Читать книгу Tall, Dark and Italian: In the Italian's Bed / The Sicilian's Bought Bride / The Moretti Marriage - Carol Marinelli, Anne Mather - Страница 11

CASTELLI’S daughter led them along a path between a clump of oak and cypress trees. There was the scent of pine and the unmistakable tang of the sea. And when they emerged onto a private sun terrace, Tess could see a handful of guests basking on the beach below the hotel. There were striped chairs and tilted awnings, pedalos lying dormant in the noonday heat. Some children were paddling in the shallows, searching for shells, while their parents stretched out on towels on the sand.

She hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told Maria it was a beautiful place. The small town of Viali occupied a curving headland and the cliffs that rose above it were thick with pine and spruce. The beach was deep, stretching out some distance towards the water, with gently rising dunes studded with flowering cactus and prickly pear.

The terrace Maria took them to was separated from the public areas by a trellis totally covered with flowering vines. A teak table and chairs were set beneath a pale green umbrella, and as they approached a girl of perhaps eighteen, dressed in the uniform of a maid, bustled out to see if there was anything she could get them.

Maria ordered refreshments, consulting her father before adding a bottle of Chianti to her request. Then, after handing the basket of flowers to the girl, she gestured to Tess to take a seat.

It was all very polite, very civilised, but Tess knew that Castelli’s daughter had not been pleased to see her. Oh, she’d hid it well, due no doubt to her father’s influence, but Maria obviously considered Tess’s presence an intrusion.

And it was, thought Tess unhappily. She should never have agreed to come with him. It wasn’t as if this trip was going to achieve anything except highlight the immense gulf between his—and Marco’s—lifestyle and that of herself and Ashley.

Unless that was what he had intended to do, she reflected, resting her elbows on the table and cupping her chin in her hands. Though what influence he thought she might have on her sister, she couldn’t imagine. The whole situation just got more and more bizarre and this had to be the last time she let him make her decisions for her.

He had seated himself beside her now, dropping his jacket over the back of his chair and rolling back the sleeves of his shirt over his forearms. A lean brown-skinned arm, liberally sprinkled with dark hair, rested on the table only inches from her elbow and she quickly withdrew back into her chair.

She hadn’t forgotten the brush of his fingers against her thigh or the disturbing weight of the hand that had rested so briefly on her shoulder moments before. It was stupid to think it, she knew, but there’d been something almost possessive about the way he’d gripped her bones. He’d probably only done it to stop her from blurting out why they were really here, but that hadn’t prevented the unsettling feeling it had given her in her stomach.

Had Maria noticed? She had certainly observed Castelli’s hand resting on her shoulder and she was bound to be speculating about the kind of relationship they had. No relationship, Tess tried to communicate silently. This visit was far more innocent than it appeared. Maria didn’t have to worry that her father was having a midlife crisis over her.

The maid returned wheeling a trolley. From within its chilled cabinet she took a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice, another of what looked like lemonade, and a squat jug of fresh cream. Riding on top of the trolley was a pot of coffee and some hand-painted cups and saucers, as well as a dish of almond biscuits and the bottle of wine Castelli had requested.

There were glasses, too, and a cut-glass vase containing a newly picked red rose still not fully in bloom. The girl placed everything on the table along with a handful of scarlet napkins, taking the trouble to set everything out so that her mistress could have no complaint, Tess was sure.

‘Grazie.’

It was Castelli who thanked her, his infrequent smile causing her to blush with obvious pleasure. But then, he had that ability, thought Tess ruefully, to make any woman feel as if she was important. She had to remember that, too. It wouldn’t do for her to think that his interest in her was anything more than self-serving.

Yet there had been that moment in the car when they’d talked more easily. He’d told her a little about his childhood and she’d explained how she’d felt when her father had died. He was easy to talk to and for a little while she’d forgotten what she was doing there and where they were going. However when his questions had become too personal she’d made the mistake of using the insect that had settled on her leg as a distraction, and suddenly she’d been painfully aware of how naive she was.

The way he’d looked at her then had been far from impersonal. There’d been that stillness in his gaze that she’d seen once before and a frankly sensual curve to his mouth. He’d looked at her as if he was assessing what kind of partner she’d make in bed, she thought uneasily. It had been a devastating assault on her senses that had left her feeling confused and shivery and distinctly weak.

Of course moments later she’d been sure she’d imagined it. He hadn’t repeated the look. In fact, he’d spent the rest of the journey in virtual silence. It hadn’t helped that she hadn’t been able to think of anything to say either. All she’d done was withdraw into her corner as if having a man stare at her had scared her to death.

But it was foolish to be thinking about such things here with his daughter regarding her with obvious suspicion and Castelli himself near enough to touch. Oh, God, she thought, this was getting far too complicated. She didn’t want any kind of involvement, with him or anyone else.

‘So, Papa,’ said Maria, when the maid had departed again. ‘How did you get to know Miss—er—Tess?’

‘Teresa,’ Castelli corrected her shortly, and Tess could only imagine the warning look he cast his daughter and which caused Maria’s face to darken with colour. ‘We met at the Medici Gallery, naturalmente. I was looking for her sister and she was not there.’

‘No?’ Was that a slightly uncertain note she could hear in the younger girl’s voice now? Tess wondered. Whatever, Maria evidently tried to appear only casually interested. ‘I did not know you were acquainted with the gallery, Papa.’

‘I am not.’ Castelli was sharp and to the point. ‘But your brother is, capisce?’

Maria’s jaw dropped. ‘Marco?’ she echoed, and Tess wondered if she was only imagining the consternation in the girl’s voice now. ‘Ma perché? Prego—but why?’

‘You do not know, cara?’ There was no mistaking the censure in Castelli’s tone. ‘Do not lie to me, Maria. You knew of Marco’s sudden interest in painting. I have heard him discussing his aspirations with you.’

‘Well, yes.’ Maria lifted her shoulders defensively. ‘But why should I associate his interest in painting with the Medici Gallery?’

Castelli’s eyes narrowed. ‘You tell me.’

Maria cast a malevolent look at Tess, clearly resenting her observance of this embarrassing scene. If she could, Tess would have left the table then, just as unhappy with the situation as Maria. But she was a stranger here. She didn’t even know where the restrooms were. And she was supposed to be monitoring the girl’s reactions too. Did she know where her brother was or didn’t she?

‘I do not know what you are talking about, Papa,’ Maria said at last, reaching for the jug of fruit juice and pouring some rather jerkily into an ice-filled glass. Her hand was shaking, however, and she spilled some of the orange juice onto the table. She only just managed to stifle her irritation as she snatched at a napkin to mop it up. Then, turning to Tess, she arched her brows. ‘Juice or coffee?

‘Juice is fine,’ said Tess, not wanting to risk the chance of getting hot coffee spilled over her, deliberately or otherwise. ‘Thanks.’

‘Papa?’

Castelli shifted in his seat and, although she was supposed to be concentrating on their exchange, Tess flinched at the bump of his thigh against her hip. Despite her determination not to get involved with him, she couldn’t help her instinctive reaction to the contact. His thigh was hard and warm and masculine, and she felt the heat his body generated spread across her abdomen and down into the moistening cleft between her legs.

She doubted he’d noticed what had happened. After all, what had happened? Just a careless brush of his leg against hers. If she was absurdly sensitive, that was her problem. Castelli was totally focussed on his daughter. She might as well not have been there.

He made an eloquent gesture now, as if having to decide what he wanted to drink was an annoying distraction. ‘Chi-anti,’ he said after a moment, nodding towards the bottle of wine the maid had left uncorked in the middle of the table. ‘But you will not divert me, Maria. Marco is missing. If I find out you know where he is, I shall not forgive you.’

Maria gasped. ‘What do you mean, Papa? Marco is missing? Has he run away?’

‘Do not be melodramatic, Maria. I suspect you know perfectly well what is going on. But in case you have any doubts, let me enlighten you, cara. Your brother has gone away with Ashley Daniels, Tess’s sister.’

Tess wasn’t sure what Maria’s reaction meant then. She was shocked, certainly, but whether that shock was the result of Marco’s behaviour or because her father had found her out, it was impossible to judge.

‘But—that cannot be,’ she said at last, her voice a little unsteady. ‘You are saying that Marco has some interest in the woman who runs the Medici Gallery? That is ludicrous. She is far too old for him.’

Tess decided not to take offence at Maria’s words. After all, she was right. Ashley was too old for Marco. They were all agreed on that. Of course, hearing the scorn in Maria’s voice did make her feel ancient. But what of it? It didn’t matter what Maria thought of her.

‘You knew he was seeing her, no?’

Castelli was relentless, and Maria sighed. ‘I knew he visited the gallery,’ she admitted. ‘But he visited a lot of galleries, Papa. He told me he was interested in art. Why should I suspect his visits to this woman’s gallery meant anything more than the rest?’

‘Because he told you?’ suggested her father grimly. ‘Vene, Maria, I am not a fool. Marco tells you everything. If he was interested in this woman, he could not have kept it a secret from you.’

Maria looked tearful now. ‘You have to believe me, Papa. Do you think I would have encouraged him to do something like this?’

‘I am not saying you encouraged him,’ retorted Castelli. ‘I believe you are far too sensible for that. But I do think he mentioned his interest in this woman to you. To—what shall we say?—to brag about it, force! Did he tell you the kind of relationship they had?’

Maria sniffed. ‘I do not believe it.’

‘What do you not believe? That Marco could be infatuated with an older woman? Or that he would hide his true feelings from you?’

‘That he could be so—so stupid!’ exclaimed Maria, looking at Tess as if she were in some way to blame for this fiasco. ‘Bene, Papa, I knew that he admired this woman. But she is old. I assumed she would have more sense than to take his advances seriously.’

‘Basta!’ Castelli threw himself back in his chair, his frustration evident, and Tess shifted uncertainly as he cast an impatient glance in her direction. ‘At last we have the truth. You knew of Marco’s affair and you chose not to tell me.’

Maria stifled a sob. ‘There was no affair, Papa. Solo—just a silly infatuation. If Marco has gone away, you have no reason to believe he has taken this woman with him.’

Castelli shook his head. ‘We know they went together, Maria. They boarded a plane to Milano several days ago—’

‘A plane!’

‘But when the plane landed in Milano, they were not on board,’ he continued. ‘We suspect they disembarked at Genova. I am still hoping you can tell us why.’

Maria’s lips parted. ‘Me, Papa?’

Castelli nodded. ‘If you have any information, any information at all, I advise you give it to me now.’

‘But I do not.’ Groping for one of the napkins, Maria broke down completely. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she exclaimed, ‘I have told you all I know, Papa. I am as unhappy with the situation as you are.’

‘Veramente ?’

Her father did not sound sympathetic and Tess wished again that she’d passed on this trip. This was a family matter and her involvement was an intrusion. All right, she wanted to know where Ashley was, but it wasn’t the matter of life and death it seemed to the Castellis.

With Rafe di Castelli seething beside her, she felt as if she couldn’t get enough air and, picking up her glass, she gently eased away from the table. Crossing to the low wall that marked the boundary of the patio, she took a sip of the fruit juice, wishing she possessed the sense of well-being that had seemed so attainable before she’d left England. Now she was on edge, embarrassed, conscious that she was in some small part responsible. If she hadn’t agreed to stand in for her, Ashley could never have planned this escapade.

The sound of footsteps caused her to turn in time to see another man come out of the building behind them. Not as tall as Castelli and obviously much younger, the man went straight to Maria’s side and pulled her up into his arms.

‘Amatissima,’ he exclaimed, gathering her close and gazing accusingly at her father. ‘Che c’e, car a. Si sente male?’

‘There is nothing wrong with her, Carlo,’ declared Castelli in English, rising impatiently to his feet to face the other man. ‘She is upset because her brother has disappeared and she might have been able to stop him.’

Carlo. Tess remembered the name. This obviously was Maria’s husband. But his father-in-law’s words had brought a frown to his fair handsome features and, despite his concern, he drew back to regard his wife’s tear-stained face.

‘E vero?’

He asked her if it was true and Maria nodded unhappily. But before she could say anything in her own defence her father intervened.

‘Let me introduce you to my companion, Carlo,’ he said, indicating Tess. ‘Her grasp of our language is not so great. That is why we are speaking in English. Tess, this is my son-in-law, Carlo Sholti. Carlo, this is Tess Daniels. Her sister is the woman Marco has become infatuated with.’

Tess remained by the low wall, offering the young man a polite smile in greeting. She had the feeling Carlo was as curious about her presence as his wife had been earlier. But, at this point in time, Tess considered that as immaterial as her participation in this trip.

‘Marco has disappeared,’ put in Maria, regaining her husband’s attention. ‘Papa says he has gone with that woman who runs the gallery in San Michele. He thinks I should have told him they were friendly. But I had no idea Marco would do something like this.’

Carlo pressed Maria back into her chair and then turned to face Castelli. ‘What is this woman’s sister doing here?’ he demanded, in English this time. ‘Does she not know where they have gone?’

‘Obviously not,’ said Castelli curtly, as if he resented the implication of complicity. ‘And I invited Tess to accompany me. Do you have a problem with that, Carlo, or is this the usual way you treat unexpected guests?’

Now it was Carlo’s turn to look embarrassed. ‘Perdone, signorina,’ he said stiffly. ‘I did not mean to be rude.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ mumbled Tess, wishing she could just leave them to it. ‘I’m sorry we’ve upset your wife. We’re just trying to find out where my sister and your brother-in-law have gone.’

‘Neatly put,’ remarked Castelli drily, and meeting his eyes Tess was again reminded of how disturbingly attractive he was. Even here, with his daughter and his son-in-law watching their every move, she was supremely conscious of his maleness. And the dark colours he wore accentuated it; gave him an energy and a feline power that couldn’t help but stir her blood.

‘No problem,’ she said at last, when it became obvious everyone was waiting for her answer. She moistened her lips. ‘I think we should be going now. I—well, I’ve got to get back to the gallery.’

She’d half expected an argument; half hoped for one, she acknowledged uneasily, not looking forward to the journey back to San Michele. Castelli, sociable, Castelli friendly, she could handle. But Castelli impatient, Castelli angry, even, was something else.

‘I think you are right, car a’ He chose to agree with her and she wondered if he used the endearment deliberately. He must know his daughter would resent the apparent familiarity between them. He swallowed the wine in his glass and set it carelessly back on the table. ‘Much as we would have liked to join you for lunch, Maria, I agree with Tess. We should be getting back.’

‘But, Papa—’

‘Not now, Maria.’ He was polite, but firm. ‘If you think of anything else, I am just at the other end of the phone, no?’

‘You will let us know, as soon as you have any news?’

That was Carlo, and Castelli’s lips flattened against his teeth. ‘If I can return the request,’ he said. ‘Maria may remember something she has presently forgotten.’

Both Carlo and Maria came to see them off. Maria had dried her eyes now and looked more resentful than upset. She looked on sulkily as Castelli swung open Tess’s door and waited for her to seat herself before closing it again. Once again, Tess was intensely conscious of her bare legs and of how provocative her appearance must seem to the younger woman.

But she couldn’t do anything about it. She just hoped Maria didn’t think she had designs on her father. However attracted she might be to him, she thought she was sensible enough to know he was far beyond her reach.

As they drove away Castelli seemed absorbed in his thoughts, and Tess was glad to relax after the tensions of the last hour. Nevertheless, she found herself replaying all that had been said and she wondered if Maria was doing the same.

‘Do you think I was cruel?’ he asked abruptly, and Tess marvelled that he should have guessed her thoughts so exactly. ‘I can see you are troubled,’ he went on wryly. ‘I was not very sympathetic, was I?’

Tess hesitated a moment, then she said, ‘No,’ in a noncommittal voice. His relationship with his daughter was nothing to do with her and she wished he wouldn’t behave as if it were.

‘And how would you have handled it?’ he inquired, his fingers flexing on the wheel. He had very masculine hands, broad yet long-fingered. She had a momentary image of those hands brown against her white body. Of how the blunt tips of his fingers would feel caressing her quivering flesh.

Dear God!

She was still fighting to dispel those feelings when he looked at her again and she realised he was waiting for her reply. ‘Um—I don’t know,’ she muttered. ‘It’s nothing to do with me.’ She tried to think positively to prevent the inevitable rejoinder. ‘I—er—I think she was genuinely shocked about what had happened.’

‘Oh, so do I,’ he concurred drily. ‘I am sure Maria is upset because Marco did not confide his plans to her. But she is also jealous of your sister.’ His tawny eyes swept over her appraisingly. ‘She finds it hard to accept that her brother might have needs she cannot satisfy.’

Tess felt the insidious warmth spreading up from her throat and struggled to divert the conversation. She couldn’t discuss his son’s sexual needs with him! ‘The—er—the albergo was very nice,’ she said, smoothing her damp palms over the hem of her shorts. Then, realising he had noticed what she was doing, she tucked her hot hands between her knees. And because the adjective she’d used was so insipid, she added, ‘It must be wonderful to live in such a lovely spot.’

‘I am glad you liked it,’ he said at last, and she wondered if the delay was a deliberate attempt to disconcert her. If so, it had worked. ‘It is a pity you did not get the chance to see more.’

‘I don’t think your daughter would agree with you,’ murmured Tess, almost without thinking, and Castelli’s brows drew together as he absorbed her words. ‘I mean, I don’t think she was in the mood for visitors,’ she added hastily. ‘She hasn’t been married very long. And she does seem very young.’

‘Maria is nineteen,’ he told her evenly. ‘And I know exactly what you meant. You think my daughter did not approve of my bringing you with me.’ He shifted in his seat. ‘But like my son, I too have my own life to lead.’

Tess had no answer for that. Turning her head, she stared out blankly at the fields of waving poppies that stretched inland in a colourful swath. She saw a village clinging to the hillside, and tried to be objective. But how was she supposed to deal with him? The experiences she’d had in England, infrequent as they’d been, had not prepared her for his magnetism.

Pursing her lips, she decided not to let him faze her. She was a grown woman, for heaven’s sake. Not some impressionable girl who was overawed because a man had paid some attention to her. ‘I expect there are many women in your life, signore,’ she said, with amazing nonchalance. ‘Someone of your experience must be very much in demand.’

The breath he expelled then conveyed a mixture of admiration and humour. ‘You think?’ he murmured faintly. ‘And call me Rafe, if you will. Not signore.’ He paused. ‘And now you have surprised me, cara. I am not sure whether that was a compliment or not.’

Call him Rafe! Tess swallowed. She could just imagine how Maria would feel about that. ‘I was merely stating the obvious,’ she said, managing to avoid calling him anything. ‘If Maria objected to your companion today, it was not because she’d never seen you with a woman before.’

‘No?’

‘No.’ Now she’d started, she had to finish, and Tess inhaled a deep breath. ‘I’m just different from the usual women you have dealings with. Maria was resentful because—well, because of who I am.’

‘Ashley’s sister,’ he said mildly and she sighed.

‘That’s the least of it and you know it.’ She paused. ‘I don’t fit the image of the kind of woman you obviously prefer.’

He glanced her way then, and Tess was intensely conscious of the intimacy of his gaze. ‘And that image would be?’ he said, causing her no small measure of uneasiness. ‘Come, Tess, you cannot say something like that without elaborating. So tell me. What kind of woman do you think I like?’

She bent her head in confusion. As usual, he was determined to have the last word. ‘Someone more sophisticated; someone more elegant,’ she muttered at last, lifting her hands and cupping the back of her neck almost defensively. Then, exasperated, ‘How do I know? I’m just guessing that your companions don’t usually wear shorts.’

The car slowed then and for a moment she thought he was stopping so that he could continue the argument more forcefully. But, instead, he pulled onto a gravelled headland overlooking the beach below. There was a van parked there, too, the kind that supplied snacks and sandwiches to weary travellers, and, after turning off the engine, he said, ‘I think it is time for lunch, no?’