For one long moment he looked at her, his face unreadable, closed. Expressionless except for one tic high in his cheek, the pressure of his set jaw.
‘I’ll go,’ he said. His voice was staccato. Terse. Infinitely distant. ‘I apologise for disturbing you like this, and you have my assurance that I will make no further attempt to communicate with you. I accept that our time together is...gone. That there is nothing left between us. The fault for that is mine entirely. Goodbye, Eloise.’
He turned away, walked back towards the door of the library, every line of his body rigid as he disappeared from her view.
The claws inside her tore again, and her throat was as tight as drawn wire. For a single agonising second she wanted to hurl herself forward, catch at his shoulder, throw herself into his arms...
Beg him not to go.
But she would not let herself.
Somewhere beyond she was dimly aware of the sound of a car’s engine, and the scrunch of gravel beyond the library windows. She heard footsteps cross the hall, heard a murmur of Italian—presumably him speaking to Maria or Giuseppe—and then the sound of the front door opening. Dimly, in part of her consciousness, she was aware of conversation in English, of another male voice, one with an American accent. The other voice, low-pitched, was Vito’s, but then it was cut off by the closing of the front door.
And still she could not move.
Then suddenly, abruptly, there was more noise out in the hallway and the chatter of a youthful voice, and a moment later Johnny erupted into the library, rushing up to her.
‘Daddy’s home! He’s come home to play with me! We’re going swimming!’
Eloise jerked to life, like a statue animated. ‘That’s lovely,’ she said, but her response was mechanical.
Beyond the window she saw a flash of red, heard a throaty, familiar roar fading into the distance down the driveway.
‘Daddy!’ Johnny did an about-turn, seeing his father in the doorway. ‘Swimming! Swimming!’ he shouted excitedly.
‘Swimming it is,’ said his father with a grin. Then his eyes went to Eloise, their expression changing. ‘Well, well, you’re a dark horse, Nanny Ellie! Vito Viscari, no less! That’s some beau to have!’ He grinned down at his son. ‘Of course if you were Junior, here, his main attraction would be that very neat Ferrari he’s just roared off in—Johnny was trying to persuade Giuseppe to let him get into the driving seat.’
‘Vroom-vroom!’ chirped Johnny in happy agreement, and ran around the room as if steering a car.
‘But I suspect,’ John Carldon went on, addressing Eloise once more, with an amused look open in his face, ‘that for you it’s more likely to be the film star looks that a totally unfair Providence has heaped upon him! Laura will be mad as fire that she missed him!’
The amused look deepened.
‘Maybe, now that she knows he’s...ah...coming calling,’ he went on, ‘she’ll snap him up for a dinner party. Oh, and, of course,’ he went on blithely, ‘if you need time off to head into Manhattan now that he’s Stateside, just let us know. Presumably he stays at the Viscari when he’s in New York?’
He frowned suddenly. ‘Or maybe not. It’s not a Viscari Hotel any more, is it? That was one of the ones that went over to Falcone.’
He shook his head, not seeming to notice that his son’s nanny had frozen.
‘Bad business, that,’ he went on, his voice sombre now. ‘And pretty tough on the guy—seeing half his inheritance wiped out, just like that. It made quite a stir in the financial press—even over here. Half the entire company was sold over Viscari’s head by his uncle’s widow to his biggest rival. Nic Falcone has scooped up a real treasure pot—taken his pick of the prime locations. A blow that heavy will take some recovering from. But Viscari’ll do it, I’m sure. I can’t see him not fighting back. Trying to rebuild everything that’s been ripped from him.’
His expression changed, and the glint was back in his eye.
‘Of course he’ll be here for other reasons, too, won’t he? Other attractions!’ He grinned at her.
But Eloise did not smile back. Could n
ot. Could not move a muscle. Could only hear her employer continue talking as he caught his son’s hand to stop his peregrinations.
‘Hotels aren’t my usual investment sector, but if Laura gets her dinner party I’ll make sure some of the guests are useful to him. After all,’ he said teasingly, ‘if Vito Viscari’s your beau we should keep him sweet. We don’t want to lose you before we have to!’
His expression changed again, and he glanced down at his son, who was tugging on his hand.
‘OK... OK, Junior—no need to pull my hand off. Swimming it is—see you later, Nanny Ellie.’
He headed off, Johnny still tugging at him excitedly, chattering away.
Slowly, very slowly, Eloise turned away, walking up the stairs back to the nursery quarters on legs that did not seem to be hers any more.