Promise Of The Unicorn

‘But that,’ Angelo reminded her silkily. ‘Is entirely through your own choice. I seem to remember when it was once suggested, you told me that all commerce was disgusting but bankers were the worst of all, because they were predators. Or had you forgotten?’

No, she hadn’t forgotten. The memory still made her cheeks burn, particularly as she’d chosen a family dinner party for her outburst. It had been sparked off by a letter from a friend, Rosemary, blotched with tears to say that she wouldn’t be returning to school the following term, because her father’s company was in financial trouble. Rosemary had not had a complete grasp of what had happened, but it seemed clear her father was being made bankrupt, and they would lose nearly everything they possessed.

The letter had upset Sophie, and she’d tried to discuss it with her mother, but Barbara, abstracted over her guests, had said, ‘Later, darling.’

During the dinner, she’d been quiet, thinking of Rosemary, and her family, and the trouble which had come to them, and when she’d come out of her reverie, it was to find careers were being discussed, and that she was suddenly the focus of attention, with John proposing not too seriously that she might find an opening in the Marchese bank.

She’d looked past him and seen Angelo—seen the slightly derisive smile which twisted his mouth as he listened, and had exploded, the natural tension he inspired in her combining lethally with the anguish she felt for Rosemary. She had heard her voice storming into the startled silence, saying stupid, unforgivable things that she was totally unable to prevent, cringing from them, from the shock on John and Barbara’s faces, and from the contempt in Angelo’s eyes.

How typical of him to remind her, she thought stormily.

She said evenly, ‘Are you still blaming me for something I said when I was a child?’

‘Implying that you are now a woman?’ Angelo’s mouth curled.

He watched her react, as his tiny shaft struck home, then went on, ‘And a woman who wants something. That’s a dangerous combination, Sophie.’

She remained silent. Nothing about this interview was going as planned. The determination which had prompted her to seek it had vanished, and only the difficulties remained.

‘We established, I think, that you did not wish to choose banking as a career,’ the smooth voice went on. ‘What have you decided to do with your life?’

She hesitated. Now was the time to tell him. He’d provided her with the perfect opening, but still she prevaricated. ‘I’m starting a secretarial course in the autumn.’ She tried a smile. ‘I can’t go on living at home forever, although I’ve enjoyed this year. John felt that I’d been away so much at school that it was time I got to know them both all over again.’

‘You don’t have to explain the situation to me.’ He was lounging in his chair, watching her, his face giving nothing away. ‘And shall you enjoy being a secretary?’

Sophie shrugged. ‘It’s an—adequate way of making a living,’ she returned.

‘And is that really so vital? You are now a rich man’s daughter, do not forget.’

‘Oh, there’s no danger of that. After all, you’ll always be there to remind me, won’t you?’

He smiled lazily, ‘Of course.’ He paused, as a respectful knock at the door heralded lunch. ‘Shall we go in?’

Sophie took a deep breath and struggled out of the chair, ignoring the helping hand he offered her. She felt oddly light-headed as she stood up. She’d been a fool to have that sherry on an empty stomach, she reproached herself as she allowed herself to be conducted out of the office and along the carpeted corridor to the directors’ dining room.

It was a quite a small room, the oak-panelled walls imposing an extra intimacy. A table had been set for them beside the window, with its view of roofs, glass tower blocks and steeples. The sun spilled across the spotless white damask cloth, and sparkled from the crystal and silverware. There were flowers, scented carnations in a silver vase, in the centre of the table, and wine cooling in a napkin covered container.

In spite of her nervousness, and her earlier claim that she wasn’t hungry, Sophie found the scene irresistibly inviting. Besides, she hoped the food would put some fresh heart into her.

‘Your jacket, miss?’ An elderly waiter was hovering benevolently, waiting to take it from her. As Sophie twisted her body slightly, sliding her arms out of the sleeves, she saw that Angelo was watching her, his dark eyes frankly appraising the thrust of her breasts against the thin lawn blouse.

She tried to return his glance with cool indifference, but she was already aware of the mounting colour in her cheeks, and his scarcely veiled amusement at her embarrassment. It would have given her the greatest pleasure to have been able to walk out on him, she thought furiously.

She sat stiffly while the waiter served the avocado vinaigrette, wondering if she would be able to choke any of it past the knot of tension in her throat. She was remembering various laughing comments from her stepfather about Angelo’s predilection for beautiful girls, and while she didn’t consider she came into that category, it was nevertheless disturbing to be looked over in that way.

By coming here today, she’d placed herself at a disadvantage, she realised ruefully. It might have been safer to wait for the anniversary party, and approach him under the sanctuary of her stepfather’s roof. As it was, she felt rather out on a limb suddenly.

It was all too easy to contemplate Angelo’s wealth and power as chairman of the bank, and virtual head of the Marchese family, and to overlook the fact that he was also very much a man, barely more than thirty, and sensationally attractive.

And for the first time he’d looked at her, not as if she was a troublesome child, but as though he liked what he saw. She wished wryly that she’d stayed with the jeans and sweatshirts he was accustomed to from her.

The second course—chicken in a thyme and lemon sauce—was served, and the wine was poured. With a dignified, ‘Perhaps you’ll ring for me, sir, when you’ve finished,’ the waiter withdrew.

‘Alone at last,’ Angelo remarked. ‘Don’t look so apprehensive, cara. There’s a very solid table between us, and you have an assortment of cutlery with which to defend yourself should my wicked desires prove uncontrollable.’

Sophie addressed herself to her chicken, her face wooden, raging inwardly that he could apparently read her thoughts with such accuracy.

‘No comeback?’ he continued tauntingly. ‘From your earlier remark, I thought you wanted me to regard you as a woman, but perhaps you’re having second thoughts about that.’

The moment of truth had come. Sophie lifted her chin and gave him a cool look. ‘Not in the slightest,’ she countered. ‘As it happens, it’s all to the good if you’re prepared to admit I’m not a child any more. You see——’ she moistened her suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘You see—I want to be married.’

CHAPTER TWO (#ud549eeb0-2777-547e-816f-72bce343d45e)

THERE was a brief silence, blank, almost stunned, then Angelo burst out laughing.

‘Is that a proposal, mia cara? If so, I’m more flattered than I can say, but it is more usual, you know, for the man to do the asking.’

‘Of course it’s not a proposal.’ Sophie glared at him, stormy colour flaring in her face. ‘I wouldn’t marry you if …’ She paused belatedly, realising her denial could have been more politely worded.

‘If I were the last man left on earth?’ Angelo supplied silkily. ‘Why not have the courage of your convictions, Sophie, and say what you are undoubtedly thinking. So—let us agree that neither of us would be the choice of the other. Presumably you have met a man who meets all your stringent criteria as a husband. I am happy for you. Is that what you wanted to hear. Did you come here today to ask my blessing?’

‘Not entirely.’ Sophie fidgeted with her fork. She said carefully, looking down at her plate. ‘You see, my parents don’t want me to marry him, and I’m hoping you will persuade them to change their minds.’

There was another silence. She peeped at him under her lashes, and saw that he was frowning.

‘You are of legal age, Sophie. Why do you need their consent?’

‘Because of Grandfather Ralston’s will,’ she said baldly. ‘Look, I’d better explain everything from the beginning.’

‘I think you should.’ He refilled her glass.

‘I met Mark in the village a few months ago,’ she said. ‘I was caught in a shower of sleet, and I went into the antique shop in Market Street to shelter. It belongs to Mark’s aunt, and he was looking after it for her while she went to some sale or other. Well, we got talking, and he made some coffee, and …’ Sophie paused. ‘Well, that’s how it started,’ she said flatly. ‘We—fell in love.’ She gave him a challenging look. ‘Nothing to say?’

He shrugged. ‘The story seems conventional and innocuous enough. What is your parents’ objection?’

Sophie hesitated again. This was the difficult part. ‘As it happens, Mark hasn’t got a job. At least, he’s had a couple since he left university, but they haven’t worked out. Now, he has the most marvellous chance to go in with a man he knows called Craig Jefferson, making software for computers. He’s been offered a partnership, a share in the business, but, of course, he has to buy it and …’

‘And he has no capital,’ Angelo finished for her. She saw his frown had deepened. ‘I hope he has not tried to borrow money from John.’

‘Oh, no.’ Sophie shook her head quickly. ‘There’s no need. You see, there’s the Ralston money that Grandfather left me. It isn’t a great deal in your terms, but it would be enough to give Mark the start he needs. Only Grandfather was a real dyed in the wool male chauvinist. I only inherit the money when I’m twenty-one, or if I marry before that with the consent of my parents.’

‘Which they will not give.’ It was a statement not a question. ‘They can hardly be blamed, cara.’

‘You’re as bad as they are.’ Sophie bit her lip. ‘I’ve heard all the arguments over and over again, and they don’t matter. Mark and I love each other, and I want to do this for us. I want to give him the Ralston money and give him a start in life.’

He said drily, ‘It is more usual for a man contemplating marriage to provide his own start. But I’m sure John has already made this point to you.’

‘Many times,’ said Sophie defiantly. ‘And it makes no difference.’