he couldn’t resist saying. ‘You?’
‘They want dutiful, so I’ll give them dutiful with knobs on. I may want to kick Lorenzo Martelli’s shins, but I won’t do it. Not tonight, at any rate. If I have to see him a second time, I won’t answer for the consequences.’
‘Hey, c’mon, he’s not really to blame.’
‘He is to blame,’ Helen said firmly. ‘Simply by existing he darkens the earth, and I’ll be doing everyone a favour by exterminating him.’
He looked nervous. ‘Have you decided exactly how?’
‘Well, I thought of boiling in oil, but it’s probably too good for him.’
‘And very unimaginative.’
‘You’re right,’ she agreed. ‘Something with scorpions and spiders would be better.’
He shuddered.
‘Aren’t you being a bit hasty? You might fall for him and want to marry him.’
She gave him a speaking glance. ‘Death would be preferable,’ she said firmly. ‘Mine if necessary, but his for choice.’
‘Why have you got your knife into this guy? Is being Italian really so bad?’
‘Being an Italian man is like being the devil,’ she said firmly. ‘They’re old-fashioned, domineering, unreliable and faithless. Especially faithless.’
‘Why especially faithless? I mean, if you’re going to do them down, do them down on all counts, not just one.’
‘It’s the chief one. Do you know what they called Italian husbands? Married bachelors. It’s expected. A faithful husband is a considered a wimp. Creeps!’
‘But apart from that, you think they’re OK?’ he asked wryly.
‘Look, I know exactly what’s going through Lorenzo Martelli’s head at this minute.’
‘You don’t,’ he muttered.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Nothing. Tell me what’s going through his head.’
‘He’ll know that there are four unmarried daughters—Patrizia, Olivia, and Carlotta—and me. And he’ll be expecting one or all of us to make a play for him.’
He didn’t answer, but he ran a finger around the inside of his collar.
‘The Martellis are rich so he’ll think he’s a god of creation,’ Helen said, warming to her theme, ‘loftily waiting while we parade before him and he takes his pick.’
‘The jerk!’ he said with feeling.
‘Exactly. Look, I know I go on about it too much, but it’s how I psyche myself up for the evening ahead.’ She looked at her watch and said reluctantly, ‘I’m afraid I have to go now. I’ll call the desk and fix a cab.’
‘I’d offer you a lift,’ he said, ‘But as I’ve only just arrived I don’t have any transport. Still, maybe I can escort you to your cab.’
‘That would be nice,’ she said cordially. ‘By the way, you haven’t told me your name.’
‘Why, that’s right—hey I see someone I must say goodbye to. Then I’ll get my things from my room. See you in a moment.’
While he was gone Helen sought out Dilys who agreed to collect her luggage and take it home. Then she looked for her boss, uneasily conscious that she’d allowed herself to become distracted from her job tonight. But Mr Dacre was beaming.
‘Good work, good work,’ he carolled. ‘Knew I could rely on you.’
Before she could ask what he meant the young man reappeared, claiming her arm. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said quickly, making a gesture of farewell at Mr Dacre, but not stopping.
He had acquired an outdoor coat and a large leather bag that bulged, although she couldn’t see what it contained. As they descended to the street heads turned to watch such a handsome couple.
As they left the building Helen was struck by sudden inspiration. ‘Come with me.’
‘What?’
‘Come home with me. Come to supper.’
He looked apprehensive. ‘What are you planning?’
‘We just walk in together and—you know—sort of act close.’
‘And then this Martelli character will know you’re not available, huh?’
‘That’s right. Oh, please, it won’t cause you any trouble, I promise.’
He doubted it. With every word he knew he was getting in deeper, storing up trouble for the moment when Helen Angolini discovered the truth. And then there would be the devil to pay. But that would make her magnificent eyes sparkle at him, and what the hell! He was a brave man! Wasn’t he?
‘I’ll do it,’ he said. ‘This guy needs taking down a peg and I’m the man to do it.’
‘You’re wonderful, you know that?’
‘I’m crazy, that’s what I am.’
The cab was waiting. As they approached it Helen noticed Erik waving to her as if he wanted to speak, so she took a couple of steps towards him.
‘Are you off to the lion’s den?’ he asked, giving her his gentle smile.
‘’Fraid so.’
‘I’d have offered you a lift but I’m not your parents’ favourite person. I’ll see you tomorrow. I want to hear all about your trip. ’Bye, honey.’ He kissed her cheek and went on his way.
‘Boyfriend?’ her companion asked as she returned to the taxi.
‘Sort of. I took him home to supper once and my parents set out to sabotage any relationship we might have. Momma told him all the most embarrassing stories about my childhood and then warned him about my Latin temper.’ She chuckled. ‘But Erik played her at her own game beautifully. He said his ancestors were Vikings, and if a woman got mad the man just tossed her over his shoulder and strode off to the cave. Erik’s the most gentle soul alive, but Momma didn’t know what to say. Still, I haven’t taken him there again.’
‘Just see him on the quiet, huh?’
‘We go out now and then.’
When they were settled in the cab she gave the driver the address on Mulberry Street. ‘That’s in a part of Manhattan called Little Italy, if you can believe it,’ she said, exasperated.
‘I believe it.’
Almost as soon as they started moving Helen had to answer her mobile.
‘Yes, Mamma, I’m on my way. I’ll be there in half an hour. I’m looking forward to meeting him. No really, I’m just thrilled that he’s honouring us with his presence tonight.’ She hung up with a sigh, and found her companion grinning at her.
‘You’re a very accomplished liar,’ he said.
‘It’s simpler to say what Mamma wants to hear,’ she sighed. ‘Anything else she just blanks out.’
It was only a few short miles from Park Avenue to Little Italy, but the atmosphere changed swiftly from glamour and luxury to teeming life. Despite her antagonism to her background Helen could never resist a twinge of pleasure as the familiar streets appeared. This was home, whatever else she might say.
But as they glided past the butcher’s shop that had been the family business as long as she could remember she saw, with a faint inward groan, that every window in the apartment above was filled with faces. They went up for three floors. When you were the eldest unmarried daughter of an Italian family, you lived your life in a spotlight.