The Mistress: The Mistress\Wanted: Mistress and Mother (21 page)

“That guy,” Dante broke in, “was proved innocent in a court of
law.”

“I know.” Matilda nodded but it changed midway, her head
shaking, incredulity sinking in. She certainly wasn’t a legal eagle, but you’d
have to live in a cupboard not to know about some of the cases Dante Costello
handled. They were
Big
, in italics and with a
capital B. And even
if
that man she had read about
really had been innocent, surely some of the people Dante had defended really
were guilty. His job was so far removed from hers as to be unfathomable, and
bewildered, she stared back at him. “Do you ever regret winning?”

“No.” Firmly he shook his head.

“Never?” Matilda asked, watching his lips tighten a touch,
watching his eyes darken from dusk to midnight.

“Never,” Dante replied, his single word unequivocal. She felt a
shiver, could almost see him in his robes and wig, could almost see that
inscrutable face remaining unmoved, could see that full mouth curving into a
sneer as he shredded seemingly irrefutable evidence. And anyone, everyone, would
have left it there, would have conceded the argument, yet Matilda didn’t, green
eyes crashing into his, jade waves rolling onto unmovable black granite.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know I don’t,” Matilda admitted. “Yet I still don’t believe
you.”

And that should have been it. She should have got on with her
meal, he should have resumed eating, made polite small talk to fill the
appalling gap, but instead he pushed her now. As she reached for her fork he
reached deep inside, his words stilling her, his hand seemingly clutching her
heart. “You’ve been proud of everything you’ve done.”

“Not everything,” Matilda tentatively admitted. “But there’s
certainly nothing big league. Anyway, what’s that got to do with it?”

“It has everything to do with it,” Dante said assuredly. “We
all have our dark secrets, we all have things that, given our time again, we
would have done differently. The difference between Mr or Ms Average and my
clients is that their personal lives, their most intimate regrets are up for
public scrutiny. Words uttered in anger are played back to haunt them, a moment
of recklessness a couple of years back suddenly relived for everyone to hear. It
can be enough to cloud the most objective jury.”

“But surely, if they’ve done nothing wrong,” Matilda protested,
“they have nothing to fear.”

“Not if I do my job correctly,” Dante said. “But not everyone’s
as good as me.” Matilda blinked at his lack of modesty, but Dante made no
apology. “I
have
to believe that my clients are
innocent.”

She should have left it there, Matilda knew that, knew she had
no chance against him, but she refused to be a pushover and refused to be swayed
from her stance. She wasn’t in the witness box after all, just an adult having
an interesting conversation. There was no need to be intimidated. Taking a
breath, she gave him a very tight smile. “Even if they’re clearly not?”

“Ah, Matilda.” He flashed her an equally false smile. “You
shouldn’t believe all you read in the newspapers.”

“I don’t,” Matilda flared. “I’m just saying that there’s no
smoke without fire...” She winced at the cliché and began to make a more
eloquent argument, but Dante got there first.

“There are no moments in your life that you’d dread coming out
in court?”

“Of course not!”

“None at all?”

“None,” Matilda flushed. “I certainly haven’t done anything
illegal, well, not really.”

“Not really?” Nothing in his expression changed, bar a tiny
rise of one eyebrow.

“I thought we were here to talk about your garden,” she flared,
but Dante just smiled.

“You were the one who questioned me about my work,” Dante
pointed out. “It’s not my fault if you don’t like the answer. So, come on, tell
me, what did you do?”

“I’ve told you,” Matilda insisted. “I’ve done
nothing
wrong. I’m sorry if you find that
disappointing or boring.”

“I’m
never
disappointed,” Dante
said, his eyes burning into her, staring at her so directly it made her squirm.
“And I know for a fact that you have your secret shame—everyone does.”

“OK,” Matilda breathed in indignation. “But if you’re expecting
some dark, sordid story then you’re going to be sorely disappointed. It’s just a
tiny, tiny thing that happened when I was a kid.”

“Clearly not that tiny,” Dante said, “if you can still blush
just thinking about it.”

“I’m not blushing,” Matilda flared, but she knew it was
useless, could feel the sting of heat on her cheeks. But it wasn’t the past that
was making her blush, it was the present, the here and now, the presence of him,
the feel of his eyes on her, the intimacy of revelation—any revelation.

“Tell me,” Dante said softly, dangerously, and it sounded like
a dare. “Tell me what happened.”

“I stole some chocolate when I was on school camp,” Matilda
admitted. “Everyone did,” she went on almost immediately.

“And you thought that you’d look an idiot if you didn’t play
along?”

“Something like that,” Matilda murmured, blushing furiously
now, but with the shame and fear she had felt at the time, reliving again the
pressure she had felt at that tender age to just blend in. She was surprised at
the emotion such a distant memory could evoke.

“So, instead of standing up for yourself, you just went right
along with it, even though you knew it was wrong.”

“I guess.”

“And that’s the sum total of your depraved past?” Dante
checked.

“That’s it.” Matilda nodded. “Sorry if I disappointed you.”

“You didn’t.” Dante shook his head. “I find you can learn a lot
about a person if you listen to their childhood memories. Our responses don’t
change that much...”

“Rubbish,” Matilda scoffed. “I was ten years old. If something
like that happened now—”

“You’d do exactly the same,” Dante broke in. “I’m not saying
that you’d steal a bar of chocolate rather than draw attention to yourself, but
you certainly don’t like confrontation, do you?”

Shocked at his insight, all she could do was stare back at
him.

“In fact,” Dante continued, “you’d walk to the end of the earth
to avoid it, steal a chocolate bar if it meant you could blend in, stay in a bad
relationship to avoid a row...” As she opened her mouth to deny it, Dante spoke
over her. “Or, let’s take tonight for an example, you ran to the toilet the
moment you thought you had upset me.”

“Not quite that very moment.” Matilda rolled her eyes and gave
a watery smile, realising she was beaten. “I lasted two at least. But does
anyone actually like confrontation?”

“I do,” Dante said. “It’s the best part of my job, making
people confront their hidden truths.” He gave her the benefit of a very
bewitching smile, which momentarily knocked her off guard. “Though I guess if
that’s the worst you can come up with, you really would have no problem with
being cross-examined.”

“I’d have no worries at all,” Matilda said confidently.

“You clearly know your own mind.”

“I do.” Matilda smiled back, happy things were under
control.

“Then may I?”

“Excuse me?”

“Just for the sake of curiosity.” His smile was still in place.
“May I ask you some questions?”

“We’re supposed to be talking about your garden.”

He handed her a rolled-up wad of paper. “There are the plans,
you can do whatever you wish—so that takes care of that.”

“But why?” Matilda asked.

“I enjoy convincing people.” Dante shrugged. “And I believe you
are far from convinced. All you have to do is answer some questions
honestly.”

The dessert menu was being offered to her and Matilda hesitated
before taking it. She had the plans, and clearly Dante was in no mood to discuss
foliage or water features, so the sensible thing would be to decline. She’d
eaten her main course, she’d stayed to be polite, there was absolutely no reason
to prolong things, no reason at all—except for the fact that she wanted to
stay.

Wanted to prolong this evening.

With a tiny shiver Matilda accepted the truth.

She wanted to play his dangerous game.

“They do a divine white chocolate and macadamia nut mousse,”
Dante prompted, “with hot raspberry sauce.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Matilda said, and as the waiter slipped
silently away, her glittering eyes met Dante’s. A frisson of excitement ran down
her spine as she faced him, as this encounter moved onto another level, and not
for the first time today she wondered what it was about Dante Costello that
moved her so.

Chapter 3

“Y
ou will answer me honestly?”

His smile had gone now, his deep, liquid voice low, and despite
the full restaurant, despite the background noise of their fellow diners, it was
as if they were the only two in the room.

His black eyes were working her face, appraising her, and she
could almost imagine him walking towards her across the courtroom, circling her
slowly, choosing the best method of attack. Fear did the strangest thing to
Matilda, her lips twitching into a nervous smile as he again asked his question.
“You swear to answer me honestly.”

“I’m not on trial.” Matilda gave a tiny nervous laugh, but he
remained unmoved.

“If we’re going to play, we play by the rules.”

“Fine.” Matilda nodded. “But I really think you’re—”

“We’ve all got secrets,” Dante broke in softly. “There’s a dark
side to every single one of us, and splash it on a headline, layer it with
innuendo and suddenly we’re all as guilty as hell. Take your ex—”

“Edward’s got nothing to do—”

“Location, location, location.” He flashed a malevolent smile
as Matilda’s hand tightened convulsively around her glass. “Just one more
business dinner, just one more client to impress. Just one more garden to
renovate and then, maybe then you’ll get his attention. Maybe one day—”

“I don’t need this,” Matilda said through gritted teeth. “I’ve
no idea what you’re trying to get at, but can you please leave Edward out of
this?”

“Still too raw?” He leant back in his chair, merciless eyes
awaiting her response.

“No,” Matilda said tersely, leaning back into her own chair,
forcing
her tense shoulders to lower,
forcing
a smile onto her face. “Absolutely not. Edward
and I finished a couple of months ago. I’m completely over it.”

“Who ended it?”

“I did,” Matilda answered, but with renewed confidence now. She
had
been the one who had ended it, and that
surely would thwart him, would rule out his image of a broken-hearted female who
would go to any lengths to avoid confrontation.

“Why?” Dante asked bluntly, but Matilda gave a firm shake of
her head.

“I’m not prepared to answer that,” she retorted coolly. “I had
my reasons. And in case you’re wondering, no, there wasn’t anyone else
involved.” Confident she’d ended this line of questioning, sure he would try
another tack, Matilda felt the fluttering butterflies in her stomach still a
touch and her breathing slow down as she awaited his next question, determined
to answer him with cool ease.

“Did you ever wish him dead?”

“What?” Appalled, she confronted him with her eyes—stunned that
he would even ask such a thing. “Of course not.”

“Are you honestly stating that you never once said that you
wished that he was dead?”

“You’re either mad...” Matilda let out an incredulous laugh
“...or way too used to dealing with mad people!
Of
course
I never said that I wished that he...” Her voice faltered for
just a fraction of second, a flash of forgotten conversation pinging into
consciousness, and like a cobra he struck.

“I’m calling your friend as a witness next—and I can assure you
that her version of that night is completely different to yours...”

“What night?” Matilda scorned.

“
That
night,” Dante answered with
absolute conviction, and Matilda felt her throat tighten as he spoke on. “In
fact, your friend clearly recalls a conversation where you expressed a strong
wish that Edward was dead.” Dante’s words were so measured, so assured, so
absolutely spot on that for a tiny second she almost believed him. For a flash
of time she almost expected to look over her shoulder and see Judy sitting at
the other table, as if she had stumbled into some macabre reality TV show, where
all her secrets, all her failings were about to be exposed.

Stop it, Matilda scolded herself, reining in her overreaction.
Dante knew nothing about her. He was a skilled interrogator, that was all, used
to finding people’s Achilles’ heels, and she wasn’t going to let him. She damn
well wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of breaking her.

“I still don’t know what night you’re talking about!”

“Then let me refresh your memory. I’m referring to the night
you said that you wished Edward was dead.” And he didn’t even make it sound like
an assumption, his features so immovable it was as if he’d surely been in the
room that night, as if he’d actually witnessed her raw tears, had heard every
word she’d sobbed that night, as if somehow he was privy to her soul. “And you
did say that, didn’t you, Matilda?”

To deny it would be an outright lie. Suddenly she wasn’t
sitting in a restaurant any more. Instead, she was back to where it had all
ended two months ago, could feel the brutal slap of Edward’s words as surely as
if she were hearing them for the first time.

“Maybe if you weren’t so damn frigid, I
wouldn’t have to look at other women to get my kicks.”

He’d taunted her, humiliated her, shamed her for her lack of
sexual prowess, demeaned her with words so vicious, so brutal that by the time
she’d run from his house, by the time she’d arrived at Judy’s home, she’d
believed each and every word. Believed that their relationship had been in
trouble because of her failings, believed that if only she’d been prettier,
sexier, funnier, he wouldn’t have had to flirt so much, wouldn’t have needed to
humiliate her quite so badly. And somehow Dante knew it, too.

“You did say it, didn’t you?” It was Dante’s voice dragging her
out of her own private hell.

“I just said it,” Matilda breathed, she could feel the blood
draining out of her face. “It was just one of those stupid things you say when
you’re angry.”

“And you were very angry, weren’t you?”

“No,” Matilda refuted. “I was upset and annoyed but angry is
probably overstretching things.”

He swirled his wine around in the glass and Matilda’s eyes
darted towards it, watching the pale fluid whirl around the bottom, grateful for
the distraction, grateful for something to focus on other than those dark,
piercing eyes.

“So you were only upset and annoyed, yet you admit you wished
him dead!”

“OK,” Matilda snapped, her head spinning as the barrage
continued. “I was angry, furious, in fact. So would anyone have been if they’d
been told...” She choked her words down, refusing to drag up that shame and
certainly not prepared to reveal it to Dante. Dragging in air, she halted her
tirade, tried to remember to think before she spoke, to regain some of the
control she’d so easily lost. “Yes, I said that I wished he was dead, but
there’s a big difference between saying something and actually seeing it
through.” She felt dizzy, almost sick with the emotions he’d so easily conjured
up, like some wicked magician pulling out her past, her secrets, clandestine
feelings exposed, and she didn’t want it to continue, didn’t want to partake in
this a moment longer.

“Can we stop this now?” Her voice was high and slightly
breathless, a trickle of moisture running between her breasts as she eyed this
savage man, wondering how the hell he knew, how he had known so readily what
buttons to push to reduce her to this.

“Any time you like.” Dante smiled, his voice so soft it was
almost a caress, but it did nothing to soothe her. “After all, it’s just a
game!”

The dessert was divine, the sweet sugary mousse contrasting
with the sharp raspberry sauce, but Matilda was too shaken to really enjoy it,
her long dessert spoon unusually lethargic as she attempted just to get through
it.

“Is your dessert OK?”

“It’s fine,” Matilda said, then gave in, putting her spoon
down. “Actually, I’m really not that hungry. I think I’ll go home now...”

“I’m sorry if I destroyed your appetite.”

God, he had a nerve!

“No, you’re not.” Matilda looked across the table at him and
said it again. “No, Dante, you’re not. In fact I think that was exactly what you
set out to do.” Reaching for her bag, Matilda stood up and picked up the roll of
plans.

“I’ll be at your house on Sunday afternoon. I’ll look at the
plans tomorrow but until I see the garden I really won’t know what I’m going to
do.”

“We’ve all said it.” Dante’s smile bordered on the
compassionate as she stood up to leave, and he didn’t bother to elaborate—they
both knew what he was referring to. “And as you pointed out, there’s a big
difference between saying it and following it through. I was just proving a
point.”

“Consider it proven,” Matilda replied with a very tight smile.
“Goodnight, Dante.”

Of course it took if not for ever then a good couple of minutes
for the waiter to locate her jacket, giving Dante plenty of time to catch up
with her. Rather than talk to him, she took a small after-dinner mint from the
bowl on the desk, concentrating on unwrapping the thin gold foil as she prayed
for the waiter to hurry up, popping the bitter chocolate into her mouth and
biting into the sweet peppermint centre, then flushing as she sensed Dante
watching her.

She’d said she wasn’t hungry just two minutes ago—well, just
because he was so damned controlled, it didn’t mean that she had to be. What
would a calculating man like Dante know about want rather than need? The man was
utterly devoid of emotion, Matilda decided angrily. He probably peeled open his
chest and pulled out his batteries at night, put them on charge ready to attack
his next victim. Consoling herself that she could make a quick escape while he
settled the bill, almost defiantly she took another chocolate, pathetically
grateful when the waiter appeared with her jacket and helped her into it. She
stepped outside into the night and closed her eyes as the cool night air hit her
flaming cheeks.

“How far do you have to go?”

She heard Dante’s footsteps as he came along behind her,
recognised his heavily accented voice as he uttered the first syllable, his
scent hitting her before he drew her aside, yet she’d known he was close long
before, almost sensed his approach before he’d made himself known.

“How did you...?” She didn’t finish her question, didn’t want
to be drawn into another conversation with him. She just marched swiftly on, her
stilettos making a tinny sound as she clipped along the concrete pavement.

“I eat regularly there. They send my account out once a month
or so and my admin assistant deals with it.”

The one who’d dared to allow herself to get pregnant, Matilda
wanted to point out, but chose not to, clutching the plans tighter under her arm
and walking swiftly on.

“Would you like a lift home?”

“I have an apartment over the bridge.” Matilda pointed to the a
high-rise block on the other side of the river. “It’s just a five-minute
walk.”

“Then I’ll join you,” Dante said. “You shouldn’t be walking
alone across the bridge at this time of night.”

“Really,” Matilda flustered, “there’s absolutely no need—it’s
just a hop and a skip.”

“I’d rather
walk
if you don’t
mind,” Dante said, his face completely deadpan, but his dry humour didn’t even
raise a smile from Matilda. Frankly, she’d rather take the chance of walking
across the bridge alone than with the evil troll beside her.

“I have an apartment near here also,” Dante said, nodding
backwards from whence they’d come, but despite the proximity to hers, Matilda
was quite sure any city apartment Dante owned wouldn’t compare to her
second-floor shoebox!

“I didn’t somehow envisage you as having an apartment,” Dante
mused, and Matilda blinked, surprised he
en
vis
aged
her at all. “I thought, given your work you would
have a home with a garden.”

“That’s the plan, actually,” Matilda admitted. “I’ve just put
it up for sale. I never really liked it.”

“So why did you buy it?”

“It was too good an opportunity to miss. And location-wise, for
work it’s brilliant.” She gave a low groan at the sound of her own voice. “Can
you tell I spent the last couple of years dating a real estate agent?” Matilda
asked, glancing over to him and surprised to see that he was actually
smiling.

“At least you didn’t mention the stunning views and the
abundance of natural light!”

“Only because I’m on the second floor,” Matilda quipped, amazed
after the tension of only a few moments ago to find herself actually smiling
back. “I guess the drive from Mount Eliza to the city each day would be a bit
much,” Matilda ventured, but again she got things wrong.

“I don’t generally drive to work, I use a helicopter.”

“Of course you do,” Matilda sighed, rolling her eyes.

“It is not my helicopter.” She could hear the teasing note in
his voice. “More like a taxi service. I would rather spend that hour or two at
home than in the car. When we bought the place it was meant more as weekender,
or retreat, but since the accident I have tried not to move Alex too much. It is
better, I think that she is near the beach with lots of space rather than the
city. A luxury high rise apartment isn’t exactly stimulating for a small
child.”

Why did he always make her feel small?

“I use the apartment a lot, though. I tend to stay there if I
am involved in a difficult trial.”

“I guess it would be quieter.”

“A bit,” Dante admitted. “I tend to get very absorbed in my
cases. By the time they go to trial there is not much space left for anything
else. But it is not just for that reason.” They were walking quickly, too
quickly for Matilda, who almost had to run to keep up with him, but she
certainly wasn’t going to ask him to slow down. The sooner they got to her
apartment block the sooner she could breathe again. “The press can be merciless
at times. I prefer to keep it away from my family.”

They were safely over the bridge now, walking along the dark
embankment on the other side of the river.