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THE instant she had made her decision, Cressida began to regret it. As she opened the door to David, she wondered what possible motive Stefano could have for wanting to meet the man she was sharing her life with. David stood smiling on the doorstep, looking casual and windswept, dressed in blue jeans, a matching denim shirt and a rather old tweed jacket with leather patches at the elbow. The scent of the pipe tobacco he sometimes smoked hung around him as he stepped forward to drop a light kiss on Cressida’s mouth.

‘Hello, love,’ he said.

A cold voice rang out. ‘Hadn’t you better go and change, Cressida?’ And there stood Stefano in the doorway, the thin smile on his mouth not echoed by the dark eyes.

‘Hello,’ said David interestedly, and Cressida saw Stefano’s mouth curl in derision at the younger man’s attitude.

It had been one of the things she had first admired about David—his easygoing nature, and his optimism. Even now, with an atmosphere which was as chilly as a winter’s afternoon, with the forbidding stance of the handsome stranger who stood in her flat, and she, herself, clad in a short dressing-gown, it was plain to see that David was merely curious to know who Stefano was. And for some obscure reason, this irked her. If the situation had been reversed . . . She couldn’t suppress a small shudder as she tried to imagine what Stefano’s reaction would be if he had found her, only half dressed, with a strange man in her flat.

She stepped forward awkwardly to make the introductions. ‘David Chalmers—this is Stefano di Camilla.’

David frowned, and, crossing his arms, he scratched the end of his nose in a thoughtful gesture. Cressida could see his mind working overtime.

‘Di Camilla,’ he said slowly. ‘Haven’t I heard—?’

‘You may have heard my name being mentioned,’ said Stefano smoothly, with scarcely a trace of the Italian accent which was so dominant when he was angry, or excited. ‘I have the honour of providing some measure of support to the superb play of yours which Cressida is starring in.’

Hypocritical swine, thought Cressida, glaring at him, but meeting no answering response. How could he lay it on like that, after the nasty little asides he’d made about David’s work?

David had stepped forward and grasped Stefano’s hand eagerly. ‘How do you do, Mr di Camilla?’ he said eagerly. ‘I’d heard Justin mention you, of course. We were getting worried—our other sponsors were threatening to pull out. You know, of course, how bad things are in this economic climate? I had no idea that events had progressed so far down the line. Justin might have told me,’ he added, as an aggrieved afterthought.

‘One of the conditions of my support was the need for confidentiality until the deal was certain,’ said Stefano blandly.

‘Oh, of course, of course—I quite understand!’ said David eagerly.

He was just like a bouncing little puppy, thought Cressida, trotting up to some wild creature eight times the size. Don’t trust him an inch, she willed, wondering whether she would be strong enough to follow her own advice.

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