The Count of Castelfino Read online

  Gavin, her only serious boyfriend, had been too heavy-handed. He was fine as a friend, but he had kept trying to push Meg further than she had wanted to go. On top of that, he had tried to monopolise every second of her free time while she had wanted to study. Meg had resented that. After watching her parents struggle to pick things up by experience, she knew the value of gaining proper qualifications. She was in no hurry to curtail her career by making a serious romantic commitment, either. Or so she had always thought in the past…

  Gianni Bellini had come into her life and thrown all her careful plans into chaos. He was like no other man she had met before. Always in her thoughts, he wasn’t often in her sight. Once or twice she saw him pacing around the cypress walk, deep in conversation on his mobile phone. While he was totally absorbed like that, she watched him. It was wonderful. She indulged herself, gazing at him for seconds on end. That was so much more satisfying than the quick glimpses she got when he strode out to inspect the estate with one of his tenants or managers.

  Evenings presented Meg with some of her greatest pleasures, and her worst tortures. Her new home stood not far from the villa’s driveway. She always knew when Gianni was going out for the evening. His frighteningly fast Ferrari was just getting into its stride as it accelerated past Garden Cottage. The first time she heard it, the unexpected roar made her drop a plate of freshly baked cookies. The sudden noise was more terrifying than the RAF’s low-flying exercises at home in England. She soon got used to it, but it was a different matter whenever Gianni returned in the not-so-early hours of the morning. There was never any chance of getting back to sleep after being woken like that at three a.m. Guiltily, she would slide out of bed and creep to her window. Then she hid in the shadows, hoping for a glimpse of him. There was always a tiny window of opportunity, between the moments when he sprang from his car, leapt up the front steps and dived into the main house. Each night Meg held her breath, fearing the worst. Gianni had the villa to himself, so she expected him to bring a whole harem back home, every night. It never happened. He always returned alone.

  Meg would have been relieved, if it hadn’t been for one disturbing fact. Gianni always looked up at her bedroom window before he disappeared into the villa. She was careful to stand well back, and tried everything to avoid being seen. It was no good. His last gesture was always a quick glance at her house. It seemed to be directed straight at her. Meg was mystified. Something must alert him, yet he never confronted her about spying on him. That was stranger still. She knew enough about him by now to sense he wouldn’t keep a concern like that bottled up. He would have sought her out at work and said something. It didn’t happen. Meg suffered in silence, but it was no hardship compared to the alternative. That would be to give up her nightly vigils, which she would never—could never—do.

  Lying in bed listening to Gianni’s footsteps would be no substitute for watching the living, breathing reality of her fantasy man.

  Meg lived on in an agony of suspense for several more days. She supervised the last adjustments to the magnificent range of greenhouses she had designed without any more visits from Gianni. It was only when she was putting the finishing touches to the planting plan inside the greenhouse that the axe fell. Her mobile phone interrupted her while she was wiring some young orchid plants to an artistic arrangement of tree branches in the new tropical section.

  ‘Miss Imsey? The Count di Castelfino wants to see you in his office.’ It was one of Gianni’s personal assistants. Meg’s heart bounced like a ball at the request.

  ‘OK—when?’

  There was a shocked silence. Meg realised this must be the first time anyone had ever tried to keep Gianni Bellini waiting. The reply was terse, and to the point.

  ‘Immediatamente, if not sooner!’

  Meg didn’t need any more of a warning. She ran to obey. Covering the distance between the old kitchen garden and the villa at top speed, she was still brushing chipped bark from the knees of her jeans as she dashed into the estate office. Its noisy hubbub fell silent in an instant. The eyes of every secretary and PA followed the journey of each small brown fleck of bark raining down from Meg’s clothes and boots. One woman, as beautiful as a bird of paradise, moved swiftly to sweep up all the bits with a dustpan and brush. A second secretary stepped forward holding a roll of perforated plastic. Chivvying Meg toward an impressive mahogany door labelled ‘Strictly No Admittance’, she knocked on it loudly.

  ‘Come in!’

  Meg had thought she was nervous. Hearing the rich, smooth sound of Gianni’s voice added an extra frisson to her fear. She froze.

  How the secretary threw open the door and bowled the roll of perforated plastic inside so casually, Meg had no idea. It uncoiled as an eighteen-inch-wide strip, protecting the highly polished wood floor of Gianni’s office.

  Meg was desperate to break the tension of her ordeal. ‘No red carpet for me, then?’ She giggled nervously to the secretary.

  ‘No, only a carpet protector,’ the woman snapped, shooing her along.

  Meg walked forward. Gianni was sitting behind a vast workstation at the far side of the room. With his back to the windows, head down and engrossed in his work, he presented an imposing figure. Meg wasn’t sure what to do. She looked back the way she had come. As she did so the door slammed shut. That cut off any hope of escape. Edging forward, she stopped a respectful distance before the end of the silver plastic road. There she knotted her hands together in an agony of guilt, and waited. It felt as though one end of her nerves were nailed to the tip of Gianni’s fountain pen. The further across the page his hand moved, the further they stretched.

  He was writing an extremely long sentence.

  Outside, swifts screamed across the sky. Dust motes spiralled up the shafts of sunlight thrown across the glassy floor of his office. The heat increased. Meg’s temperature rose. Outside, a dog barked down in the village. A clock ticked. The dog barked a second time. Beneath his desk, Gianni shuffled his feet.

  He was testing Meg’s nerves beyond endurance. Suddenly, she couldn’t stand it any more.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve been spying on you out of my window at night but it’s just that your car always wakes me up when you drive past and I can never get back to sleep after that and it’s become a sort of habit that I have to get up and look out to make sure everything’s all right and you always happen to look up at the wrong time and—’

  Her first word stopped his pen. The rest of them lifted both it, and his head. By the time her voice trickled into silence he was staring at her with naked curiosity.

  ‘That’s interesting, Megan. That’s extremely interesting,’ he murmured at last, with a drawl that made her squirm. Throwing his pen down on the blotter, he sat back in his chair. Then he put the tips of his fingers together and looked at her keenly over the top of them.

  ‘Do you know, I had absolutely no idea you were doing that, Megan?’

  She squirmed some more.

  ‘I actually called you in to my office for a completely different reason. I wanted to find out how you’re settling in—nothing more exciting than that. Perhaps you would like to go out, come back in and we’ll start this interview all over again?’

  She threw another hunted look over her shoulder at the door. It was the only thing standing between her and the complete destruction of her self-esteem.

  ‘Do I have to?’

  He gave a low, throaty chuckle. It was calculated to snatch her attention straight back to him, and worked like a charm.

  ‘I wasn’t being entirely serious.’ His expression had all the delicious amusement she had enjoyed at the Chelsea Flower Show. It had the same effect, too, soothing her nerves just enough to let a little smile escape.

  ‘You might be on to something, Gianni. Running the gauntlet of your beautiful office staff without having had time to take a shower, change my clothes and put on a bit of make-up was a real challenge!’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with the way you look.’ His eyes
roamed over her body, giving weight to his words.

  ‘They seemed to think so,’ she said nervously. ‘That’s why they rolled this out for me.’ She pointed at the carpet protector. Once again he chuckled.

  ‘Don’t take it personally. It’s done for every visit from a member of my outdoor staff. As well as my own vineyard, I’ve inherited olive and citrus plantations and any number of farms. A lot of it would end up in here, scattered all over my office floor if they didn’t take precautions like that.’

  ‘Your indoor staff aren’t like the people who work in the grounds,’ Meg said, still stinging from the scornful looks she had been given.

  ‘My domestic staff are all fine, but it’s a jungle out there.’ He nodded towards the outer room before adding quickly, ‘But don’t worry—you’re of absolutely no interest to my office staff. They don’t see you as any sort of threat at all.’

  Meg wasn’t remotely reassured.

  ‘Is that supposed to cheer me up?’ she asked faintly.

  ‘Of course. Now—to business. How are you getting on here, Megan? I’ve been meaning to check up on you for the past few days, but no sooner do I spot you in the garden than you vanish. That’s why I’ve called you in here. I want to talk to you properly.’

  ‘And I wanted to do the same, Gianni,’ Meg said before she could stop herself. He was interested straight away.

  ‘That sounds promising. Take a seat.’ He indicated a deeply buttoned visitor’s chair drawn up before his workstation.

  To reach it she would have to step off the carpet protector. He saw her glance from one to the other and back again, and laughed.

  ‘Don’t bother about the floor. I never normally give my cleaning staff anything to do. Your little footprints won’t kill them.’

  She walked over and sat down in the chair. Elbows on his desk, Gianni leaned forward, his grin growing predatory. After all her fantasies, all the hours spent wondering what to say and how to act the next time they met, Meg froze again. Her wild confession might turn out to have been a fatal mistake. If he tried anything now, she could put up no resistance. Trembling, she waited for his next move. Forcing herself to sit back in her chair, she looked down at her hands. They were twisting nervously in her lap.

  ‘While I’ve got the opportunity, Gianni, I’d like to ask if you could possibly—that is, if you don’t mind—if there’s some way…if perhaps you could be a bit quieter when you return from your nights out?’ She finished in a rush, crimson with embarrassment. Cringing at the way she had told Gianni everything about her night-time vigils, she waited for him to laugh.

  All she heard was the sound of him sitting back in his chair. There was an agonisingly long pause. And then he said distantly, ‘I’ve been thinking about that since the moment you mentioned it. You’re the first person to say I’ve woken them up. Nobody else has ever complained.’

  Meg tried to make a joke of it. ‘Perhaps they’re afraid of you!’

  ‘And you aren’t?’ He sounded curious, rather than cross. Meg risked glancing up. He looked calm enough, and his beautiful eyes were dark with questions.

  ‘I-I’ll have to think about that,’ Meg said eventually. It was true. Gianni Bellini could be terrifying. He could also be warm and funny, but Meg wasn’t sure how deep or genuine any of his emotions were.

  ‘Don’t take too long making up your mind, will you?’

  She heard the laughter in his voice and couldn’t resist looking up again. Gianni smiled at her over his clasped hands.

  ‘So I’ve been costing you your beauty sleep, have I? If it’s any consolation, it’s impossible to tell. Nobody would ever know. Have you thought that, while you’re watching me, you could be in bed, getting more rest?’

  ‘There’s no point at that time in the morning. I don’t bother. I might as well get up, do some paperwork and then go out to work.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, quite unrepentant. ‘By the time I’m stripped and ready for bed, you’re out and about, heading for the gardens.’

  She frowned at him quizzically. ‘How do you know that?’

  All he did was smile as he waited for Meg to work out what he meant. It didn’t take long. The footpath from her cottage to the old kitchen gardens passed straight along one side of the villa. His suite must overlook her route. Meg had a sudden, delicious vision of him standing stark naked on the balcony of his bedroom, watching her. At any time over the past days she might have glanced up and caught sight of him in all his glory. But she hadn’t. Her shift from puzzlement to disappointment must have been obvious. Gianni responded with a slow, teasing smile that filled her mind with all sorts of possibilities.

  ‘Don’t worry. Now I am Count, I shall be partying less and entertaining here at the villa a lot more. You won’t be troubled by me during the night too often in the future,’ he said with sly humour, as though he knew she always would be. ‘I’ll be too busy working—and your job is another reason I’ve asked you here. Something you said on the day you arrived stuck in my mind. I got my staff to check you out, Miss Megan Imsey. Did you ever tell my father you were so grand and so well qualified you turned down a job with the English royal family?’

  ‘No! I’d never say a thing like that, even if it was true!’ Meg flapped her hands in embarrassment. ‘I didn’t turn them down—I couldn’t take the job. There’s a difference. My father had his heart attack the day after I was offered the position. I’d already accepted, but couldn’t take it up. My parents needed me, and all the help I could give them. I knew there would always be another job beyond the palace gardens, but my mum and dad are the only family I’ve got. People are more important than careers.’

  He ignored her. ‘I’ve decided you’re wasted here, Megan.’

  The breath caught in her throat. What could he mean?

  ‘That title, Curator of Exotic Plants, confines you in those glass prisons behind the ten-foot-high walls of my kitchen garden. I want to set you free, Megan. You’re going to take on the role of my Head Gardener, here at the Villa Castelfino. If you live up to my very high expectations, there could well be a promotion to Coordinator of Horticulture for all my properties—Barbados, Diamond Isle, Manhattan, and the rest.’

  Meg could hardly take it in. Gianni was speaking so casually, and yet the job he was talking about would mean the world to her.

  He stood up and pushed back his chair. Strolling around his desk, he perched on the corner, one leg swinging. The toe of his handmade leather shoe was only inches from her knee. Looking down on her from his vantage point, he tried to reassure her. It had exactly the opposite effect.

  ‘There will, of course, be all sorts of fringe benefits.’ His beautiful face was slowly lit by a meaningful smile.

  Meg gazed up at him. Her future career lay in the hands of this bewitching, desirable man. From the look in those haunting dark eyes, she was only a heartbeat away from a still more torrid destiny.

  ‘First on the list is a dress allowance,’ he announced.

  Meg looked down at what she was wearing. Her simple white T-shirt showed off her new tan beautifully, but neither it nor her jeans were new. On the other hand, they were comfortable.

  ‘But these clothes are best for my job,’ she murmured.

  Gianni grimaced. ‘They may be in England, but here you are part of my new Villa Castelfino Project. I have decided my vineyard and my father’s plans for increased tourism will complement each other. Instead of appealing only to wine connoisseurs, a visitor centre that leads people on from my vineyard to other attractions will bring in a wider, though still discerning audience. I intend all my staff to be my ambassadors, and that means they must look the part. When I host my first banquet here as Count, the head of every one of my departments will attend. It’s going to be a prestigious evening, so you will all be expected to look as good as these surroundings.’ He looked around his stylish office with satisfaction. ‘Particularly you, Meg, as you will be showing my guests that tropical wonderland you’re developing.�
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  Meg began to relax. If all his staff were to be treated alike, she could accept something as simple as a dress allowance with no qualms.

  ‘I got the idea from some background research I did, after my people handed me the file they’d opened on you,’ Gianni went on. ‘A hundred years ago, English aristocrats used to give their grandest guests a tour of the kitchen garden. Did you know that?’

  ‘Yes…’ Meg said uncertainly, not sure where this was leading. ‘But this is modern Italy,’ she added, remembering how keen Gianni was on looking forward rather than back.

  ‘I know. I’ve spent my whole life trying to escape from the old-fashioned image of the Bellinis. Now I’ve shouldered all my ancient responsibilities, I’m looking for ways to make life here more bearable for myself. The old counts never simply sat around on the foothills of their wealth. They all scaled the heights, and I’m no exception. I’ve turned a few dozen hectares of run-down vineyard into the nucleus of a multimillion-pound business. I did it to make myself independent from my family’s wealth. I’ve got nothing to prove in that direction. Now I’ve started looking into the idea of producing other local specialities. The Castelfino estate also produces top quality local food and olive oil. I want to make this villa into a beautiful place to do business with my friends and associates. They can all come and see how it’s done, and help local trade at the same time. That’s why I’ve started targeting my social life so ruthlessly. After my trophy head gardener has shown my guests around the grounds, they will be treated to a lavish banquet. Everything that can possibly be supplied by the Castelfino estate will be on display: food, wine, your flowers…everything I’m most proud of is going to be shown to its best advantage. So I want you to make as spectacular an impression on my guests as my house and grounds, Megan.’