Читать книгу Valtieri's Bride - Caroline Anderson - Страница 7

THE ambulance came, and Claire went with Lydia.

He wanted to go with her himself, he felt he ought to, felt the weight of guilt and worry like an elephant on his chest, but it wasn’t his place to accompany her, so Claire went, and he followed in his car, having sent the rest of the team on with a message to his family that he’d been held up but would be with them as soon as he could.

He rang Luca on the way, in case he was there at the hospital in Siena that day as he sometimes was, and his phone was answered instantly.

‘Massimo, welcome home. Good flight?’

He nearly laughed. ‘No. Where are you? Which hospital?’

‘Siena. Why?’

He did laugh then. Or was it a sob of relief? ‘I’m on my way there. I gave two girls a lift in the plane, and one of them fell down the steps as we were disembarking. I’m following the ambulance. Luca, she’s got a head injury,’ he added, his heart pounding with dread, and he heard his brother suck in his breath.

‘I’ll meet you in the emergency department. She’ll be all right, Massimo. We’ll take care of her.’

He grunted agreement, switched off the phone and followed the ambulance, focusing on facts and crushing his fear and guilt down. It couldn’t happen again. Lightning didn’t strike twice, he told himself, and forced himself to follow the ambulance at a sensible distance while trying desperately to put Angelina firmly out of his mind …

Luca was waiting for him at the entrance.

He took the car away to park it and Massimo hovered by the ambulance as they unloaded Lydia and whisked her inside, Claire holding her hand and reassuring her. It didn’t sound as if it was working, because she kept fretting about the competition and insisting she was all right when anyone could see she was far from all right.

She was taken away, Claire with her, and he stayed in the waiting area, pacing restlessly and driving himself mad with his imagination of what was happening beyond the doors. His brother reappeared moments later and handed him the keys, giving him a keen look.

‘You all right?’

Hardly. ‘I’m fine,’ he said, his voice tight.

‘So how do you know this woman?’ Luca asked, and he filled him in quickly with the bare bones of the accident.

‘Oh—she’s wearing a wedding dress,’ he warned. ‘It’s a competition, a race to win a wedding.’

A race she’d lost. If only he’d taken her arm, or gone in front, she would have fallen against him, he could have saved her …

‘Luca, don’t let her die,’ he said urgently, fear clawing at him.

‘She won’t die,’ Luca promised, although how he could say that without knowing—well, he couldn’t. It was just a platitude, Massimo knew that.

‘Let me know how she is.’

Luca nodded and went off to investigate, leaving him there to wait, but he felt bile rise in his throat and got abruptly to his feet, pacing restlessly again. How long could it take?

Hours, apparently, or at least it felt like it.

Luca reappeared with Claire.

‘They’re taking X-rays of her leg now but it looks like a sprained ankle. She’s just a little concussed and bruised from her fall, but the head injury doesn’t look serious,’ he said.

‘Nor did Angelina’s,’ he said, switching to Italian.

‘She’s not Angelina, Massimo. She’s not going to die of this.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. Yes, I’m sure. She’s had a scan. She’s fine.’

It should have reassured him, but Massimo felt his heart still slamming against his ribs, the memories crowding him again.

‘She’s all right,’ Luca said quietly. ‘This isn’t the same.’

He nodded, but he just wanted to get out, to be away from the hospital in the fresh air. Not going to happen. He couldn’t leave Lydia, no matter how much he wanted to get away. And he could never get away from Angelina …

Luca took him to her.

She was lying on a trolley, and there was blood streaked all over the front of the hideous dress, but at least they’d taken her off the spinal board. ‘How are you?’ he asked, knowing the answer but having to ask anyway, and she turned her head and met his eyes, her own clouded with worry and pain.

‘I’m fine, they just want to watch me for a while. I’ve got some bumps and bruises, but nothing’s broken, I’m just sore and cross with myself and I want to go to the hotel and they won’t let me leave yet. I’m so sorry, Massimo, I’ve got Claire, you don’t need to wait here with me. It could be ages.’

‘I do.’ He didn’t explain, didn’t tell her what she didn’t need to know, what could only worry her. But he hadn’t taken Angelina’s head injury seriously. He’d assumed it was nothing. He hadn’t watched her, sat with her, checked her every few minutes. If he had—well, he hadn’t, but he was damned if he was leaving Lydia alone for a moment until he was sure she was all right.

Luca went back to work, and while the doctors checked her over again and strapped her ankle, Massimo found some coffee for him and Claire and they sat and drank it. Not a good idea. The caffeine shot was the last thing his racing pulse needed.

‘I need to make a call,’ Claire told him. ‘If I go just outside, can you come and get me if there’s any news?’

He nodded, watching her leave. She was probably phoning the radio station to tell them about Lydia’s accident. And she’d been so close to winning …

She came back, a wan smile on her face. ‘Jo’s there.’

‘Jo?’

‘The other contestant. Lydia’s lost the race. She’s going to be so upset. I can’t tell her yet.’

‘I think you should. She might stop fretting if it’s too late, let herself relax and get better.’

Claire gave a tiny, slightly hysterical laugh. ‘You don’t know her very well, do you?’

He smiled ruefully. ‘No. No, I don’t.’ And it was ridiculous that he minded the fact.

Lydia looked up as they went back in, and she scanned Claire’s face.

‘Did you ring the radio station?’

‘Yes.’

‘Has …’ She could hardly bring herself to ask the question, but she took another breath and tried again. ‘Has Jo got there yet?’ she asked, and then held her breath. It was possible she’d been unlucky, that she hadn’t managed to get a flight, that any one of a hundred things could have happened.

They hadn’t. She could see it in Claire’s eyes, she didn’t need to be told that Jo and Kate, her minder, were already there, and she felt the bitter sting of tears scald her eyes.

‘She’s there, isn’t she?’ she asked, just because she needed confirmation.

Claire nodded, and Lydia turned her head away, shutting her eyes against the tears. She was so, so cross with herself. They’d been so close to winning, and if she’d only been more careful, gathered up the stupid dress so she could see the steps.

She swallowed hard and looked back up at Claire’s worried face. ‘Tell her well done for me when you see her.’

‘I will, but you’ll see her, too. We’ve got rooms in the hotel for the night. I’ll ring them now, let them know what’s happening. We can go there when they discharge you.’

‘No, I could be ages. Why don’t you go, have a shower and something to eat, see the others and I’ll get them to ring you if there’s any change. Or better still, if you give me back my phone and my purse, I can call you and let you know when I’m leaving, and I’ll just get a taxi.’

‘I can’t leave you alone!’

‘She won’t be alone, I’ll stay with her. I’m staying anyway, whether you’re here or not,’ Massimo said firmly, and Lydia felt a curious sense of relief. Relief, and guilt.

And she could see the same emotions in Claire’s face. She was dithering, chewing her lip in hesitation, and Lydia took her hand and squeezed it.

‘There, you see? And his brother works here, so he’ll be able to pull strings. It’s fine, Claire. Just go. I’ll see you later.’ And she could get rid of Massimo once Claire had gone …

Claire gave in, reluctantly. ‘OK, if you insist. Here, your things. I’ll put them in your bag. Where is it?’

‘I have no idea. Is it under the bed?’

‘No. I haven’t seen it.’

‘It must have been left on the ground at the airport,’ Massimo said. ‘My men will have picked it up.’

‘Can you check? My passport’s in it.’

‘Si.’ He left them briefly, and when he came back he confirmed it had been taken by the others. ‘I’ll make sure you get it tonight,’ he promised.

‘Thanks. Right, Claire, you go. I’m fine.’

‘You will call me and let me know what’s going on as soon as you have any news?’

‘Yes, I promise.’

Claire gave in, hugging Lydia a little tearfully before she left them.

Lydia swallowed. Damn. She was going to join in.

‘Hey, it’s all right. You’ll be OK.’

His voice was gentle, reassuring, and his touch on her cheek was oddly comforting. Her eyes filled again.

‘I’m causing everyone so much trouble.’

‘That’s life. Don’t worry about it. Are you going to tell your family?’

Oh, cripes. She ought to phone Jen, but she couldn’t. Not now. She didn’t think she could talk to her just yet.

‘Maybe later. I just feel so sleepy.’

‘So rest. I’ll sit with you.’

Sit with her and watch her. Do what he should have done years ago.

She shut her eyes, just for a moment, but when she opened them again he’d moved from her side. She felt a moment of panic, but then she saw him. He was standing a few feet away reading a poster about head injuries, his hands rammed in his pockets, tension radiating off him.

Funny, she’d thought it was because of the blood, but there was no sign of blood now apart from a dried streak on her dress. Maybe it was hospitals generally. Had Angelina been ill for a long time?

Or maybe hospitals just brought him out in hives. She could understand that. After Jen’s accident, she felt the same herself, and yet he was still here, still apparently labouring under some misguided sense of obligation.

He turned his head, saw she was awake and came back to her side, his dark eyes searching hers.

‘Are you all right?’

She nodded. ‘My head’s feeling clearer now. I need to ring Jen,’ she said quietly, and he sighed and cupped her cheek, his thumb smoothing away a tear she hadn’t realised she’d shed.

‘I’m sorry, cara. I know how much it meant to you to win this for your sister.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said dismissively, although of course it would to Jen. ‘It was just a crazy idea. They can get married at home, it’s really not an issue. I really didn’t think I’d win anyway, so we haven’t lost anything.’

‘Claire said Jo’s been there for ages. She would probably have beaten you to it anyway,’ he said. ‘She must have got away very fast.’

She didn’t believe it. He was only trying to make it better, to take the sting out of it, but before she had time to argue the doctor came back in, checked her over and delivered her verdict.

Massimo translated.

‘You’re fine, you need to rest for a few days before you fly home, and you need watching overnight, but you’re free to go.’

She thanked the doctor, struggled up and swung her legs over the edge of the trolley, and paused for a moment, her head swimming.

‘All right?’

‘I’m fine. I need to call a taxi to take me to the hotel.’

‘I’ll give you a lift.’

‘I can’t take you out of your way! I’ve put you to enough trouble as it is. I can get a taxi. I’ll be fine.’

But as she slid off the edge of the trolley and straightened up, Massimo caught the sheen of tears in her eyes.

Whatever she’d said, the loss of this prize was tearing her apart for her sister, and he felt guilt wash over him yet again. Logically, he knew he had no obligation to her, no duty that extended any further than simply flying her to Siena as he’d promised. But somehow, somewhere along the way, things had changed and he could no more have left her there at the door of the hospital than he could have left one of his children. And they were waiting for him, had been waiting for him far too long, and guilt tugged at him again.

‘Ouch!’

‘You can’t walk on that ankle. Stay here.’

She stayed, wishing her flight bag was still with her instead of having been whisked away by his team. She could have done with changing out of the dress, but her comfy jeans and soft cotton top were in her bag, and she wanted to cry with frustration and disappointment and pain.

‘Here.’

He’d brought a wheelchair, and she eyed it doubtfully.

‘I don’t know if the dress will fit in it. Horrible thing! I’m going to burn it just as soon as I get it off.’

‘Good idea,’ he said drily, and they exchanged a smile.

He squashed it in around her, and wheeled her towards the exit. Then he stopped the chair by the door and looked down at her.

‘Do you really want to go to the hotel?’ he asked.

She tipped her head back to look at him, but it hurt, and she let her breath out in a gusty sigh. ‘I don’t have a choice. I need a bed for the night, and I can’t afford anywhere else.’

He moved so she could see him, crouching down beside her. ‘You do have a choice. You can’t fly for a few days, and you don’t want to stay in a strange hotel on your own for all that time. And anyway, you don’t have your bag, so why don’t you come back with me?’ he said, the guilt about his children growing now and the solution to both problems suddenly blindingly obvious.

‘I need to get home to see my children, they’ve been patient long enough, and you can clean up there and change into your own comfortable clothes and have something to eat and a good night’s sleep. Carlotta will look after you.’

Carlotta? Lydia scanned their earlier conversations and came up with the name. She was the woman who looked after his children, who’d worked for them for a hundred years, as he’d put it, and had delivered him.

Carlotta sounded good.

‘That’s such an imposition. Are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘I’m sure. It’s by far the easiest thing for me. The hotel’s the other way, and it would save me a lot of time I don’t really have, especially by the time I’ve dropped your bag over there. And you don’t honestly want to be there on your own for days, do you?’

Guilt swamped her, heaped on the disappointment and the worry about Jen, and she felt crushed under the weight of it all. She felt her spine sag, and shook her head. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve wasted your entire day. If you hadn’t given me a lift …’

‘Don’t go there. What ifs are a waste of time. Yes or no?’

‘Yes, please,’ she said fervently. ‘That would be really kind.’

‘Don’t mention it. I feel it’s all my fault anyway.’

‘Rubbish. Of course it’s not your fault. You’ve done so much already, and I don’t think I’ve even thanked you.’

‘You have. You were doing that when you fell down the steps.’

‘Was I?’ She gave him a wry grin, and turned to look up at him as they arrived at the car, resting her hand on his arm lightly to reassure him. ‘It’s really not your fault, you know.’

‘I know. You missed your step. I know this. I still …’

He was still haunted, because of the head injury, images of Angelina crowding in on him. Angelina falling, Angelina with a headache, Angelina slumped over the kitchen table with one side of her face collapsed. Angelina linked up to a life support machine …

‘Massimo?’

‘I’m all right,’ he said gruffly, and pressing the remote, he opened the door for her and settled her in, then returned the wheelchair and slid into the driver’s seat beside her. ‘Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Good. Let’s go.’

She phoned Claire and told her what was happening, assured her she would be all right and promised to phone her the next day, then put the phone down in her lap and rested her head back.

Under normal circumstances, she thought numbly, she’d be wallowing in the luxury of his butter-soft leather, beautifully supportive car seats, or taking in the picture-postcard countryside of Tuscany as the car wove and swooped along the narrow winding roads.

As it was she gazed blankly at it all, knowing that she’d have to phone Jen, knowing she should have done it sooner, that her sister would be on tenterhooks, but she didn’t have the strength to crush her hopes and dreams.

‘Have you told your sister yet?’ he asked, as if he’d read her mind.

She shook her head. ‘No. I don’t know what to say. If I hadn’t fallen, we would have won. Easily. It was just so stupid, so clumsy.’

He sighed, his hand reaching out and closing over hers briefly, the warmth of it oddly comforting in a disturbing way. ‘I’m sorry. Not because I feel it was my fault, because I know it wasn’t, really, but because I know how it feels to let someone down, to have everyone’s hopes and dreams resting on your shoulders, to have to carry the responsibility for someone else’s happiness.’

She turned towards him, inhibited by the awful, scratchy dress that she couldn’t wait to get out of, and studied his profile.

Strong. Clean cut, although no longer clean-shaven, the dark stubble that shadowed his jaw making her hand itch to feel the texture of it against her palm. In the dusk of early evening his olive skin was darker, somehow exotic, and with a little shiver she realised she didn’t know him at all. He could be taking her anywhere.

She closed her eyes and told herself not to be ridiculous. He’d followed them to the hospital, got his brother in on the act, a brother she’d heard referred to as il professore, and now he was taking her to his family home, to his children, his parents, the woman who’d delivered him all those years ago. Forty years? Maybe. Maybe more, maybe less, but give or take.

Someone who’d stayed with the family for all that time, who surely wouldn’t still be there if they were nasty people?

‘What’s wrong?’

She shrugged, too honest to lie. ‘I was just thinking, I don’t know you. You could be anyone. After all, I was going in the plane with Nico, and you’ve pointed out in no uncertain terms that that wouldn’t have been a good idea, and I just don’t think I’m a very good judge of character.’

‘Are you saying you don’t trust me?’

She found herself smiling. ‘Curiously, I do, or I wouldn’t be here with you.’

He flashed her a look, and his mouth tipped into a wry grin. ‘Well, thanks.’

‘Sorry. It wasn’t meant to sound patronising. It’s just been a bit of a whirlwind today, and I’m not really firing on all cylinders.’

‘I’m sure you’re not. Don’t worry, you’re safe with me, I promise, and we’re nearly there. You can have a long lazy shower, or lie in the bath, or have a swim. Whatever you choose.’

‘So long as I can get out of this horrible dress, I’ll be happy.’

He laughed, the sound filling the car and making something deep inside her shift.

‘Good. Stand by to be happy very soon.’

He turned off the road onto a curving gravelled track lined by cypress trees, winding away towards what looked like a huge stone fortress. She sat up straighter. ‘What’s that building?’

‘The house.’

‘House?’ She felt her jaw drop, and shut her mouth quickly. That was their house?

‘So … is this your land?’

‘Si.’

She stared around her, but the light was fading and it was hard to tell what she was looking at. But the massive edifice ahead of them was outlined against the sunset, and as they drew closer she could see lights twinkling in the windows.

They climbed the hill, driving through a massive archway and pulling up in front of a set of sweeping steps. Security lights came on as they stopped, and she could see the steps were flanked by huge terracotta pots with what looked like olive trees in them. The steps rose majestically up to the biggest set of double doors she’d ever seen in her life. Strong doors, doors that would keep you safe against all invaders.

She had to catch her jaw again, and for once in her life she was lost for words. She’d thought, foolishly, it seemed, that it might shrink as they got closer, but it hadn’t. If anything it had grown, and she realised it truly was a fortress.

An ancient, impressive and no doubt historically significant fortress. And it was his family home?

She thought of their modest farmhouse, the place she called home, and felt the sudden almost overwhelming urge to laugh. What on earth did he think of her, all tarted up in her ludicrous charity shop wedding dress and capering about outside the airport begging a lift from any old stranger?

‘Lydia?’

He was standing by her, the door open, and she gathered up the dress and her purse and phone and squirmed off the seat and out of the car, balancing on her good leg and eyeing the steps dubiously.

How on earth—?

No problem, apparently. He shut the car door, and then to her surprise he scooped her up into his arms.

She gave a little shriek and wrapped her arms around his neck, so that her nose was pressed close to his throat in the open neck of his shirt. Oh, God. He smelt of lemons and musk and warm, virile male, and she could feel the beat of his heart against her side.

Or was it her own? She didn’t know. It could have been either.

He glanced down at her, concerned that he might be hurting her. There was a little frown creasing the soft skin between her brows, and he had the crazy urge to kiss it away. He almost did, but stopped himself in time.

She was a stranger, nothing more, and he tried to ignore the feel of her against his chest, the fullness of her breasts pressing into his ribs and making his heart pound like a drum. She had her head tucked close to his shoulder, and he could feel the whisper of her breath against his skin. Under the antiseptic her hair smelled of fresh fruit and summer flowers, and he wanted to bury his face in it and breathe in.

He daren’t look down again, though. She’d wrapped her arms around his neck and the front of the dress was gaping slightly, the soft swell of those beautiful breasts tempting him almost beyond endurance.

Crazy. Stupid. Whatever was the matter with him? He gritted his teeth, shifted her a little closer and turned towards the steps.

Lydia felt his body tense, saw his jaw tighten and she wondered why. She didn’t have time to work it out, though, even if she could, because as he headed towards the house three children came tumbling down the steps and came to a sliding halt in front of them, their mouths open, their faces shocked.

‘Pàpa?’

The eldest, a thin, gangly girl with a riot of dark curls and her father’s beautiful eyes, stared from one of them to the other, and the look on her face was pure horror.

‘I think you’d better explain to your children that I am not your new wife,’ she said drily, and the girl glanced back at her and then up at her father again.

‘Pàpa?’

He was miles away, caught up in a fairy-tale fantasy of carrying this beautiful woman over the threshold and then peeling away the layers of her bridal gown …

‘Massimo? I think you need to explain to the children,’ Lydia said softly, watching his face at close range. There was a tic in his jaw, the muscle jumping. Had he carried Angelina up these steps?

‘It’s all right, Francesca,’ he said in English, struggling to find his voice. ‘This is Miss Fletcher. I met her today at the airport, and she’s had an accident and has to rest for a few days, so I’ve brought her here. Say hello.’

She frowned and asked something in Italian, and he smiled a little grimly and shook his head. ‘No. We are not married. Say hello to Miss Fletcher, cara.’

‘Hello, Miss Fletcher,’ Francesca said in careful English, her smile wary but her shoulders relaxing a little, and Lydia smiled back at her. She felt a little awkward, gathered up in his arms against that hard, broad chest with the scent of his body doing extraordinary things to her heart, but there was nothing she could do about it except smile and hope his arms didn’t break.

‘Hello, Francesca. Thank you for speaking English so I can understand you.’

‘That’s OK. We have to speak English to Auntie Isabelle. This is Lavinia, and this is Antonino. Say hello,’ she prompted.

Lydia looked at the other two, clustered round their sister. Lavinia was the next in line, with the same dark, glorious curls but mischief dancing in her eyes, and Antonino, leaning against Francesca and squiggling the toe of his shoe on the gravel, was the youngest. The baby in the photo, the little one who must have lost his mother before he ever really knew her.

Her heart ached for them all, and she felt a welling in her chest and crushed it as she smiled at them.

‘Hello, Lavinia, hello, Antonino. It’s nice to meet you,’ she said, and they replied politely, Lavinia openly studying her, her eyes brimming over with questions.

‘And this is Carlotta,’ Massimo said, and she lifted her head and met searching, wise eyes in a wizened face. He spoke rapidly to her in Italian, explaining her ridiculous fancy-dress outfit no doubt, and she saw the moment he told her that they’d lost the competition, because Carlotta’s face softened and she looked at Lydia and shook her head.

‘Sorry,’ she said, lifting her hands. ‘So sorry for you. Come, I help you change and you will be happier, si?’

‘Si,’ she said with a wry chuckle, and Massimo shifted her more firmly against his chest and followed Carlotta puffing and wheezing up the steps.

The children were tugging at him and questioning him in Italian, and he was laughing and answering them as fast as he could. Bless their little hearts, she could see they were hanging on his every word.

He was the centre of their world, and they’d missed him, and she’d kept him away from them all these hours when they must have been desperate to have him back. She felt another shaft of guilt, but Carlotta was leading the way through the big double doors, and she looked away from the children and gasped softly.

They were in a cloistered courtyard, with a broad covered walkway surrounding the open central area that must cast a welcome shade in the heat of the day, but now in the evening it was softly lit and she could see more of the huge pots of olive trees set on the old stone paving in the centre, and on the low wall that divided the courtyard from the cloistered walkway geraniums tumbled over the edge, bringing colour and scent to the evening air.

But that wasn’t what had caught her attention. It was the frescoed walls, the ancient faded murals under the shelter of the cloisters that took her breath away.

He didn’t pause, though, or give her time to take in the beautiful paintings, but carried her through one of the several doors set in the walls, then along a short hallway and into a bedroom.

He set her gently on the bed, and she felt oddly bereft as he straightened up and moved away.

‘I’ll be in the kitchen with the children. Carlotta will tell me when you’re ready and I’ll come and get you.’

‘Thank you.’

He smiled fleetingly and went out, the children’s clamouring voices receding as he walked away, and Carlotta closed the door.

‘Your bath,’ she said, pushing open another door, and she saw a room lined with pale travertine marble, the white suite simple and yet luxurious. And the bath—she could stick her bandaged leg up on the side and just wallow. Pure luxury.

‘Thank you.’ She couldn’t wait. All she wanted was to get out of the dress and into water. But the zip …

‘I help you,’ Carlotta said, and as the zip slid down, she was freed from the scratchy fabric at last. A bit too freed. She clutched at the top as it threatened to drift away and smiled at Carlotta.

‘I can manage now,’ she said, and Carlotta nodded.

‘I get your bag.’

She went out, and Lydia closed the bedroom door behind her, leaning back against it and looking around again.

It was much simpler than the imposing and impressive entrance, she saw with relief. Against expectations it wasn’t vast, but it was pristine, the bed made up with sparkling white linen, the rug on the floor soft underfoot, and the view from the French window would be amazing in daylight.

She limped gingerly over to the window and stared out, pressing her face against the glass. The doors opened onto what looked like a terrace, and beyond—gosh, the view must be utterly breathtaking, she imagined, because even at dusk it was extraordinary, the twinkling lights of villages and scattered houses sparkling in the twilight.

Moving away from the window, she glanced around her, taking in her surroundings in more detail. The floor was tiled, the ceiling beamed, with chestnut perhaps? Probably, with terracotta tiles between the beams. Sturdy, simple and homely—which was crazy, considering the scale of the place and the grandeur of the entrance! But it seemed more like a farm now, curiously, less of a fortress, and much less threatening.

And that established, she let go of the awful dress, kicked it away from her legs, bundled it up in a ball and hopped into the bathroom.

The water was calling her. Studying the architecture could wait.