Under the Italian's Command Read Free Page A

staring at her, before turning to look at the one thing that could distract an Italian man from thoughts of family, football, fashion or fornication: his car. ‘What do you intend to do about the damage and my claim for reparation?’
     
    She recited the relevant passages of law to him flawlessly, but then, remembering the preliminary notes he’d circulated prior to the course, he realised what a good teacher he was. ‘I see you’ve read my notes.’
     
    ‘Of course I have,’ she said, pinking up again.
     
    ‘I’ll leave you to report the damage, in that case,’ he said coldly. ‘Arrange for repairs and keep me informed…’
     
    He was pleased to see how well she responded to instruction. But as he turned to go he could have sworn she clicked her heels. He almost swung round to challenge her, but then contented himself with the thought that dealing with troublemakers was something he excelled at. He loved trouble; his career had been built on it.
     
    Reaching the entrance to the building, he stopped and turned abruptly. Her cheeks flamed red as he fixed a stony stare upon her face. Pleased with the effect, he moved in for the kill. ‘As you’ve already missed the main thrust of my lecture I’d like you to return home and dress for court.’
     
    Her face brightened. ‘Court?’
     
    There wasn’t a student barrister alive who didn’t ache to ease the tedium of study with some real-life drama in the courtroom. ‘Yes, court,’ he said evenly. ‘I left my wig and gown there. You can collect them for me.’
     
    It amused him to see her eyes fire bullets at him while her face remained carefully blank. He revised his opinion of her again—upwards. She’d make a great lawyer if she possessed the will to do so. But he hadn’t finished with her yet. ‘You can’t go to court as my representative dressed like that.’
     
    ‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ she said, starting to gather her spilled belongings. ‘This suit will brush down fine.’ Retrieving some rag from the gutter, she shook it out.
     
    ‘In case it’s escaped your notice, Ms Tate, that suit is covered in mud, and you work under me now.’ An unfortunate turn of phrase, perhaps, but too late to call it back. He added some iron to the mix. ‘I forbid you to go to court dressed like that. What will people think?’
     
    ‘That I can’t afford cleaning bills…?’
     
    There was such an expression of innocence on her face he considered his grounds for launching a rebuke uncertain. Everyone knew that pupil barristers existed largely on fresh air and the charity of their parents, plus her face was already flaming with mortification, and his intention had never been to crush her. While he contemplated this she rallied. Angling her chin, she waited, as if expecting him to pat her on the head for arriving at the right answer. He knew her type immediately. She was the child who had always known the right answer in class, and who had shot up her hand before anyone else had a chance to, oblivious to how unpopular that made her. He could only contrast that with his own childhood when he’d only had to burp for everyone to applaud him in breathless admiration. Nonetheless, he had to set her right. ‘No, Ms Tate. They will not think that. They will think you so rushed this morning you didn’t have a chance to look in the mirror. Do you want to leave an impression of incompetence behind you? No, I didn’t think so.’
     
    Inconvenient images invaded Carly’s mind as Lorenzo delivered his ultimatum, of flinging the wretched suit at his feet and jumping on it. Did he think bespoke suits like his grew on trees? Did he think parking across the cycle path was a good idea? But these images were swiftly followed by her parents’ anxious faces. She couldn’t let them down, and while there was life left in her scholarship hopes she had not the slightest intention of doing so.
     

CHAPTER TWO
     
    ‘AND YOUR SECOND TASK for today, Ms