her intrusion.
'I was wondering if you would like to eat outside,' she said. 'It's a warm evening and after such a long plane journey I thought - '
'I will not be here for dinner after all,' he said in a curt tone. 'I am going out.'
Emma felt foolish for feeling disappointed and did her best to disguise it. 'That's fine. It was nothing special in any case.'
He took the set of keys hanging on a hook on the wall. 'Do not wait up,' he said. 'I might end up staying overnight in Milan.'
'Did your mistress travel with you from London?' she asked.
'No, but what she does not know will not hurt her.'
Emma knew her face was communicating her disapproval. 'So faithfulness in your relationships isn't one of your strong points, I take it?'
'I am not sure I am the settling-down type,' he said. 'I enjoy my freedom too much.'
'I thought most Italians put a high value on getting married and having a family,' she said.
'That may have been the case for previous generations, but I personally feel life is too short for the drudge of domesticity,' he said. 'I have got nothing against children, but I like the sort you can hand back after half an hour. I have no place in my life for anything else.'
'It sounds like a pretty shallow and pointless existence to me,' Emma said. 'Don't you ever get lonely?'
'No, I do not,' he said. 'I like my life the way it is. I do not want the complication of having to be responsible for someone else's emotional upkeep. The women I date know the rules and generally are quite willing to adhere to them.'
'I suppose if they don't you get rid of them, right?'
He gave her a supercilious smile. 'That is right.'
Emma pursed her mouth. 'I feel sorry for any poor woman who makes the mistake of falling in love with you.'
'Most of the woman I know fall in love with my wallet. What they feel for me has very little to do with who I am as a person. As you have probably already guessed, I am not the type to wear my heart upon my sleeve,' he said, and then with a rueful twist to his mouth added, 'Perhaps I am my father's son after all.'
'Your father liked to give the impression he was tough, but inside he was a very broken and lonely man,' Emma said. 'I could read between the lines enough to know he had some serious regrets about his life and relationships.'
'What a pity he did not communicate that to what remained of his family while he still could,' he said with an embittered set to his mouth.
'I think he would have done so if you had made the effort to come to see him,' Emma said. 'Towards the end I couldn't help feeling he was lingering against the odds on the off chance you would visit him.'
His lip curled up in a snarl. 'He could have made the first move. Why was it left to me to do so?'
'He was dying,' she bit out with emphasis. 'In my opinion that shifts the responsibility to those who are well. He couldn't travel; he could barely speak towards the end. What would it have cost you to call him? These days you can call someone from anywhere in the world. What would it have cost you to give a measly five minutes of your time to allow a dying man to rest in peace?'
He stabbed a finger at her, making her take an unsteady step backwards. 'You know nothing, do you hear me? Nothing of what it was like being my father's son. You came into my father's life horizontally. You know nothing of what passed before. You were his carer, for heaven's sake. You were paid to wipe the dribble from his chin and change the soiled sheets on his bed, not to psychoanalyse the train-wreck of his relationships.'
Emma took a shaky breath. 'I realise this is an emotionally charged time for you, but I think - '
'I do not give a toss for what you think.' He raised his voice at her this time, his dark eyes flashing with anger. 'As I see it you exploited a dying man to feather your own nest. I find it particularly repugnant to be subjected to your lectures on what constitutes appropriate behaviour from his son when you clearly have no idea of what the dynamic of our relationship was like.'
She