Angel of Darkness

‘I love strawberries and cream,’ Kelda asserted, aggressively determined not to plead her innocence on any count.

‘Cream is so messy...I prefer champagne,’ Angelo countered huskily, rather taking the wind out of her sails. ‘Now, the black leather and the riding crop. I didn’t credit that. That made me laugh, most inconveniently in the middle of a very boring meeting. You are not a sadist—’

‘But I feel very sadistic around you, Angelo,’ Kelda told him, her eyes glittering furiously at him.

‘You’ll purr like a cat in my bed,’ Angelo murmured silkily. ‘And you won’t need black leather, zebra skins or jacuzzis to enliven the experience.’

‘Dream on,’ Kelda spelt out shakily. ‘I will never get into your bed!’

‘You are more likely not to want to get out of it again.’

‘You don’t suffer much in the way of humility, do you, Angelo?’

‘Not in the bedroom, no,’ he conceded silkily.

Kelda took a deep breath. ‘And the idea that I have had dozens of lovers doesn’t even bother you?’

‘It might if I believed that...but I don’t.’

Kelda was sharply disconcerted. ‘You don’t?’

‘A woman who has had dozens of sexual partners wouldn’t get all hot and bothered talking about sex. She wouldn’t blush when I looked at her breasts, either,’ Angelo delineated with immense calm, and then shot her a nakedly amused glance that sent her pulse racing. ‘In the space of a couple of hours, I’ve learnt more about you by observation than you could begin to imagine.’

‘Really?’

she endeavoured to sound bored but deep down inside she was churning up with dismay.

‘Really,’ Angelo confirmed lazily.

He took her to a tiny sleepy village on a hill. It was entirely enclosed by pale thirteenth-century walls and half a dozen lookout towers. The restaurant was in a former monastery and they chose to dine outside below the spreading shade of a giant chestnut tree. Kelda accepted a glass of wine and stood at the wall, taking in the spectacular view of the wooded valley far below. It was a truly glorious day and the world seemed to be drowsing in the noon day heat. Behind her, Angelo was choosing their meal with the sort of serious selectivity that made her smile.

‘You know,’ she heard herself saying without really thinking about it, ‘I wasn’t going to interfere between my mother and your father.’

‘But you already have,’ Angelo countered drily.

‘I was asked for my opinion and I gave it.’ Kelda shrugged. ‘What was wrong with that?’

‘Apart from the fact that Daisy is highly suggestible and very much afraid of damaging her relationship with you, what makes you think that your opinion was worth hearing?’ Angelo murmured very quietly. ‘You have all the sensitivity of a steel butterfly in your own relationships with men—’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Kelda demanded hotly.

‘And you’ve never been with any man longer than about six weeks. I would say you were uniquely unqualified to offer advice on affairs of the heart—’

‘A steel butterfly?’ she queried acidly.

‘I both heard and saw you in action with young Maitland.’

‘He was being difficult,’ she parried uncomfortably.

‘So you went home alone and left him drowning his sorrows. Your heart really bleeds, cara,’ Angelo mocked.

‘He wants to marry me and I don’t want to marry him. A bleeding heart would have been out of place.’ Kelda held his lustrous dark gold eyes in angry challenge. ‘How do you dump your women when you’re finished with them, Angelo?’

‘Not in a public place,’ he parried quietly. ‘And they invariably see the writing on the wall in advance and extract themselves with dignity.’

Kelda flushed, uneasily aware that she had been clumsy with Jeff. Her mouth tightened. Just like old times. Angelo criticising her, implying that she did not have a great deal of class. It was a relief to see the waiter approaching them across the cobbles.

The meal began with a salad of young turkey and grapefruit and was followed by rosettes of veal with artichoke sauce. She refused the saffron rice with quail and drank glass after glass of wine in a vain attempt to cool down in the heat before falling victim to the spongata, a very rich pastry filled with walnuts, almonds, pine nuts and raisins mixed with cognac and honey.