The Italian's Wife. Lynne Graham

supplies for you and your son?’

      ‘Supplies?’

      ‘Anything you require.’

      She reddened to the roots of her hair. ‘I don’t have any money.’

      ‘That’s not a problem.’

      The waiting silence that followed embarrassed her into making up a list. Nappies, a feeding cup and baby juice were really all she had to have. She was down on her luck but she was not a freeloader, and she was sure to get the chance to wash their clothes.

      ‘You should put down a few more things.’ Ezio’s voice was gruff.

      Holly shook her head. Having to put down even the necessities had hurt. Rio Lombardi was putting them up and he would be feeding them as well. The very last thing she wanted to do was cost him money into the bargain.

      Ezio led her up the imposing staircase. The magnificent landing was adorned with gilded furniture that looked as if it belonged in a palace. But then, Rio Lombardi’s home was just like a palace, Holly conceded in a daze. She was shown into a fabulous guest room, complete with an adjoining bathroom, and then into the smaller room next door which contained a cot. The cot, which contained several very new-looking toys, surprised her. Belatedly it occurred to her that perhaps Rio Lombardi was or had been married and had children. Tensing, tummy suddenly feeling hollow, she asked Ezio right out.

      ‘The boss is…single,’ the older man stated after a slight hesitation. ‘But he often has relatives with kiddies to stay. The Lombardis are a big family and very close.’

      As Ezio departed Holly glimpsed her reflection in a mirror and a mortified gasp left her lips. The backside of her jeans was filthy, probably from the road the night before. Fetching a couple of the toys from the cot, she took Timmie into the bathroom, set him down with them on a bathtowel and then stripped down to her skin. Everything she wore went into the bath to steep in hot water. She stepped into the separate shower cubicle but could only run the water in bursts because she couldn’t close the door properly while she watched over Timmie. Her son could not yet crawl but he could cover a surprising amount of distance by rolling.

      It was such bliss, such utter bliss to feel truly scrubbed clean again. Making use of the luxury toiletries in the corner shower compartment, she shampooed her hair and then conditioned it for the first time in many months. Having pounded her clothes back to cleanliness with soap, she then realised in dismay that there were no radiators in which to dry them. At that point, a knock sounded on the bedroom door.

      Wrapped in a towel, she peered round the edge of the door. It was Ezio Farretti and he had a large cotton sack in his arms.

      ‘Where are the radiators?’ she queried.

      ‘There aren’t any. The heating is under the floor.’

      ‘Oh…’

      ‘This bag is full of clothes left behind by other guests,’ Ezio continued. ‘There might be something which will fit you or Timmie.’

      ‘I can’t wear someone else’s things…they’d be furious—’

      ‘These are very rich people. They don’t miss what they overlook; they just buy more,’ the older man told her gently. ‘I’ll leave the bag outside the door.’

      There was a horrid thickness in her throat. ‘Thanks, Ezio.’

      ‘No problem.’ He cleared his throat. ‘But, if you don’t mind a spot of advice, give the boss a wide berth. Off the record, he’s just not himself right now and you don’t want to get your feelings hurt.’

      Not just himself? Her feelings hurt? What on earth was that supposed to mean? Holly’s face burned up scarlet. Oh, my goodness, had Ezio noticed her blushing and getting on like a teenybopper with a bad crush around Rio Lombardi? Was he warning her off? What else could he possibly be doing?