Bride By Choice

CHAPTER ONE

SNOW was on the ground and a bitter wind cut through the darkness of an early February afternoon, but New York still glittered and nothing could dim the glory of Elroys, the most glamorous, the most expensive hotel on Park Avenue.

There was a new security man at the staff entrance, who didn’t recognise Helen until she showed him her pass with its proud words, Helen Angolini, Management Trainee, and the even prouder words, “First Class”. She’d joined a training program in which only one applicant out of a hundred was accepted, worked her way up from Third Class, through Second Class, and now she was on the last stage before a full appointment.

‘Not that I’ll ever get appointed if I’m late,’ she groaned to herself as she dashed for the elevator to the eight floor. ‘Can’t this thing go any faster?’

‘I didn’t think you’d be here for this function at all,’ said a voice beside her. It was Dilys, her fellow trainee, whom she’d overlooked in her agitation. They’d joined on the same day, soon become flatmates, and been “partners in crime” (as Dilys was fond of putting it) ever since. ‘You’ve just gotten back from Boston,’ she observed.

‘Right, and I was supposed to be going straight to my parents’ house from the airport. But Mr Dacre called and said to look in at the hotel first. That’s why I’ve still got my luggage with me.’

At that moment the elevator doors opened, and Dilys grasped Helen’s arm, steering her towards the ladies’ room. ‘Dump your things in here,’ she said. ‘And put your glad rags on.’

She was a petite blonde with a come-hither eye. Helen was taller, more statuesque, with shoulder-length hair as black as a raven’s wing, and dark, expressive eyes. In her mid-twenties her lush beauty was reaching its height, but she thought her appearance reflected too accurately her Sicilian ancestry, and longed for blue eyes and fair skin.

Yet while she might disparage her looks she knew how to dress them to advantage. Her warm skin cried out for deep tones, and now she looked through her luggage until she found a dress of dark red silk that caused her eyes to glow theatrically. A vigorous brushing made her hair gleam and bounce richly about her shoulders.

Dilys regarded her with satisfaction. ‘Great! Now let’s go and knock ’em dead.’

‘Don’t you ever think of anything but men?’ Helen chuckled, already knowing the answer. ‘This is supposed to be a working function.’

‘So? I like to mix business with pleasure. C’mon! Let’s inspect the talent.’

The Imperial Room took up one corner of the eighth floor. On two sides it had floor-length windows hung with luxurious drapes. A dozen round tables groaned under food and wine. The huge room was already packed. All the big names of Elroys were there, and she could see Jack Dacre, her immediate superior, a hard taskmaster but with a kind heart. He signalled and edged towards her through the crowd.

‘Glad you got here,’ he rumbled above the din.

‘My plane was delayed. I’m sorry I’m a bit-’

‘No sweat. Tell me about your trip tomorrow. I’ve heard good things about your work while you were away. What do you know about this function?’

‘Nothing. It wasn’t even planned when I left.’

‘Right. All thrown together at twenty-four hour’s notice. It’s the Continental Restaurant. The Italian section grew so popular that it’s being hived off into a restaurant of its own. Most of the people here tonight are connected with food. Grab a drink.’

He vanished to do some mingling. Helen obtained a glass of light wine, and edged her way in the direction of Braden Fairley, the Managing Director. He was talking to a handsome giant with light brown, curly hair. Something in the way the young man was standing told Helen that it was taking all his good manners to seem attentive, but the expression of courteous interest on his face never wavered.

Then Fairley’s attention was claimed by another guest, making him turn slightly, giving Helen a better view of the stranger just as he glanced up. Their eyes met. His, she noticed with pleasure, were deep blue and irresistibly merry. She couldn’t help smiling back. He glanced at Fairley, blowing out his cheeks in a plea for sympathy, which she gave him willingly. Then the Managing Director resumed his monologue, and Helen moved along.

From beside her came a soft, appreciate growl. ‘Mmm, he’s yummy, isn’t he?’ Dilys murmured.

‘Who’s yummy?’

‘Who’s yummy? she asks, when she can’t take her eyes off him!’

‘I’m looking at Mr Fairley,’ Helen said stiffly.

‘Sure you are. Between Fairley and a guy who looks like a Greek god, you’re going to look at Fairley. Who wants to waste time on a Greek god?’

‘Don’t be fanciful! Greek god! No way!’

‘All right. Life-guard, then. I like that better. More chance of getting him where you want him.’

‘I don’t want him any way,’ Helen said unconvincingly.

‘Aw, c’mon! He must be six foot two, and look at those shoulders. They should build doors wider to let them through. There’s no fat on him, you can see that, and with those long legs and flat stomach-well, if he isn’t a life guard he ought to be.’

‘You can’t tell about his legs, or his stomach.’

‘You can if you look properly,’ Dilys chuckled. ‘I glided by just now and he winked at me.’

‘He looks as if he’d wink at anything in a skirt.’

‘Hey, you noticed!’ Dilys said with ironic admiration. ‘And you should see the gleam in his eye! One look, and you just know he’s scheming to take you to bed.’

‘Oh, go away!’ Helen said, laughing. ‘Simply standing next to you could ruin my reputation.’

‘See ya!’ Dilys said, and slid away in search of more prey.

It was incredible, Helen thought, how her eyes seemed to be drawn to the handsome young man of their own accord. She tried to ignore him but she kept glancing back in his direction without meaning to. And at last the inevitable happened and she found him looking back. Embarrassed, she tried to assume an air of lofty indifference, but somehow it turned into a smile of pleasure because his presence was like sunshine.

He was dressed informally but expensively in slacks and a silk shirt, and Helen had to admit that everything Dilys said had been true, although ‘Greek god’ was a bit of an overstatement, she thought, giving the matter serious attention. But ‘life-guard’ definitely, and with a look of relish that said the world was there to be enjoyed, and what were they waiting for?

Suddenly she found herself thinking of wine goblets filled to the brim, of golden plates piled high with the fruits of the earth, hot suns, lovers’ meetings, passion, satiation; all the good things, the complete, perfect, richly coloured, overflowing things that spoke of abundance and fulfilment.

No, not spoke. Sang. As she was singing now.

For pity’s sake! she thought in alarm. Pull yourself together.

With an effort she got down to some work. There was glossy literature distributed everywhere, and she scanned it quickly, absorbing everything with her retentive memory until she felt confident of being able to do what was expected of her. Then she plunged into the crowd, at her sparkling best.

After half an hour she took a short breather. Looking around for some refreshment she found a glass of champagne put into her hand by a lean young man with very blond looks and a kind face.

‘You look as if you need it, my darling,’ he said, a tad theatrically.

‘I do, I do,’ she said thankfully. ‘Bless you, Erik.’

He was an under manager at Elroys. They had been to the theatre together a few times and once she had taken him to meet her parents. Their relationship was as much friendly as romantic, but she knew that in the hotel they were considered an item.

‘Back to work,’ she said, finishing the champagne. ‘There’s a mountain to climb yet.’

She returned to the fray for more smiling and shaking hands, until after an hour she felt ready for another breather, and edged to the side of the room.

‘It gets to you, doesn’t it?’ said a voice beside her. She looked up to find the ‘life-guard’ grinning down at her. They laughed together, and it was as though she had been laughing with this charmer all her life.

‘You escaped alive, then?’ she said.

‘At last. He’s a dear old boy but he says everything ten times. My face muscles are frozen at “smile”.’

Close up he was even more overwhelming, towering over her like a friendly giant. Helen was suddenly glad that she looked her best tonight. She knew what the dark red dress could do for her, and if his admiring gaze was anything to go by it was doing it very nicely, thank you!

He gave a hunted glance over his shoulder and took her elbow. ‘Let’s get engaged in deep conversation before anyone else collars me.’

They drifted into one of the window bays and stood looking down the long canyon of Park Avenue, far below, glittering with lights.

‘Wow!’ he said softly.

‘Yes, it’s incredible, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Is this your first trip to New York?’ She couldn’t quite place his accent beyond the fact that he wasn’t American.

‘It’s my first trip to the States,’ he said. ‘I’ve only been here two days and I’m overwhelmed.’

‘Sit down,’ Helen said, ‘and I’ll get you something to eat.’ She scooped up a collection of savouries from a table, refilled his glass, and settled thankfully on a sofa beside him.

‘That sigh told volumes,’ he said with a smile.

‘I didn’t sigh, did I?’

‘Like a woman who hadn’t sat down for a month. Have you been walking the streets? No! I didn’t mean it like that.’ He struck his forehead in horror, while Helen went into gales of laughter.

‘That’s what you say for ladies of easy virtue,’ he groaned. ‘I didn’t mean that at all, I just-oh, God!’

‘Ladies of easy virtue don’t waste time standing on street corners these days,’ Helen chuckled. ‘Not in New York, anyway. They have penthouses and mobiles. Some of them have social secretaries. Now I suppose you’re wondering how I know that?’

He pulled himself together. ‘Certainly not,’ he said with an attempt at dignity. ‘You’re a modern young woman with a wide knowledge of social conditions. And I wish I’d died before I opened my mouth.’

She would have forgiven him much for calling her a modern young woman. But no forgiveness was necessary. He delighted her.

The next moment he delighted her even more by putting his foot in it again, eyeing her identification badge and saying, ‘Besides, since you work here, you must meet all kinds of lady in the hotel-’

‘Not that kind of lady,’ Helen said virtuously. ‘The Elroy doesn’t allow them.’

This time he just covered his eyes in an attitude of despair. Helen regarded him with pleasure. He had reddened with confusion, and it made him look much younger than she guessed he was. Late twenties, she reckoned. Thirty, tops.

He uncovered his eyes, pulled himself together, and looked more closely at her badge. Something he saw there seemed to strike him, for he glanced at her in surprise. But before he could speak she refilled his glass and brought him some more to eat, trying to cover his confusion.

‘Are you going to be connected with the new Italian Restaurant?’ he asked, indicated a glossy brochure.

‘I don’t think so. I’m just here because Mr Dacre thinks of me as Italian, and it’s so unfair.’

‘Why is it unfair?’

‘Because it’s not true. I have an Italian name, which means that my parents are Italian, but I’m not. I can’t convince anybody of that-including them. I’m an American. I was born in Manhattan, I grew up in Manhattan, I’ve never set foot in Italy in my life. I have a career and my own apartment, but Mamma still says, “When are you going to settle down as a good wife to a nice Italian boy?”’

‘And what do you say?’ he asked, fascinated.

‘I say there’s no such thing as a nice Italian boy. They’re all like Poppa.’

‘And you don’t like your father?’

‘I adore him,’ Helen said truthfully. ‘I also adore my brothers, but I’ll go to the stake before I marry anyone like them. Honestly, they still think they’re back in the old country. And my brothers have never seen the old country.’

Indignation was bringing a sparkle to her eyes which turned them into pure magic, he thought. She should get mad more often. It suited her. But he knew better than to voice such an old-fashioned compliment. He didn’t want her wine poured over the shirt he’d bought only that afternoon. To draw her out he asked, ‘What part of Italy is the “old country”?’

‘Sicily,’ she said in tones of deep exasperation. ‘A land where “men are men and women know their place”. Would you believe, I’ve actually heard my father say that?’

‘Easily. If the men of Sicily are used to their privileges they’re not going to give them up without a fight.’

‘Well, I know how to fight too,’ she said darkly.

‘I’ll bet you do. If I was brave and foolhardy I might say that you show your Sicilian ancestry every time you open your mouth.’

‘What?’

‘I mean that Latin temper of yours. Pure southern Italian.’ Catching her wrathful eye on him, he added hastily, ‘But since I’m a coward I won’t say it.’

‘Very wise!’ Then she sighed and said, ‘I’m sorry. I go on about it too much, and I shouldn’t bend your ear. That’s not what you came here for.’

‘Isn’t it?’ he murmured. ‘I’m beginning to think that’s exactly what I came here for.’

Next moment a glamorous young woman detached herself from the crowd, flung an arm about his shoulders and planted a theatrical kiss on his mouth.

‘Bye, sweetie,’ she intoned breathily.

Helen recognised Angela Havering, a fellow trainee whom she’d never liked, she now realised. Angela bestowed a second kiss for good measure before floating off on the arm of another man.

‘I didn’t know you were so well acquainted with Angela,’ she observed.

‘Just met her this evening. Like you, really.’

‘But I don’t call you sweetie,’ she pointed out.

‘You can if you want to. Have a drink with me when this is over.’

She laughed and shook her head. ‘I can’t. I must be going soon. I have urgent things to do.’

‘Such as?’

‘Oooh-’ she mused, ‘really important things, like planning a slow, painful death for Lorenzo Martelli.’

There was a clatter as his glass hit the table and he struggled not to choke.

‘What happened?’ she asked.

‘Nothing,’ he said, gasping slightly. ‘My glass slipped. Why do you want to kill Lorenzo Martelli?’

‘Well, it’s either that or marry him.’

‘Is-is it?’ he asked, slightly wild-eyed.

‘In a few minutes I have to go and join a family party at my parents’ house, to meet this Martelli character. He’s a Sicilian, over here on a visit. His family and mine were friends years ago, so he can’t be in New York without looking us up.’

‘But why have you got to marry him?’

‘Because my parents have set their hearts on it.’

‘But if you haven’t met him-?’

‘It’s crazy, isn’t it? They fixed tonight up while I was in Boston, and all I heard were hints about what a fine match he was and how he was bound to be looking for a good Sicilian bride-’

‘Couldn’t he find one of those in Sicily?’

‘That’s what I said. The truth is, he’s probably so fat and ugly that he has to scour the world.’

He nodded wisely. ‘Bound to be. You’re right to make a stand.’

‘Anyway, they’re welcome to him. Tonight I’ll sit there good as gold saying “Yes, Poppa”, and “No, Poppa”, like the perfect, dutiful Italian daughter.’

‘Dutiful?’ he couldn’t resist saying. ‘You?’

‘They want dutiful, so I’ll give them dutiful with knobs on. I may want to kick Lorenzo Martelli’s shins, but I won’t do it. Not tonight, at any rate. If I have to see him a second time, I won’t answer for the consequences.’

‘Hey, c’mon, he’s not really to blame.’

‘He is to blame,’ Helen said firmly. ‘Simply by existing he darkens the earth, and I’ll be doing everyone a favour by exterminating him.’

He looked nervous. ‘Have you decided exactly how?’

‘Well, I thought of boiling in oil, but it’s probably too good for him.’

‘And very unimaginative.’

‘You’re right,’ she agreed. ‘Something with scorpions and spiders would be better.’

He shuddered.

‘Aren’t you being a bit hasty? You might fall for him and want to marry him.’

She gave him a speaking glance. ‘Death would be preferable,’ she said firmly. ‘Mine if necessary, but his for choice.’

‘Why have you got your knife into this guy? Is being Italian really so bad?’

‘Being an Italian man is like being the devil,’ she said firmly. ‘They’re old-fashioned, domineering, unreliable and faithless. Especially faithless.’

‘Why especially faithless? I mean, if you’re going to do them down, do them down on all counts, not just one.’

‘It’s the chief one. Do you know what they called Italian husbands? Married bachelors. It’s expected. A faithful husband is a considered a wimp. Creeps!’

‘But apart from that, you think they’re OK?’ he asked wryly.

‘Look, I know exactly what’s going through Lorenzo Martelli’s head at this minute.’

‘You don’t,’ he muttered.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Nothing. Tell me what’s going through his head.’

‘He’ll know that there are four unmarried daughters-Patrizia, Olivia, and Carlotta-and me. And he’ll be expecting one or all of us to make a play for him.’

He didn’t answer, but he ran a finger around the inside of his collar.

‘The Martellis are rich so he’ll think he’s a god of creation,’ Helen said, warming to her theme, ‘loftily waiting while we parade before him and he takes his pick.’

‘The jerk!’ he said with feeling.

‘Exactly. Look, I know I go on about it too much, but it’s how I psyche myself up for the evening ahead.’ She looked at her watch and said reluctantly, ‘I’m afraid I have to go now. I’ll call the desk and fix a cab.’

‘I’d offer you a lift,’ he said, ‘But as I’ve only just arrived I don’t have any transport. Still, maybe I can escort you to your cab.’

‘That would be nice,’ she said cordially. ‘By the way, you haven’t told me your name.’

‘Why, that’s right-hey I see someone I must say goodbye to. Then I’ll get my things from my room. See you in a moment.’

While he was gone Helen sought out Dilys who agreed to collect her luggage and take it home. Then she looked for her boss, uneasily conscious that she’d allowed herself to become distracted from her job tonight. But Mr Dacre was beaming.

‘Good work, good work,’ he carolled. ‘Knew I could rely on you.’

Before she could ask what he meant the young man reappeared, claiming her arm. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said quickly, making a gesture of farewell at Mr Dacre, but not stopping.

He had acquired an outdoor coat and a large leather bag that bulged, although she couldn’t see what it contained. As they descended to the street heads turned to watch such a handsome couple.

As they left the building Helen was struck by sudden inspiration. ‘Come with me.’

‘What?’

‘Come home with me. Come to supper.’

He looked apprehensive. ‘What are you planning?’

‘We just walk in together and-you know-sort of act close.’

‘And then this Martelli character will know you’re not available, huh?’

‘That’s right. Oh, please, it won’t cause you any trouble, I promise.’

He doubted it. With every word he knew he was getting in deeper, storing up trouble for the moment when Helen Angolini discovered the truth. And then there would be the devil to pay. But that would make her magnificent eyes sparkle at him, and what the hell! He was a brave man! Wasn’t he?

‘I’ll do it,’ he said. ‘This guy needs taking down a peg and I’m the man to do it.’

‘You’re wonderful, you know that?’

‘I’m crazy, that’s what I am.’

The cab was waiting. As they approached it Helen noticed Erik waving to her as if he wanted to speak, so she took a couple of steps towards him.

‘Are you off to the lion’s den?’ he asked, giving her his gentle smile.

‘’Fraid so.’

‘I’d have offered you a lift but I’m not your parents’ favourite person. I’ll see you tomorrow. I want to hear all about your trip. ’Bye, honey.’ He kissed her cheek and went on his way.

‘Boyfriend?’ her companion asked as she returned to the taxi.

‘Sort of. I took him home to supper once and my parents set out to sabotage any relationship we might have. Momma told him all the most embarrassing stories about my childhood and then warned him about my Latin temper.’ She chuckled. ‘But Erik played her at her own game beautifully. He said his ancestors were Vikings, and if a woman got mad the man just tossed her over his shoulder and strode off to the cave. Erik’s the most gentle soul alive, but Momma didn’t know what to say. Still, I haven’t taken him there again.’

‘Just see him on the quiet, huh?’

‘We go out now and then.’

When they were settled in the cab she gave the driver the address on Mulberry Street. ‘That’s in a part of Manhattan called Little Italy, if you can believe it,’ she said, exasperated.

‘I believe it.’

Almost as soon as they started moving Helen had to answer her mobile.

‘Yes, Mamma, I’m on my way. I’ll be there in half an hour. I’m looking forward to meeting him. No really, I’m just thrilled that he’s honouring us with his presence tonight.’ She hung up with a sigh, and found her companion grinning at her.

‘You’re a very accomplished liar,’ he said.

‘It’s simpler to say what Mamma wants to hear,’ she sighed. ‘Anything else she just blanks out.’

It was only a few short miles from Park Avenue to Little Italy, but the atmosphere changed swiftly from glamour and luxury to teeming life. Despite her antagonism to her background Helen could never resist a twinge of pleasure as the familiar streets appeared. This was home, whatever else she might say.

But as they glided past the butcher’s shop that had been the family business as long as she could remember she saw, with a faint inward groan, that every window in the apartment above was filled with faces. They went up for three floors. When you were the eldest unmarried daughter of an Italian family, you lived your life in a spotlight.

As they got out of the cab Helen shivered for the wind was like a knife and there was snow in the air.

Her companion paid off the driver and turned to view the fascinated spectators regarding him from above. A surge of madness swept over him. He was going to be punished for what he was about to do, but it would be worth it.

‘Look,’ he said, taking Helen’s arm, ‘they’re all watching us. Let’s give them something to watch.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Like this,’ he said, drawing her close and leaning down so that his mouth was almost touching hers.

‘What are you doing?’ she whispered, torn between indignation at his nerve and excitement at the way his breath fluttered against her lips.

‘I’m giving you the chance to stand up for yourself,’ he murmured. ‘Right here, where everyone can see you.’

‘You make it sound so easy.’

‘It is easy. Either you’re a modern, liberated woman, or you’re a dutiful daughter who’ll let herself be marched into marriage with a fat old man.’

With every word his lips flickered lightly against hers, making it hard to think clearly. He was right-maybe. It was hard to tell when little tremors of excitement were scurrying through her.

‘I don’t normally kiss men I’ve only just met,’ she protested.

‘Well, they don’t know we’ve only just met.’

‘But I don’t even know your na-’

The gentle pressure of his lips cut off the last word, and she felt his arms tighten about her just a little, not enough to be threatening, just enough to say he meant business. He was laughing too, inviting her to share the joke even while he kissed her with lips she instinctively sensed had kissed a thousand times before.

Those lips knew far too much, she thought. They were experts in teasing a woman until her head was in a whirl. And they brought back the visions that had assailed her when she first saw him, visions of abundance, riches and sunshine. The wind was as cold as ever, but now she was filled with warmth, melting her, overwhelming her.

‘It would look more convincing if you kissed me back,’ he murmured. ‘Put your arms around my neck.’

Her mind told him to stop his nonsense, but her hands were already sliding up until she could touch his hair, wind her fingers in it, relish the soft, springiness against her palm. She was pulling him closer because she wanted more of him, longed for what only the firm warmth of his mouth could give her. And when she found herself kissing him fervently back it was useless to pretend that she was only trying to ‘make it convincing’. She was doing this because she wanted to.

She flattened her hands against his chest. ‘I think we’ve done enough,’ she said in a shaking voice.

‘We haven’t even started,’ he whispered, and even then she noticed that his voice too was shaking. Looking up she saw his eyes in the near darkness, and thought there was a look of astonishment.

‘Let me go,’ she said urgently. She was suddenly full of alarm. She had to be free of him before it was too late. Trying to strike a lighter note she said, ‘If Lorenzo Martelli saw that he might take a stiletto to you.’

‘Let him come. I’m brave enough for anything tonight.’

There was the sound of doors, voices raised in excitement. Suddenly he grasped Helen’s hand. ‘You will take my side in the row, won’t you?’ he begged.

‘There may not be a row.’

‘Oh, yes,’ he said in a voice that was hollow with approaching doom. ‘There’s going to be a row.’

She stared at him, puzzled. But before she could ask, her mother was on them, and incredibly she was laughing, hugging her eldest daughter to her and muttering, ‘What a clever girl you are!’

‘Mamma, I have someone with me. Didn’t you see what we were-?’

‘Oh course I saw. We all did. When Poppa told me who he was we got out the best champagne.’

‘Poppa knows him?’

‘He collected him from the airport two days ago. There now! Didn’t we choose a splendid husband for you?’

She was suddenly dizzy. There was a fog about her head, but not thick enough to shield her from the incredible, the monstrous, the outrageous truth. There was Poppa pumping the young man by the hand, bellowing, ‘Lorenzo!’ There were her sisters, surrounding him excitedly, urging him inside.

And there was Lorenzo Martelli, letting himself be hauled away, meeting Helen’s stormy eyes from the safety of a distance, and giving her a shrug in which guilt, helplessness and mischief were equally mixed, before turning tail and seeking refuge in the safety of the house.