ISABELLA VALERI KING sighed in contentment and smiled at her long-trusted confidante. "What a splendid night, Rosita!"
They were comfortably seated in armchairs in a corner at the back of the function room. The band's music was not so loud here and it was possible to converse without shouting. On the table in front of them was a selection of sweets—little fruit tarts, cheesecake, apple slices, florentines— which Rosita was sampling one by one, checking out the quality of the catering.
"Everything is good," came the ready agreement. Rosita's dark eyes twinkled. "But I'm thinking you're especially pleased by the absence of people rather than the presence of people."
Isabella allowed herself a smug little smile. "Matteo is definitely taking the initiative. He made himself Nicole's escort tonight, and from my observation before they left this room, they are very caught up with each other."
"The history may suffer," Rosita archly remarked. "When Matteo decides on something he does not let the grass grow under his feet. Nicole will be distracted."
"I would rather have a another good milestone in our family to write about, Rosita. The words can be written when all is resolved."
"You are so sure they will be right together?"
"Did you not see the way they looked at each other when Nicole was coming down the stairs to the lobby?"
"I saw that she looked very striking, very beautiful. Any man would admire her."
"No. It was more than that. I am certain of it."
"Then let us hope it is so. She is too much alone, that one. And immersing herself in other people's lives..." A sad shake of the head. "She should have a life of her own. A husband. Babies."
Isabella couldn't agree more. And Nicole was perfect for Matteo, very strong in her own right, but with much love to give and a sense of loyalty that ran very deep, a woman who would always stand by her man through any hardship.
Her gaze skimmed around the crowd, picking out her other two grandsons and their wives—two couples glowing with happiness. A sense of triumph warmed her heart. If Matteo married Nicole... There she was!
Isabella sat very upright in her armchair, her back stiffening at a most unwelcome sight. Nicole was alone. Where was Matteo?
Most of the people who were not seated as she and Rosita were, had drifted towards the dance floor, either standing in groups around it or gyrating on it in their modern way. Nicole had obviously just re-entered the function room and was in open view as her gaze anxiously searched the more crowded area. Looking for Matteo?
He was not here.
She looked stressed. Her hands were fretting at the small evening bag she held in front of her at waist level. This was not right to Isabella's mind. What had happened to put Nicole in such a state? Where was Matteo?
"Rosita..." Isabella grasped her arm to draw her attention to Nicole, "...things are not going as they should. Quickly now. Pretend you are going to the powder room. As you pass by Nicole, direct her to me."
"It is not good to meddle," she protested.
"Go! Go!" Isabella commanded, out of patience with holding back and not knowing what was wrong.
Rosita heaved herself up and made her rather ponderous way across the room. Isabella composed herself, hid; ing her chagrin and making sure an inviting smile was hovering on her lips. Nicole gave Rosita a nervous acknowledgment, too uptight to manage the usual warmth between them. Rosita played her part well, a wave of her arm forcing Nicole to look at Isabella who instantly applied the smile, forcing her wish to talk. As her employee, Nicole would feel bound to oblige, whatever her private inclinations were.
Isabella felt no guilt whatsoever about flexing her power as she watched the young woman tread a slow and reluctant path to pay her respect. It was important to know what was going on now. The tension she had noted between Matteo and Nicole at the theatre should have eased.
They had seemed very much together once they'd arrived at the party, clearly attuned to each other. How long had they been out of the function room? Twenty minutes? Half an hour? Some conflict must have erupted between them. Who was at fault? Could it be fixed? Time for a more propitious encounter was running out tonight and if barriers were set in place again...oh, this was so frustrating!
"Mrs. King..." Nicole greeted her in a flat voice. Isabella patted the armrest of the vacated chair. "Come sit with me while Rosita's gone," she invited, thinking that time limit shouldn't strain Nicole's nerves too much and any other choice of action would seem impolite.
She moved around the table and sat down without any attempt at small talk. The passive obedience worried Isabella all the more. "I thought Matteo was looking after you tonight," she probed, keeping her tone lightly interested.
Nicole visibly bridled. "He was with me earlier," she said in a corrective tone, glancing around the room again to evade looking directly at Isabella. "I don't know where he is now."
"Didn't I see you leave the party together?" "We...parted. I went to the powder room."
"How very ungallant of him not to have waited for you! I must speak to that boy."
Red splotches on her cheeks. "It's not his job to look after me, Mrs.
King, and I certainly don't want him to feel obliged to do so." A low ferocity underlined those words.
Pride, Isabella thought. She frowned for Nicole's benefit. "You don't like my youngest grandson? Matteo has done something to offend you?"
Instant agitation. "Please don't think that. It was... kind of him to escort me to and from the theatre. Perhaps he wanted an early night. I am perfectly happy by myself, Mrs. King."
Perfectly miserable!
"He should not have deserted you," she pressed.
"He didn't. Really..." Pleading eyes begging her to desist, "...your grandson is free to do whatever he wishes. Just as I am."
Free...
Freedom was highly overrated in Isabella's opinion. There was Matteo going off doing ridiculously dangerous things like whitewater rafting and bungy-jumping because he didn't have the responsibility of a wife and family. As for Nicole, what was she free for? Books and more books?
She wished she could knock their heads together, get some sense into them. It was clear they had come to the parting of the ways, and Isabella was so annoyed by it, she threw discretion to the winds and bored straight into the heart of the matter.
"I do not like this. I have been aware for some time there is friction between you and Matteo. You were unhappy after your visit to Kauri Pine Park and you have made a point of evading his company since."
This observation startled Nicole but she bit her lips, offering no comment.
"This cannot be pleasant for you, given your situation in our family circle," Isabella went on. "I was hoping it would sort itself out tonight. If it hasn't, Nicole, I feel bound to step in and..."
"No! There is nothing..." Her eyes flashed a wild vehemence, "...nothing between us." Realising that statement didn't answer the questions raised, she hastily added, "There were...differences...which we've cleared. Truly... there is no need for you to say anything, Mrs. King. I'm sorry that you've been worried."
"So everything is fine now?"
Nicole hesitated, hunting for words that would paper over the problem. "We both know where we stand. That makes it easier."
"There was a misunderstanding?"
"Yes. But no more. So it's all right. Truly." She jerked her focus away from Isabella, fastening her gaze on the crowd around the dance floor. The agitated dismissal of all concern made it too unkind to continue probing.
Indeed, Isabella was allowed no time for it.
"There's Peter!" Nicole cried, leaping to her feet. She shot a pleading glance at Isabella. "Please excuse me, Mrs. King. He said he'd dance with me and I'd like to spend some time with him."
"Of course." She managed a benevolent smile. "Go and enjoy yourself."
"Thank you." Intense relief.
Isabella shook her head as she watched Nicole make her way to Peter Owen's side. Matteo was a fool to let this woman go. There was Peter welcoming her company, only too happy to draw her onto the dance floor and give her whatever pleasure she sought with him.
Disheartened by the talk which had revealed, at best, that Nicole and Matteo had established a neutral zone; at worst, they were poles apart in what they wanted from each other. But the wanting was very real.