Flame Of Desire. Кэрол Мортимер

some reason he and her stepmother had lost that vital spark between them.

      Seeing her stepmother’s obvious interest in Luke Vittorio had opened her eyes to so many things. It wasn’t just her parents’ apparent differences in life-style that held them apart, there was something else too. She had only noticed this coldness between them the last couple of years, her stepmother’s more and more frequent visits up to London. Or perhaps it had always been there and she hadn’t noticed it; she had been away at boarding-school until she was seventeen and hadn’t had chance to observe them together that much.

      But she was sure her father was still deeply in love with Rosemary, knew that he could be deeply hurt by Luke Vittorio. But she wouldn’t let it happen, would stop it somehow.

      She smiled shakily at her father as he tucked the covers in around her. ‘I love you, Daddy,’ she said huskily.

      He gave her a strange look, a slight frown on his face. ‘I know you do, poppet. And I love you. Rest now, try to get some sleep. And no wine for you next time.’

      Sophie kept up her smile until he had left the room. She didn’t know how she was going to do it, but she was going to stop this affair between her stepmother and Luke Vittorio. After all, there couldn’t be anything serious between them, certainly not on Luke Vittorio’s part anyway; his affairs were well known.

      And he had brought Eve Jeffers with him, although she could just be a smoke-screen. The model seemed to know something was going on, but perhaps she didn’t know enough. Or perhaps she didn’t care. There was no chance of the affair becoming a serious one, so perhaps the model was just biding her time. That seemed the most logical explanation, and it would explain her bitchiness towards Rosemary.

      Sophie looked up with a start as her stepmother came into the room. She couldn’t remember the last time Rosemary had been in here.

      Her stepmother looked down at her. ‘Your father tells me you aren’t feeling well.’

      ‘No,’ she agreed huskily, kneading the sheet between thumb and finger.

      ‘What’s wrong with you?’

      ‘Just a sick headache.’

      Rosemary frowned. ‘Your father seemed to think it was the wine.’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘I suppose this is your excuse for your rudeness earlier on,’ Rosemary snapped.

      Sophie had known this was coming, had known since her outburst to Luke Vittorio at the dinner table that her stepmother would not let the incident pass. And in the light of her discovery about the two of them Rosemary’s anger was all the more understandable. She wouldn’t want to lose the handsome Italian because of the rudeness of her stepdaughter.

      ‘Yes,’ she nodded.

      Her stepmother’s blue eyes were coldly angry. ‘What sort of an answer is that?’

      ‘I—Well, I just don’t like Mr Vittorio.’ Was it her imagination or did she see a faint glimmer of relief in her stepmother’s face? If she had it didn’t show now.

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous, everyone likes Luke.’

      ‘Well, I don’t,’ Sophie said sulkily.

      ‘It isn’t that important anyway. He’ll only be painting you, nothing else.’

      Oh yes, he would, he would be providing a perfectly respectable reason for her stepmother and himself to keep in contact, to occasionally be seen together. Well, not if she could help it!

      ‘I don’t want to be painted by him.’

      ‘You’ll do as you’re told.’ Rosemary had obviously run out of patience with her. ‘And I don’t want any more rudeness to him. Your father would be very shocked if he knew about your behaviour.’

      Not if he knew the real reason behind it! ’Yes, Mummy.’

      Rosemary gave her a sharp look, suspecting sarcasm and finding none. ‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ and she slammed out of the room.

      Sophie kept a watchful eye on her stepmother and Luke Vittorio all the next day, although there was really nothing to witness today. Perhaps Luke Vittorio had learnt by his folly of yesterday, but he seemed to keep a polite distance between himself and the other guests, Eve Jeffers being the only person he appeared to talk to.

      Helen duly arrived for tea, blushing profusely after Sophie had introduced her to the artist. ‘Gosh, he’s lovely!’ She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

      Sophie gave her a disgusted look. ‘He’s arrogant and conceited.’

      Helen’s eyes widened before her gaze wandered back to Luke Vittorio as he stood talking to Sophie’s father on the other side of the room. She couldn’t seem to see anything but the handsome Luke Vittorio, loving the way the cream trousers and shirt clung to his muscular body and accentuated his swarthy colouring.

      ‘Surely not?’ she said breathlessly.

      ‘Believe me, he is.’ And he had no right to be talking so casually to her father, not when he was having an affair with his wife. But a man like that wouldn’t give a damn.

      ‘Ooh, look!’ squealed Helen. ‘They’re coming over!’

      And they were too, the two men talking amicably together. Her poor father, it wouldn’t occur to him to suspect this man of being interested in his wife.

      Her father smiled at the two girls. ‘Mr Vittorio—Luke, has just been telling me that he would very much like to paint you, Sophie,’ he told her triumphantly.

      She raised shocked eyes to that dark satanic face, flinching at the cold disdain for her in his eyes. ‘I don’t—–’

      ‘Of course I will not be able to travel down here for your sittings,’ Luke Vittorio spoke for the first time. ‘You will have to visit me at my apartment in London for that.’