attempting to
gear themselves up for a return to their offices. Loulou, however, was nowhere in sight and Nico claimed the attention of one of the barmen while at
the same time taking care not to catch
the eye of any of the office girls. He wasn’t in the mood for drunken
propositions and an extended round of autograph
signing, and alcohol-sodden females were the worst pain of all.
‘Is Loulou upstairs?’ he asked, and Christo shook his
head. Shit, thought Nico.
‘ She went out a little while ago, but she did
say she wouldn’t be that long,’ Christo explained. ‘If you come back in a
couple of hours . . .’ he hesitated,
observing Nico’s weary expression. He was a friend of Loulou’s
after all. ‘Or maybe you’d prefer to wait upstairs for her. She wouldn’t mind,
would she?’
‘ If she did, I’d shoot
her,’ said Nico with a wry smile. "Thanks, I’ll go straight up.
She’ll probably come home and find me asleep .
Damn, thought Christo a few seconds after Nico had
disappeared up the stairs leading to Loulou’s flat. I forgot to tell him that there was someone else there as well. Ah
well, let’s just hope that Camilla isn’t a frenzied Nico Coletto fan —
the poor fellow looks as if that’s just what he doesn’t need at this moment.
Since there was no point in knocking, Nico simply opened the door and marched straight into the flat. Abruptly he was plunged right back to his childhood as his senses were assailed by the most
evocative, marvellous aroma of Italian cooking. It wasn’t the first time it had
happened, of course; whenever he entered an Italian restaurant the heady wafts
of garlic and herbs instantly had the same
effect, but this was Loulou’s flat, and it had to be quite simply the last place on earth
where he would have expected to encounter such sensational smells.
Chapter 11
Camilla, sandwiched inside Loulou’s
sunbed, heard the front door open and close and quickly switched off the power. Leaping to her feet and wrenching off the protective goggles, she
hurried towards the bedroom door, wanting to enjoy Loulou’s surprise when she
saw the spaghetti Bolognese.
‘Merry Christmas!’ she shouted happily, bursting into the
living-room.
‘ Ana a very merry Christmas
to you, too,’ said Nico with a grin as he eyed her naked body with
undisguised pleasure. Obviously one of
Loulou’s crazy friends. ‘I’m beginning to feel better already. Are you really my Christmas present? Last year all
I got was socks and handkerchiefs, but this is much more . .
‘Aaaargh!’ wailed Camilla, wishing she could die, and Nico
watched in fascination as she blushed. All over.
Then she
was gone.
Laughing to himself, he wandered into the kitchen and
tasted the Bolognese sauce. Then he poured
himself a glass of red wine from the half-empty bottle beside the oven.
Wonderful. Finally, settling himself lengthways on the red velvet sofa and nursing his wine glass against his chest he waited
patiently for the blushing nude to reappear.
Ten minutes later he stood up and knocked on the bedroom
door, which had remained firmly closed.
‘ Hey. You haven’t
committed suicide, have you?’ he said softly.
‘ Yes.’ The reply was a muffled one.
‘ Oh. Well, in that case
would you care to come out and wait in
the sitting-room while I call the ambulance?’
‘ Can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘ Too embarrassed,’ said
Camilla, feeling herself beginning to
blush all over again.
‘What if I told you that I was a doctor, and that I see
naked women every day of my life?’
‘ Are you?’ she
whispered, a flickering note of hope audible in her voice.
‘ No,’ confessed Nico, ‘but
what if I told you that I was? Couldn’t we just pretend?’
‘Please go away,’ Camilla implored him. ‘I really am embarrassed,
you know.’
‘ I know,’ said Nico gently. ‘Are you still . .
. unclothed?’ After a long silence, he heard her say: ‘No.’
‘ Well, in that case,’ he
opened the door
gear themselves up for a return to their offices. Loulou, however, was nowhere in sight and Nico claimed the attention of one of the barmen while at
the same time taking care not to catch
the eye of any of the office girls. He wasn’t in the mood for drunken
propositions and an extended round of autograph
signing, and alcohol-sodden females were the worst pain of all.
‘Is Loulou upstairs?’ he asked, and Christo shook his
head. Shit, thought Nico.
‘ She went out a little while ago, but she did
say she wouldn’t be that long,’ Christo explained. ‘If you come back in a
couple of hours . . .’ he hesitated,
observing Nico’s weary expression. He was a friend of Loulou’s
after all. ‘Or maybe you’d prefer to wait upstairs for her. She wouldn’t mind,
would she?’
‘ If she did, I’d shoot
her,’ said Nico with a wry smile. "Thanks, I’ll go straight up.
She’ll probably come home and find me asleep .
Damn, thought Christo a few seconds after Nico had
disappeared up the stairs leading to Loulou’s flat. I forgot to tell him that there was someone else there as well. Ah
well, let’s just hope that Camilla isn’t a frenzied Nico Coletto fan —
the poor fellow looks as if that’s just what he doesn’t need at this moment.
Since there was no point in knocking, Nico simply opened the door and marched straight into the flat. Abruptly he was plunged right back to his childhood as his senses were assailed by the most
evocative, marvellous aroma of Italian cooking. It wasn’t the first time it had
happened, of course; whenever he entered an Italian restaurant the heady wafts
of garlic and herbs instantly had the same
effect, but this was Loulou’s flat, and it had to be quite simply the last place on earth
where he would have expected to encounter such sensational smells.
Chapter 11
Camilla, sandwiched inside Loulou’s
sunbed, heard the front door open and close and quickly switched off the power. Leaping to her feet and wrenching off the protective goggles, she
hurried towards the bedroom door, wanting to enjoy Loulou’s surprise when she
saw the spaghetti Bolognese.
‘Merry Christmas!’ she shouted happily, bursting into the
living-room.
‘ Ana a very merry Christmas
to you, too,’ said Nico with a grin as he eyed her naked body with
undisguised pleasure. Obviously one of
Loulou’s crazy friends. ‘I’m beginning to feel better already. Are you really my Christmas present? Last year all
I got was socks and handkerchiefs, but this is much more . .
‘Aaaargh!’ wailed Camilla, wishing she could die, and Nico
watched in fascination as she blushed. All over.
Then she
was gone.
Laughing to himself, he wandered into the kitchen and
tasted the Bolognese sauce. Then he poured
himself a glass of red wine from the half-empty bottle beside the oven.
Wonderful. Finally, settling himself lengthways on the red velvet sofa and nursing his wine glass against his chest he waited
patiently for the blushing nude to reappear.
Ten minutes later he stood up and knocked on the bedroom
door, which had remained firmly closed.
‘ Hey. You haven’t
committed suicide, have you?’ he said softly.
‘ Yes.’ The reply was a muffled one.
‘ Oh. Well, in that case
would you care to come out and wait in
the sitting-room while I call the ambulance?’
‘ Can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘ Too embarrassed,’ said
Camilla, feeling herself beginning to
blush all over again.
‘What if I told you that I was a doctor, and that I see
naked women every day of my life?’
‘ Are you?’ she
whispered, a flickering note of hope audible in her voice.
‘ No,’ confessed Nico, ‘but
what if I told you that I was? Couldn’t we just pretend?’
‘Please go away,’ Camilla implored him. ‘I really am embarrassed,
you know.’
‘ I know,’ said Nico gently. ‘Are you still . .
. unclothed?’ After a long silence, he heard her say: ‘No.’
‘ Well, in that case,’ he
opened the door
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