The Italian Girl by Lucinda Riley

Author:Lucinda Riley [Riley, Lucinda]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Publisher: Pan Books

28

Roberto woke up and reached automatically for the smooth, silken body that always lay next to him. It wasn’t there. He groaned, and slapped the pillow where his wife’s head should rest.

It was Sunday and he’d been invited to a champagne brunch, the thought of which bored him; but he decided it was better than hanging around Chris’s apartment all day. So he climbed out of bed and went to shower.

The brunch party was being held in a plush penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park. John St Regent and his wife, Trish, a buxom blonde dressed from head to toe in Gucci, greeted him at the door.

‘It’s so wonderful you could come to our little gathering, Roberto,’ Trish gushed.

‘Yeah, good to see you,’ John St Regent said as he shook Roberto’s hand vigorously.

‘And how’s that divine little wife of yours?’ Trish enquired. ‘Such a shame she had to cancel New York. You must be lonesome without her.’

‘Yes, I have been,’ Roberto agreed.

‘Never mind, we’ve got some company here to keep you amused for a while.’ Trish squeezed his shoulder in a show of solidarity. ‘Come through and let me introduce you to some of our other guests.’

Roberto was led out of the entrance hall and into a vast sitting room, with floor-to-ceiling windows affording spectacular views over the park and the city beyond.

‘Here we go,’ said Trish, leading Roberto over to a small group of elegantly dressed women. ‘May I present Mr Roberto Rossini. Please take care of him, ladies, he’s very precious,’ she said with a smile before drifting off to greet another guest.

‘Drink, sir?’ One of the uniformed maids offered Roberto a glass of champagne.

‘Thank you. Good afternoon, ladies.’ He smiled at the assembled group.

‘Oh Mr Rossini, we’ve all seen you in Dante at the Met. We thought you were truly wonderful, didn’t we, girls?’ one of the women said.

‘Well, thank you, Signora . . . ?’

‘Mattheson. Rita Mattheson. And this is Clara Frobisher, Jill Lipman and Tessa Stewart. We’re all great fans of yours.’

‘I’m honoured,’ murmured Roberto as he nodded to each of the women and prepared for fifteen minutes of polite small talk.

Thankfully, just as he reached the limits of his conversational endurance, the butler announced that brunch was served and the assembled company made their way through to the dining room.

Roberto was seated to the left of Trish St Regent, who sat at the head of the long and extravagantly dressed table.

‘So, is it straight back home to London when you finish at the Met next week?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I . . .’

Roberto was suddenly distracted by the familiar smell of Joy perfume. As he involuntarily turned his head to view the late arrival, he saw her sauntering down the room to a chair at the far end of the table.

‘Roberto, honey, are you okay?’

‘I’m so sorry, Trish. I . . . what were you saying?’

Roberto surreptitiously studied the new arrival throughout the meal, wondering what she was doing here in New York. She was deliberately ignoring him, refusing to make eye contact, even when John St Regent gave the toast in his honour.

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