Taming Her Italian Boss (4 page)

Not even enough energy for a bedtime story. Poor little thing.

Ruby put the book on the bedside table and slid Sofia under the covers before turning out the light.

Ruby knew what it felt like to be carted from place to place, often not knowing where you were or who you’d been left with. She was tempted to reach across and smooth a dark curl away from Sofia’s forehead, but she kept her hand in her lap.

Usually, she threw herself into each new job with gusto, immersing herself completely in it, but she had a feeling it would be a bad idea for a travelling nanny. This was a two-week job at most. She couldn’t get too attached. Mustn’t. So she just sat on the edge of the bed watching Sofia’s tiny chest rise and fall for what seemed like ages.

When she was sure her charge was soundly asleep, and she wouldn’t disturb her by moving, she crept out and closed the bedroom door softly behind her. The living room of the suite was steeped in silence and the large gurgle her stomach produced as she tiptoed towards the sofa seemed to echo up to the high ceilings. It was dark now, and the heavy red curtains were drawn, blocking out any view of the canal. Ruby longed to go and fling them open, but she supposed it wasn’t her choice. If her boss wanted to shut himself away from the outside world, from all that beauty and magnificence, then that was his decision.

She could hear her employer through his open bedroom door, in a one-sided conversation, talking in clipped, hushed tones. She glanced over at the desk, where he’d already made himself quite at home. The surface was covered in sheets of paper and printouts, and a laptop was silently displaying a company name that floated round the screen.

Martin & Martin.

Ruby changed direction and wandered over to take a better look. Amongst the printed-out emails and neat handwritten notes there were also half-rolled architectural plans—for something very big and very grand, by the looks of it.

So Max Martin was an architect. She could see how that suited him. He was possibly the most rigid man she’d ever met. Anything he built would probably last for centuries.

She couldn’t help peering over the plans to get a better look at the writing on the bottom corner of the sheet.

The National Institute of Fine Art.

Wow. That was one of her favourite places to hang out in London on a rainy afternoon. And she’d seen a display last time she’d visited about plans for a new wing and a way to cover the existing courtyard to provide a central hub for the gallery’s three other wings.

Max’s voice grew louder and Ruby scuttled away from the desk. She’d just reached the centre of the room when he emerged from his bedroom, mobile phone pressed to his ear. She did a good job of trying not to listen, pretending to flick through a magazine she’d grabbed from the coffee table instead, but, even though she was trying to keep her nose to herself, it was obvious that Max was the front-runner for the institute’s new wing, but the clients had reservations.

She finished flipping through the glossy fashion mag and put it back down on the table. To be honest, she wasn’t sure what to do now. Did being Sofia’s nanny mean she just had to hole herself up in the bedroom with her, never to be seen or heard without child in tow? Or was she allowed to mingle with other members of the family? Seeing as this was her first experience of being a nanny she had absolutely no clue, and seeing as this was Max’s first experience of hiring one—even if he had been the kind of person to dole out information without the use of thumbscrews—he probably didn’t know, either.

He turned and strode towards her, frowning, listening intently to whoever was on the other end of the phone.

Ruby looked up at him, expecting maybe a nod, or even a blink of recognition as he passed by, but she got none. It was as if he’d totally forgotten she existed. So she became more comfortable studying him. He looked tired, she thought as she watched him pace first in one direction and then another, always marking out straight lines with precise angles. The top button of his shirt was undone and his tie was nowhere to be seen.

It was odd. All day so far, he’d just seemed like a force of nature—albeit in a pristine suit—and now that just the tiniest part of that armour had been discarded she was suddenly confronted by the fact he was a man. And a rather attractive one at that.

His dark hair was short but not severe, and now she knew he had Italian blood in him, she could see it in the set of his eyes and his long, straight nose. The mouth, however, was totally British, tightly drawn in, jaw tense as he grimaced at some unwelcome news and hung up on the caller without saying goodbye. He brought the phone down from his ear and stared at it so hard that Ruby thought it might burst into flames.

That was when he looked up and spotted her sitting where she’d been for the last ten minutes, and it took him by total surprise. She allowed her lips to curve into the barest of smiles and held his gaze. For some reason she liked the fact her presence sometimes ruffled him.

He shoved his phone back in his pocket. ‘Is there anything you need?’

His tone wasn’t harsh, just practical.

‘I was wondering what to do about food.’ Her stomach growled again, just to underline the fact. She refused to blush.

He had only just stopped frowning at his phone call, and now his features crumpled back into the same expression, as if he’d forgotten hunger was an option for him, and he was taking time to remember what the sensation was like. Eventually, he indicated a menu on the sideboard. ‘Have what you want sent up.’

Ruby nodded. She’d been hoping he’d say that. ‘Do you want anything while I’m ordering?’

‘No...’ His gaze drifted towards the array of papers on the desk and he was drawn magnetically to it. He picked up a sheet and started reading a page of dense text.

Ruby wasn’t quite sure if he’d finished saying everything he’d been going to say, but she guessed he’d forgotten he’d actually started talking, so she went and fetched the menu. When she ordered her club sandwich she did it discreetly, so as not to disturb him, and just before she put the phone down she quietly ordered another. He hadn’t touched the food on the plane, and she hadn’t seen him eat anything all afternoon. He had to get hungry some time, didn’t he?

If he did, he showed no sign of it. His eyes stayed on his papers while his fingers rapped out email after email on his laptop. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, slightly fascinated. He was so focused, so intense. He seemed to have an innate sense of confidence in his own ability to do what needed to be done.

To be honest, she was a little jealous.

She’d tried a number of jobs since dropping out of university but none of them had stuck. She wanted what Max had. A purpose. No, a calling. A sense of who she was in this world and what she was supposed to be doing while she was here.

A knock on the door a few minutes later heralded the arrival of her dinner. She opened the door and tipped the room-service guy, then wheeled the little trolley closer to the sofa.

What she needed to do right now was stuff her face with her sandwich, before her stomach climbed up her throat and came to get it. That was the problem, maybe. She could always see the step that was right in front of her, the immediate details—like taking the job this afternoon—but when it came to the ‘big picture’ of her life it was always fuzzy and a bit out of focus.

She poured a glass of red wine from a bottle she’d ordered to go along with the food and took it, and the other sandwich, over to her boss. He didn’t look up, so she cleared a little space at the corner of papers and put the plate down. The wine, however, was more tricky. The last thing she wanted to do was put it where he’d knock it over. Eventually, she just coughed lightly, and he looked up.

‘Here,’ she said, handing him the glass. ‘You looked like you could do with this.’

For a moment he looked as if he was going to argue, but then he looked longingly at the glass of Pinot Noir and took it from her. As he did, just the very tips of their fingers brushed together.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

Ruby held her breath, then backed away silently. Her face felt hot and she had the sudden urge to babble. She always did that when she was flustered or nervous, and suddenly she was both.

Max, however, didn’t notice. It was obvious he was as cool and calm and focused as he’d always been. He put the glass down near the back of the desk and carried on typing the email he’d been working on. Her cheeks flushed, Ruby retreated to the far end of the large sofa and ate her sandwich in silence.

When she’d finished her dinner, she stood up and replaced the empty plate on the trolley, then she hovered for a moment. He hadn’t touched either the food or the wine. She wanted to say something, but she didn’t know what; then she interrupted herself with a yawn. It was almost ten and it had been a long day. Maybe she should just go and get ready for bed.

Still, as she made her way towards her bedroom door she lingered, fingers on the handle, her eyes drawn to the silent figure hunched over his laptop in the corner. It was a long while before she pressed down on the metal fixture and pushed the door open.

As she got undressed in the semi-dark, careful not to wake the sleeping child, she thought about Max and all his quiet dedication and commitment. Maybe he was rubbing off on her, because suddenly she wanted to rise to the challenge in front of her.

She knew it seemed as if she’d come by this job almost by accident, but maybe that was just fate sending her a big, flashing neon sign?
This way, Ruby...
Maybe being a nanny was what she was meant to do. Hadn’t Max said she was exactly what he needed? And Sofia already seemed very attached to her.

She held her breath as she slid in between the cool cotton sheets and pulled the covers up over her chest. Maybe this was her calling. Who knew? But for the next week—possibly two—she’d have her chance to find out.

* * *

Max looked up from his plans and papers and noticed a club sandwich sitting on the edge of the desk. How long had that been there? His stomach growled and he reached for it and devoured it in record time.

Ruby must have put it there. He frowned. Something about that felt wrong.

And not just because taking care of him wasn’t part of her job description. He just wasn’t used to being taken care of full stop, mainly because he’d carefully structured his life so he was totally self-sufficient. He didn’t need anyone to look after him. He didn’t need anyone, at all. And that was just as well. While his father had been his rock, he hadn’t been the touchy-feely sort, and work had always kept him away from home for long hours. And his mother...

Well, he hadn’t had a mother’s influence in his life since he’d been a teenager, and even before the divorce things had been...explosive...at home.

A rush of memories rolled over him. He tried to hold them at bay, but there were too many, coming too fast, like a giant wave breaching a sea wall in a storm. That wall had held fast for so many years. He didn’t know why it was crumbling now, only that it was. He rubbed his eyes and stood up, paced across the living room of the suite in an effort to escape it.

This was why he hated this city. It was too old, full of too much history. Somehow the past—anyone’s past—weighed too heavily here.

He shook his head and reached for the half-drunk bottle of wine on the room-service trolley and went to refill his glass. The Pinot had been perfect, rich and soothing. Just what he’d needed.

He didn’t want to revisit any of those memories. Not even the good ones. Yes, his mother had been wonderful when she’d been happy—warm, loving, such fun—but the tail end of his parents’ marriage had been anything
but
happy. Those good times were now superimposed with her loud and expressive fits of rage, the kind only an Italian woman knew how to give, and his father’s silent and stoic sternness, as he refused to be baited, to be drawn into the game. Sometimes the one-sided fights had gone on for days.

He took another slug of wine and tried to unclench his shoulder muscles.

His relationship with his mother had never been good, not since the day she’d left the family home in a taxi and a cloud of her own perfume. He hadn’t spoken to her in at least a year, and hadn’t seen her for more than three.

He looked down at his glass and noticed he’d polished it off without realising. There was still another left in the bottle....

No. He put his glass down on the desk and switched off his laptop. No more for tonight. Because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he’d need a clear head to deal with his mother come morning.

CHAPTER FOUR

M
AX
WALKED
OUT
of his bedroom then stopped, completely arrested by the sight in front of him.
What the heck?

And it wasn’t the spray of cereal hoops all over the coffee table or the splash of milk threatening to drip off the edge. Nor was it the sight of his niece, sitting cross-legged on the carpet and eating a pastry, no sign of a tantrum in sight. No, it was the fact that the nanny he’d hired yesterday bore no resemblance to the one who was busily trying to erase the evidence of what had obviously been a rather messy breakfast session.

She froze when she heard him walk in, then turned around. Her gaze drifted to the mess in the middle of the room. ‘Sofia doesn’t like cereal, apparently,’ she explained calmly. ‘And she felt the need to demonstrate that with considerable gusto.’

He blinked and looked again.

The voice was right. And the attitude. But this looked like a different girl.... No—woman. This one was definitely a woman.

Gone was the slightly hippy-looking patchwork scarecrow from the day before, to be replaced by someone in a bright red fifties dress covered in big cartoon strawberries. With the full skirt and the little black shoes and the short hair swept from her face, she looked like a psychedelic version of Audrey Hepburn.

Hair! That was it!

He looked again. The purple streaks were still there, just not as apparent in this neater style. Good. For a moment there, he’d thought he’d been having a particularly vivid dream.

‘Good morning,’ he finally managed to mutter.

She raised her eyebrows.

Max covered up the fact that the sight of all those strawberries had made him momentarily forget her name by launching in with something she’d like—details. ‘After breakfast we’re going to visit Sofia’s grandmother.’ He paused and looked at the slightly milk-drenched, pastry-flake-covered child in front of him. ‘Would you be able to get her looking presentable by ten?’

The nanny nodded. ‘I think so.’

‘Good.’ Max felt his stomach unclench. ‘My mother is not someone who tolerates an untidy appearance.’ And then he turned to go and fire up his laptop, but he could have sworn he heard her mutter,
‘What a shocker...’
under her breath.

* * *

The water taxi slowed outside a large palazzo with its own landing stage leading up to a heavy front door. They’d travelled for maybe fifteen minutes, leaving the Grand Canal behind and heading into the Castello district of the city.

The building was almost as large at the hotel they’d just left, but where its plaster had been pristine and smooth, this palace was looking a little more tired round the edges. Green slime coated the walls at the waterline, indicating the height of the high tide. Some of the pink plasterwork had peeled off at the bottom of the structure leaving an undulating wave of bare bricks showing.

There were grilles over the ground-floor windows, and the plaster was peeling away there, too, but up above there were the most wonderful stone balcony and window boxes overflowing with ivy and white flowers. The overall effect was like that of a grand old lady who’d had a fabulous time at the ball but had now sat down, a little tired and flustered, to compose herself.

Ruby’s eyes were wide as she clung onto Sofia to stop her scrambling ashore before the boat was properly secured.

Max must have read her mind. ‘This is Ca’ Damiani and, yes, my mother lives here. But she doesn’t occupy the whole thing, just the
piano nobile
.’

Ruby nodded, even though she had no idea what that meant.

‘A lot of these grand old buildings have been split up into apartments,’ he explained as he hopped from the boat and offered to take Sofia from her. ‘In buildings like these the floor above ground level was the prime spot, where the grandest rooms of the house were situated—the stage for all the family’s dramas.’ He sighed. ‘And there’s nothing my mother likes more than a grand drama.’

His voice was neutral, expressionless even, but she could see the tension in his jaw, the way the air around him seemed heavy and tense. This was not a joyful homecoming, not one bit.

Ruby clambered out of the boat and reached for Sofia’s hand, and then the three of them together walked off the dock and up to a double door with a large and tarnished brass knocker. Ruby swallowed as Max lifted it. When it fell the noise rang out like a gunshot, and she jumped. She did her best not to fidget as they waited.

After a short wait the door swung open. Ruby would have expected it to creak, from the age of it, but it was as silent as a rush of air. The woman who was standing there was also something of a surprise. Ruby had expected her to be tall and dark, like Max, but she was petite and her blond hair was artfully swept into a twist at the back of her head. She wore a suit with a dusky pink jacket and skirt and, just like every other Italian woman Ruby had ever met, carried with her an innate sense of confidence in her own style. Not a hair on her head was out of place.

Ruby looked down at her strawberry-patterned skirt. She’d chosen her best vintage dress for today in an attempt to emulate that effortless style, but now she feared she just looked like a sideshow freak instead of
la bella figura
. She held back, hiding herself a little behind Max’s much larger frame.

His mother looked at him for a long moment.

No, Ruby thought, she didn’t just look. She drank him in.

‘Well, you have finally come, Massimo,’ she said in Italian, her voice hoarse.

‘I’ve told you I prefer Max,’ he replied in English. ‘And it was an emergency. Gia needed me. What else could I do? I wasn’t going to run out on her, on my family, because things got a little difficult.’

The words hung between them like an accusation. Ruby saw the older woman pale, but then she drew herself taller.

‘Oh, I know that it is not on my account that you are here,’ she said crisply. ‘As for the other matter, I named you, Massimo, so I shall call you what I like.’ She glanced down and her face broke into a wide and warm smile. ‘Darling child! Come here to your
nonna
!’

Sofia hesitated for a second, then allowed herself to be picked up and held. Ruby guessed that Max’s sister must be a more frequent visitor here than he was. After a couple of moments Sofia was smiling and using her chubby fingers to explore the gold chain and pendant around her grandmother’s neck. She seemed totally at ease.

When she’d finished fussing over her granddaughter, Max’s mother lifted her head and looked at him. ‘You’d better come inside.’

She retreated into a large hallway with a diamond-tiled floor and rough brick walls. There were hints of the plaster that had once covered them, and most of the moulded ceilings were intact. However, instead of seeming tumbledown, it just made the palazzo’s ground floor seem grand and ancient. There were a few console tables and antiques, and a rather imposing staircase with swirling wrought iron banisters curved upwards to the first floor.

His mother started making her way up the staircase, but when she turned the corner and realised there was an extra body still following them, and it wasn’t just someone who’d helped them unload from the boat, she stopped and walked back down to where Ruby was on the floor, ballet-slippered foot hovering above the bottom step, and let Sofia slide from her embrace.

‘And who do we have here?’ she asked, looking Ruby up and down with interest. Ruby’s heart thudded inside her ribcage. Not the sort of girl who usually trailed around after her son, probably. Well, almost definitely.

‘This is Sofia’s nanny,’ Max said, this time joining his mother in her native language. ‘I hired her especially for the trip.’

‘Ruby Lange,’ Ruby said and offered her hand, hoping it wasn’t sticky, and then continued in her best Italian, ‘It’s lovely to meet you.’

Max’s mother just turned and stared at her son, tears filling her eyes, and then she set off up the staircase again, this time at speed, her heels clicking against the stone. ‘You have insulted me, Massimo! Of all the things you could have done!’

Max hurried up the stairs after his mother. ‘I’ve done nothing of the sort. You’re making no sense at all.’

He’d reverted to English. Which was a pity, because when he spoke Italian he sounded like a different man. Oh, the depth and tone of the voice were the same, but it had sounded richer, warmer. As if it belonged to a man capable of the same passion and drama as the woman he was chasing up the stairs.

Ruby turned to Sofia, who was looking up the staircase after her uncle and grandmother. Once again, she’d been forgotten. Ruby wanted to pull her up into her arms and hug her hard. She knew what it was like to always be left behind, to always be the complication that stopped the adults in your life from doing what they wanted. ‘What do you say, kiddo? Shall we follow the grown-ups?’

Sofia nodded and they made their way up the stairs. It was slow progress. Sofia had to place both feet on a step before moving to the next one. Her little legs just weren’t capable of anything else. When they got halfway, Ruby gave up and held out her arms. The little girl quickly clambered up her and let her nanny do the hard work.

Well, that was what she was here for. Or she would be if Signora Martin didn’t think she was so much of an insult that she threw Ruby out on her ear. Max hadn’t been wrong when he’d mentioned drama, had he?

When she got to the top of the stairs the decor changed. There was wood panelling on the walls and the ceilings were painted in pastel colours with intricate plasterwork patterns. Every few feet there were wall sconces, dripping with crystals. If this explosion of baroque architecture and cluttered antique furniture was what Max had meant when he’d called Venetian style ‘fussy’, she could see his point.

The ‘discussion’ was still raging, in a room just off the landing. The space must have been huge, because their voices echoed the same way they would in a church or a museum. His mother’s was emotive and loud, Max’s steady and even. Ruby was glad her soft shoes didn’t make much noise and she crept in the direction of the raised voices, Sofia resting on her hip.

‘You’re never going to forgive me, are you?’ his mother finally said softly.

Ruby crept a little closer. The room had double doors, which were still standing where they’d been flung open, and she peeked at the interior through the gap next to the hinges.

Max’s mother closed her eyes and sadness washed over her features. ‘That’s why you brought the nanny, wasn’t it? You think I’m not fit to look after my granddaughter on my own. Was I really such a terrible mother?’

This was getting too personal, Ruby realised. It was time to back away, leave them to it. She’d just have to find somewhere to hide out with Sofia until the whole thing blew over. Surely there must be a kitchen in this place somewhere?

She retreated a couple of steps, but she’d forgotten that she was much less nimble with Sofia increasing her bulk and she knocked into a side table and made the photo frames and lamp on it jangle.

There was silence in the room beyond. Ruby held her breath. A moment later Max appeared in the doorway and motioned for her to come inside. Ruby would rather have drunk a gallon of lagoon water, but she really didn’t have much choice. She hoisted Sofia up into a more comfortable position, tipped her chin up and walked into the room.

It was a grand Venetian salon, with a vast honey-coloured marble fireplace and trompe l’oeil pillars and mouldings painted on the walls in matching tones, with mythic scenes on the walls in between. A row of arched windows leading onto a stone balcony dominated the opposite side of the room, and three large green sofas were arranged in a C-shape, facing them. But the sight that Ruby was most interested in was the stiff figure in the pink suit standing in the middle of the room.

‘Ruby isn’t here to usurp you, Mamma. I hired her partly to help me bring Sofia over here with minimum fuss, but also because I thought she could help you. Why should you have to cancel your social engagements, alter your plans, for the next couple of weeks because of Gia’s work problems?’

The other woman’s features softened a little, and she looked a little ashamed. She turned to face Ruby and held out her hand. Ruby let Sofia down and the little girl ran to the window to look at a speedboat that had just shot down the medium-sized canal beyond.

‘Serafina Martin.’ She smiled warmly and shook Ruby’s hand firmly but very briefly. ‘But everybody calls me Fina. I apologise most sincerely for not welcoming you to Ca’ Damiani when you first arrived, but I do so now.’

Ruby replied in her best Italian. ‘Thank you, Signora Martin, for your welcome and for opening your home to me, if you do decide you could do with my help. I’m afraid this is my first job as a nanny so I’ve been thrown in at the deep end.’ She glanced at Max, who was watching her carefully. ‘You’ll probably have to help me more than I’ll help you.’

A small flicker of approval, and maybe relief, passed across the other woman’s features. Fina tilted her head. ‘Your Italian is very good.’

Ruby kept her smile demure. ‘Thank you.’

Fina’s gaze swept over her dress and then up to her head. ‘But your hair is not. Purple?’

She shrugged. ‘I like it.’

For the longest moment Fina didn’t move, didn’t say anything. She didn’t even blink, but then she smiled. It started in her eyes and moved to just lift the corners of her mouth. ‘
Bene.
What do I know? I am old and out of touch, probably, and I like a woman who follows her own path.’ And then she turned and swept out of the room. ‘Come, Massimo! We have to decide what you are going to do about this child.’

* * *

Max stared at his mother. ‘What do you mean you want me to stay here, too?’

That hadn’t been the plan at all. The reason he’d brought Sofia here was because now was definitely not the moment to take an impromptu holiday. He couldn’t let everything he and his father had worked for slide.

His mother did that infuriating little wave of her hand, suggesting he was making a mountain out of a molehill. ‘You made a very good point,’ she said airily. ‘I do have plans this week, including earning a living. I can’t take time off at this short notice.’