The Italian Affair (5 page)

Eventually, she said, ‘So what’s in the box?’

‘Tell you later,’ he said abruptly.

Rick followed Gina around for three hours, in and out shops in the town, until he felt like strangling her. What was she buying all this stuff for anyway?

He soon found out. She gave him directions that took them to the other side of town and to where she demanded he pull up outside the women’s refuge.

‘It’s best you don’t come in,’ she warned, ‘or they’ll probably call the police.’

No one knew better than Rick how the women’s refuge would react if he fronted up to the place. He figured she’d be pretty safe since no one knew they were stopping there anyway. Even so, he wouldn’t let her get out the car until he double checked the street first.

‘Are you sure this is necessary?’ she asked impatiently.

‘Yeah, it is.’ He opened the car door for her, then lifted out the plastic bags of shopping. ‘I’ll be standing right out here waiting for you. If you’re not out in ten minutes, I’ll come in and get you. I don’t give a damn what the refuge staff think.’ He glanced at his watch noting the time.

She raised her eyebrows in disgust. ‘I’ll be out when I’m good and ready. Not before. So quit hassling me.’

Rick’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t reply. He surveyed the neighbourhood as he stood on the pavement. Not a person in sight. He picked up the newspaper he had bought earlier and studied it. After reading for a while, he glanced at his watch again. Gina had been away for almost ten minutes. Her time was now up. He walked over to the low, white painted house, situated behind a high wooden fence. Then he put one foot on the cross bar of the gate and peered over. No sign of her. The front door was closed, the blinds drawn tight on the windows.

Where the hell was she?

He glanced at his watch again. Fifteen minutes had already passed. He wasn’t going to wait a moment longer. He had just put his hand on the latch of the gate when he finally heard the front door of the house open. Gina’s voice drifted down to him. Again, he took a quick look. Gina was bending down, talking to a little boy. Rick watched for a few seconds until Gina noticed him peering over.

She bounded down the steps and opened the gate. ‘Quit spying on me,’ she said, irritation in her voice. She slammed the gate closed behind her.

‘You promised to be ten minutes,’ he retorted.

‘I didn’t promise anything. Being late is not a crime, Caruso.’

They stood glaring at each other until Rick finally said tightly, ‘Arguing isn’t going to get us anywhere. Come on, let’s go.’ He moved forward to open the car door for her. Curiosity got the better of him. ‘What exactly did you do in there?’

‘What do you think? I gave them the stuff I bought, and I had a chat to some of the women. Normally I stay for a cup of tea, but I knew you were waiting so I didn’t.’ She sighed wistfully. ‘I saw this little boy. He was gorgeous. All dark curls and big eyes. I’d love a kid like that.’

Rick slipped into his seat and sat there, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. He couldn’t make up his mind about her. One minute he was convinced she was a spoilt brat, then she did something which completely dispelled that.

‘I didn’t think you liked kids,’ he stated, as he pulled out onto the main road.

‘What made you think that? I love children. Why shouldn’t I?’

Rick hesitated. ‘It’s just an impression I got. You seem like a party girl. No responsibilities.’

‘And you can’t enjoy life with children?’

He shrugged. ‘I didn’t say that.’

‘Well, what are you saying?’

Rick shrugged again. ‘I’m not sure really. Maybe I’m a little surprised at your enthusiasm, that’s all.’ Silence fell. ‘Why the women’s refuge?’ That didn’t make sense either, especially when she could have easily have donated money to a charity rather than actually buying the goods. She’d even gone a step further by delivering them.

Her voice had an unexpected edge to it. ‘I like to buy stuff for them when I can. They’re always needing things. I’m on the committee for fundraising. Last year I arranged an art auction. The money we raised refurbished the kitchen.’

Rick raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘There are plenty of charities you could support; why that one?’

She took a slow, deep breath before answering. ‘I spent some time
there for a while when things got tough with my ex-husband.’

‘In the refuge?’ His forehead creased in puzzlement. ‘Why didn’t you go back to your family?’

‘Because I couldn’t. At least, not straight away.’ She hesitated. ‘Things were a bit complicated at the time.’ Before he could say any more, she added, ‘I really don’t want to talk about it right now.’

There was more here than she had let on, he realized. While he was tempted to ask her more questions, she had made it obvious she didn’t want to go there. He had to respect that. The last thing he wanted was to ruin the business-client relationship between them. It was already strained. He didn’t want an all out war.

‘OK,’ he replied slowly. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’

She smiled unexpectedly and that gave him a jolt. Dimples appeared in her cheeks making her seem younger. Rick gave her another quick glance. Oh man … that babe’s smile was a killer. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. Had she any idea what she did to a man? He knew he wasn’t totally immune to her charms, he merely chose to ignore the familiar feelings of attraction. Besides, she’s off limits, he reminded himself sharply. So forget it, Caruso.

Firstly, she was his client, and secondly, she was the granddaughter of Luigi Rosselini, a wealthy fishing industrialist. The Rosselinis owned the largest fish processing plant at the port and fishing was big business in New Zealand. Everyone knew that. Even the Italians had some sort of hierarchy in this town. The Rosselinis had money. Plenty of it. The Caruso family with their horticultural background didn’t. That was simple. And not very hard to understand, he told himself firmly.

He wiped the sweat which had sprung onto his temples, leaned forward and switched on the air conditioning and the CD player. Cool air blasted out refreshing his hot skin. What made him feel even better was Brilleaux, belting out a rhythm and blues number. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to a song called ‘PhD in Stupidity’.

‘Good band,’ she remarked.
So she liked the same type of music as he did, he thought. One point in her favour. ‘Yeah, Brilleaux are one of the best blues bands in New Zealand,’ he replied. ‘Saw them in concert at the music festival last year. Absolute dynamite.’

‘You like the blues?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘Sure I do. What red-blooded male doesn’t?’

He tried to relax, pushing back his shoulders into the leather seat. Then stole a glance at her. Gina’s skirt had ridden up her thighs, exposing soft silky skin. How the hell was he going to remain indifferent? Gina Rosselini was hot stuff. And, man … those legs.

He tried to concentrate on the words of the song, but that made it worse.

She’s hot … she ain’t got a lot up top. She’s cool … she’s nice….

Get a grip, Caruso, he told himself. Keep your mind on the job, he thought, glancing in his rear-view mirror. He slowed down and indicated right.

‘Please, can we stop for something to eat first? I missed breakfast,’ said Gina.

‘Serves you right for trying to do a runner on me,’ he said lightly.

‘Have a heart,’ she pleaded.

Rick relented. He thought about where they could get some food without having to head back into town where she’d be more vulnerable. ‘OK. Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll call in to my parents’ place for lunch.’

She glanced at him. ‘Are you sure they won’t mind?’

‘It will be fine,’ he replied firmly. ‘They’re used to me coming and going at all times. That’s the nature of my job.’

‘You live at home?’

‘Not exactly. I’ve a studio flat and office on their property, but I often eat at home. It’s easier. Especially since I work long hours.’ He paused slightly. ‘When I’m not working I head to my beach house, out of town. It has great surfing.’

Gina picked up the newspaper lying at her feet. She gasped, ‘Look at that. Haven’t they anything better to write about?’ The
story of her sister being shot was splashed all over the front page in hideous headlines. ‘For goodness sake, that must have been that photographer who pushed his way through and stood over me.’ Queasiness rose in her stomach as she took in the details. Maria was lying on the ground with herself leaning over her, a shocked look on her face.

He reached over and grabbed the newspaper. ‘It’s better not to read stuff like that.’

‘Yes, I know …’ her voice tailed off. ‘But I just wanted to see what they had written.’

He tried to change the subject. ‘So what other things do you do in your spare time, Gina Rosselini? Since I’m going to be following you around for a while, it would help me to know what I’m in for. Three hours’ shopping is probably stretching me a little.’

‘That’s just tough,’ she answered in the same tone. ‘I’m going to make you work very hard for your money.’

He gave her a crooked smile. ‘Hard work never killed me. Seriously though, I need an idea of your movements during the week.’

She considered his question for a moment. ‘I don’t have any regular timetable,’ she admitted. ‘But I try to keep busy. Occasionally I help my grandfather with the business. Mostly to do with arranging functions for any visiting clients from overseas. That type of thing. But for the last three months, I’ve mainly been organizing the wedding.’

‘I heard you were planning on taking a trip overseas.’

She shrugged. ‘That’s true. I was going to Italy to visit relatives, but when Maria and Anthony announced their engagement, Maria wanted me to stay to help, so I postponed my trip.’

‘And now?’

‘Oh, I still want to leave here. Travel the world. But now I need to wait until Maria is better – and they’ve found the person responsible for shooting her.’

‘That could take a while.’

She didn’t answer, her green eyes worried. ‘I hope they catch him and he gets everything he deserves.’ She sighed as she stared out the car window at the slowly moving traffic. ‘So where exactly do you live in this town?’

‘Well, it certainly isn’t on snob hill,’ he said bluntly. ‘Damn it.’ He smacked the steering wheel, furious at himself for talking that way. He sounded insulting. And, as his client, she deserved better. ‘I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean that.’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘Sometimes, it gets to me….’ His shoulders lifted then fell, wondering if he should take time to explain how he felt, then deciding it probably wasn’t worth it. Would a rich girl like Gina Rosselini really understand anyway?

‘Got a thing against money?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, the lack of it,’ he replied with a grin.

She laughed. ‘Don’t they say money is the root of all evil? Well, you might not believe this but if I could choose my life without it, I would.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But I can’t … so I make the best of it and give away as much money as I can. That’s why Anthony doesn’t like me. He hates parting with money and he certainly doesn’t like the way I spend it.’

His voice lowered. ‘Come on, I don’t think he’s that bad. Sure, I’ve always known him to be careful money-wise, but he’s always the first to stand a round of drinks when he’s out with his mates. Besides, he’s a lawyer, so what can you expect?’

‘He’s our family’s lawyer. A while back I asked him for some of my inheritance to pay for extensions to the women’s refuge. He refused, advising my grandfather I was wasting my money. He said eventually the building would be pulled down.’ She sighed. ‘He might have been right, but it wouldn’t be for years. All the same I got the money in the end once I explained to my grandparents what exactly it was for.’

Rick listened to her words carefully. This was a new side to Anthony than the one he was familiar with. Could there be truth in what she said?

Within minutes they pulled up outside Rick’s parents’ place. The wooden colonial house, painted cream with burgundy window sills, had been built over a hundred years ago. An expanse of lawn, freshly mowed, rolled down to the road. Opposite the house, rows upon rows of greenhouses lined the street, all built by the Italian community.

‘What’s happening to the land next door?’ Gina inquired interestedly. A yellow digger moved back and forward shifting dirt from one area to another. Rubble and broken glass were heaped in a corner waiting to be taken away to the dump. Gina read the large sign nailed to the fence advertising a well-known property developer.

‘It’s a subdivision. Some of the tomato growers have sold out. Others have gone into rural parts taking their greenhouses with them.’

‘Are your parents going to follow?’

‘Not likely. Papá wouldn’t sell his land and greenhouses for all the money in the world. He’s worked too hard for it.’ However, he didn’t tell Gina if his father did sell, that would be the end to his parents’ financial worries. For the last few years, supermarkets had been squeezing the local tomato growers and profits had gone right down. To make matters worse, cheaper tomatoes were being imported from Australia.

Rick surveyed his father’s greenhouses standing like crystal rocks against the skyline. ‘In six months’ time, there will be thirty new houses going up next door,’ he told her. He pointed to the ravaged stretch of land. ‘All this will be lawns and brick. It’s a big land development area, desirable because of its proximity to the town centre.’ He gave a sigh. ‘Things are certainly changing around here. Within five years, we’ll be lucky to see one greenhouse standing.’

‘You don’t sound happy about it,’ remarked Gina.

‘I guess you can’t stop progress. Our way of life is so different now from when I was a kid. My parents’ generation all worked on the land or on the sea. It was a close community. Everyone helped each other.
But now, their children are working in professional occupations. We Italians are no longer using our hands but our heads.’

‘Like yourself,’ she pointed out.

He smiled. ‘Yeah, I guess you could say that. You can’t blame them for wanting their children to do better than they did. But it’s at a high cost. Families move away. The Italian ties are breaking down. Our old way of life is dying.’