Page 71

‘It’s not your job to do mine.’ Stella smiled, going through her tablet, but she glanced up at Sir Charles. ‘I did it on one of my KIT days. Here.’ She pulled up the necessary permit. ‘It was approved eight weeks ago.’

The police were thorough—heritage sights and road safety were looked after carefully and taken seriously—but it would seem that in this case it was a simple case of bureaucracy doing what it did best—not.

It was a familiar problem for Stella, though usually from the calmer vista of her desk, not with a soon-to-be setting sun and an irate director. But she had worked on permits for a couple of years and as Daisy made some phone calls, Stella found the stamped permit.

‘Here it is, Officer. It was stamped by the comune eight weeks ago. I’m sure it hasn’t been cross-filed, that’s all.’

And Gabe watched Stella, and if she could see what he could then she would never doubt herself again.

She didn’t need to toughen up. Her gentle ways worked.

‘Ah…’ The police were talking amongst themselves, though there was still the threat they’d halt filming.

‘What a mess!’ Donatella spoke to him then. ‘I think they’re going to pull the plug.’

‘Why would they, when she got the permit?’ Gabe frowned.

‘It happens sometimes, between Stradale and local…’

‘You’d know that, wouldn’t you.’ Gabe turned and faced her. Of course, the anonymous call had come from her. She’d been trying to keep him and Stella apart from practically the moment he’d arrived.

He knew the games. Because he’d once played them, too.

‘Stay out of my life,’ he warned.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

But Gabe had walked off, towards the stradale, who were still considering halting things.

And even if Stella had been the one to break the spell of them, he could not stop himself from going over, first to the police, using the title he didn’t want and also a whole lot of that charm.

And then to her.

‘It’s sorted.’

‘Really?’ She blinked. ‘Then why aren’t the police leaving?’

‘They’re staying to watch,’ he said, and she glanced over at them and, sure enough, they were all smiles.

‘Thanks.’

‘I didn’t do anything—you did it all.’ He had a question. ‘What’s a KIT day?’

‘Just an online thing, you know,’ she said. ‘Sort of work from home.’

‘Oh.’ There were two spots of colour on her cheeks, but then even they faded, leaving her pale but somehow still beautiful to him.

‘I was a bastard earlier. I apologise.’

‘There’s no need,’ she replied, her voice strangled. She was so close to crying and just desperate not to break down at work, and she ached to feed Sophia, not just aching, her full breasts hurt. And she wanted to lean on Gabe; in truth, she just had, because pride had been about to stop him when he’d made his way over to the police, but she’d just let him.

She was exhausted from juggling so many balls and grateful that without a word he’d taken one—because to lose this filming slot would have been a disaster.

‘It was going really well,’ she said, ‘until today…’

‘The curse of the Rinaldis,’ he said and then his voice darkened. ‘Or just Donatella up to no good.’

‘What are you talking about?’