Читать книгу From Venice With Love - Алисон Робертс - Страница 11

‘WHAT is he doing here?’ Consuelo demanded as he strode along the path like a man with the demons of hell after him. ‘Why did he have to come?’

Gabriella skipped a step to keep up with him. ‘Raoul is an old family friend. Of course he would be here.’

‘But the way he was touching you—like he owned you. Like he meant something to you. You let him touch you!’

‘We grew up together, Consuelo. Our two families were practically inseparable, at least until I was twelve years of age. The last time I saw him was at our parents’ funerals. Of course there is some feeling between us. He is like a brother to me.’

He looked across at her suddenly, his eyes wild and frantic, and she wondered what else must be troubling him for him to overreact in this way. ‘And that’s all he is to you?’

‘But of course,’ she said, wanting to soothe, but mostly because there was nothing else she could say, even if she might so foolishly have once dreamed of more.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tugged her close in to his body. She needed to be hugged but she wondered why this contact didn’t stir her blood or warm her as Raoul’s touch had done. Perhaps because she saw more of him, or because he was more familiar to her, more comfortable to be around. She shouldn’t encourage him—she knew he wanted more out of their relationship than she could commit to right now—but today she was glad to have someone to hold on to, even if his touch didn’t stir her like another’s …

She shuddered now with the memory of it, of how just the gentle touch of Raoul’s fingertips had set her blood fizzing. How was that possible—a man she hadn’t met other than in her dreams for so many years? Or had she just wished and hoped for it so much, she’d believed it had happened?

But then he’d always had that impact on her. He’d always seemed larger than life, and she’d always been drawn to his dark mystery. Why should it be any different now, simply because a dozen years had passed?

‘How do you know Raoul?’ she asked, curious as he hastened her towards the waiting car. ‘Is he one of the foundation’s benefactors?’

He laughed, a short, derisive laugh. ‘Him? No, he would not give to a charity such as ours, not even to save the lives of sick children.’

‘Why do you say that? Have you ever asked him?’

‘I do not bother with his sort. His kind have no heart.’

‘No, Consuelo,’ she protested, remembering back, thinking that Raoul had had the biggest heart of anyone she knew. Nothing had been too much trouble for him back then, nothing too much effort for his family and hers. And when the police had called that fateful evening with the shocking news it had been Raoul who had cradled her, letting her cry her eyes out, offering her the remnants of his own shattered heart. ‘That cannot be right.’

‘Then you do not know him very well, after all. Come,’ he said, opening her car door so she could precede him into the vehicle. ‘Forget Raoul; there are more important things to think about right now.’ He tapped the waiting driver on the shoulder to let him know they were ready. ‘Like arranging for your things to be moved from the house into my apartment. Given you’re on leave, it would be the perfect time.’

She blinked, momentarily stunned. Where had that come from? ‘What are you talking about?’

But he was engrossed in the traffic, scanning it, almost as if he was looking for someone. Raoul? Surely he was a long way behind. And then he turned back to her, smiling, and she wondered if she’d imagined his nervousness. ‘Come on, darling. Now that your grandfather’s gone, there’s no reason why we should live apart any longer.’

‘We haven’t talked about this.’

He took her hand in one of his, patted it with the other. ‘Come, Gabby, you know as well as I do that half the reason you haven’t moved in already is because your grandfather needed you. Now there is no reason for us to be apart. Now it is time you were looked after the way you should be. The way I want to look after you.’

She shook her head. ‘Consuelo …’

‘Of course, I can always move in with you, but I thought you might prefer a fresh start somewhere else, somewhere without the memories.’

‘I like where I live,’ she said, stiffening and wondering what she had said or done to make him think she was ready to move in with him. ‘And my grandfather is barely cold in his grave. I would actually prefer not to have to deal with this today.’

He sighed and lifted her hand to his lips, although his eyes lacked any warmth to go with it. ‘I’m sorry, Gabby. I’m rushing you. Of course we can talk later.’

Much later, she thought, clutching her coat at her neck and wondering what it was that was throwing Consuelo so off-kilter today; he was so very anxious as he resumed his busy scanning of the traffic.

They were almost at the hotel when Consuelo’s phone buzzed again. He pulled it from his pocket and held it to his ear, and Gabriella looked across, wondering if it was Phillipa again wanting to know how far away they were. But even as she watched the colour drained from Consuelo’s face.

‘Mierda!’ he said, before he snapped it off and shoved it away, tapping the driver on the shoulder. ‘Stop here. Let me out here.’

‘Consuelo, what’s wrong?’ she asked as the driver cut across two lanes of traffic, to the squeal of tyres and the blare of horns, to double park on the side of the road. ‘Who was that?’

But he was already climbing out. ‘A problem at the office. I have to go.’ And then he slammed the door and disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

The priest’s words were moving, the condolences she received from old friends and associates heartfelt, and Gabriella felt one kind of peace descend on her soul. Her grandfather had been much loved by all who had known him, had touched so many lives, and it was clear that it wasn’t just her who would be left with an Umberto-sized hole in her heart.

But now the wake was winding down and she felt suddenly deflated with it. She’d turned her phone on to silent, hoping that she might get some news from Consuelo, some kind of explanation, but there had been no messages explaining his sudden disappearance or when he might join her. She was beginning to think he wouldn’t make it at all.

And maybe she could have lived with that if Raoul had bothered to turn up like he’d promised. She’d hoped he’d soon follow them from the cemetery. From the very first minute she’d stepped into the hotel’s plush reception-room, she’d been anticipating his arrival, scanning the room for a hint of his broad, dark-clad shoulders or a glimpse of his blue-black hair. She longed for the dark solidity of his presence. She longed for the comfort she’d found in it at the cemetery, a comfort she yearned for now.

He’d promised he’d come. She ached with wanting him to come. So where was he?

Phillipa appeared at her side and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘How are you bearing up?’

‘Do men always let you down?’ she mused as she stared blankly into a cold cup of coffee in her hands that she battled to remember picking up. First Umberto, the grandfather who had taken her in as a grieving twelve-year-old and had been both mother and father to her, was gone. Then Consuelo, who couldn’t even stop thinking about his foundation for just one day, disappeared to who knew where and for how long? And now Raoul, who she’d lost before she’d even found again.

‘Hey, don’t worry,’ said Phillipa. ‘You know how he is,’ she continued, clearly only seeing one side to Gabriella’s concerns. Her friend squeezed her hand as she prised the neglected cup from her fingers. ‘The foundation is everything to him. He’s got caught up in something, that’s all. And, for the record, men don’t always let you down. Not all of them, at any rate.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, remembering Phillipa’s gorgeous husband. ‘I’m just feeling maudlin. You have a keeper of a man. He is a wonder to bring you all the way from London just for me and with such a young baby.’

She kissed Gabriella’s cheek. ‘Nothing is too much trouble for you, but you’re right; Damien is a keeper, but he will need rescuing from our baby soon. Will you be all right if I leave?’

‘I’ll be fine. You’ve been so wonderful today. Oh, and I meant to say before, thanks for calling while we were at the cemetery. I lost track of time completely out there.’

Her friend looked blank.

‘You phoned Consuelo,’ Gabriella prompted. ‘To tell him the priest was waiting for me to begin his talk.’

Phillipa frowned and shook her head. ‘I never called. I don’t even have his number.’ It was Gabriella’s turn to blink. Why had Consuelo made out that she had? Unless he’d been so desperate to get her away from Raoul that he’d resorted to lies to do it. What had happened between the two men that nobody was letting on about?

Phillipa put a hand on her elbow. ‘Gabriella, are you okay?’

Suddenly it was too hard to think. She put a hand on her brow. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve got a rotten headache. I must have misunderstood.’ Her friend smiled and squeezed her arm.

‘Let me get you some painkillers and some water. It might take the edge off it.’

Gabriella sighed, letting herself sag, hidden for a moment behind a marble pillar, trying desperately to relax. Her head hurt. Her feet ached. And her heart felt like a giant void. If only she could take a pill for that. Today she’d said goodbye to her grandfather, the man who had taken on the role of both her parents and more when they had been ripped from her life. Such a good man. Such a brilliant man. Why did the world—why did she—have to live without him just yet?

She looked around the room, looking at the few remaining guests talking over their coffee and cognac, wondering if anyone would notice if she simply disappeared. But she was kidding herself. Of course she couldn’t just slip away. She would have to stay until the grim and bitter end.

Then the air in the room seemed to still and intensify until it shimmered with expectation. The hairs at the back of her neck stood up as she felt the scorching gaze of dark eyes drinking her in. Phillipa joined her, blinking as she held out a glass of sparkling water—not that she was looking at Gabriella. ‘Oh, wow, forget keeper husbands for a moment. Who on earth is that?’

Gabriella didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. She could feel his identity in her rapidly liquefying bones. She could feel it in her heated flesh and empty lungs.

He had come.

And then he was beside them, so broad, tall and dangerous-looking that his presence should darken the world, except that it only served to brighten hers.

‘Raoul Del Arco,’ he said, bowing to her friend. ‘At your service.’ Although it was the fingers pressed to the small of her back that had Gabriella’s full attention, the press of them against her flesh sending an electrical current surging along her spine, needles of sensation that radiated out to take anchor in the suddenly sensitive tissue of her breasts and dark places inside, deep down in her belly.

‘I thought you weren’t coming,’ she said a little breathlessly when she’d managed to unglue her tongue from where it had been stuck to the roof of her mouth. And then, because she realised it sounded like it contained a note of desperation and even accusation, she forced herself to smile. ‘But thank you for coming now. And let me introduce Phillipa Edwards. We went to the same boarding school in England.’

Raoul nodded, taking her hand. ‘It is a pleasure.’

‘Raoul was like a big brother to me growing up,’ she continued. And my personal hero.

‘Umberto was a very important influence in my life and Gabriella has always been very special to me,’ he said as his arm moved upwards, his long-fingered hand cupping her shoulder, pulling her close against his heated body, a gesture that seemed a world away from brotherly, at least the heated way her body seemed to be interpreting it. ‘Unfortunately we lost touch for several years, so to meet again under such circumstances makes for a bittersweet reunion.’ He looked down at her, his dark eyes intense, mesmerising. ‘I see now I will have to ensure I do not allow such a lapse to occur again.’

Clearly she should have eaten, because she felt dizzy at his words, so light-headed that she could have fallen into his eyes right then and there if Phillipa had not excused herself, saying she needed to get back to her baby. Gabriella hugged her friend and then she was alone with Raoul.

He dropped his arm to face her; absurdly she missed his touch and the warm solidity of his body pressed against hers. Then he tilted his dark head and smiled in a way that transformed his features from darkly threatening to something warm and dangerous that could melt cement as easily as it could buckle her knees. ‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Bella. You said you wanted to talk and I felt that might prove easier after everyone had gone. I thought, I hoped, you might allow me to take you to dinner.’

Bella.

There was that name again.

‘I was just going to go home.’

‘Ah, but of course.’ He looked around the room, the remaining stragglers exchanging stories and talking over old times. ‘It has been a very long day for you. Then maybe I can take you home?’

‘No, not home,’ she decided suddenly. At home there would be no treasured grandfather waiting for her, ever again. Why had she ever thought ‘home’ would offer some kind of sanctuary?

Besides, with Raoul beside her she didn’t feel so enervated, so drained. Instead, it seemed like every nerve ending in her body was suddenly awake and acutely aware of the man before her.

And acutely aware of a sudden hunger. It felt like she hadn’t eaten for ever. ‘Thank you, Raoul. If the offer still stands, dinner would be lovely.’

He stayed by her side while the wake wound up, lending her his strength when mourners departed and succumbed to a final burst of tears as they kissed her goodbye, and then he took her to a tiny 1890’s bistro on the Left Bank that greeted them with the scent of roasted garlic and tomatoes, with its belle epoque decor, quaint etched-glass and globe lamps. It was not somewhere she’d been expecting to be taken and definitely somewhere she was sure Consuelo would not know existed. There were no billionaires here that she could see, no players, politicians or film stars. Simply ordinary people enjoying a night out.

Well, ordinary apart from Raoul. There was nothing ordinary about his broad shoulders and strong black hair that glowed blue in the subtle lighting. He shrank the tiny room with his sheer presence, blotting out the other diners until they might just as well have been cardboard cut-outs. It felt good to be able to sit opposite and have no reason not to look at him and drink in his strong features—those dark eyes with their depths only hinted at under that dark slash of brow; those sculpted cheekbones, strong blade of nose and those lips, their passionate lines as detailed as if chiselled by a sculptor’s hand.

It felt good to be here with him.

‘Twice today I have found you alone,’ he said after they had ordered their meals. ‘Could Garbas not stay until the end of the wake?’

She fiddled with the napkin in her lap. Consuelo hadn’t made it at all, not that Raoul needed to know that, not when he clearly harboured enough resentment towards the man already. And not when there had been no word and she still had no idea herself what was going on. ‘He was called away. Something important, I guess.’

‘More important than you?’

She flushed and waited while the waiter poured them both a glass of Beaujolais, ruby red in the light cast by the lamp in the centre of the table. Consuelo always had good reasons when he was delayed or had to suddenly change their plans—it happened so often that she was used to it. To let her down today of all days … But he would have good reason, she was sure.

Although, what reason would he have for assuming they would now move in together?

She picked up her glass on a sigh, admiring the colour of the wine. Maybe he’d just felt neglected, with her attention going firstly to her grandfather and then to Phillipa when she’d needed her recently. And maybe he hadn’t been uppermost in her thoughts these last few weeks and wanted to change that. But, still, when had going to a few parties and dinners together been a sign of imminent cohabitation?

Then she saw Raoul waiting for her and decided to worry about the missing Consuelo and his distorted perception of their relationship later. She gave an ironic smile. ‘Clearly much more important. Anyway, I didn’t come to dinner to talk about him.’

‘Touché.’ Across the table Raoul smiled and lifted his glass to hers in a toast. ‘To us, Gabriella. To old friends and new beginnings.’

His words stirred her soul deep. ‘To us,’ she said, taking a sip, feeling the sensual slide of fine wine down her throat. She watched him watching her over the rim of her glass, liking the way he watched her, wondering if he liked what he saw.

And she knew she was in danger of reading too much into this. She was feeling things and hearing things that couldn’t possibly be there or mean what she thought. And for all his talk of new beginnings and expressions of regret that it had been so long, he would most likely disappear from her life tonight and not even Umberto would be there to bring him back to her.

After all, this was Raoul, and her teenaged fantasies had been just that—fantasies. She put her glass down before the alcohol might convince her otherwise. ‘You visited Umberto the week before he died?’

Across the table Raoul stilled. ‘Umberto told you that?’

She shook her head and the lights in her hair danced under the lamps. She’d worn it up for the funeral, a severe knot at the back of her head, but time and the damp had worked tendrils loose, so now the ends softly framed her face. ‘No, his nurse. He died before—before I made it home from London. I was too late to see him.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, praying that his visit had done nothing to hasten his old friend’s death and prevent his granddaughter one last opportunity to see him.

‘I think he knew he was dying and he didn’t want me there.’ She looked at the ceiling and pressed her lips together in a thin white line. ‘He sent me away, you know.’

‘I didn’t know.’

‘Phillipa was almost due to give birth. Her husband was overseas and booked to get back—there should have been plenty of time—when a coup closed all the airports. He was stuck in a war zone and she was frantic with worry; little wonder the baby came early. And I didn’t want to leave Umberto, but he told me he was fine and that I must go to help my friend. He promised me he would be fine …’

He took her hand, squeezed it in his own. ‘He was looking out for you. He was trying to spare you.’

‘By denying me the opportunity to share his final days, his final moments?’ She hauled in a breath and shook her head. ‘Why don’t I feel blessed in that case? Instead, I feel cheated. I didn’t even get a proper chance to say goodbye.’

‘Bella,’ he said, his hand stroking her cheek, his thumb wiping the moisture welling from her eyes, ‘He didn’t want you to see him like that.’

‘But why wouldn’t he want to say goodbye to me?’

‘Because maybe he wanted you to remember him as he was before, strong and happy, not confined to a bed with a battery of machines beeping out his existence while you waited for them to fall silent one by one. He loved you too much to subject you to that.’

She sniffed and rested her cheek against his hand, staring blindly at the table as if considering his words. She looked lost, a little girl in a woman’s face, a little girl who had suffered too much already in her short life; a beautiful face that was no hardship to stare at, no hardship to caress. Even with leaking eyes and tear-streaked cheeks, even with that trembling bottom lip, she was indeed a beauty. Even without her fortune in waiting, she would be a catch.

What a waste.

For she deserved only the best. She deserved happiness and love and a good man who could give her both.

She deserved so much more than a man who would marry her simply to fulfil the terms of a promise.

And that wretched knot he seemed to endlessly carry with him grew in his gut, twisting, tangling and pulling tight. Why was he even considering going through with this? Garbas would be no threat now. Garbas could not hurt her. So he should just take her home, say goodnight and walk away. He should let her go. If he had any sense at all, he would just let her go. Umberto would never know.

Except he had promised.

And he would know.

Besides, perversely perhaps, a part of him was beginning to think it would not be such an impossible feat to get her to agree to marry him. Indeed, the longer he was with her, the more certain he was that he could achieve the unthinkable. She had worshipped him as a child. She certainly didn’t hate him now, not from the way she seemed to lean into his touch, not from the way he found her glancing at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. And, whatever she’d heard of his past, it didn’t seem to make her wary of him in any way. Foolish, foolish woman.

‘So what did he say?’

He looked up to find her eyes on him, sad eyes wanting answers.

‘You talked to Umberto,’ she prompted. ‘What did he say?’

He hesitated, his hand dropping, his fingers toying with the stem of his wine glass, knowing what her reaction would be if he told her what Umberto really wanted from him.

‘Surely I’m entitled to know something of his last words? Can’t you tell me anything?’

‘Si.’ He nodded. ‘Of course you are entitled. Because mostly, Bella, he talked of you.’

‘Me.’ She blinked and swallowed and he followed the movement down the long, smooth column of her throat until it disappeared into her chest, a slow, sensual slide. He had to drag his eyes north again when she said, ‘What did he say about me?’

‘That he loved you,’ he said, embellishing the truth, because he knew she needed to hear it and because he knew it to be true. ‘More than anything or anyone in the world. He talked about how special you are and how much you mean to him. He talked about how afraid he was for you when he was gone, how he would miss seeing you married with children one day.’

She dragged in air and bit down on her plump bottom lip with her teeth in the way he remembered her always doing whenever she’d been upset years ago. He remembered her trying not to cry out loud at her parents’ funeral and biting down so hard on her lip those teeth had drawn blood, blood she’d later smeared on his white shirt when he’d hugged her and held her close. How her twelve-year-old’s tears had reduced him to tears too, even though he’d promised himself to be strong that day.

God, but she’d been through so much. He could well understand Umberto wanting to protect her and ensure nothing bad ever happened to her again. He wanted that too. And, the longer he was with her, the more he wanted it. But he still knew in his crusted heart that he was the last person who could make it so.

‘He told me that you see the good in everyone, that you do not judge, that you have a good heart.’

Across the table, she sniffed. ‘Thank you. It would have been nice to have heard these things first hand, but it is good to hear them at all, so thank you.’

‘Sometimes it is not possible to say these things face to face. Your grandfather was old-school. Did he ever tell you he loved you when he was alive?’

‘No, but I still knew.’

‘Yes, you knew. Some things, Bella—some things do not need to be said for us to know them to be true,’ he said, feeling only slightly guilty for the things he’d told her, the things he’d embellished and the things he’d omitted when he saw how happy she was to hear them.

And she smiled, tears once again welling in her eyes. ‘Thank you, Raoul,’ she said as she clasped his hand in hers, only letting go as their meals were served. ‘Thank you so much.’