Читать книгу Italian Escape - Liz Fielding - Страница 17
ОглавлениеLUCA DI TORE strode up the narrow alleyway, scrutinising the numbers on the walls on either side. It was typical of Minty, he thought, to do Florence in her own idiosyncratic way, turning down both the Conte’s offer of hospitality and Luca’s own suggestion that they enjoy the privacy of a hotel.
Staying separately wasn’t all bad, though. There were bound to be rumours if they were spotted together and he wasn’t ready for that. They weren’t ready for that. It was too new, too fragile, too unknown. And that was scary. Luca didn’t really do unknown.
For eighteen years he had been solid, dependable, safe. Standing ankle-deep in a stream wasn’t skydiving but it was a start. It was unplanned, spontaneous.
Being with her was unplanned, was spontaneous.
There were so many reasons that it was wrong. So many reasons not to continue. But standing by that stream he had been utterly helpless. He might have turned her down once before, resisted her once before, but he only had so much willpower. He had used it all up where Minty Davenport was concerned.
So this was a diversion and that was fine. This time he was not going to plan ahead, look for troubles that might never even arise. This time he was going to go along for the ride and see where the road took him.
It wasn’t as if there was any future together; they both knew that. She would get bored soon enough, be on to the next thing; long term he wanted, he needed, stability.
As he reached the end of the alleyway it opened out, not into the street but into a small square of three-storey painted buildings. It should have felt overcast, claustrophobic, but, set about with vibrant pots of coloured flowers, hanging baskets on every wrought-iron balcony, it was welcoming and eclectic. Very Minty.
A narrow stone staircase curved up the side of the nearest building, the number on the side corresponding to that of the paper in his hand. Luca straightened his bow tie. All he knew about Magdalena was that Minty had stayed with her the summer she’d spent in Florence.
The summer before Rose had died.
He sensed Minty didn’t give her affection that easily but she obviously adored this woman. Luca wanted to make a good impression.
‘Luca!’ Looking up, his heart jolted. It was less than twenty-four hours since they had arrived in Florence, less than twenty-four hours since he had dropped her off in a square north of the Arno, at her insistence. She’d had a couple of things to get, she had insisted; she would walk over to the Oltrarno district where she was staying, just the other side of the River Arno.
‘It’ll be nice to have a wander after being cooped up in the car,’ she’d said. ‘Reacquaint myself with these old streets.’ She’d looked around, beaming. ‘Oh, it is nice to be back. How have I stayed away so long?’
Reluctant to leave her, Luca had offered to accompany her, but she’d insisted he go to his grandfather’s villa in an exclusive suburb high on the hills behind the city. ‘He’s waiting for you,’ she’d said. ‘Don’t keep him waiting, I’ll be fine.’
And she evidently was. Hanging over the iron railing, her face lit up with excitement, she looked no older than a schoolgirl. ‘Come and see what Magdalena’s done,’ she called. ‘She’s made you a snack. I hope you’re hungry; Magdalena is incapable of producing anything less than a banquet, but I thought this thing tonight would probably be all canapés and no substance and you’d be glad of a meal.’
Her excited chatter guided him up to the narrow terrace overlooking the square only to come to an abrupt halt as he finally faced her. Her eyes widened, an appreciative glow in them as she looked him up and down in a way that made him want to drag the pretty floral sundress off her right there on the balcony.
‘Wow’ was all she said, still looking slightly stunned. ‘You scrub up nicely.’ She whistled.
Luca adjusted the cuffs of his dress suit. ‘You’ve seen me in suits before,’ he teased.
‘I know you like to live in suits. Personally, I thought nothing could top the jeans and black T-shirt, or at least you out of the jeans and black T-shirt, but this...’ Her eyes swept up and down, lingering on his legs, his shoulders, his chest. ‘I like it.’
‘I don’t look like a waiter?’
‘Not at all. Well, a very sexy, desirable waiter. Come on.’ And, grabbing his hand, she pulled him into the high-ceilinged, cool apartment.
Luca barely had time to take in the large, tastefully furnished living room with French doors flung open to the balcony beyond before being pulled through the door and along a wooden-floored passage and into a small gallery-style kitchen. The kitchen also had French doors opening onto the other side of the building and Minty, her hand still in his, led the way towards them, opening them properly so they could exit side by side onto the private terrace beyond.
Two chairs were pulled up round a small wrought-iron table, its top barely visible below a platter heaped with food. A cold beer was already poured into a frosted glass, the chair pulled slightly out.
‘Go on, sit,’ she said.
Luca sat, touched at the care she had taken, his appreciation tinged with amusement at her palpable excitement. ‘Is this for me?’ he asked, indicating the beer. She nodded.
‘You’re not driving tonight, are you? I know there will be wine at the gala but I thought you might appreciate something a bit more refreshing first.’
‘I do, thank you.’
He took an appreciative gulp of the cool, slightly fizzy liquid and looked over at the platter. Minty was right; a man could not exist on canapés alone. And, after she and the absent Magdalena had gone to so much trouble, well, it would be rude not to sample their work.
As they ate, they talked. Minty chattered on about her previous evening catching up with her old landlady and the day she had spent shopping. ‘I have the most divine dress for tonight,’ she told him. ‘Wait till you see it.’ In the small gaps between her chatter, Luca filled her in on the uncomfortably formal evening he had spent with his grandfather and several aunts, uncles and cousins and his day spent mostly working as far away from his irascible grandfather as possible.
‘Luckily there was plenty to do,’ he said, grinning across at his attentive companion. ‘I seem to have rather neglected things the past couple of days.’
‘All work and no play,’ she murmured with a provocative smile. ‘Speaking of which, have you finished?’ Minty was on her feet, the lines of her body visible through the thin fabric of her dress.
Luca nodded. ‘Delicious.’
She padded towards him on bare feet, leant over him and wound her arms around his neck. He could feel her breath on his cheek, the lemon scent of her shampoo and something warmer, earthier, distinctly Minty. A jolt of desire shot through him. ‘I hope you have a little appetite for pudding,’ she whispered. ‘Magdalena is out for the afternoon.’
He pulled her down onto his knee, enjoying the silk of her skin under his touch, the fineness of her bones. ‘It depends on the type of pudding,’ he said softly against her shoulder, feeling her shudder as his hand moved over the bare skin.
‘Only the wickedest type, of course,’ she breathed. ‘But not here. Come on; I want to show you my new dress.’
Luca allowed her to hop out of his lap and pull him up. He spun her round to face him. ‘A new dress doesn’t sound that appetising,’ he said, capturing her mouth with his. She sunk into the embrace for a dizzying second then stepped back.
‘Ah, but I went lingerie shopping as well...’ And, throwing a saucy smile over her shoulder, she sauntered back into the house. Luca watched her move, the swish of the long skirt around her legs, the movement of her hair bouncing with her stride, the provocative swish of her hips. He smiled appreciatively and followed her into the apartment.
New lingerie sounded enticing; stripping her of it even more so. He quickened his stride. There were still a couple of hours before the benefit started; he wanted to make sure they made full use of every single second.
* * *
It was a little ironic, Minty thought, that she was doing her best to shake off her socialite image, yet here she was, at the sort of benefit duty occasionally compelled her to attend back home. Swap the conversation into English and the Prosecco to champagne, and she could be back in London.
This should have been the last place she wanted to be, yet to be here with Luca felt right. Disturbingly so. She looked over to where he stood making polite conversation with one of his grandfather’s friends.
He looked completely relaxed, his glass held in one hand, polite interest on his face. Oh, he might claim to hate this part of his life—society galas, charity events, the great and the good all gathered together in a self-congratulatory way—but he suited it. Just as he suited the quiet life in the country, as he suited running his company quietly but decisively confident.
Maybe he was a chameleon, like her. But, no; Minty had stopped believing in a perfect match a long time ago. You changed yourself to suit the one you loved and hoped it was enough, or you kept going, spinning through a carousel of different partners to suit each stage in your life. Romantic? No. Practical? Yes.
She had vowed she was done with romance, had promised herself not to get pulled under again. But Luca, her gallant knight with the startling eyes, had the potential to pull her deeper than she had ever gone before. Minty suppressed a shiver despite the almost oppressive heat in the crowded old room.
As if he could read her thoughts, Luca caught her eye and raised his glass to her in a silent salute. Minty took a sip of her Prosecco and smiled back before turning back to her elegant companion, the wife of one of Luca’s cousins, to continue making polite conversation.
But, although she could smile, nod and make polite replies, her mind was far away. Back in Oschia by the stream; reliving the afternoon’s tryst at her apartment. She knew she and Luca had chemistry. It had been fiery when she was eighteen and clueless; now it was combustible.
She had to be careful that she didn’t get too caught up in the flames. She wasn’t very good at separating her heart and body—and she had never experienced this level of heat before.
Maybe, just maybe, he had been right to call a halt all those years ago. She couldn’t have handled him then, although it hurt to admit it. She had been far too naive, for all her veneer of sophistication.
To be honest, she wasn’t too sure she could handle it now. Not the sex—that she could definitely manage. It was more the way he looked at her, the way he made her feel: safe.
She was used to being desired, wanted. This was infinitely more dangerous.
Minty took a deep breath, trying to quell the sudden rush of panic. She shouldn’t worry about Luca; she was on her guard. They had a finite time and she had put a lock on her heart. This relationship—no, this fling—was all about the fun. She’d walked away from him before; she could do it again.
‘Ready to go?’ Minty jumped as Luca came up behind her, at the gentle brush of his hands on her bare shoulders. A shiver ran through her at his touch.
‘I’m the guest; I’m at your command,’ she replied, drawing the words out long and low, and had the pleasure of seeing his eyes dilate at her words.
‘Then I’m definitely ready to go,’ he said, his hands tightening momentarily on her shoulders. ‘I’ve talked business, you charmed my grandfather; I think we have fulfilled our duties admirably.’
Minty tossed her hair. ‘I told you grandfathers were my speciality.’
Luca bent over and kissed her neck. ‘I was rather hoping grandsons were,’ he said softly against her ear.
‘Depends on the grandson,’ she replied, and walked off towards the ballroom exit. She didn’t look back. Right here, right now she was sure of him, she knew he would be following her. She left the glittering room full of the cream of Florentine society and descended the old stone staircase to the grand foyer below, where they had left their coats.
‘If I hold your hand will I be acting like the perfect escort or overstepping our agreement to keep our private lives hidden?’ Luca asked as he helped Minty into her coat. She laughed; put like that, it did sound ridiculous.
‘We’re in Florence, so act away,’ she said and held her hand out to him and he took it. His hand was large, comforting. It would have felt safe if the skin-on-skin contact didn’t make her tingle everywhere.
‘Where to, my lady?’
‘Can we walk just for a bit?’ Minty asked. ‘One of my favourite Italian traditions is watching people promenade. It’s too cold in London and, on the rare occasion it’s not, watching people stagger drunkenly down the street isn’t quite the same thing. Look.’ She held up one of her wedge-heeled shoes. ‘I even have sensible footwear on.’
‘Seven inches of heel is not sensible, no matter how the heel is styled,’ Luca grumbled.
Minty shot him a limpid glance. ‘Typical male exaggeration. These heels are three inches at the most, but we’ll call it seven if it pleases you.’ She squealed as Luca swung her round, pulling her hard against him.
‘You seemed satisfied earlier.’
His mouth hovered temptingly above hers. Minty stood on her tiptoes, trying to reach it, but he moved it fractionally away, tantalisingly out of her reach. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, trying to look contrite. ‘You are of course magnificent in every way. A love machine of the highest order.’
Luca quirked an eyebrow at her. ‘Seven inches doesn’t even begin to do justice,’ she continued, trying to look serious, her smirk threatening to break out any second. She made her eyes big, pleading. ‘Please say you forgive me?’
His mouth descended onto hers and for the next few moments all Minty was aware of was him. The bunch of his muscles under her roaming hands, the hardness of his mouth, the way he felt, smelt, overloaded all her senses. The sound of teasing voices brought her out of her sensual stupor. She pulled back.
‘Not in the street! You, at least, were brought up much better than that.’
‘We could go back to yours?’ he suggested, his eyes molten gold with desire.
Minty shook her head. ‘Magdalena will be back. Besides, you promised me a promenade, and a promenade is what I want.’
‘Then a promenade you shall have,’ Luca promised.
* * *
‘You don’t know this city at all,’ she accused Luca with a grin when he took them the wrong way for the third time.
‘Maybe I just want to get you alone in a dark alleyway,’ he suggested.
‘Good try. Come on, I told you it was this way.’
‘I never come here as a tourist,’ he explained. ‘I stay at the conte’s villa, which is outside the city. We are driven to parties and restaurants. Obviously I have been inside every museum, every church, every park, but I’ve never had the freedom to walk around like this.’
‘Not even with Francesca?’ Minty asked, wishing she’d not spoken the moment she’d done so. She sounded dangerously like a jealous girlfriend, which she wasn’t—jealous, or indeed a girlfriend.
He laughed. ‘Francesca? Wander round the streets without a purpose or someone to impress? No, she would have made me stay at that gala until the last moment, and then escort the conte home so she could be seen leaving with him.’
‘I like him,’ Minty said, wanting to change the subject. ‘Your grandfather, I mean. And I think...’ She cast about for the right words but ended up saying baldy, ‘I think he is really proud of you.’
‘You got all that from a five-minute conversation?’ Luca sounded sceptical.
‘I got that from five minutes of him singing your praises. Did you know that your gelato is the most authentic mass-produced product he has ever tasted?’
‘It’s traditionally made, not mass-produced—’ Luca stopped mid-speech. ‘The conte said that?’
Minty nodded. ‘And much, much more, but I’d hate for you to get big-headed. Aha! I told you this was the way.’
They were at the entrance to a large square, a fountain in the middle. Along one side was a two-storey building with a series of steps leading to the pillared terrace. At the back of the shallow terrace was a wall with heavy-looking doors interspersed at intervals. The pillars were impressively carved with round medallion-style decorations, a picture of a baby on each one.
‘The hospital of the innocents,’ Minty said softly. ‘I used to come here most days, trying to imagine what it was like to know you had been literally posted into an orphanage. I wonder if it was better to grow up never knowing who your parents were or to know why you were here. Or—and spot the melodrama of a teenager here—was it worse to have parents who took no notice of you at all? These children had no expectations, no obligations; they were free...’
‘Free to be foundlings, paupers and servants,’ Luca said wryly. He put an arm around her. ‘Is this what you did when you lived in Florence, mooched dreamily around here?’
Minty nestled into his embrace. ‘I promenaded and flirted with dangerously attractive Italian boys.’ She looked up at him provocatively. ‘A habit I don’t seem to have lost.’ Luca’s arm tightened round her shoulders. ‘I went to every museum at least once and what felt like every church. I saw more depictions of the Madonna and Child than anybody could cope with and realised an art history degree wasn’t for me, despite its royal connections!’
‘What did you do instead?’
‘Well, I did get engaged twice before I was twenty-one,’ she pointed out. ‘That took up some time.’
‘And the boat to Australia,’ he said.
‘That came afterwards. I was running away from the fallout with Spike.’ She sighed. ‘I do seem to run away a lot.’ She straightened up, moving out of his embrace. ‘I shouldn’t have brought you here; it always makes me sombre. Come on, I want gelato. Does anywhere round here stock yours?’ She smiled at him. ‘Ours, I should say.’
She grabbed his hand and pulled him along, away from the square and the gloomy thoughts it always evoked. ‘All the really good gelato shops in Florence make their own,’ Luca said. ‘And they are all worth trying.’ He flashed her a dangerously sexy grin. ‘I’m not so vain that I can’t appreciate somebody else’s artisanship.’
Another couple of moments and they were outside one of the city’s most popular gelaterias. The glass windows showcased the long counters filled with over one hundred vibrantly coloured ice creams.
‘Cone or a cup?’
Minty gave Luca a withering glance. ‘Oh, I know you purists are all about the cup, but I, my friend, am English and we eat our ice cream out of a cone. But,’ she added cautiously, ‘I am a sophisticated type and I only like sugar cones.’
‘And which flavours would the beautiful signorina like in her sugar cone?’
‘All of them,’ she said, her nose pressed up against the glass like a starving Victorian waif. ‘How can I choose?’
‘Let’s go in and decide,’ Luca suggested. ‘Or we could just stand here and look...’
It only took ten minutes for Minty to choose, which, as she explained to Luca, was pretty good, considering she had been in Italy for no more than a couple of weeks and had yet to enter a gelateria.
‘You have been to my factory shop, like clockwork, every afternoon break,’ Luca said indignantly.
‘It’s not the same,’ Minty tried to explain.
‘And yet with all this choice you go for a frutti di bosco and a lemon,’ he said. Luca had spent some time trying to persuade Minty to be more exotic in her choice.
‘It’s a classic,’ she said. ‘I’m sure mint liquorice and coffee makes a great combination but I wanted something more subtle. And yes,’ she added as she saw the glint in his eye, ‘I can be subtle. Just look at me tonight.’
‘You are beautiful tonight,’ he said. ‘I didn’t forget to tell you that, did I?’
‘You have only mentioned it ten or so times but I’ll forgive you.’ Normally Minty liked to live up to her public image and dress accordingly. She eschewed the fake tan and barely-there clothes of other party girls, preferring to stay at the cutting edge of fashion and to be a little less obvious.
Tonight, however, she had decided against avant garde design and had chosen something appropriate for a charity gala dinner, a soft dress of midnight-blue. The material was clingy and deceptively demure, high-necked and calf-length with chiffon shoulder straps. Not only did it cling to Minty’s torso like a second skin, until the waist where it flared out into a ballerina skirt, but both the neckline and from the mid-thigh down were made of a thinner, almost transparent material, showcasing her legs and cleavage whilst covering them. She’d teamed it with a silver velvet wrap for outside and silver star earrings.
Simple yet devastating—at least, that was the effect she had hoped for and, by the look in Luca’s eyes when she had finally got dressed, she had achieved it.
They walked along side by side, not speaking as they enjoyed their ice cream, just content to be together. For once Minty didn’t feel the need to interrupt the silence, to prattle or make jokes. She just was. They strolled down the side of the world-famous Uffizi towards the Arno and Minty caught Luca’s arm, pulling him to a standstill. On the other side of the street a lone violinist was playing. They stood and listened to the soaring strings for a moment and then, by silent accord, sat on the steps opposite, enthralled by the magic of the night.
Her every sense was on fire, the bitter of the lemon contrasting with the sweetness of the berries; the feel of Luca nestled protectively by her side strong, comforting. The exquisite sound of the violin was high and almost unbearably poignant as it sang a yearning melody. Other people were walking by, and a few others had sat near them, but to Minty it felt as if the violinist was playing a serenade for Luca and her alone. She leant further into Luca, letting the whole weight of her body relax into him, shut her eyes and listened to the music. Whatever happened in the future, right here, right now, she was having a perfect moment.
And she wasn’t alone.
* * *
‘See, this is why I love Florence,’ Minty said as the violinist made his final bow and, scooping in the coins and notes, prepared to pack up. ‘You don’t know what’s round the corner.’
‘A church?’ suggested Luca solemnly. ‘A museum?’
She nudged him. ‘No! I was eighteen when I arrived here. I felt so free. You know I was dumped in school at seven, finishing school at sixteen. This is the first place where there were no expectations. Even the summers I came to you, there was a certain pressure to live up to my reputation.’
‘And you haven’t been back since?’
Minty shrugged. ‘I don’t know why I’ve stayed away, never shared it with anyone. I haven’t had the chance to, I suppose. The Minty I am here didn’t fit with the Minty I am elsewhere. The person people expect me to be.’
‘What do you mean?’ Luca’s voice was soft, caressing, non-judgemental, and for once Minty resisted the temptation to turn her past into a comedy routine.
‘Well, I got engaged, of course, pretty much straight away after going back to London.’ She caught his eye and blushed. The memory of that time was inextricably bound up with the night she’d spent with him. ‘I was grieving for Rose. I was so scared and alone. Then Barty proposed to me on his twenty-first birthday and, fool that I was, I said yes. I wasn’t even nineteen. Honestly, a baby! Of course, he’s a viscount, so it stirred up all kinds of silly society nonsense and publicity, even more so when I called it off.’ She shivered as the memories engulfed her despite the warm breeze.
‘Not only was I far too young, but that house...you can’t imagine. It was like a museum and a mausoleum all rolled into one, with hundreds of aunts and grandparents all staring disapprovingly. Hideous. Barty wanted us to live there with the whole family. Very twinset and pearls and hunting; not at all me. About as far from here culturally as one can get.’
‘So you ended it and got engaged again?’ Again a complete lack of judgement in his voice, as if the night they had shared had never happened. As if the girl she was remembering had been a stranger. She moved in closer, enjoying his solid warmth. He put his arm around her and pulled her in tight. Minty rested her head on his shoulder, thankful for the tacit support.
‘Well, yes,’ she admitted, the familiar flush of guilt washing over her. Barty had been her first love; she’d just got in too deep. Remembering Spike made her feel like a fool. ‘I was simply star-struck, I’m afraid. Spike was so famous and I loved his music; I couldn’t believe he was interested in me. Of course, he was as old as Daddy. The two of them got on famously, all golf talk and “do you remember?” One day they both fell asleep after lunch and I couldn’t tell which was which. It gave me quite a shock, and of course I realised it would never do. But then the papers decided I was just like my mother and that was that. I only have to smile at a man to be engaged to him, and there are all kinds of editorials warning him off me, and so-called psychologists analysing my past.’
‘But you were hoping, third time lucky?’
The third. An ache squeezed her chest. ‘Poor Joe,’ she said. ‘I’m such a disappointment.’ A prickle of heat started behind her eyes, unfamiliar wetness. How glad she was of the darkness. ‘I can put Bart and Spike down to immaturity, but I was old enough to know better with Joe. I should have known he wasn’t for me the day he proposed on a ten-mile hike up a mountain.’
Luca gave a snort of amusement. ‘I hope you were wearing sensible shoes.’
Minty elbowed him indignantly. ‘Walking boots and a fleece, I’ll have you know.’
Luca seemed to be shaking and when she turned to him she saw, with some surprise, that he was laughing. She had made people laugh at ‘the tale of Minty’s three fiancés’ before, many times. But not like this.
‘You wore a fleece?’ he asked with some difficulty. ‘Did it have an attached waterproof?’
‘It was practical,’ she said, then bit her lip, a bubble of amusement rising up inside her, dispersing the ache.
‘You got engaged to a man who proposed to you in a fleece?’
‘We were up a mountain!’ But it was no use; the laughter that erupted from her wasn’t self-deprecating, sarcastic, a disguise. It was real, all-consuming. He was right; it had been ridiculous.
‘I think, cara, you had a lucky escape.’ Minty’s heart clenched at the endearment.
‘From Joe? It wasn’t all mountain-trekking; he liked pub quizzes as well.’
Luca laughed again, deep and sensual. ‘From all of them. None of them were right for you.’
‘Most people think they had a lucky escape from me.’ Minty tried not to sound wistful.
‘Most people,’ he said, dropping a kiss onto the top of her head, ‘are fools.’
