want him, but as he is a Redmond, even though his name is different, I’m determined to get him by hook or by crook.’
‘Well, in that case I’ll do what I can,’ she promised as Charles got behind the wheel of his silver Rolls. She meant what she said, despite her private reservations about the man. She would certainly sell the bank to Bruno Falcucci, but she doubted if it would be necessary. She had the feeling no persuasion would be required to get him to join them. He had always planned to do so.
Charles smiled at her through the window as he started the softly purring engine.
‘I know I can always trust you. Goodnight, Martine, see you tomorrow.’
He drove off and she turned to find Bruno Falcucci right behind her, lounging against a long, sleek, vintage black Rolls-Bentley. It was one of the loveliest cars she had ever seen; her mouth watered at the sight of it. She loved old cars.
He opened the passenger door, his body graceful as he held the door for her. ‘Where am I to take you?’
‘Do you know Chelsea?’ she curtly asked, having already discovered that he had been to London a number of times.
He nodded. ‘Vaguely. I make for Parliament Square and head off along the Embankment, right?’
She nodded. ‘I live a stone’s throw from the Tate Gallery, I’ll guide you after we get to Millbank.’
She slid into the Bentley’s interior, instinctively stroking the soft, pale cream leather seats, giving the dashboard an appreciative inspection.
‘Is this yours, or have you borrowed or hired it?’ she asked as Bruno got in beside her.
His tanned hands lightly holding the wheel he turned his black head and gave her a long, cool look.
‘It’s mine. I just bought it.’
It must have cost a fortune; she wondered how much he earned a year to be able to afford a toy like this. Well, she would find out soon, when he and Charles began negotiations.
‘You aren’t married, Mr Falcucci?’
He shook his head, that sardonic smile in evidence again.
‘Have you ever been?’ she asked.
‘No, have you?’
‘No,’ she said tersely.
‘You’re a devoted secretary, though,’ he drawled. ‘Lucky Charles.’
He turned his head again, deliberately, to meet her stare and Martine let all her dislike and distrust of him show in her face.
‘If you hurt Charles in any way I’ll kill you!’ she told him.
His brows shot up and he gave her that cool, sardonic smile, then took her breath away by what he said next.
‘If he was going to marry you, he’d have done so long ago, you know. You’re wasting your time waiting for him; which seems a pity, looking the way you do.’ His dark eyes flicked down over her body and a wave of heat flowed through her. Softly he added, ‘I’m sure a lot of men would be only too happy to help you forget Charles. I might even volunteer myself!’
Martine went dark red, her hands clenching, her teeth together, but she refused to play his game by answering or defending herself, explaining that he was wrong. Information was power, Charles had taught her long ago. Never give it away, use it for your own purposes and do so sparingly. So she let Bruno Falcucci imagine that he had hit on the truth, just gave him one icy glance, then said in a tight, brusque voice, ‘Take the next turn on the right, would you?’
The Bentley spun round the corner and began moving along the wide street of rather stately Victorian houses.
‘No comment, then?’ Bruno Falcucci asked her, watching her out of the corner of his eyes.
‘Stop here, please,’ was all Martine said.
He braked and turned towards her but she was already getting out of the car. She slammed the door then bent towards the window and he leaned over to wind it down to hear what she said.
Martine looked into his gleaming, dark eyes. ‘Remember, if you hurt Charles, I’ll make sure you pay for it,’ she said, then turned on her heel and walked away.
CHAPTER TWO
‘YOU have to admit,’ said Annie, one of the share analysts, some months later, ‘he’s an asset to the bank!’
‘Oh, please, no puns this early in the morning!’ winced Martine.
‘You’ve got no sense of humour where he’s concerned, that’s the trouble,’ complained Annie, who was a year younger, and very pretty: small, fair, bubbly, and very popular with the men. ‘And you’ve dodged my question! He’s the hottest thing we’ve acquired in years. Look at that Ambleham-Tring merger—I hear we’ve picked up a lot more business from that, and his client list has doubled since he arrived.’
‘Haven’t you got any work to do?’ Martine was staring at her VDU, frowning over the string of figures coming up. ‘Because if you haven’t, I have. With Charles ringing in to say he’s working at home today, and our trip to Rome starting tomorrow, I’ve got so much to do I’ll be working until very late tonight, so get off my desk and go away, Annie!’
‘In a minute,’ Annie said, wriggling like a child on the edge of the desk, her small feet swinging back and forth. ‘I wanted to ask you something...’
‘Well, what?’ Martine irritably asked, wondering how Annie could be so thick-skinned. What did you have to do to get rid of her?
‘Has he got a woman tucked away somewhere? I mean, he hasn’t dated anyone since he joined us, he says he isn’t married, and I can’t believe he’s gay, so is there someone in the background?’
‘I don’t know, I don’t care, and will you please shut up about Bruno Falcucci, get off my desk and let me get on with my work?’ Martine frequently wished she had never heard the man’s name, let alone met him. He had been here nearly four months and she sometimes felt as if the whole place revolved around him. It certainly did as far as the female staff were concerned. They couldn’t stop talking about him; half of them were in love with him and the others were simply fascinated.
Except Martine, of course. If anything, she disliked him more now than she had the first day she’d met him.
She had watched grimly while he became a director and immediately began to dominate board meetings, making himself the centre of power on the board, a voice to be reckoned with, pushing Charles further and further out of the picture.
It was what she had feared from the beginning, but Charles would not listen even now. He had smiled gently when she pointed out that Bruno had taken over some of his own clients, some of the most lucrative, at that.
‘At my suggestion, my dear girl!’ he had insisted. ‘I’m trying to shed some of my workload. You told me I was working too hard, remember!’
‘I didn’t tell you to hand some of your best clients over to Bruno Falcucci! And you never told me that was what you were planning!’
He had given her a wry, apologetic look. ‘I knew you’d get agitated and lecture me on your favourite subject!’
Eyes startled, she’d asked, ‘What do you mean?’
‘Bruno,’ Charles had said, laughing softly as she flushed dark red. ‘Now, don’t deny it—you’re paranoid where he’s concerned. You think he has horns and a forked tail!’
‘Yes,’ she had said then, soberly. ‘I don’t trust him, and I only hope you aren’t making a serious mistake, letting him get into such a position of power at the bank.’
Her uneasiness had not lifted a few weeks after this discussion with Charles, on the cool autumn morning