Italian Invader Read online

  'You discovered your way this morning without problem?' Felicita enquired, and when Elyn replied that she had, 'You are enjoying your work with Tino?' she asked.

  'Very much,' Elyn answered truthfully. 'Some of it is quite complex, but Tino is very patient.'

  'He is a very clever young man,' Felicita stated what Elyn had already seen for herself, and they chatted on for a few minutes until Felicita asked her if she had any plans for the forthcoming weekend.

  It was a matter of pride to Elyn that Felicita should not form an impression of her going back to the apartment that night to just sit there doing nothing but wait for Monday to roll around. She'd just die of em­barrassment if the kindly woman should feel in any small way responsible for her.

  'I've rather a full weekend planned, actually,' she answered, and, realising she just couldn't leave it at that, 'This is my first time in Italy, so I thought I'd get in as much sightseeing as I can on Saturday and Sunday. Though tonight Tino is taking me to his favourite res­taurant for a meal.'

  'Good,' smiled Felicita. 'You and Tino must be working well together,' she commented, and the remainder of their walk back to Zappelli Internazionale was taken up with Felicita telling Elyn of places of interest which she might like to visit.

  Elyn had been back at work for about an hour when Tino broke off his instruction to answer the internal telephone. She guessed, however, when his manner sud­denly became totally alert and respectful, that he had someone very important on the other end. But she was surprised when replacing the telephone, Tino turned to her and said, 'Signor Zappelli wishes to see you, Elyn.'

  Her mouth fell open in a small 'O', but she mur­mured, 'Ah', and, 'Now?' she queried.

  'I will show you the way,' he volunteered at once and, rather than keep the head of Zappelli Internazionale waiting, he was already on his feet.

  Elyn was wearing a smart black skirt teamed with a black and white check jacket, and, giving her jacket a neatening tug, she went with Tino through a maze of corridors and up a couple of flights of stairs.

  'I will leave you here,' he told her, halting at one par­ticular door. 'Will you be able to find your way back?'

  'Yes, I'm sure,' she replied with more hope than certainty.

  Tino smiled. In her view, he was clearly of the opinion that their employer, remembering she was a foreigner in their midst, must want to have a personal welcoming word with her. Then he went back the way he had come.

  But, tapping politely on the door in front of her, Elyn was more inclined to think that Max Zappelli, who still had doubts about her honesty, was more likely to want to say a personal and permanent farewell than to per­sonally welcome her.

  When, in response to her knock, an English 'Come in!' reached her ears, she realised that he was supremely confident that she would not keep him waiting.

  And that annoyed her, made her wish she had dawdled. If she was about to be dismissed then she wished he'd done that in England rather than drag her all this way. In point of fact, she heartily wished she had resigned and taken the choice from him. When promptly on the heels of that thought, though, Elyn thought of how the day-to-day living expenses would be mounting up back home, rebellion left her. She turned the door handle—Max Zappelli might have a choice, but she most definitely did not.

  'Ah, Elyn!' He stood up as she went in. 'Come and take a seat.' Elyn moved across to the seat at the other side of his desk, mentally wary about what all this was about. 'You've settled in comfortably, I hope?' he en­quired pleasantly, and, as she sat down, he resumed his seat.

  'Yes, thank you,' she replied with equal pleasantness. If he was dismissing her, he was going about it in the oddest way.

  'You and Tino Agosta are—compatible?'

  'Most compatible.'

  'Would you mind, I wonder, saying goodbye to the computer department?'

  So it was dismissal! Elyn tilted her head an arrogant fraction. 'Why?' she enquired coolly, and looked him squarely in the eye to read in his, not dismissal, but— as his glance went over the proud look of her, the stiff-backed trim figure she made in her well-cut jacket—something akin to admiration.

  'What a blunt young woman you are!' he drawled at length, her sharp question obviously not what he was used to.

  'I should be grateful that you're unfairly dismissing me?' she snapped hostilely as a flurry of anxiety made her want to shorten this interview.

  But apparently, despite his remark about her saying goodbye to the computer department, dismissal was not what Max Zappelli had in mind. 'Who said anything about dismissal?' he retorted, and to her eyes he even seemed a little taken aback that such thoughts were going through her head.

  'I thought…' she began, but broke off and started to prod her intelligence. 'You wish me to work in some other department?' she queried tentatively.

  'To be more precise,' he said, a hint of a smile coming to his expression, 'I would be more than grateful if this afternoon you could do some work for me.'

  'Oh,' she murmured, her insides, which had been twittering since Tino had put down the phone from his employer's call, now jumping all over the place.

  'You can type?' he asked.

  Solemnly Elyn stared at him. He knew perfectly well she could type. She'd like to bet that he'd been through her job application form with a fine-tooth comb! 'I'm out of practice,' she reminded him. 'The various types of computer software I use rule out the necessity for word-processing.'

  'I'm sure you'll do very well,' he declared as though there was no question but that what he decreed fol­lowed. 'Unfortunately, the bilingual secretary I nor­mally work with has gone home ill, and…'

  'Felicita?' Elyn jumped in promptly as she caught his drift. 'Felicita's English is fluent. Can she not…?'

  'Are you saying you prefer not to work for me?' he challenged abruptly, not so much as a hint of a smile about him now.

  'No, of course not,' she was forced to reply—either that, or, she knew, run the risk of him assuring her that if she didn't want to work for him then he wouldn't dream of detaining her.

  'Then allow me to proceed,' he went on coldly, and while condescending to let her know that Felicita had her hands full with her own work, he outlined the task he was working on which, in English, he wanted com­pleting that day.

  Elyn looked over the papers he showed her, which, because he must know she couldn't take shorthand, he was having to write by hand. 'You want it all tonight?' she asked faintly.

  His answer was to lean back in his chair and to smile pleasantly. 'If it's no trouble,' he murmured.

  'No trouble at all,' she replied.

  'Good,' he commented, and became very businesslike, indicating a desk—on which stood a typewriter—over by a window. 'Because you will no doubt have to con­stantly refer to me when you cannot understand my writing, I've had a desk brought to my office.'

  'I'm to work-in here?' Elyn wasn't too sure how she felt about that. She was nervous just at the thought of it, and was certain that her fingers would be all thumbs with him watching.

  He nodded. 'Now…' he began, but hurriedly she in­terrupted him.

  'May I pop back to the computer department to pick up my bag and coat?' she asked, and, when he looked a shade askance at that, 'From the look of it, I shall be here until midnight, and I should hate the department to be locked up if I have to go for it later.'

  'As quickly as you can, then,' he agreed.

  I'll run all the way, she felt like telling him, but, feeling rather sour with him, she adopted a sweet expression and went to find her way back to the computer de­partment. She explained to Tino that, because their em­ployer wanted some typing—in English—done, she would be working late, and would have to cry off their dinner arrangement.

  'Are you free tomorrow evening?' he asked promptly, and suddenly Elyn wasn't so sure about such eagerness.

  'Er—I'm going sightseeing in Bolzano tomorrow,' she brought out a place name that meant nothing to her, but which Felicita had said at lun
chtime was worth a visit. 'I'm not sure what time I'll be back.'

  'If you're not going to Bolzano with anyone, I'd very much enjoy to take you,' Tino assured her.

  'Um…' she hesitated, then realised that, because she had always been so choosy about who she went out with, she might have missed out a little. Besides which, she liked Tino, and eagerness was better than indifference every time. 'That would be great!' she accepted, and when a few minutes before she'd had nothing in par­ticular on her mind to do the following day, she ar­ranged at what time Tino should call for her, collected her bag and coat and retraced her steps to Max Zappelli's office.

  As she had suspected, she made a dreadful hash for her first two or three attempts, and rather hoped, as she binned her third attempt, that the man who was seated somewhere behind her might tell her to forget it and that he'd made a mistake in thinking she could cope—but he did no such thing. After that, though, and by forcing herself to slow down, Elyn started to make progress. And an hour later, although she wasn't breaking any records, she had picked up speed and was chugging along quite nicely.

  From typing out a few handwritten letters, she went on to type a lengthy report. It was concise, and Max had a nice turn of phrase, and all at once she was starting to get deeply absorbed. In fact, so totally into what she was typing was she that she nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice suddenly spoke from behind her. 'You have no trouble in reading my writing?'

  She turned in her seat to look at him, her interest so taken with what she was doing that she forgot every bit of her earlier feelings of hostility towards him. 'You must be using your best handwriting for my benefit,' she smiled, saw his glance flick to her curving lips, and turned back. Soon she was once more absorbed in the cleverness of what the sophisticated Italian had written.

  Felicita came through the communicating door from her own office twice, the first time to have a discussion with her employer, and the second to wish them both, 'Buona notte.' Elyn typed on when Felicita had gone, and finally finished everything her employer had written up for her at ten past eight that evening. He was still busily writing away behind her, but she began to hope that anything else he had could wait until Monday— with luck the person who did his bilingual work would be back by then.

  But, because she'd cut her tongue out rather than admit to feeling weary, she neatened the pile of what she had typed, and swung round her typist's chair to en­quire, 'Anything else?'

  He looked up, stared for a moment as if apprecia­tively, but shook his head. 'That's it,' he replied, and his glance following hers to the paperwork before him. 'This is other work,' he offered, and with a smiling ad­mission, 'I've had sufficient for today.'

  That went for Elyn too, so she didn't argue but got up and took her typed pages over to him, and stood quietly by while he checked the first couple of pages.

  'For someone who's out of practice, you've done an excellent typing job, Elyn,' he commented.

  'I—found it most interesting,' she heard herself con­fessing, and immediately—because it sounded so like flattery—she wished she hadn't. Abruptly she went and shrugged into her coat and picked up her bag. 'I'll say g…' was as far as she got when his smile became a positive grin, a heart-stopping grin, that caused her to break off.

  'Come now, Miss Talbot,' he drawled. 'You think after all your hard work I would allow you to walk home?'

  'I can…'

  But he was consulting his watch and, with a small ex­clamation in Italian, said, 'Why didn't you remind me of the time?' It was her fault! 'The canteen will have closed long ago,' he went on, 'and I'm starving,' he de­clared, and while Elyn was in the throes of doubting that he had ever eaten in the staff canteen in his life, he suddenly seemed to realise that, if he hadn't eaten, then neither had she, and, as suddenly, he asked, 'What are you doing for a meal?'

  Steady, the suspicious side of Elyn warned. This man is a philanderer of the first water. Against that, though, as something closely akin to a feeling of excitement stirred in her veins, he genuinely seemed to have for­gotten all about food. Good heavens, she thought, it wasn't as if he was going to run off with her, or even had designs on her! 'As yet,' she smiled, and openly revealed, 'I haven't fully loaded up my fridge, so I'll…' The sharp exclamation he made, the look that followed of a man who was regretting an oversight, caused her to falter.

  'Please forgive me, Elyn. I should have arranged that you had food in your refrigerator!'

  'No, you shouldn't,' she interrupted him pleasantly. And, for some unknown reason feeling that she wanted to make him feel better for what he clearly regarded as thoughtlessness, she added cheerfully, 'I can easily call in and get something on my way to the apartment.'

  'Will you allow me to take you for a meal?' he asked, and when she hesitated, 'To show you truly forgive me?'

  Oh, help, Elyn thought, wishing she were back in England. She could handle the situation in England. Here, common sense seemed to be slipping from her grasp. Don't be an idiot, her backbone gave her a push, what did she think was going to happen to her, for goodness' sake!

  'I'm starving too!' she accepted, and shortly after­wards she was seated beside him in his Ferrari, having a private war with regard to the fact that she had ac­cepted a date with Tino Agosta without all this soul-searching, for heaven's sake. Not that Tino was in the same league as her employer—nor could sharing a meal with her employer at the end of a busy day be called a date, either.

  The restaurant which Max Zappelli took her to was smart, yet somehow managed to retain a friendly family atmosphere. Because of her lack of Italian, Elyn was pleased to allow her employer to choose for her.

  'This is delicious,' she smiled appreciatively as she tucked into her starter of spaghetti alia napoletana, which was basically a tomato, onion and basil sauce on a bed of spaghetti.

  'You said you were starving,' Max reminded her affably.

  'You too,' she grinned, noting that he had ordered the same for himself, but suddenly, when the corners of his mouth picked up too, she began to feel quite mesmerised by him. He really has a most superb mouth, she found herself thinking, and flicked a glance upwards to his eyes—and discovered that his glance was on her own upward-curving mouth.

  All at once, as her smile departed, so too did all hint of a smile vanish from his mouth, and she felt tension in the air. Solemnly they stared at one another. Then, just when she was having trouble breathing, 'Eat!' he commanded, and, the spell broken, Elyn looked away from him—searching desperately for something to say that would make nonsense of any notion he might have gleaned that he was the cause of her breathlessness.

  'Is this one of your favourite eating places, Mr Zappelli?' she enquired off the top of her head.

  'One of them,' he agreed urbanely, and added, 'Call me Max, Elyn—I promise I don't bite!'

  Had he guessed, could he see, that she was nervous of him? No, not nervous, she changed her mind—wary of him; wary, that was it. 'I'm sure you don't,' she re­plied evenly, and to show just how unaffected by him she was, 'Max,' she added lightly, and took a sip of a most pleasant-tasting wine.

  The pasta course was followed by an equally delicious dish of pesce in casseruola, a fish casserole, with prawns, a few other types of fish, a few strips of carrot, a few fennel seeds—and a gorgeous flavour.

  'Is the dish to your liking?' the host enquired.

  'English cooking is going to seem tame after this,' she laughed. 'Talking of England,' she went on, finding that somehow, something was pushing her to talk, 'are you due to pay Pinwich a visit soon?'

  'You're homesick?' he enquired.

  'That wasn't what I asked,' she prevaricated. Just now, right at this minute, she didn't know what she was.

  It was his turn to laugh lightly, just as if he found her congenial company, she thought headily, but she kept her expression even, while she waited for an answer to her question. 'England is not on my immediate agenda,' Max replied at last. 'In fact I'm desk-bound for the next two week
s, I believe.'

  'Then England?' she guessed.

  'Then Rome,' he said, and for no reason, perhaps it was the charm of his delivery, Elyn wanted to laugh again. Instead she concentrated on her pesce in casseruola.

  When the time came for her to order a sweet, she had little room left. 'Perhaps a small ice-cream,' she replied to her host's coaxing.

  'How are you enjoying the computer section?' Max asked over coffee.

  'Tremendously,' she answered and, telling the truth and shaming the devil, 'As you realised, and I've now seen for myself, my computer skills were seriously in need of an update,' she confessed.

  'It's very honest of you to admit it,' he remarked, and suddenly that word 'honest' seemed to be suspended in the air.

  Elyn had enjoyed her meal with Max Zappelli. But while something in her at the moment wanted to chal­lenge him about having doubts about her honesty in another area, another part of her suddenly didn't want this pleasant interlude to end on a sorry note. Which she knew full well it would if he started accusing her of design-lifting again.

  'Tino Agosta is an excellent teacher,' she rattled out of a thin nowhere.

  'So I believe,' Max agreed coolly, and Elyn knew then that it wasn't so much that he didn't want her to bring Tino into the conversation, as that he was remembering the business of Brian Cole's design that had gone missing.

  That, as far as she could see, was that. No way was she grovelling to this man with protestations of her innocence. She stood up. 'Thank you very much for my dinner,' she said politely, and as he, getting over his sur­prise, got to his feet too, 'I'll make my own way home,' she informed him.

  For a moment he just stood and stared at her. Then suddenly the sauciest grin lit his features and, not deigning to argue, he mocked, 'You don't even know how to get there from here,' and something rose up in Elyn at his grin, his manner, that caused her to forget entirely that he had ever in any way offended her. He called for her coat, and held on to her with one hand while he put some lire down on the table for their meal with the other.