(2012) Evie Undercover Page 3

  ‘What an admirable play on words, Evie. With such a talent, you really ought to consider becoming a lawyer or taking up journalism.’ Her cup clattered to the saucer as she choked on her coffee. ‘Hey, you’ve gone bright red. Are you all right? Do you want me to thump you on your back or perform the Heimlich manoeuvre? If I have a choice, I think I’ll go for the first option.’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she croaked. ‘It’s just that I used to dream about being a lawyer when I was a child, so what you said hit a nerve.’

  ‘Well, all I can say is, with the nerve you’ve already exhibited and your ability to achieve your desired outcome in the face of adverse odds, it’s a great loss to the legal profession that you didn’t pursue your childhood dream.’

  ‘I thought we weren’t going to mention last night again: not directly, not indirectly.’ She cleared her throat a couple of times in an effort to bring her squeaking voice down by several octaves.

  ‘You’re right. I’m sorry about making the comment. It was meant as a joke, but I can see that it was a pretty poor one. Being in your bed is no joking matter.’

  She bit her lip. Was that good or bad? She glanced anxiously across the table and their eyes met. His face broke into a warm smile.

  ‘OK, enough is enough, I’ll let it drop.’ He leaned back and gazed around him in satisfaction. ‘I must say, one way or another this has been a most unusual start to a visit to Italy, but that’s by no means a bad thing – it’s all been very entertaining. But you’re right, sufficient has been said on a certain subject and it’s now time to move on. So, what shall we talk about?’

  ‘How about what we’re doing today – apart from visiting the supermarket, that is.’ She gave him a wide smile – yup, it had been one step forward, and no steps back.

  ‘First of all, we’re going to the house. We’re meeting the geometra there at about eleven. It’ll take us roughly forty-five minutes to get there.’ He looked at his watch. ‘In fact, we can set off at any time now. How long do you need to get ready?’

  ‘No time at all – I am ready.’ She swivelled round in her chair and started to pull her jacket towards her.

  He leaned forward. ‘Yesterday morning, I would have agreed with you, Evie. Yesterday morning, I wouldn’t have expected you to be wearing anything other than a suit or a skirt and blouse. But that was yesterday morning. Last night I saw a slightly different Evie, and I think that the Evie of last night would choose to wear something more comfortable on what’s going to be a very hot day. I’m right, aren’t I?’

  ‘I suppose you are.’ She gave a short laugh that suggested embarrassment. ‘About the geeky clothes I was wearing last week, it was just that I wanted to look older and more secretaryish so that you’d feel confident I could do the job. I knew that I was on probation. But I suppose that sounds very silly to someone like you.’ Cringing inwardly, she attempted a Pathetic Little Woman expression.

  ‘Not at all,’ he purred. ‘I’m sure it’s quite understandable. At least, I think it is. Shall we say fifteen minutes, then?’

  ‘That’ll be fine. I’ll put on a dress – it’ll be much cooler.’ She stood up and started to move away from the table.

  ‘You’ve forgotten your glasses,’ he called after her. ‘Unless, of course, you no longer need them. The trauma of a recent, unmentionable event may well have effected a miraculous improvement in your vision. I’m sure that such things have been known to happen.’

  As she went back to the table to pick up her glasses, she saw that he was grinning broadly as he raised his cup to drain the last of his coffee.

  Damn, she thought.

  Chapter Four

  Getting to know you … Getting to know all about you …

  ‘Here.’ Tom leaned across from the driver’s seat and handed Evie a leather case. ‘You’ll find the house plans in one of the pockets and also some rough sketches of furniture. Obviously I need to see the house again before I decide on anything for certain. The geometra’s got some ideas as well.’ He threw the four-by-four into gear. ‘Having a woman’s touch wouldn’t be a bad thing, either, so feel free to chip in with any suggestions.’ He put his foot down on the accelerator. ‘The dress is an improvement, by the way.’

  She beamed at him. ‘Thank you. And thanks for suggesting that I change my clothes. This is much more comfortable.’

  ‘My pleasure. And indeed, it is my pleasure: you were a veritable eyesore in some of the things you wore last week. And before you decide to sue me for that non PC comment,’ he said, throwing her a quick smile before returning his eyes to the road, ‘you should know that a legal defence to the charge of slander is that the statement tells the truth. “Evie Shaw looks much better in her yellow dress and without thick glasses, M’Lud; and that’s the truth.”’

  Ohmigod, she was going red again! A bright red face so did not go with auburn hair.

  ‘I love planning rooms and furniture,’ she said in a rush. ‘It’s fun.’ She buried her head in the case and pulled out the photos and drawings. ‘And I like co-ordinating colours.’ And she did. The purple walls of her room in the Camden Town house she shared with her best friends, Rachel and Jess, made a real statement. Everyone said so.

  So he was into beautiful houses and scenery, was he?

  She stared with unseeing eyes at the photo of the Umbrian house on her lap, and tried to imagine the expression on her editor’s face if the highlights of her exposé were the revelations that Tom Hadleigh was mad about an old stone house, appreciated stunning landscapes, was thoughtful and had a cool sense of humour. All she needed to set the seal on her instant dismissal was to discover that he loved children and dogs and wanted to bring peace to the world.

  ‘I want you to get everything you can on that lump of pig shit,’ her editor had said as he’d handed her a wire to wear if necessary. ‘But it’s got to be provable – times, dates, places, and so on – not some old smut that would be kicked out of court as hearsay. And there’ll be a bonus if you can show that he and Zizi Westenhall were into something kinky – people like that always are. Find me something I can nail him with, Evie, or don’t bother to come back.’

  Well, she wasn’t going to find kinky – she’d spent more than enough time with Tom to know that – and she’d no intention of making something up: she was a reporter, not a fiction writer. But that didn’t mean to say she wouldn’t get her story – she would, but it wouldn’t be nasty.

  Her job at Pure Dirt was the start of her dream coming true and she wasn’t going to throw away her chance. Her dream had begun when she was ten years old and had seen her name in the local newspaper under the story about the friendship between her dog and a piglet, and it had still been her dream when she’d left school. She’d gone straight from school to Lake Garda for a year to get her Italian up to scratch, and had sent a weekly article about life in an Italian hotel back to the local newspaper. On her return to England, she’d gone to work full-time for the paper.

  Not even the less-than-riveting subjects she’d covered – the school achievements, weddings, local fêtes, disputes between neighbours over the height of a hedge – had dampened her burning desire to work for a top magazine. Two years later, it was clear to her that the local paper had taught her everything it could, and she’d left Suffolk and gone to London with the aim of getting a job with Glamour, Glamour Puss or Cosmopolitan.

  Her and all the rest. A lot of other girls had the same aim, she’d soon found out, and she hadn’t even been able to get a job making tea for anyone in any of the top magazines. Finally, after more than a year of temping while applying to magazine after magazine, she’d been offered a post at Pure Dirt.

  A gossip rag wasn’t the path she’d have chosen to go down if she’d had any choice, but she hadn’t, and she’d grabbed the opportunity with both hands, seeing it as a stepping stone that could lead to one of the big magazines. She’d heard of a girl who’d gone straight from Pure Dirt to Glamour Puss, and if it could happen to that gir
l, it could happen to her.

  Rachel and Jess had been horrified when she’d told them where she was going to work. OK, she’d agreed in the face of their appalled shrieks, the magazine was a bit in-your-face and did sometimes go over the top, but it had to be like that if it was going to stand out from the hoards of other gossip magazines that lined the shelves. They knew how hard she’d tried to find work on a magazine, and they knew it was the only offer she’d had.

  And just because Pure Dirt was a bit close to the mark, she’d added – well, miles over the mark, if she was truly honest with herself – it didn’t mean that she had to sink to the lowest level. She was going to be one of the good guys. She’d uncover the truth and tell it like it was, but nothing more than that. That had to be possible, even at Pure Dirt.

  ‘Think Pure,’ she’d told them. ‘Not Dirt. A story doesn’t have to be invasive and malicious to be a bloody good read.’

  ‘Oh, yeah!’ they’d chorused.

  ‘It’s still dirt,’ Jess had said, standing up, ‘but it’s clean, honest dirt. So that’s OK, then.’ And she and Rachel had gone off to their rooms, leaving waves of disapproval in their wake.

  Since that conversation they’d been quite shitty towards her, and it had been a real relief to get away from their caustic comments for a week. But once the magazine had published her article and they’d seen that she’d worked on a matter of public interest, they’d know that they’d been wrong about her job and things’d go back to the way they used to be.

  But public interest or not, it was going to take quite a lot to do something to someone else that she wouldn’t like done to her. However, if Tom Hadleigh had been telling the court something about Zizi Westenhall which he knew to be untrue, then it was right that he was found out, and she wasn’t going to let the fact that the guy was cool and fun to be with get in the way of her telling the truth. She was a journalist, and journalists were above being influenced by superficial things like a person being dead sexy.

  She looked up from the photos in her hands and saw that the four-by-four had just finished going round the bottom of the hill on which an old town stood, half hidden behind an encircling grey stone wall. That must be Todi, she decided. The road they were on was leading them away from the old town and through an area of more recently built houses and shops.

  She quickly leafed through the photos, slid them back into the leather case, sank down into her seat and surreptitiously looked across at Tom. He was concentrating on the road ahead, his left arm casually resting on the frame of the open window while he steered the wheel with his right hand.

  He really was mega attractive, she thought, and he seemed a genuinely fun guy, light years away from the cheating, lying bastard her editor had said he was. Suppose her sod of an editor had got it wrong and there was nothing for her to come up with? She felt a sudden twinge of panic, and turned away to look at the road.

  ‘Aha!’ Tom exclaimed a few moments later. ‘There’s the sign pointing to Massa Piccola. It won’t be long till we’re there. I’ve already told you, haven’t I, that the house is on the side of the mountain just behind Massa Piccola? You’ll like Massa – it’s a very pretty small Roman town.’

  ‘I think you did.’ She slid back up in her seat and stared out of the window at the lines of ripening grapes and groves of olive trees that were flashing by. Every so often, they passed a pale grey stone house, set against the backdrop of hills and a clear blue sky. ‘What’s the geometra like?’

  ‘A bit oily, I suppose, but he obviously knows his job. He’s more than just a surveyor, though. He’s very artistic and he’s taken a great deal of care over the restoration. Obviously the bathroom and kitchen fittings are modern, but everything else in the house is original fourteenth or fifteenth century, restored to the highest standard. Sometimes I think he loves the house as much as I do.’

  ‘It sounds like you were lucky to find him.’

  ‘I certainly was. But you’ll be able to make up your mind about him for yourself – you’ll see quite a bit of him over the next few days. I’ve asked him to make himself available for the week. It’s worth the outlay. I’m only here for a very short time and every second’s got to count.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Eduardo di Montefiori. He’s from Umbria. One of the lesser nobility, I believe. But talking of family, Evie, what about you? Have you got family in Italy? You said your grandmother was Italian.’

  ‘No one that I know of. My gran married an Englishman and they lived in London, but she was useless at English, and when Dad was born, she spoke to him in Italian only. They went to Italy a few times when Dad was young, but not a lot, and we sort of lost contact with the Italian side of the family over the years. Gran died soon after I was born, and it was my dad who taught me Italian – really to stop himself from forgetting it, I think.’

  ‘He did a good job. You speak the language like a native.’

  ‘That’s because I worked in a hotel near Lake Garda when I left school. I wanted to keep the Italian up as I thought it might be useful one day. And I was right, wasn’t I?’ She smiled at him. ‘It has come in useful – I’m here now, aren’t I?’

  ‘Indeed you are. And what’s more, it’s been a strikingly original presence so far, if I may say so.’

  She laughed. ‘I’m not going to rise to that.’

  ‘So where do your parents live now?’

  ‘Believe it or not, Australia. Two years after Italy, I left Suffolk and went and shared a house in Camden Town with Rachel and Jess – my mates from school. Mum and Dad decided to emigrate to Australia. They’d wanted to go for ages – friends of theirs went years ago and love it there. They must have been there over a year now. I haven’t been to visit them yet, but when I’m able to go, they’ll send the money for a ticket. They sound really happy, and good luck to them, I say. I’ve got Rachel and Jess and my other friends so I’m not exactly alone.’

  She leaned back against the seat, and smiled to herself. That was nice of him to show an interest in her family. A sense of relaxation crept over her in the warmth of the day and her eyes started to close.

  Holy cow! Her eyes flew open and she sat up fast. This was her moment and she’d almost missed it.

  She’d been getting so comfortable that she’d almost forgotten why she was there. The minute he’d asked her about her family he’d opened the door to her learning something more about him other than whether he took milk with his coffee. She could now put the same personal question to him without it looking like she’d overstepped the employer/employee line. Oh, joy unbounded!

  ‘It’s your turn now, Tom,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ve told you about my family. What about yours?’

  ‘My parents live in Devon, where I was brought up. I don’t see them as much as I’d like to, but we’ll catch up when they come over in August. There’s not much more to tell you, I’m afraid, and if there was, there wouldn’t be time – welcome to Massa Piccola, Evie. We’re here.’

  Fuck Massa Piccola!

  She’d been on the verge of delving into his background, and now she’d have to stop. Why couldn’t they have reached the place a bit later? Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

  Biting back her frustration, she stared fixedly through the windscreen ahead of her as Tom drove up to the small piazza that was obviously the centre of town and turned right. As he started up the hill leading away from the town, she glanced to the left and caught a fleeting glimpse of mustard yellow and terracotta houses through an arch on the far side of the piazza.

  She sat back. What mega bad timing! Now she’d have to wait for another suitable moment to arise, and almost certainly she’d have to be the one to bring up the subject of family, which wouldn’t be nearly as good.

  ‘It’s a pity that you won’t be able to see much of the view,’ Tom said as he turned off the hill on to a narrow, unpaved road which wound up the side of the mountain, ‘but the trees block the view on both sides for most of the way up. You’ll get a
chance in a few minutes, though.’

  ‘I can’t wait,’ she said, staring dejectedly through the windscreen at the pebble-strewn track ahead of them. She gave herself a sharp mental kick – if she didn’t get a grip on herself, she’d blow the whole thing. She switched on a look of eager anticipation. ‘I’m dying to see it.’

  He gave her a quick smile and she saw the excitement in his eyes.

  A massive wave of guilt swept over her.

  Yes, a promising moment had been nipped in the bud, but so what? Even if Tom had had an affair with his client, he was a nice man, who’d been very pleasant to her, and he deserved better from her than he’d been getting. She was in danger of becoming so obsessed by why she was in Italy that she wasn’t giving a moment’s thought to his needs as a person. She could do better than that, and she would.

  He turned sharply to the right, and she glimpsed the sky ahead through a gap in the trees at the top of a steep stretch of track. He lowered the gear and they started to climb the slope.

  ‘We’re not far off now,’ he said. ‘You’ll be able to see the house at any minute.’

  Just before they reached the gap in the trees, the road curved sharply to the left. Tom swung the wheel hard into the turn and brought the car to a shuddering halt on the brow of the hill. ‘Look to the right, Evie.’

  She turned her head and stared across sweeping golden fields and olive groves to a grey stone house that sat on the side of the mountain. A square tower rose from the back of the roof of the house, its small windows looking out across the countryside.

  ‘My God, what a fantastic spot it’s in! And the house – it’s awesome, Tom.’ She turned back to him. ‘Really, it is. No wonder you like it so much.’

  ‘It is something special, isn’t it?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We’re a little early. With luck, Eduardo won’t be here yet. I’d like to show you the garden and pool myself.’