Under the Italian's Command (6 page)

Pupilage, the system whereby a
practising
barrister monitored the training of a graduate law student, was like gold dust. If you lost your pupilage for any reason your career at the bar was as good as over. Failure wasn’t an option, especially not to a Tate. The law had bypassed a generation in the family, and
Carly
had always known her destiny as the plain sister. She had to uphold the family tradition. Some grizzled ancestor had probably dipped a nib in their own blood to sign the Magna
Carta
.

At least she wasn’t late for her appointment with Lorenzo. Knocking on his door and entering the room, she found him lounging back in his chair.

‘Progress report, Christmas party,’ he instructed with a wave of his hand like some maestro bringing in the soloist.

Carly’s
mind blanked as she looked at his socks. They were pink today. And not just pink—fuchsia-pink!

Did it matter if his socks were pink? This was a man who could wear a dress and look virile, which he almost did in court, come to think of it, in his wig and gown—

‘Ms Tate, are you still with me?’

The voice was impatient.

‘The list?’

The hand signal unmistakable.

‘Of course.’ Tilting her chin at a businesslike angle, she offered him the sheet of paper listing everything she had prepared. ‘It doesn’t include all the details yet.’

‘I don’t like guessing games.’

‘And this won’t be one.’ She sincerely hoped.

Scanning the page, he made no comment. He was beginning to make her feel nervous. Why was life so unjust? Why did Lorenzo look as if he was ready for a photo shoot for the world’s most desirable man, while she felt as usual like the dumpling on parade? She forced herself to meet the icy gaze unflinching as he glanced up.

‘Not bad, but it would be better if you work to a theme.’

Praise indeed! What a shame she wasn’t ready to reveal that in fact she was working to a theme, if not the sort of theme she guessed Lorenzo would be expecting.

‘What I need now,’ he said, ‘are specifics. Detail, Ms Tate.’

Resisting the urge to salute, she stared past him out through the panoramic windows overlooking the city. Somewhere out there were all the answers to her problems. At least, those connected to the party. ‘I need a little more time. You’ll just have to trust me.’

‘Trust you?’ One ebony brow shot up, showing Lorenzo’s opinion of that suggestion. ‘I thought I’d explained to you that the only thing I’m interested in is fact?’

But this wasn’t a court case, and she wasn’t on trial. She held her ground, staring straight into his incredible eyes. ‘I don’t want to spoil the surprise.’ This was a phrase she had often heard trip off her mother’s tongue. It was only as she grew to be older that she
realised
her mother employed it to cover a bottomless pit of panic.

Lorenzo wasn’t even slightly fooled. ‘Arranging the Christmas party isn’t a leisure activity, Ms Tate; it’s part of your brief as my junior. It’s also an opportunity to show everyone what you’re capable of.’

Exactly,
Carly
thought uncomfortably.

‘I want a detailed summary of everything you’ve arranged up to now. Come,’ he said, offering her a pen, ‘write them down for me now.’ Ripping a clean sheet of paper from his pad, he handed it to her and sat back.

It was a very large sheet of paper for what was destined to be a very short list. ‘Why don’t I take it with me so I don’t disturb you?’

‘Sit down,’ he rapped.

They stared at each other unblinking for a moment, but then an image of her parents’ anxious faces swam into
Carly’s
mind and she folded. ‘Okay…’

‘And while you’re writing your list I’d like you to start thinking about guidelines for some of the younger members of chambers. There will be a number of senior judges attending this year, some of whom wear ermine and sit in the House of Lords. I don’t expect anyone here to let the side down.’

He watched her face carefully. Sometimes he surprised himself with the ingenuity of his tests. This one was particularly harsh, because it put her in the firing line in front of her colleagues. Could she rise above that and act professionally? Could she swallow her misgivings? Or was this the moment when she told him to go to hell and walked out? He decided to find out.

‘You will need two lists,’ he told her as if she were in infant class. ‘One will have the heading “Christmas Party”, and the second will have the heading “Christmas Party Guidelines for Junior Members of Chambers”.’

That should win her a few friends! Was there a way out? If there was she couldn’t think of one. For now she would have to be satisfied with some fiendish revenge sequences reeling through her mind involving Lorenzo naked and a pair of stiletto heels. But later, when she got back to her cubby-hole, she would have to work something out that didn’t risk the scholarship, or her easy working relationship with her younger colleagues…

‘What?’ Lorenzo said, glancing up.

Had he felt the sparks flying his way?
Carly
wondered, composing her face into its customary bland mask. Composing a cautionary note for her fellow pupils as Lorenzo had instructed was nothing short of an insult to them, and to her…

‘What is it, Ms Tate?’

‘Nothing,’ she said innocently, but an idea was forming; an idea that involved two lists for Lorenzo as he had requested, and a third, somewhat less reverential, list for her friends.

‘Well, if that’s all?’ Lorenzo said, turning back to his notes. ‘Get on with it.’

He was right. There was no point in prolonging this. She was a realist, if nothing else, and as Lorenzo was all male, while she was undeniably female, there was no common ground.

‘Write,’ he insisted, staring hard at her sheet of paper.

She tried. She sucked the tip of her pen and tried really hard. She had the ideas—too many of them! The problem was assembling them in front of him. Lorenzo made it so hard to concentrate. She was drowning in waves of testosterone, and then there was his distinctive scent, warm, clean, male and spicy. She could close her eyes and inhale that all day quite happily…Except at the same time she would have to wriggle now and then to give the type of sensations he provoked chance to express themselves. Come to think of it, she hadn’t been so obsessed by sex for years—not since she had lost her virginity to a spotty youth on the back seat of his car; a skirmish that had hardly prepared her for encountering Lorenzo. She’d had no idea she had been so repressed—

‘Okay, leave now and take your work with you,’ he snapped impatiently. ‘I can see you’re not concentrating, and you’re distracting me.’

He watched her leap away as if she were attached to a spring. Was he such an ogre? Or had that wriggle
signalled
more than a desire to get away? ‘Before you go…’

‘Yes?’

Her face had reddened guiltily. What had she been dreaming about—his demise, perhaps?

Okay, so maybe he was being hard on her, but he expected the best of his students, and
Carly
was the best of the best.
Organising
the Christmas party was a thankless task; the list of guidelines he had proposed she draw up a mockery. He could imagine the reaction of her colleagues to any suggestions she might make! But lawyers had to keep a cool head under fire. Would she? He decided to push a little harder and find out. ‘I’m meeting a friend tonight.’

A muscle jumped in her jaw though her face remained carefully expressionless. This ability to hide her thoughts was yet one more reason she currently headed up the list of potential Unicorn scholarship candidates. ‘I’m going to bring my guest back to the flat, and I thought you might like to make yourself useful…’

If her face grew any tighter she would implode. He pressed on. ‘Make sure the wine is chilled, prepare a few canapés, that sort of thing?’

He could see her feminist principles raging against her lust to win the scholarship. He could also see her wanting to take him by the throat and choke him. And throughout all this they continued to stare at each other impassively.

Easing her neck,
Carly
fought to stay calm. ‘Canapés?’ She could only comfort herself with the thought that the reports of her numerous culinary disasters hadn’t reached Lorenzo’s ears yet.

The successful candidate for the Unicorn scholarship will be both resourceful and creative…

‘Of course, no problem,’ she replied.

‘That’s good,’ he said, relaxing. ‘You might want to sit in when my guest arrives as we’ll be discussing the possibility of extending the reach of the scholarship. It’s such a great opportunity.’

To make canapés?
Carly
thought, staring back without expression.

‘As I’m sure you’ll agree?’ Lorenzo challenged, searching her gaze for the slightest hint of insubordination. ‘Canapés at eight, then?’

Why not? She had no intention of being tripped up by a cocktail sausage now.

CARLY GAZED AT the work she had completed with satisfaction. It felt good to be properly
organised
, almost like the old times before Lorenzo had exploded onto the scene. She had compiled three lists, two of which, being dry and sensible, were the ones for Lorenzo.

The Christmas Party list would show him how bookings for various services were working out as well as the ordering system she was using—everything except food was either on a short-term hire agreement, or a sale and return basis, so he could find no room for concern there. The Christmas Party Guidelines for her colleagues would appear equally sensible—because, of course, Lorenzo wouldn’t be seeing the copy she’d actually send to her colleagues, or, indeed, her own copy, upon which she had added some rather graphic doodles.

In addition to this she had stuck a Post-It note to the desk on which she had scrawled, ‘Canapés at eight!’ To date she had made no entries to suggest what form these canapés might take. But there was plenty of time to worry about that. Canapés were tiny, which suggested they were easy to prepare. It was more important to concentrate on her doodles, which in
Carly’s
modest opinion were starting to rival the illustrations in the Kama Sutra. Well, a girl could dream, couldn’t she? And with Lorenzo tied up in court she had hours in which to indulge every flight of erotic fancy she’d ever had…

By noon
Carly’s
Christmas Party list had a pleasing line of ticks down the side of the page. Father Christmas had been booked, along with a couple of elves, and even on such a slim budget she had managed to
organise
good, wholesome food, that could best be described as interesting. Or, at least, she hoped it would prove so to the sophisticated palate of those attending. Anyway, she liked it, and it was in line with the theme she had chosen, so Lorenzo could hardly complain.

When it came to the advisory notes for her colleagues she had thought long and hard before deciding on something they could stomach. She knew Lorenzo had set her up for a fall and she had every intention of staying upright.

With this intention in mind she kept the tone light, listing the warnings beneath a picture of Lorenzo looking suitably stern and yet rather stunning in his wig and gown. Her fellow pupils would get the joke. Especially after she’d added some doodles to their list—the one Lorenzo wouldn’t be seeing—the list she would compile after this one to illustrate the form any rebellion might take. But meanwhile Lorenzo’s list was complete:

GUIDELINES CHRISTMAS PARTY

REMEMBER…

MERRY NIGHTS MAKE SAD MORNINGS!

And here are a few handy tips to help you avoid the pitfalls…

1. Arrive early and make a point of speaking to your immediate superior!

2. Above all, please remember that first impressions count!

3. You must remain visible at all times and maintain a pleasant and interested smile on your face.

4. You must try to engage every judge in light-hearted chit-chat, and maintain an air of quiet confidence as you do so.

5. Absolutely NO dancing drunkenly on tables!

6. In the unlikely event that you begin to feel the effects of too much alcohol you must take yourself outside the building IMMEDIATELY!

7. The importance of thanking your host at the end of the night cannot be overstated.

Lorenzo should be pleased with that. Folding the sheet of paper neatly, she placed it safely inside an envelope.

And now for the list her colleagues would receive, which would be basically the same, but with certain additions. Her intention was to make it
recognisably
the same, so they wouldn’t be caught out if questioned, and yet, so very, very different…

Beneath the legend ‘GUIDELINES CHRISTMAS PARTY’ the banner heading still read ‘MERRY NIGHTS MAKE SAD MORNINGS!’ But now there was a smaller sub-heading, which advised,

Expert Schmoozing, Without Resorting To Being A Creep, Helps You Move UP The Ladder!

Below this she had written another list of bullet points.

Arrive early and make a point of speaking to your immediate superior!

Carly
frowned, reading the point through again. The chance of engaging Lorenzo in a conversation that didn’t involve her saluting and him instructing seemed remote. And weren’t parties supposed to be fun? She added fangs and horns to his picture before printing out a dozen for distribution.

The importance of thanking the host cannot be overstated.

She frowned again. Well, that was all very well, but Lorenzo hadn’t made it clear who would be hosting the party. She added a handwritten note to suggest her colleagues assume the customary
grovelling
position with every senior who attended.

You must remain visible at all times and maintain a pleasant and interested smile on your face.

No problem! Smiling while inwardly yawning was a skill every pupil perfected within their first six months. But she added a further helpful point anyway:

You must try to engage even the most curmudgeonly judge in light-hearted chit-chat, and maintain an air of quiet confidence as you do so…

Even if they fell asleep on the bench last time you were in front of them, presumably.

Absolutely NO dancing drunkenly on tables!

After a moment’s contemplation she moved this item to the top of the list and reprinted everything, shredding the first draft and anything else that might prove incriminating. Then she popped the lists into envelopes ready for distribution. It was crucial to ensure they didn’t get into the wrong hands—i.e. Lorenzo’s hands. To make certain of it she would deliver them to the various offices herself.

Sitting back,
Carly
congratulated herself on a job well done, and then, remembering that there was still time to
personalise
her own set of guidelines, she got started…

First off she jotted a note next to Lorenzo’s photograph: ‘
Carly’s
Christmas Present to Herself’, while down the side of the page she sketched some imaginative and energetic matchstick people—one of whom wore Technicolor socks, while the other boasted enormous breasts…

He had just walked back into chambers when
Carly
rushed past him with a distracted look on her face. She was muttering something. He thought she said, ‘Canapés…’

As she ran out of the door a note fluttered out of her pocket. Strictly speaking he shouldn’t read someone else’s mail, but lawyers did it all the time…

Returning to his office, he drew out the note and scanned it. It was a list
Carly
had headed, ‘GUIDELINES CHRISTMAS PARTY’. So far so good, but then he
realised
that this list bore scant resemblance to the one she had put in his pigeon-hole. His gaze returned to study the various doodles she had drawn down the side of it. Her inventions were impressive. He read on: ‘Inappropriate
behaviour
at the Christmas party can SERIOUSLY limit your career…’

How fortunate for him that rules were made to be broken, and when you reached the inner circle you broke them all the time.

Canapés!

Carly
woke up with a start. For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. Where she had been was far preferable…in Lorenzo’s arms, and he had been just about to kiss her. She rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth just to check she hadn’t been playing Sleeping Beauty and missed something wonderful.

Not a chance! It was so hot in her little cubby-hole she had fallen asleep, that was all. And no wonder she was exhausted after her shopping expedition. Propelled into panic by the sight of Lorenzo in Reception, she had rushed to the supermarket, but halfway there she had spotted a sign advertising a sale of designer shoes…

Glancing at her wrist-watch, she let out a shriek.

All thoughts of Lorenzo and stiletto heels flew from her mind. Flailing about, she battled to
organise
her wayward thoughts and only succeeded in knocking everything off her desk, then banging her head against it when she dived to retrieve it. Nursing the bump she ordered her inner self to calm down. Canapés were no problem. They’d been in her head all the time she’d been asleep, so the planning was already done. All she had to do now was buy the ingredients and assemble them. The menu she had decided upon was divine…Shrimp in a light batter with sweet
chilli
sauce; slivers of tomato on tiny rye crackers with an anchovy curled artistically on top and—the pièce de résistance—miniature parcels of smoked salmon and cream cheese decorated with chopped chives.

Inwardly, she dribbled.

‘You’re in a hurry today…’

Lorenzo’s lazy drawl caught her between the shoulder blades and brought her screaming to a halt. She turned to look at him and felt her senses flare like the bright socks he was wearing—purple with orange flags today. She made a silent vow to carry out intensive research on international marine signals the moment she got the chance.

‘Canapés all in hand?’ he said, giving her a dark stare.

Her throat dried. ‘In component form…’

‘Excellent…’

There was something different about Lorenzo; she couldn’t quite pin it down. Maybe it was the way he was looking at her. Normally he made inscrutable seem an understatement; he wasn’t a top lawyer for nothing. But today there was a definite
smoulder
in his gaze as he leaned back against the wall.

So, who was he thinking about?

The sting of jealousy that brought on took
Carly
by surprise. She ran a mental check-list of all her female colleagues, wondering which one of them had served Lorenzo’s best interest that lunchtime, and knew she didn’t stand a chance of making that list. Lorenzo probably thought plain girls didn’t need sex like pretty women, but that didn’t stop her wanting him. Especially now when he looked so gorgeous…absolutely gorgeous—

‘No time to hang around,’ he cautioned, stamping on her fantasy.

It was a waste of time dreaming,
Carly
thought, heading for the door. Lorenzo was on another planet, one where men ruled and women served—mostly in the bedroom when they weren’t trying to fold towels a certain way, or create the world’s most impressive canapé…

She took one last look at him before the door swung shut and decided he looked pretty pleased with himself. No wonder! The clerks probably kept his little black book alongside Lorenzo’s court appointment diary to enable him to take full advantage of each adjournment. Plus he’d just gained a slave of cuisine. Who wouldn’t be feeling smug?

So, how did she explain why the heart of this independent-minded woman was racing with delight at the thought of serving him?