Men In Uniform: Captivated By The Prince. Lynn Raye Harris
slim leather-bound diary he so longed to open, and traced the length of the expensive fountain pen lying next to it before toying with a pair of cufflinks bearing some sort of crest.
The handbag on the seat had quality written all over it, rather than some flashy logo. And the smart black suit teamed with a crisp white double-cuffed shirt hanging on a gown rail was Armani, if he wasn’t mistaken.
His gaze swept the threadbare carpet that might once have been red to where a pair of slinky high-heeled court shoes stood next to a dark blue felt sack, ornamented with a thick tassel. Alongside that, a pull-along airline case—
‘Mr Bussoni?’
His gaze switched back to the screen.
‘Mr Bussoni, are you still interested?’
There was just a hint of anxiety in the voice now, Alessandro noted with satisfaction. This contract obviously meant a great deal to her. He cast a look at the discarded stage costume…Something jarred. No, he realised. Everything jarred.
‘Only on one condition,’ he said, adopting a stern tone as he assumed the mantle of time-starved recording executive.
‘And that is?’ Emily said cagily.
‘That you come to supper with me after our meeting.’ Alessandro was surprised when a curl of excitement wrapped around his chest as he waited for her answer. ‘You may have questions for me, and there’s sure to be a lot we have to discuss,’ he said truthfully, satisfied that he had kept every trace of irony out of his voice.
Emily let the silence hang for a while. Miranda would definitely have to be better by then, she thought crossing her fingers reflexively. ‘That’s fine,’ she confirmed evenly. ‘I’ll let the rest of the band members know—’
‘No,’ the voice flashed back assertively. ‘It only needs one person to take in what I have to say…and I have chosen you, Miss Weston. Now, are you still interested in progressing with this matter, or not?’
‘Of course I’m interested,’ Emily confirmed, suddenly eager to be free of a presence that was becoming more disconcerting by the minute.
‘That’s settled, then. I’ll write my number down for you. Perhaps you’ll be good enough to get in touch first thing…leave the address for our meeting with my secretary?’
‘Of course.’ She felt rather than heard him prepare to leave.
‘Until tomorrow, Miss Weston.’
‘Until tomorrow, Mr Bussoni.’
Emily held her breath and tried to soak up information as the door opened, then shut again silently. The man might have three humps and a tail, for all she could tell, but her body insisted on behaving as if some lusty Roman gladiator had just strolled out of the room after booking her for sex the next day.
After he’d left it took her a good few minutes to recover her equilibrium. And when she moved out from behind the screen everything seemed shabbier than she remembered it, and emptier somehow, as if some indefinable force had left the room, leaving it all the poorer for the loss.
By early afternoon the next day, Emily had cancelled all her appointments for the rest of the week and was ready to take her sister back to their parents’ house.
Drawing up outside the front door on the short gravel drive, she switched off the engine and tried for the umpteenth time to coax her twin into facing reality.
‘This man is different to anyone I’ve ever encountered before. It would be a real mistake to underestimate him, Miranda.’
‘He made quite an impression on you, didn’t he?’ Miranda replied, slanting a glance at her twin.
‘I didn’t even see him properly,’ Emily replied defensively. ‘And don’t change the subject. It’s you we’re talking about, not me.’
After assuming a low-profile role in an orchestra for a number of years, Miranda had attracted the attention of a leading Japanese violin teacher. In order to fund the lessons Emily’s twin had started a band—a band that in the beginning had taken up only the occasional weekend; a band that was now taking up more and more of her time…
‘I only need this recording contract for a year or so,’ she said now, as if trying to convince herself that the scheme would work. ‘Just long enough for me to launch my career as a solo violinist.’
Emily frowned. She wanted to help, but only when she was confident Miranda understood what she was letting herself in for. ‘Are you sure Prince Records understands that? They would have grounds to sue if you let them down.’
‘They won’t have any trouble finding someone to replace me; the boys are great—’
‘I’m still not happy,’ Emily admitted frankly. ‘I just can’t see what you’ll gain going down this route.’
‘Money?’ Miranda said hopefully.
Emily shook her head as she reasoned it through aloud. ‘You’re not going to be able to honour a recording contract drawn up by a man like Mr Bussoni and put in the practice hours necessary to study the violin with a top-flight teacher like Professor Iwamoto.’
‘It won’t be for long,’ Miranda insisted stubbornly, unfolding her long limbs to have a noisy stretch. ‘I’ll cope.’
Before Emily had a chance to argue Miranda was out of the smart black coupé and heading up the path.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Emily said, catching up with her sister at the front door. ‘The more successful the band, the less likely it is that this crazy idea of yours will work. I know the money would be great, but—’ The expression on her twin’s face made Emily stop to give her a hug. ‘I know you’re still pining over that violin we saw in Heidelberg.’
‘That was just a stupid dream—’
‘Well, I don’t know much about violins,’ Emily admitted, ‘but I do know what a sweet sound you produced on that lovely old instrument.’
‘Something like that would cost a king’s ransom anyway,’ Miranda sighed despondently. ‘And it’s sure to have been sold by now.’
Emily made a vague sound to register sympathy while she was busy calculating how much money she could raise if she sold her central London apartment to the landlord who already owned most of the smart riverside block, and then rented it back from him. Miranda need never know. It was a desperate solution, but anything was preferable to seeing her sister’s opportunity lost. ‘If I can help you, I will,’ she promised.
With a gust of frustration, Miranda hit the doorbell. ‘You do enough for everyone already. You won’t even let me pay rent—’
‘If I didn’t have you around, who else would keep the fridge stocked up with eye masks?’ Emily demanded wryly.
Their banter was interrupted when the door swung open.
‘Girls—’
Then another idea popped into Emily’s head. ‘I’ve got some investments—’
‘No!’ Miranda said, shaking her head vehemently. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘You’re not arguing,’ their mother said wearily, giving them both a reproving look.
‘Heated discussion, Mum,’ Emily said as she shut the door behind them. ‘Where’s Dad?’
‘In his study, of course.’
Of course. Emily stole a moment to inhale deeply, taking in the aroma of a freshly baked cake coming from the kitchen, along with the gurgle of boiling water ready for tea.
‘You look tired,’ her mother said softly, touching her arm. ‘And as for you, Miranda—’ Her voice sharpened as if her maternal engines had revved to a new pitch. ‘What you need is a good dose of my linctus, and a hot cup of tea—’