante said quickly. ‘His blood pressure has been very high for the past few months, the doctors have had him on several different combinations of tablets to try to lower it, but it would seem the one they’d recently given him has brought it down too low—that’s why he had a small collapse. Luckily we were in the hospital when it happened—all I had to do was pick up the phone.’

‘You’re not a doctor, then.’

Dante gave a slightly startled look. ‘Heavens, no. What on earth gave you that impression?’

‘I don’t know,’ Matilda shrugged. ‘You seemed to know your way around the hospital…’

‘I’ve spent rather too much time there,’ Dante said, and Matilda could only assume he was talking about Alex. But he revealed absolutely nothing, promptly diverting the subject from himself back to Hugh. ‘He’s resting at home now, but naturally he wasn’t well enough to come out. Hugh feels terrible to have let you down after you were kind enough to accommodate him at such short notice. I tried many times to contact you on your mobile…’

‘My phone isn’t on,’ Matilda said, flustered. ‘I never thought to check.’

Fool, Matilda raged to herself. He’d been frantically trying to cancel, to put her off, and because her blessed phone hadn’t been turned on, Dante had been forced to show up and babysit her when he hadn’t even wanted her to do the garden in the first place, when clearly he wanted to be at home with his daughter.

Taking a grateful sip of her drink, Matilda eyed the proffered menu, her face burning in uncomfortable embarrassment, utterly aware that here with her was the last place Dante either wanted or needed to be tonight.

‘I’ve agreed to the garden.’ Dante broke the difficult silence. ‘Hugh said that I had to see you to give my consent. Do I need to sign anything?’

‘It isn’t a child custody battle.’ Matilda looked up and for the first time since she’d joined him at the table actually managed to look him in the eye. ‘I don’t need your written consent or anything. I just wanted to be sure that you were happy for me to work on your garden.’

‘It’s not a problem,’ Dante said, which was a long way from happy.

‘I have brought along the plans for you to look at—I’ve highlighted the area Hugh discussed with you.’ Glancing up, Dante nodded to the waiter who had approached, giving him permission to speak.

‘Are you ready to order, sir?’

The waiter hovered as Dante turned to Matilda, but she shook her head.

‘Could you give us a minute?’ Dante asked and the waiter melted away. Clearly assuming she was out of her depth, he proceeded to walk her through the menu. ‘I will be having my usual gnocchi, but I hear that the Tasmanian salmon is excellent here—it’s wild—’

‘I’m sure it’s divine,’ Matilda interrupted. ‘I do know how to read a menu, Dante. And there’s really no need to go through the charade of a meal…’

‘Charade?’

Matilda resisted rolling her eyes.

‘The pretence,’ she explained, but Dante interrupted her.

‘I do know how to speak English, Matilda.’ He flashed her a tight smile. ‘Why do you call it a charade?’

‘Because we both know that you don’t want the garden, that you’ve probably only agreed because Hugh’s unwell…’ He opened his mouth to interrupt but Matilda spoke on. ‘You tried to contact me to cancel. I’m sorry, I never thought to check my phone. So why don’t I save up both an uncomfortable evening? We can drink up, I’ll take the plans and ring tomorrow to arrange a convenient time to come and look at your property. There’s really no need to make a meal out of it—if you’ll excuse the pun.’

‘The pun?’

‘The pun.’ Matilda bristled then rolled her eyes. ‘It’s a saying—let’s not make a meal out of things, as in let’s not make a big deal out of it, but given that we were about to have a meal…’

‘You made a pun.’

God, why was the English language so complicated at times?

‘I did.’ Matilda smiled brightly, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

‘So you don’t want to eat?’

‘I don’t want to waste your time.’ Matilda swallowed hard, not sure whether to broach the subject that was undoubtedly on both their minds. ‘I saw you arrive…’ Taking a gulp of her drink, Matilda waited, waited for his face to colour a touch, for him to admit to the problem he had clearly faced by being here, but again Dante revealed nothing, just left her to stew a moment longer in a very uncomfortable silence. ‘Alex seemed very…upset; so I’m sure that dinner is the last thing you need tonight.’

‘Alex is often upset,’ Dante responded in a matter-of-fact voice, which did nothing to reassure her. ‘And given it is already after eight and I haven’t stopped all day, dinner is exactly what I need now.’ He snapped his fingers for the waiter and barked his short order. ‘My usual.’

‘Certainly, and, madam…?’

Matilda faltered, desperate to go yet wanting to stay all the same.

‘Madam?’ Dante smiled tightly, making her feel like one.

‘The salmon for me. Please,’ she added pointedly as the waiter took her menu. Then, remembering that as uncomfortable as she might feel, this was, in fact, a business dinner, Matilda attempted an apology. ‘I’m sorry if I was rude before,’ she said once the waiter had left. ‘It’s just I got the impression from Hugh that this meeting tonight was the last thing you wanted.’

‘Funny, that.’ Dante took a long sip of his drink before continuing, ‘I got the same impression from Hugh, too…’ He smiled at her obvious confusion.

‘Why would you think that?’ Matilda asked.

‘Hugh gave me strict orders not to upset you.’ He flashed a very bewitching grin and Matilda found herself smiling back, not so much in response to his smile, more at the mental picture of anyone giving this man strict orders about anything. ‘He told me that you were booked up months ahead, and that you’d agree to come in and do this job during your annual leave.’

‘Yes…’ Matilda admitted, ‘but—’

‘He also told me that you were doing this as a favour because he’d backed your tender, that you felt obliged—’

‘Not all obligations are bad,’ Matilda broke in, rather more forcibly this time. ‘I did agree to work on your garden during my holiday and, yes, I did feel a certain obligation to Hugh because of the faith he showed in my proposal for the hospital garden, but I can assure you that I was more than happy to do the work.’

‘Happy?’ Dante gave a disbelieving smile.

‘Yes, happy.’ Matilda nodded. ‘I happen to like my work, Dante. I just want to make sure that you’re fine with me being there.’

‘I’m fine with it.’ Dante gave a short nod.

‘Because Hugh’s sick?’

‘Does it really matter?’

Matilda thought for a moment before answering. ‘It does to me,’ she said finally. ‘And whether it’s ego or neurosis, I’d like to think that when I pour my heart and soul into a job at least my efforts will be appreciated. If you and your wife are only doing this to pacify Hugh, then you’re doing it for the wrong reasons. To make it effective, I’m going to need a lot of input as to your daughter’s likes and dislikes. It needs to be a reflection of her and I’d like to think that it’s going to be a place the whole family can enjoy.’

‘Fair enough.’ Dante gave a tight shrug. ‘I admit I do not believe that a garden, however special, can help my daughter, but I am willing to give it a try—I’ve tried everything else after all…’

‘I clearly explained to Hugh that this garden isn’t going to be a magical cure for your daughter’s problems—it might bring her some peace, some respite, a safe place that could help soothe her…’

‘If that were the case…’ Dante said slowly and for the first time since she had met him his voice wasn’t superior or scathing but distant. Matilda felt a shiver run through her as she heard the pain behind his carefully chosen words. ‘It would be more than worth it.’

‘Look.’ Her voice was softer now. ‘Why don’t I take the plans and have a look? Then maybe on Sunday I could speak with your wife about Alex…’

‘My wife is dead.’

He didn’t elaborate, didn’t soften it with anything. His voice was clipped and measured, his expression devoid of emotion as he explained his situation, the pain she had witnessed just a second before when he’d spoken about his daughter gone now, as if a safety switch had been pushed, emotion switched off, plunging his features into unreadable darkness as she faltered an apology.

‘I had no idea,’ Matilda breathed. ‘I’m so very sorry.’

He didn’t shake his head, didn’t wave his hand and say that she couldn’t have known…just let her stew in her own embarrassment as their food arrived, raining salt and pepper on his gnocchi until Matilda could take it no more. Excusing herself, she fled to the loo and leaned over the basin, screwing her eyes closed as she relived the conversation.

‘Damn, damn damn!’ Cursing herself, she relived every insensitive word she’d uttered, then peeped her eyes open and closed them again as a loo flushed and she was forced to fiddle with her lipstick as a fellow diner gave her a curious glace as she washed her hands. Alone again, Matilda stared at her glittering eyes and flushed reflection in the massive gilt-edged mirror and willed her heart to slow down.

She’d apologise again, Matilda decided. She’d march straight out of the bathroom and say that she was sorry. No, she’d leave well alone—after all, she’d done nothing wrong. Of course she’d assumed his wife was alive. He had a child, he wore his wedding ring. She had nothing to apologise for.

So why had she fled? Why didn’t she want to go back out there?

‘Everything OK?’ Dante checked as she slid back into her seat.

‘Everything’s fine,’ Matilda attempted, then gave up on her false bravado and let out a long-held sigh. ‘I’m just not very good at this type of thing.’

‘What type of thing?’

‘Business dinners.’ Matilda gave a tight smile. ‘Though I should be, given the number that I’ve been to.’

‘I thought that your business was new.’

‘It is.’ Matilda nodded, taking a drink of her wine before elaborating. ‘But my ex-fiancé was a real estate agent…’

‘Ouch,’ Dante said, and Matilda felt a rather disloyal smile to Edward twitch on her lips.

‘He was very good,’ Matilda said defensively. ‘Incredibly good, actually. He has a real eye for what’s needed to make a house sell well. It’s thanks to Edward that I got started. If he was selling a deceased estate often it would be neglected, the gardens especially, and I’d come in…’

‘And add several zeros to the asking price!’ Dante said with a very dry edge, taking the positive spin out of Matilda’s speech. She gave a rather glum nod.

‘But it wasn’t like that at first.’

Dante gave a tight smile. ‘It never is.’

‘So what do you do?’ Matilda asked, chasing her rice with a fork as Dante shredded his bread and dipped it in a side dish of oil and balsamic vinegar, wishing as she always did when she was out that she’d had what he’d had!

‘I’m a barrister. My specialty is criminal defence.’ Matilda’s fork frozen over her fish spoke volumes. ‘Ouch!’ he offered, when Matilda didn’t say anything.

‘Double ouch.’ Matilda gave a small, tight smile as reality struck. ‘Now you come to mention it, I think I know your name…’ Matilda took another slug of wine as newspaper reports flashed into her mind, as a lazy Sunday afternoon spent reading the colour supplements a few months ago took on an entirely new meaning. ‘Dante Costello—you defended that guy who—’

‘Probably,’ Dante shrugged.

‘But—’

‘I defend the indefensible.’ Dante was unmoved by her obvious discomfort. ‘And I usually win.’

‘And I suppose your donation to the hospital was an attempt to soften your rather brutal image.’

‘You suppose correctly.’ Dante nodded, only this time his arrogance didn’t annoy her—in fact, his rather brutal honesty was surprisingly refreshing. ‘I try to give back, sometimes with good intentions.’ He gave another, rather elaborate, shrug. ‘Other times because…’

‘Because?’ Matilda pushed, and Dante actually laughed.

‘Exactly as you put it, Matilda, I attempt to soften my rather brutal image.’ She liked the way he said her name. Somehow with his deep Italian voice, he made it sound beautiful, made a name that had until now always made her cringe sound somehow exotic. But more than that it was the first time she’d seen him laugh and the effect was amazing, seeing his bland, unfathomable face soften a touch, glimpsing his humour, a tiny peek at the man behind the man.

They ate in more amicable silence now, the mood more relaxed, and Matilda finally addressed the issue that they were, after all, there for.

‘It would help if you could tell me a bit about Alex—her likes and dislikes.’

‘She loves water,’ Dante said without hesitation. ‘She also…’ He broke off with a shake of his head. ‘It’s nothing you can put in a garden.’

‘Tell me,’ Matilda said eagerly.

‘Flour,’ Dante said. ‘She plays with dough and flour…’

‘The textures are soothing,’ Matilda said and watched as Dante blinked in surprise. ‘I found that out when I was researching for the hospital garden. A lot of autistic children…’ She winced at her insensitivity, recalled that it was only a tentative diagnosis and one that the family didn’t want to hear. ‘I’m so—’

‘Please, don’t apologise again,’ Dante broke in with a distinct dry edge to his voice. ‘It’s becoming rather repetitive. Anyway,’ he said as Matilda struggled for a suitable response, ‘it is I who should apologise to you: I embarrassed you earlier when I told you about my wife. You can probably gather that I’m not very good at telling people. I tend to be blunt.’ He gave a very taut smile and Matilda offered a rather watery one back, reluctant to say anything in the hope her silence might allow him to elaborate. For the first time since she’d met him, her instincts were right. She watched as he swallowed, watched as those dark eyes frowned over the table towards her, and she knew in that second that he was weighing her up, deciding whether or not to go on. Her hand convulsed around her knife and fork, scared to move, scared to do anything that might dissuade him, might break this fragile moment, not even blinking until Dante gave a short, almost imperceptible nod and spoke on.

‘Fifteen months ago, I had a normal, healthy daughter. She was almost walking, she smiled she blew kisses, she waved, she was even starting to talk, and then she and my wife were involved in a car accident. Alex was strapped in her baby seat. It took two hours to extricate my wife and daughter from the car…’ Matilda felt a shiver go through her as he delivered his speech and in that moment she understood him, understood the mask he wore, because he was speaking as he must work, discarding the pain, the brutal facts, the horrors that must surely haunt him. And stating mere facts—hellish, gut-wrenching facts that were delivered in perhaps the only way he could: the detached voice of a newsreader. ‘Jasmine was unconscious, pronounced dead on arrival at hospital.’ He took a sip of his drink, probably, Matilda guessed, to take a break from the emotive tale, rather than to moisten his lips. But other than that he appeared unmoved, and she could only hazard a guess at the torture he had been through, the sheer force of willpower and rigid self-control that enabled him to deliver this speech so dispassionately. ‘At first Alex, apart from a few minor injures, appeared to have miraculously escaped relatively unscathed. She was kept in hospital for a couple of nights with bruising and for observation but she seemed fine…’

Dante frowned, his eyes narrowing as he looked across to where Matilda sat, but even though he was looking directly at her, Matilda knew he couldn’t see her, that instead he was surveying a painful moment in time, and she sat patient and still as Dante took a moment to continue. ‘But, saying that, I guess at the time I wasn’t really paying much attention…’ His voice trailed off again and this time Matilda did speak, took up this very fragile thread, wanting so very much to hear more, to know this man just a touch better.

‘You must have had a lot on your mind,’ Matilda volunteered gently, and after a beat of hesitation Dante nodded.

‘I often wonder if I failed to notice something. I was just so grateful that Alex seemed OK and she really did appear to be, but a couple of months later—it was the twenty-second of September—she started screaming…’ He registered Matilda’s frown and gave a small wistful smile. ‘I remember the date because it would have been Jasmine’s birthday. They were all difficult days, but that one in particular was…’ He didn’t elaborate, he didn’t need to. ‘I was getting ready to go to the cemetery, and it was as if Alex knew. When I say she was screaming, it wasn’t a usual tantrum, she was hysterio, deranged. It took hours to calm her. We called a doctor, and he said she was picking up on my grief, that she would be fine, but even as he spoke, even as I tried to believe him, I knew this was not normal, that something was wrong. Unfortunately I was right.’

‘It carried on?’

Dante nodded.

‘Worse each time, terrible, unmitigated outbursts of rage, and there’s no consoling her, but worse, far worse, is the withdrawal afterwards, her utter detachment. I spoke to endless doctors, Hugh was concerned, Katrina in denial…’

‘Denial?’

‘She refuses to admit there is a problem. So do I too at times, but I could not pretend things were OK and Katrina was starting to get…’ he stopped himself then, took a sip of his drink before continuing. ‘After a few months I took Alex home to Italy—I thought a change of environment might help. And, of course, it did help to have my family around me, but Hugh and Katrina were devastated,’ Dante continued. ‘They’d lost their daughter and now it seemed to them that I was taking away their granddaughter. But I had no choice and for a while Alex improved, but then suddenly, from nowhere, it all started again.’

‘So you came back?’

‘For now.’ Dante shrugged. ‘I am back in Australia to try and sort things out and make my decision. I have a major trial coming up in a week’s time so I am still working, but I am not taking on any new cases. You see now why it seemed pointless to renovate the garden when I do not know if Alex will even be here to enjoy it. But I think that Hugh and Katrina are hoping if they can do something—anything—to improve things, there is more chance that I will stay.’

‘And is there?’ Matilda asked, surprised at how much his answer mattered to her. ‘Is there a chance you might stay?’

‘My family is in Italy,’ Dante pointed out. ‘I have two brothers and three sisters, all living near Rome. Alex would have her nona, nono and endless cousins to play with, I would have more family support, instead of relying on Katrina and Hugh, but…’ He halted the conversation then, leaving her wanting to know more, wanting a deeper glimpse of him. Wondering what it was that kept him here, what it was that made him stay. But the subject was clearly closed. ‘It cannot be about me,’ Dante said instead, giving a tight shrug, and there was a finality to his words as he effectively ended the discussion. But Matilda, wanting more, attempted to carry it on.

‘What about your work?’

‘I am lucky.’ He gave a dry smile. ‘There is always someone getting into trouble, either here or in Italy—and being bilingual is a huge advantage. I can work in either country.’ ‘Doesn’t it bother you?’ Matilda asked, knowing that she was crossing a line, knowing the polite thing to do would be to leave well alone, but her curiosity was piqued, her delectable salmon forgotten, barely registering as the waiter filled her wine glass. ‘Defending those sorts of people, I mean.’

‘I believe in innocent until proven guilty.’

‘So do I,’ Matilda said, staring into that brooding emotionless face and wondering what, if anything, moved him. She’d never met anyone so confident in their own skin, so incredibly not out to impress. He clearly didn’t give a damn what people thought of him; he completely dispensed with the usual social niceties and yet somehow he managed to wear it, somehow it worked. ‘But you can’t sit there and tell me that that guy who killed—’

‘That guy,’ Dante broke in, ‘was proved innocent in a court of law.’

‘I know.’ Matilda nodded but it changed midway, her head shaking, incredulity sinking in. She certainly wasn’t a legal eagle, but you’d have to live in a cupboard not to know about some of the cases Dante Costello handled. They were Big, in italics and with a capital B. And even if that man she had read about really had been innocent, surely some of the people Dante had defended really were guilty. His job was so far removed from hers as to be unfathomable, and bewildered, she stared back at him. ‘Do you ever regret winning?’

‘No.’ Firmly he shook his head.

‘Never?’ Matilda asked, watching his lips tighten a touch, watching his eyes darken from dusk to midnight.

‘Never,’ Dante replied, his single word unequivocal. She felt a shiver, could almost see him in his robes and wig, could almost see that inscrutable face remaining unmoved, could see that full mouth curving into a sneer as he shredded seemingly irrefutable evidence. And anyone, everyone, would have left it there, would have conceded the argument, yet Matilda didn’t, green eyes crashing into his, jade waves rolling onto unmovable black granite.

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Then you don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘I know I don’t,’ Matilda admitted. ‘Yet I still don’t believe you.’

And that should have been it. She should have got on with her meal, he should have resumed eating, made polite small talk to fill the appalling gap, but instead he pushed her now. As she reached for her fork he reached deep inside, his words stilling her, his hand seemingly clutching her heart. ‘You’ve been proud of everything you’ve done.’

‘Not everything,’ Matilda tentatively admitted. ‘But there’s certainly nothing big league. Anyway, what’s that got to do with it?’

‘It has everything to do with it,’ Dante said assuredly. ‘We all have our dark secrets, we all have things that, given our time again, we would have done differently. The difference between Mr or Ms Average and my clients is that their personal lives, their most intimate regrets are up for public scrutiny. Words uttered in anger are played back to haunt them, a moment of recklessness a couple of years back suddenly relived for everyone to hear. It can be enough to cloud the most objective jury.’

‘But surely, if they’ve done nothing wrong,’ Matilda protested, ‘they have nothing to fear.’

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