Luc was talking very quietly now. Rafaella vented a strangled sob and spat back in staccato Italian. Catherine moved away, ashamed that she hadn't moved sooner, and uneasily certain of the source of the drama. Yesterday, Luc had publicly announced his marital plans. Rafaella was reeling. Her pain seared Catherine with a strange sister pain. There but for the grace of God go I.
Luc was the sun round which Rafaella revolved. She could not resist that pull even when it scorched her; she could not break free. Though she knew that she was overstepping the boundaries that Luc set, she would still interfere. That was Rafaella. Stubborn, persistent, remorseless in enmity. Sometimes what disturbed Catherine most about Rafaella was her similarity to Luc. By the law of averages, she had thought uneasily more than once, Luc and Rafaella ought to have been a match made in heaven.
A door slammed on its hinges with an almighty crash. Bernardo had made himself scarce. Catherine wasn't quick enough. Rafaella stalked across the hall and circled her like a killer shark drawn by a lump of raw meat, rage and hatred splintering from her diamond-hard stare.
'You bitch!' She launched straight into attack. 'He wouldn't believe me when I told him, but I'll be back when I can prove it. And when I get the evidence you'll be out with the garbage, because he'll never forgive you!'
'Rafaella.' Luc was poised fifty feet away, lithe and sleek as a panther about to spring, his features savagely set.
She shot him a fierce, embittered glance. 'I wanted a closer look at the only truly honest woman you've ever met! She must be on the endangered species list. And, caro,' she forecast on her passage to the door, 'you're in for a severe dose of indigestion.'
Bernardo reappeared out of nowhere and surged to facilitate her exit. Catherine slowly breathed again. Rafaella, out of control and balked of her prey, was an intimidating experience. And she was astounded by her threats. What wouldn't Luc believe? What did Rafaella intend to prove? What would Luc never forgive her for?
'What on earth was she talking about?' she whispered tautly.
Smouldering tension still vibrated from Luc. She could read nothing in the steady beat of his dark eyes. For an instant it seemed to her that that stare both probed and challenged, but she dismissed the idea when a faintly sardonic smile lighted his expression. 'Nothing that need concern you.'
But it did concern her, she reasoned frustratedly as he curved a possessive arm to her slim shoulders and guided her into the magnificently proportioned salone. 'And Rafaella need not concern you either,' he completed.
'Why?' she prompted uncertainly.
'As of now, she no longer works for me,' Luc drawled with a chilling lack of sentiment.
Catherine was immediately filled with guilt. Rafaella lived for her career. If she hadn't been hanging about in the hall, the incident which had so enraged Luc would never have occurred. 'She was terribly upset, Luc. Shouldn't you make allowances for that?' she muttered after a long pause, resenting the ironic twist of fate that had set her up as the brunette's sole defender.
'What is wrong with you?' Luc demanded, abrasive in his incredulity. 'In the same position, she'd slit your throat without a second's hesitation. She walks into my home, she insults me, she insults you…and you expect me to take that lying down? I don't believe this!'
'She lost her head and it wouldn't have happened if…if…' she fumbled awkwardly beneath his piercing scrutiny '…she didn't love you.'
'Love like that I can do without,' he responded, unmoved.
'Sometimes,' she whispered, 'you can be very unfeeling, Luc.'
His superb bone-structure clenched, something more than irritation leaping through him now. 'Which translates to a ruthless, insensitive bastard, does it not?' he sizzled back at her.
Nobody criticised Luc. Rafaella might argue with him, but she would not have dreamt of criticising him. From being an infant prodigy in a very ordinary, poorly educated family in awe of his intellectual gifts, Luc had stalked into early adulthood, unfettered by any need or demand to consider anyone but himself. But he was in the wrong and she was helplessly tempted to tell him that plainly, had to bite back the words. He could not treat Rafaella as an old friend one moment and a humble employee the next. It had not been a kindness to keep Rafaella so close when he was aware of her feelings for him. It had only encouraged her to hope.
'I didn't say that,' she said tightly. 'Don't shout me down.'
'I am not shouting you down. You fascinate me. You belong up on a cloud with a harp!' he derided with acid bite. 'You haven't the slightest conception of what makes other human beings tick.'
Catherine lifted her chin. 'I only said that Rafaella deserves a little compassion—'
'Compassion? If you were bleeding to death by the side of the road, she'd sell tickets!' he grated. 'She's out because I don't trust her any more. I understand her too well. The first opportunity she gets, she'll stick a knife in your back, even if it costs her everything she has.'
Her flesh chilled involuntarily at the deadly certainty with which he voiced that belief.
'The subject is now closed. Are you coming to dinner?' he concluded drily.
'Will you give her a reference?'
There was a sharp little silence. Luc spun back, clashed with the hauntingly beautiful blue eyes pinned expectantly to him. 'Per amor di Dio…all right, if that's what you want!' he gritted, out of all patience.
He wasn't built to recognise compromise. Compromise was a retrograde step towards losing, and losing didn't come gracefully to Luc. Catherine tucked into her dinner with unblemished appetite. Luc poked at his appetiser, complained about the temperature of the wine, sat tapping his fingers in tyrannical tattoo between courses and cooled down only slowly.
'What did you think of Dr Scipione?' he enquired over the coffee.
'He was very kind. Is he the local doctor?'