Читать книгу Summer At Villa Rosa Collection - Kate Hardy, Jessica Gilmore - Страница 16
ОглавлениеANDIE CLEANED UP the kitchen and the stove while Cleve went to look for a ladder so that he could check the roof and see what he’d need to fix it.
He’d stripped off his shirt and left it to soak in the scullery sink and she paused as she crossed the yard with an arm full of bed linen to hang over the wall to air.
He’d lost weight in the last year and there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him, but he ran every day and the muscles on his back rippled in the sunlight. She knew how they felt beneath her fingers, the silk of his skin, the scent of his body unmasked by the aftershaves or colognes worn by most men. No scent of any kind was worn by flight crew. Every moment of the night they spent together was imprinted on her memory and she turned away before he saw all that betrayed in her face.
‘Will you hold the ladder, Miranda? I’m coming down.’
‘You shouldn’t have gone up without someone holding it,’ she said as she grasped the ladder, watching as his jeans-hugged backside descended until it was on a level with her eyes. ‘Next time, call me.’
‘Always.’ He turned to look down at her and for a moment there was nothing in the world but his gaze holding her and she was melting into the cobbles. ‘It’s okay, Miranda. I’ve got it now.’
He’d got it, she’d had it...
She moved aside and he stepped down from the ladder giving her an unimpeded view of wide shoulders tapering to narrow hips, his chest sprinkled with dark hair that arrowed down in a straight line to disappear beneath his zip.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
She jumped, felt a hot guilty blush sweep across her cheeks, then realised it wasn’t an accusation but a question.
‘Oh, um, I’ve battled my way through the cobwebs, made it upstairs and now I’m sorting out the bedrooms.’
‘Don’t overdo it,’ he said, frowning as he touched his fingers to her cheek. ‘You look a bit flushed.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said quickly. ‘The ones on the far side of the villa, away from the kitchen, aren’t too bad. Just dust and—’ She came to an abrupt halt. Did he expect to sleep with her?
What had happened between them had been one of those spontaneous moments; there had been no conscious thought, no need for words, but this was going to be so different. Awkward.
Forget expect.
Would he want to sleep with her? Really want to? Not just sex, which she knew from experience would be hot, but in his heart...
‘Cobwebs?’ he prompted.
‘And dust.’ She swallowed down the lump in her throat. ‘They sound like a couple of fairies in a Cinderella pantomime.’
He grinned. ‘If they aren’t they ought to be.’ When she didn’t answer he said, ‘You don’t have to worry about me, Miranda. I’m perfectly capable of cleaning a room and making my own bed.’
Was that little ping somewhere in the region of her heart disappointment? Despair? She’d left him sleeping to avoid the awkward morning-after encounter. It was going to be nothing compared to the evening before. A wedding night in which the groom was marrying out of duty...
‘I’ve cleaned the rooms but the mattresses and bed linen still needs airing.’ Desperate to get away from the subject of beds, she said, ‘If you’re up for a close encounter with a pair of Marigolds I’d far rather you tackled the upstairs bathroom.’
‘I’ll give it a thorough bottoming when we get back. Is it okay to take a shower in your bathroom for now?’
‘It’s not my bathroom, it’s Sofia’s. I couldn’t sleep in there. I’ve put my things in the room I used to share with Immi.’
‘Right. Well, I’ll put the ladder away, get cleaned up and then we’ll walk down into the village. If you’re still up for it? We could get a taxi for the uphill return?’
‘Yes.’ She swallowed. ‘Cleve...’ They were going to have to talk about this.
‘Hang on.’
She waited as he folded up the ladder but when he turned around she lost her nerve.
‘I just wanted to say thank you. For the roof.’
‘Hadn’t you heard? Working holidays are all the rage.’ His hand brushed her shoulder, lingered for a moment, as he passed. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘I’ll shut the French doors.’
* * *
Cleve put the ladder away in the garage. Alberto had kept it pristine. Everything shelved, labelled, tools cleaned, oiled and hung in clips, the layer of dust lending a Sleeping Beauty air to the place. Clearly the cars were his Beauties and Cleve made a note to buy a new hasp and padlock for the door while they were out.
He took clean clothes from his grip and tossed them on the king-size bed in which a king had once slept with his mistress. Having just had a fairly heavy hint that Miranda did not intend to follow Sofia’s example, he let the water run cold.
Twenty minutes later, following the unmistakable sound of a scooter engine, he found Miranda riding around the courtyard, wearing a smile as wide as a barn door.
She pulled up beside him.
‘You managed to start it.’
‘It was as clean as a whistle. I pumped some air into the tyres and put the battery on charge earlier. The tyres stayed pumped and the engine started first time. If you open the gate we can go.’
‘When was the last time you rode one of these things?’ he asked as he hauled open one of the gates and fastened it back.
‘Years, but it’s like riding a bike. Don’t worry, I won’t pitch you into a ditch.’
‘If you say so.’
A dozen things went through his mind, not least the fact that they should be wearing helmets. He wanted to wrap Miranda in cotton wool, keep her safe, but that was his problem, not hers and he threw his leg over the saddle.
‘Hold on.’
He needed no encouraging to wrap his arms around her waist as she shot through the gate and onto the road. He took full advantage of the opportunity to hold her close so that her back was close up against his chest, his cheek resting against her hair, which still smelled faintly of smoke, taking the curves as if they were one. His only problem was that they reached the edge of the village and the DIY warehouse far too soon.
Half an hour later, roofing supplies ordered with the promise that they would be delivered that afternoon, they were sitting outside the blue painted café, wine and water on the table, a waiter listing what was on the menu for lunch.
Miranda ordered a swordfish steak with a salad.
‘You seem to have regained your appetite,’ he said as he ordered the same with a side order of fries.
‘Sunshine, fresh air...’ She shook her head. ‘The truth is that I was stressing over how to tell you about the baby.’
‘Why would you do that?’
She looked at him helplessly. ‘Cleve...’
‘Stupid question.’ She was stressing because she thought he was screwed up with grief but it was too lovely a day to darken with the truth—that he was simply screwed up.
He’d kept Rachel’s secret but Miranda would have to know everything before she took an irrevocable decision about her future. Not now, though. Not here. ‘I hope it hasn’t put you off your food.’
‘No.’ Andie shook her head. ‘I’m fine.’
Nearly fine.
Neither of them spoke for a while but the silence was the comfortable kind between two people who’d known one another for a long time and didn’t need to fill every moment with banal conversation. Instead they watched the bustle of a busy working harbour, the boats coming and going, men washing down decks, a skinny black cat creeping along on its belly, stalking something that only it could see.
‘I like this place,’ Cleve said as their food arrived.
‘Me too.’
The waiter asked if there was anything else they wanted, wished them ‘Buon appetito’ and left them to it.
They tasted the fish and pronounced it good. Andie helped herself to some of his fries. He asked why she hadn’t ordered her own. It was the normal, everyday stuff that was no different from lunch in the mess or down the pub and within minutes they were talking about work. The performance of the Learjet. How the Cyprus office was bringing in more business from the Middle East. Nothing personal. No more straying into dangerously emotional territory where the past could trip them up.
Cleve ordered an espresso. She refused to be tempted by cheesecake. Cleve paid the bill, checked the time and stood up. ‘The tiles are being delivered this afternoon. You can stay in town if you like but I’d better get back.’
She knew that nothing would happen until four o’clock when the shops would reopen and the town would come to life but she’d inadvertently invoked bad memories and sensed he needed some time alone.
‘The village has grown since I was last here. It’s almost a town now and I’d like to explore a little. Walk off lunch.’
‘Take care riding back. See if you can find a helmet.’
‘I will if you promise not to go up on the roof unless I’m there.’
He drew a cross over his heart. ‘Scouts’ honour.’
‘If you need me just ring the bell.’
His steel-grey eyes softened. ‘Never doubt that I need you, Miranda.’ She was still taking in his words when he caught the back of her head in his hand and kissed her. His mouth lingered momentarily as if tasting her and then he was gone before she could catch her breath.
She raised her hand to her mouth. It hadn’t been a heavy kiss, just firm enough to leave the faintest tingle and send sparks flying in all directions.
A promise.
The waiter returned with his receipt and, startling him with a smile, she said, ‘I think I’ll have that cheesecake after all.’
When she returned, there was a car outside and in the courtyard Cleve was erecting a scaffolding deck. ‘Where did that come from?’ she asked.
‘I hired it. Health and safety. I don’t see a helmet.’
‘I couldn’t find a motorbike accessories shop. Has Matt brought his mother? I thought we might have scared him off. Did he say anything?’
‘I was inside when they arrived and he took her straight down to the beach.’
‘I’ll try and catch them when they come up. To thank them for the marmalade. I would have bought a replacement jar but the shop isn’t open until four.’
‘We can pick one up in San Rocco tomorrow and drop it off on the way back,’ he suggested.
‘You can ask him to be your witness.’
He nodded, tightened a clamp.
‘I’m going to see if I can start the little runaround. I’ll feel safer driving into the city in that and we’ll have somewhere to put the shopping.’
‘My knees will be under my chin. Why don’t you see if you can start the convertible?’ he suggested, testing the connection before adding another piece.
‘That is a valuable vintage automobile and I’ve seen how the locals drive.’
‘Like Ben Hur in a chariot race?’
That was so close to her own thought that she laughed. ‘Exactly.’
‘Point taken.’ He was smiling when he looked up. ‘My knees and chin will probably survive the indignity.’
* * *
The capital, San Rocco, was one of those enchanting old cities that had everything. Ancient buildings, tiny courtyards and alleyways, steep steps disappearing around corners, tantalising glimpses of gardens through wrought-iron gates. Wide open piazzas with cafés spilling out onto the pavement. Pedestrian-only streets lined with what had once been palazzos, built in some golden age when the island was a crossroads for trade, but which now housed elegant boutiques.
And perched above it was the castle, dominating the city and protecting its ancient harbour far below.
‘I can’t believe this place isn’t overrun by tourists,’ Andie said. ‘It has everything.’
‘Everything except an airport.’
‘Why don’t they build one?’
‘Maybe they like it the way it is.’
‘If I lived here I think I might, too,’ she admitted. ‘It’s tough on the young people who have to leave to make a living, though.’ She mimed a stab through the heart.
‘Not many tourists but there is an information office,’ he said, crossing the piazza. ‘With luck they can direct us to a notary.’
An hour later they had sworn statements, paid to have them translated into Italian and were told they could pick them up the following afternoon.
‘Well, that was easy,’ Andie said. ‘Now for the tough bit.’
‘Tough bit?’
‘I hate shopping for clothes. One of the great things about my job is the uniform. I don’t have to think about what to wear. Immi got all the power dressing and high heels genes.’
‘Come and help me find a suit and I’ll help you pick out a dress. And high heels.’
‘You can’t do that,’ she said, aghast at the thought.
‘I can’t? Why?’
‘It’s...you know... Unlucky.’ She felt an idiot just saying it.
‘Unlucky?’ Cleve stopped. ‘Who are you?’ he asked, grinning broadly. ‘And what have you done with the efficient, totally focused and thoroughly down-to-earth Miranda Marlowe?’
‘That’s the work me. This is the me me.’
‘Are you saying that you don’t walk under ladders?’
‘Only an idiot would do that.’
‘You toss spilled salt over your shoulder? Believe a broken mirror brings seven years’ bad luck, bow to a magpie... I wouldn’t have thought you had a superstitious bone in your body.’
‘I don’t.’ Cursing herself for making a mountain out of a molehill, she said, ‘I never bow to magpies but some things are ingrained. Part of the DNA.’
‘Like the groom seeing the bride in her dress before the wedding.’
‘There’s always something behind these old superstitions,’ she said. ‘I can imagine some poor lad, being forced to marry the next-door neighbour’s middle-aged daughter in a land grab, catching sight of his bride before the vows were sworn and taking to the hills.’
‘So you’ll be wearing something old, something new, something borrowed?’
Stuck with her stupid superstition, she said, ‘I’m sure I can find something amongst Sofia’s things.’
‘What about blue?’
Oh, good grief... ‘Of course.’
‘But not a sapphire. Your eyes are hazel. Green and gold.’ He took her hand in his so that her fingers were laid across his palm. ‘Maybe a yellow diamond?’
‘What? No...’
He indicated the building behind her and when she turned she was looking into a jeweller’s window. That it was a very expensive jeweller you could tell by the fact that there were only a few stunning pieces on display in the window.
‘We’re going to need rings. You could leave it to me but you’ll be wearing them for a lot longer than the dress and no doubt you’d rather choose your own.’
‘Ring singular, Cleve.’ Something plain like the one her mother wore.
‘And have everyone think we had a hole-in-the-wall wedding because you’re pregnant?’ he said as, still holding her hand, he pushed open the door and ushered her in ahead of him.
Inside, in the kind of hush provided by deep carpets and serious reverence accorded to expensive objects of desire, they were met by a man so exquisitely tailored that he had to be the manager. He showed them to gilt chairs placed before an ornate desk, before taking the seat opposite them.
‘Signor, signora. Benvenuto. How may I be of service?’
‘We would like to see engagement and wedding rings,’ Cleve said.
‘Of course.’ He turned to her. ‘Have you a stone in mind, signora, or do you prefer a classic white diamond?’
Signora wished she hadn’t made a fuss about the dress and was safely ensconced in a boutique changing room right now.
‘The signora has hazel eyes with a predominance of gold,’ Cleve said, before she could begin to think of an answer. ‘I thought a yellow diamond.’
‘Perfetto. A deep yellow.’ He nodded to a man standing beside him, who disappeared and a few moments later returned with a tray of rings that gleamed in the soft concealed lighting.
‘These are paired rings. The wedding ring has matching stones and is shaped so that the engagement ring will sit perfectly against it. Your hand, signora? So that I can measure your finger?’ he prompted when they remained in her lap.
She looked at Cleve, sending a desperate message that this was crazy. These rings cost a fortune...
His response was to take her hand, pick a ring from the tray and slide it onto her finger. ‘How is that?’
She cleared her throat. ‘It’s a little loose.’
‘Try these, signor.’
Cleve removed the ring and replaced it with a pair of rings handed to him by the clerk. First the wedding ring, in which yellow and white diamonds had been set alternately into a plain polished white gold channel, and curved so that when he placed it on her finger the simple yellow diamond of the engagement ring sat snugly against it. It fitted perfectly and was so unbelievably beautiful that she was unable to suppress a sigh.
‘È molto bella.’
‘Cleve, no...’
She made a move to slip the rings from her finger but Cleve stopped her. ‘These rings could have been created just for you, Miranda.’ He was looking at her rather than the diamonds glittering on her finger. ‘Beauty without frills, designed for strength, made to last a lifetime.’
She swallowed in an attempt to shift the rock in her throat but in the end simply shook her head, unable to meet his gaze.
‘You think it is too much?’
When she didn’t answer he touched her chin, forcing her to look at him, and she said, ‘You know it is.’
‘Would it help if I told you that I followed you to L’Isola dei Fiori with only one thought in my head? To ask you to marry me.’
‘But you didn’t know...’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I didn’t.’ He turned to the manager, who was doing his best to appear oblivious to their conversation. ‘This pair for the signora,’ he said, allowing her to remove the rings and place them on the velvet mat in front of them. ‘And something plain for me.’
For him? Andie looked at his hand and realised he wasn’t wearing the ring that Rachel had put on his finger. He’d been wearing it when he broke down but there was no mark, no telltale whiteness, to suggest he’d worn it recently.
The manager clicked his fingers and a tray of men’s white-gold wedding rings appeared.
Cleve picked up a plain, polished band. ‘This one,’ he said, without hesitation.
‘A perfect match, signor. It will be a little large, I think, but we can adjust it.’ He checked Cleve’s ring size and made a note. ‘You will be able to pick it up tomorrow afternoon. Shall I keep all the rings until then?’
‘Just the weddings rings. The signora will wear this one.’ He placed a card on the desk and while the manager whisked it and the wedding rings away, he picked up the engagement ring and placed it on her finger.
Miranda’s hand was shaking so badly that the stone flashed golden sparks in the light. ‘I d-don’t know what to say.’
‘There is only one word I want to hear you say, Miranda, and that is yes, although I suspect the staff are waiting for you to show your gratitude with a kiss.’
‘Scusi, signor, but your bank would like to confirm the transaction.’ The manager handed Cleve a phone and retreated out of hearing.
‘Saved by the bell,’ he said, with a wry smile before dealing with the bank’s security check. He declined the offer of champagne, handed her the glossy little carrier holding the ring box and, having assured them that he would return the following afternoon, took her arm and headed for the door, which was opened for them by a beaming clerk.
On the threshold she stopped, said, ‘Wait.’
He glanced back. ‘Have you forgotten something? Changed your mind? If you’d rather have a white diamond...’
‘No. I just wanted to do this.’ And she rose on her toes, closing her eyes as she touched her lips to his. For a moment that was all it was and then Cleve’s arm was around her and the kiss deepened into something intense, real. The kind of kiss a teenage girl could only dream about. That a woman might yearn for all her life.
Who knew how long it would have gone on but for a spontaneous burst of applause behind them. They broke apart and a touch shakily she said, ‘It would have been cruel to disappoint the staff.’
Wordlessly he laid his hand against her cheek, then put his arm around her shoulder and they were back in the piazza.
Feeling decidedly weak at the knees, she made an effort at normality. ‘Right. Time to find you a suit worthy of this,’ she said as, still scarcely able to believe what had just happened, she looked again at the ring. ‘Always assuming you can still afford one.’
‘I’m going to need a restorative espresso before I do anything else.’
She looked up. ‘Was the ring that expensive?’ she asked, horrified.
‘It has nothing to do with the cost of the ring.’
