Читать книгу Tall, Dark and Italian: In the Italian's Bed / The Sicilian's Bought Bride / The Moretti Marriage - Carol Marinelli, Anne Mather - Страница 13

THE wind chimes woke her.

Tess had thought that she wouldn’t sleep, but surprisingly enough she’d fallen into a deep slumber as soon as her head touched the pillow. Perhaps it had been the heat or the tiring quality of the journey, she mused, rolling onto her back and staring up at the dust motes dancing in the rays of sun seeping through the blinds into the bedroom. Or more likely it had been the stress, she thought bitterly, as the remembrance of the previous day’s events hit her. Oh, God, she had behaved so stupidly. And that after the embarrassment she’d suffered at Maria Sholti’s hands.

Pushing herself up into a sitting position, Tess rested her elbows on her knees and pushed frustrated hands into her hair. The whole outing had been a mistake, from start to finish. Castelli should never have taken her with him, and, just because he had, she shouldn’t have run away with the idea that he was attracted to her.

How had that happened? All right, he’d given her some pretty smouldering looks, but he was an Italian, for God’s sake. Italians were supposed to be the most romantic race in the world, weren’t they? She’d obviously read more into it than he could possibly have meant. She should have been on her guard. After that scene at the Sholtis’ hotel, she should have been wary of any uncharacteristic behaviour on his part. A man who could treat his daughter so coldly was surely not to be trusted.

Yet what had happened on the beach hadn’t been entirely her fault, she consoled herself. She’d provoked him, yes, and he’d responded. It had been as simple—and as complicated—as that. She should have let him take his walk alone.

She should never have tagged along. If she’d stayed and finished her salad she wouldn’t be berating herself now.

And she wouldn’t be facing the ignominy of further humiliation when she saw him again.

If she saw him again, she amended, though she really had little expectation that she wouldn’t. Ashley was still missing; Marco was still missing. And until that particular problem was solved, she was going to have to live with it. And with him.

She threw back the sheet and slid her legs off the bed. Sitting here brooding about it wasn’t going to achieve anything. The gallery wouldn’t open itself, and, despite her anger with Ashley, she had promised to look after the place in her absence.

All the same, as she stood in the shower she couldn’t help reliving the agony of the ride home. Although Castelli had attempted to restore their earlier camaraderie, he had been fighting a losing battle where she was concerned. Her own responses had been monosyllabic, she remembered, cringing at the way she’d blocked his every overture. She’d let him see exactly how hurt she’d been, and he must have been so relieved when they’d reached San Michele and he’d been able to drop her at the gallery. She’d probably convinced him she was no better than Ashley, after all. He no doubt considered he had had a lucky escape.

With thoughts like these for company, Tess didn’t spend long in the shower. Towelling herself dry, she contented herself with running a comb through her hair before dressing in a lemon chemise top and a green and blue Indian cotton skirt. Canvas boots completed her outfit and, after viewing herself without enthusiasm in the mirror of the carved ar-moire where Ashley kept her clothes, Tess left the apartment.

The morning passed, thankfully without incident. The only visitor she had who wasn’t a would-be customer was Silvio and he seemed to find nothing amiss with her appearance.

‘Cara,’ he exclaimed, his use of the familiar endearment reminding her painfully of Castelli, ‘how are you today? You are feeling better, spero?’

‘Better?’ Tess frowned. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’

‘Mas, ieri,’ said Silvio, wide eyed. ‘Yesterday. You close the gallery early, no? Naturalmente, I think you are not well’

‘Oh.’ Tess felt her face heat. ‘Um—yes. I did close early. You’re right. But—’ she couldn’t tell an outright lie ‘—it wasn’t because I was ill.’

‘No?’ Silvio gave her an inquiring look and she knew she had to elaborate.

‘No.’ She paused. ‘I—it was such a lovely day, I decided to—to take a little time off.’

‘Ah.’ Silvio regarded her with narrowed eyes. ‘And you enjoyed this—this time off?’

No.

‘Very much,’ she said, deciding one white lie was in order. And then, to distract him, ‘Isn’t it hot today? I’ve got the fan going but it just seems to be moving the air around.’

‘It is warm air,’ he pointed out drily, and she wondered if he was entirely satisfied with her reply. ‘So, do you have any plans for lunch?’

‘Lunch?’ Tess had the feeling she would never want to eat lunch again. ‘Oh—no.’ Then, realising what was coming next, ‘I’m too busy to think about lunch. Taking time off is all very well, but it just means the work piles up in your absence.’

Silvio glanced about him at the empty gallery. ‘It does not seem so busy to me.’

‘Oh, it’s paperwork,’ said Tess, realising she was having to lie again. ‘Honestly, you’d be surprised at the number of enquiries Ashley gets about this or that artist. And then there are the bills…’

‘In other words you do not wish to have lunch with me,’ remarked Silvio flatly. ‘You do not have to—if you will forgive the pun—draw me a picture, Tess. It is obvious some other man has—what do you say?—beaten me to it, no? Who is he, eh? Do I know him?’

‘No!’ Tess spoke impulsively and then, realising her words could easily be misconstrued, she hastily amended her answer. ‘That is, there is no other man, Silvio. Um—not here, anyway,’ she added, her face burning with embarrassment. ‘I just can’t keep taking time off, that’s all. It wouldn’t be fair to—to Signor Scottolino.’

Silvio shrugged. ‘As you say.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Si. Anch’io, cara.’ Me, too. He gave her a small, strangely knowing smile. ‘Do not work too hard, ragazza. All work and no play is not good, no? Ciao!’

Tess breathed a sigh of relief as he disappeared through the open doorway and, deciding she’d earned a strong cup of black coffee, she went to put water into the pot. But she couldn’t help wondering if Silvio’s visit had been as innocent as he’d pretended. Could he possibly have seen her leaving with Castelli the day before?

Of course he could, but if he had there was nothing she could do about it now. And, besides, she had a perfectly legitimate excuse for the outing if she was asked. But she wouldn’t be. Silvio had said his piece and no one else was interested. Except Maria and her husband, she amended. And they knew nothing about what had happened after she and Castelli had left the albergo.

Thank goodness!

By midday Tess was feeling a little more relaxed. Her fears that Castelli might decide to pay her another unexpected visit had not been realised, and, with her stomach reminding her that she’d not had any breakfast that morning, she decided to slip out to the bakery to buy a sandwich for her lunch.

She’d only closed the gallery for a few minutes. The bakery wasn’t far. But when she came hurrying back along the parade of shops she saw a woman trying the door with obvious impatience. With the blinds pulled up, it appeared that the gallery was open, and Tess thought it was just her luck that a customer had arrived in the short time she’d been away.

‘Mi scusi,’ she called, reaching the woman just as she was turning away. The woman turned back and Tess saw she was older than she’d thought. ‘Eccomi, signora. Posso aiutare?’ Can I help you?

Dark brows arched aristocratically over equally dark eyes. The woman was tall and exquisitely dressed in a taupe silk suit and high heels. Because of her height, she towered over Tess, her whole manner one of undisguised condescension.

Yet for all that, there was something familiar about her. Tess knew she’d never seen the woman before but the annoying sense of familiarity remained. Tess had barely registered the fact that she reminded her of Maria Castelli when the woman spoke, and her words gave substance to the thought.

‘Miss Daniels, e?’ she inquired coldly, looking down her long nose at Tess in a manner intended to intimidate. ‘Ah, si. You recognise the name. Let us go inside, Miss Daniels. I desire to speak to you.’

‘All right.’ Tess was too taken aback by this turn of events to offer any resistance and she unlocked the door and allowed the older woman to precede her into the gallery. Then, gathering herself, she said, a little less submissively, ‘Do we know one another, signora?’

The woman didn’t immediately proffer a reply. Instead, she stood in the centre of the floor surveying the paintings that lined the walls with evident dislike. They were not all good paintings, Tess acknowledged, but some of them weren’t at all bad. They didn’t deserve the contempt with which they were being regarded. Her visitor was acting as if they were little better than trash.

Or perhaps she’d got it wrong, she mused suddenly. Perhaps it was she whom the woman considered to be trash. That would fit if she was some relation of Maria Castelli—or rather Maria Sholti. And despite the relief she’d felt at Castelli’s non-appearance, now she felt a growing sense of resentment that he should have sent this woman in his place.

The woman swung round at last. ‘I know of you, Miss Daniels,’ she said, and Tess had to remind herself of what she’d asked moments before. ‘My son has spoken of you to me. I am Lucia di Castelli.’ She said the name arrogantly. ‘The boy your sister has corrupted is my grandson.’

Tess caught her breath. So this was Castelli’s mother. She should have guessed. The similarity wasn’t totally confined to his daughter.

But Castelli wasn’t going to help her now and, holding up her head, she said stiffly, ‘We don’t know that Ashley has done anything of the kind.’

‘Oh, I think we do, signorina.’ Lucia was scornful. ‘I cannot think of any other reason why a woman approaching thirty should encourage the attentions of an impressionable child, can you?’

‘Marco’s hardly a child,’ protested Tess indignantly. ‘In England, boys of sixteen can be quite—mature.’

‘And there you have it, Miss Daniels.’ Lucia’s lips curled. ‘As you say, in England things are very different indeed. Young single women think nothing of having a child—children—with several different partners. Marriage is considered an outdated institution and the church’s teachings are ignored. That is not how things are done in Italy, Miss Daniels. Here we respect our institutions, we respect our elders. And we expect visitors to our country to do the same.’

Tess licked her dry lips. ‘You paint a very unattractive picture of my country, signora,’ she said, keeping her voice calm with a definite effort. ‘But I can assure you that we are not a totally godless society. As with everything, the truth lies somewhere in between.’

Lucia snorted. ‘You would say that, naturalmente.’

‘Yes, I would.’ Tess gained a little confidence from the fact that the woman didn’t immediately contradict her. ‘We are not heathens, signora. And how honest is it for a woman to marry one man and have an affair with another? Is that considered acceptable in Italy?’

A faint trace of colour entered Lucia’s cheeks at her words. ‘You have been speaking to Rafe, have you not?’ she demanded harshly, shocking Tess by the vehemence of her tone. ‘Of course you have. That is why he is so—so sensibile to your feelings. He sees in you a justification for his own actions.’

‘No!’ Tess was horrified. She’d spoken impulsively, never thinking that Castelli’s mother might associate her words with her son’s divorce. ‘I mean, yes, I’ve spoken to your son, signora. You know that. He thought I might know where Ashley was.’

‘But you do not?’

‘No.’ Tess was polite, but firm.

‘Did my son tell you that he has spoken with his daughter, also?’ Lucia continued. ‘Maria is married and lives in Viali, some distance from here.’

The query seemed innocent enough at face value, but Tess was wary. Was it possible that Lucia di Castelli knew she had accompanied her son the day before? Had he told her? Had Maria? And if not, how was she supposed to answer that?

‘He—I—yes, I knew,’ she mumbled at last, unwilling to venture further. Besides, why shouldn’t Castelli have mentioned that she’d gone to Viali with him? With certain abstentions in his narrative, of course.

She took a deep breath and then was relieved when a young couple came into the gallery. They were obviously holiday-makers and she doubted they intended to buy anything. But her visitor didn’t know that.

‘Was there a reason for your visit, signora?’ she asked, indicating the newcomers. ‘Because if not, I have customers. If you hoped I might have any more information than I’ve given your son, then I’m afraid I must disappoint you.’

Lucia’s lips tightened. ‘I think you know more than you are saying, Miss Daniels. Unlike my son, I am not beguiled by a sympathetic manner and a pretty face!’

Tess was taken aback by her rudeness and she glanced awkwardly about her wondering if their exchange could be heard by anyone else. But to her relief the young couple had moved to the farthest side of the gallery and she thought it was unlikely that they’d noticed anything amiss.

‘I think you’d better go, signora,’ she said in a low voice, refusing to humour her any longer. ‘I’m working and I’m sure you have better things to do than stand here wasting my time. I’m sorry about your grandson, I really am. But there’s nothing I can do about it. Ashley didn’t confide in me before she took off.’

Lucia’s nostrils flared, and for a moment Tess expected another rebuke. But then, amazingly, the woman’s haughty arrogance crumbled, and with a gesture of defeat she pulled a handkerchief out of her purse.

Tess didn’t know which was worse, having Castelli’s mother berating her as an accomplice or breaking down in front of her. Tears were streaming down the woman’s face now and she was obviously distressed. Any moment Tess’s customers were going to notice and, despite herself, she couldn’t allow that to happen.

With a feeling of resignation, she took Lucia by the arm and led her back into the office. Then, after seating her at Ashley’s desk, she indicated the small bathroom. ‘You can rest here,’ she said. ‘Come out when you’re feeling better. No one will disturb you. I’ll see to that.’

As she’d suspected, the young couple had no intention of buying anything, and she had to acknowledge that Signor Scottolino had a point. Since she’d been looking after the gallery, she’d sold a grand total of three paintings, which was clearly not enough profit to pay the bills.

It was another fifteen minutes before she remembered her sandwich. She’d put it down as she was talking to Signora di Castelli and now she saw it wilting in the noonday heat. She would have liked to have gone into the office and made herself some fresh coffee. Signora di Castelli might even like one. Although, remembering her son’s reaction when he’d tried the filtered brew, she couldn’t guarantee it.

However, she’d told the woman she wouldn’t be disturbed and she kept her promises. It was obviously going to take a little time for Lucia to compose herself again. Until then, Tess contented herself with straightening the pictures, picking up a leaf that had blown through the open doorway, and adjusting the blinds to limit the sunlight.

After half an hour had gone by, however, she was beginning to get anxious. All sorts of thoughts ran through her head, not least the worry that Lucia might do something desperate in her grief. Which was silly, she knew. The situation was not that serious. They might not know exactly where Marco was, but if he was with Ashley, he could hardly come to any harm.

Or could he? Tess supposed it depended what your interpretation of harm was. As far as Lucia was concerned, Ashley was little better than a baby-snatcher. The fact that Marco sounded like a precocious teenager seemed to mean nothing to her.

At the end of forty-five minutes, Tess was desperate. All right, she’d promised not to disturb the woman, but that was ages ago now. Squaring her shoulders, she picked up her sandwich and went to the half-open door of the office. ‘Signora di Castelli,’ she said, pushing it wider. ‘Are you feeling better?’

She needn’t have bothered with the softly-softly approach. The office was empty. While she’d been fretting in the gallery, Lucia must have let herself out of the back exit. So much for Tess worrying about her. She had evidently dried her eyes and made herself scarce.

Tess didn’t know whether she felt relieved or resentful. She was glad the woman had gone, of course, but she might have asked her permission to use the back door. As it was, it was standing ajar and Tess went to close it. It would have been all the same if she’d had valuable paintings on the premises. With the alarm turned off, a thief could have had a field-day.

A check of her bag assured her that there’d been no intruders in her absence. Her passport was still there and the several hundred Euros she’d brought for the trip. She frowned suddenly. She could have sworn her passport had been in the side pocket of her backpack as it had been when Castelli had asked to see it. But now it resided in the main compartment alongside her wallet-purse.

She shrugged. She must have made a mistake when she’d put it away. She hadn’t needed it for the last couple of days so she couldn’t be absolutely sure which compartment she’d put it in. Castelli had got her so flustered, she might have put it anywhere. In any case, so long as she had it, that was the important thing.

She spent a couple of minutes emptying the coffee-pot and refilling the reservoir. Then, after putting several spoonfuls of ready-ground coffee into the filter, she sat down at the desk to have her sandwich.

It wasn’t very appetising. Having waited for almost an hour, it was definitely dry. Thankfully it was cheese. She was afraid any meat would have proved inedible. Even so, if she hadn’t been so hungry, she might have put it into the bin.

As she drank her coffee she idly opened the drawers of the desk. She was not really looking for anything, but she was still conscious of the doubts she’d had before. Once again, she was fairly sure nothing was missing, and as she’d riffled through the drawers herself days ago, looking for any clues to Ashley’s whereabouts, she wasn’t really surprised when she found nothing useful now.

The niggling doubts remained, though, and she wondered if Lucia di Castelli had searched the office before she’d left. It would explain the discrepancy about her passport. And perhaps explain the reason why she’d left without saying goodbye. Though, remembering Castelli’s mother, Tess doubted whether she’d care if she offended her. Until her emotions had got the better of her, she’d been doing a fairly good job of making Tess feel she was equally to blame.

It was a long afternoon. She had a couple more customers, one of whom actually bought a painting of the pretty resort of Portofino further up the coast. The other was a young Frenchman, who was evidently on holiday. His main interest was in flirting with Tess, and she guessed Ashley had enjoyed this aspect of her job.

But she didn’t. She was in no mood to be flattered and she became impatient when he refused to go. She eventually resorted to blackmail, picking up the phone and threatening to call la polizia. She wouldn’t have, of course, but thankfully her ploy was successful.

She closed the gallery early, not wanting to risk Silvio coming round to offer her dinner. She couldn’t help thinking she’d never been so popular in her life. Of course, at home her work kept her busy and the men with whom she worked were not her type. Those that weren’t married were often too boyish. Her friend, Maggie, always said they were like overgrown school kids themselves.

Tess had only had one real relationship and that had been with a boy she’d met at college. They’d kept in touch for a couple of years afterwards, but Tess’s moving to Derbyshire had put paid to their affair. He’d eventually written that he’d found someone else, and Tess remembered she had been more relieved than sorry. Maybe she just wasn’t cut out to find a partner, she thought as she drove back to Ashley’s apartment. The quintessential schoolmistress, that was her.

An image of herself and Castelli on the beach flashed into her mind, but she quickly pushed it away. Apart from the fact that she’d initiated that encounter, it was obvious he’d only been humouring her. He was a virile man and perhaps he’d been flattered at a younger woman coming on to him. Even if he’d felt sorry for her, and that was not an alternative she wanted to consider, it hadn’t been hard for him to fake a convincing response.

He’d certainly convinced her, she thought bitterly. Her stomach still quivered at the memory of the feelings he had aroused inside her. She could still taste his kiss, still feel the heat of his tongue in her mouth. She knew he’d been physically aroused. That was something he hadn’t been able to hide. Yet even so, he’d found it easy to pull away.

And that hurt. She couldn’t understand how he’d been able to turn off his emotions like a switch. Or perhaps his emotions hadn’t been involved. She’d obviously been wrong to think he’d been as eager as she had. While she’d been anticipating how exciting making love with him would be, he’d had an entirely different agenda.

But what agenda? If he hadn’t avoided the subject of Ashley all the way back to San Michele, she’d have suspected that finding her sister had still been his principal concern. He could have thought that seducing her might produce some hitherto unspoken confession. That she’d be so bemused by his lovemaking, she’d betray any confidence she’d been given.

But she’d been wrong about that, too. While she’d been aching with longings now suppressed, Castelli had spoken of his interest in wine, and the grape harvest, and how lots of people were leaving the towns to start a new life in the country. He’d behaved as if nothing untoward had happened, as if he was totally unaware of how she was feeling.

She was sure she’d never forgive him for that. Being rejected was one thing; being ignored was something else. But, with Ashley’s example to follow, what had she expected? Castelli didn’t want anything more from her than information. He didn’t care about her. He only cared about his son.