Читать книгу Latin Lovers: Italian Husbands - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 11

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON FOUND Allegra in her office, Lucio’s case notes scattered on her desk. She gazed unseeingly out of the window at a dank, grey London sky and waited for Stefano’s call.

She’d been quite determined, after that shocking, shattering kiss, not to take Lucio’s case. The personal conflict was obvious and overwhelming.

There were plenty of other art therapists, she told herself. Ones who were more experienced as well as not personally involved.

Yet was she personally involved? Her mind staunchly said no, but the rest of her, her body still remembering that tide of desire, spoke differently.

Yet she wanted to take the case, she realized. She was professional enough to separate any feelings for Stefano from her work with Lucio, and she wanted to help this boy whose case notes spoke of a tragic, silent eight months. She wanted to help him for his own sake as well as for her own.

The idea of working intensively with one child for a prolonged period of time was inspiring, exciting. No more forty-five minute slots while parents waited, desperate for her to have made a difference.

No endless slog of case after case without hope or happiness.

She wanted this change, this chance.

Even if Stefano was involved.

Especially if Stefano was involved.

For while this could be an opportunity with Lucio, it was also an opportunity to put the past to rest. Redeem it, even.

And show Stefano, once and for all, that she was not that girl any more, the girl he thought he knew, the girl who’d loved him.

The phone trilled, startling Allegra out of her thoughts. She picked it up.

‘Hello?’

‘Allegra.’ It sounded like a caress somehow, even though his voice was brisk. ‘You’ve seen Lucio’s case notes?’

‘Yes.’

There was a moment of pulsing silence and Allegra realized how hard her heart was beating.

‘And?’

‘Yes, I’ll take the case, Stefano. Although …’

‘You have some reservations.’

‘Yes.’

‘Because of our kiss the other night.’ He spoke steadily, without apology or concern, yet Allegra found her hand gripping the telephone receiver far too tightly.

‘Yes,’ she said after a moment of tense silence. ‘Stefano, as we’ve said, I’m coming to Abruzzo in a professional capacity. There can’t be—’

‘There won’t.’

She blinked, swallowed, strangely, stupidly stung that he sounded so certain. ‘Even so,’ she forced herself to continue, ‘I don’t want there to be any … tension … because of what has happened between us. It would be best for Lucio, as well as for ourselves, if we could be friends.’

‘Then we will be.’

Allegra gave a shaky laugh, for she knew it wasn’t that simple, and surely Stefano knew it as well. You couldn’t will yourself into being friends; you couldn’t will feelings or memories to disappear.

You could just put them in a box.

‘You never kissed me like that when we were engaged,’ she blurted, and then wished she hadn’t. Stefano was silent although she could hear him breathing.

‘You were nineteen,’ he finally said, his voice flat. ‘A child, as you pointed out to me. I was taking my time with you, Allegra.’ He paused, she waited. ‘You weren’t, however, a child last night. But have no fear. It’s an incident that will not be repeated.’

He spoke so firmly and finally that Allegra was left with nothing left to do but accept.

‘All right, then,’ she finally said. She knew there was no point trawling old ground over the telephone.

‘I’m flying to London next Friday,’ Stefano said. ‘That should give you time to hand off any cases, and you can return to Rome with me. From there we’ll go to Abruzzo.’

‘All right.’

‘Email me with anything you’ll need for your work,’ Stefano said, ‘and I’ll arrange for it to be there when you arrive.’

‘Fine …’

He gave her his email address and then, when the only thing left to say was goodbye, he surprised her.

‘Allegra,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Allegra said. ‘I’m looking forward to it, Stefano. I want to help Lucio.’

‘So do I.’

More silence, and Allegra longed to say something, but she didn’t know what it was. What did you say to someone you’d been planning on spending the rest of your life with? Having his children?

Loving him?

What did you say to someone who had never loved you back, who had planned to marry you for your name and your status and nothing else?

What did you say to someone who had broken your heart?

‘Goodbye,’ she finally said quietly, and put down the telephone.

In the end, it was remarkably easy to hand off her few cases. Since she freelanced, her work wasn’t permanent anyway, and within a week she’d cleared her desk, sublet her flat and packed two suitcases with the things she thought she’d need.

It was strange and a bit disturbing to realize how easily she’d dismantled her life, a life she’d built with her own sweat and tears over the last seven years. None of it had been easy, and yet now, for the present, it was gone.

It was a cloudy day in mid-September, the leaves drifting down in lazy circles under a wispy blue sky, when Stefano arranged to pick her up.

Allegra waited outside since it was warm, felt nerves leap to life as she gazed down Camberwell Road for the first sign of Stefano’s luxurious black car.

When it finally pulled sleekly into view, she was calm, focussed on the firm purpose of her journey and its destination.

Stefano exited the car. He was dressed in a dark suit, a mobile phone pressed to his ear, and his manner was so abrupt and impersonal that any anxiety Allegra had felt about seeing him again since their kiss trickled shamefacedly away.

At the moment, he looked as if he didn’t even remember her, much less their kiss. She wondered if he’d spared it a moment’s thought, while she’d given it several hours’ confused contemplation.

Stefano was still on his phone as the driver put her bags in the boot and Allegra climbed into the car.

They pulled away from her street, her home, her life, and Stefano hadn’t even said hello.

Twenty minutes into their journey, Stefano finally finished his conversation.

‘I apologise,’ he said. ‘It was a business call.’

‘So it would seem.’

He smiled, his eyes glinting with a rare humour. ‘I told Bianca about your arrival, and she’s looking forward to meeting you. You’re providing a new hope for all of us, Allegra.’

Allegra nodded. ‘Just remember there are no guarantees, no promises.’

‘No, but there aren’t with anything in life, are there?’ He spoke lightly, yet Allegra heard an undercurrent of bitterness, saw it flash across his face. Was he referring to something else? Their own disappointed dreams?

She gave herself a little shake and gazed out of the window as they came on to the motorway. She had to stop reading innuendo and remembrance into every word Stefano said.

The past was forgotten.

It felt like a prayer.

They took a private jet to Rome. Allegra realized she should have expected no less, yet the blatant, if understated, display of Stefano’s wealth and power awed her.

‘Are you richer now than seven years ago?’ she asked curiously when they were seated on the plane, the leather seats huge and luxurious.

Stefano glanced at her over the edge of his newspaper. A bit.’

‘I know my father was wealthy,’ Allegra said, ‘but, to tell you the truth, I don’t feel I saw much of it.’

‘You were comfortable?’ Stefano asked, his eyebrows raised, and Allegra laughed.

‘Yes, of course. Trust me, I’m not giving you some poor little rich girl story.’ She shrugged. ‘I just saw very little of life, and I think that’s why I was so swept away when I met you.’

‘I see.’ His voice was neutral, betraying no indication of agreement.

Allegra gazed out of the window. The plane was rising above the grey fog that covered London and a bright, hard blue sky stretched endlessly around them.

She had a strange urge to talk about the past, even though she knew there was no point, no purpose. She wanted to exorcise it, to show Stefano how little it mattered, how utterly over it she was.

It was a childish impulse, she knew, and worse, she wasn’t even sure if she could pull it off.

Yet what was there to talk about? What was there to say, that hadn’t been said that night?

Do you love me?

What more is there?

Even if their marriage hadn’t been a business arrangement, Allegra knew, it wouldn’t have been a good match. It wouldn’t have made her happy. Stefano hadn’t loved her, not in a real or worthwhile way. He’d only thought of her as a possession, something to be protected and provided for, tucked on a shelf. Taken care of.

Nothing else, nothing equal or giving or real about it.

And he’d shown her in a thousand tiny ways since then that he was the same. Thought the same, loved the same, which really wasn’t love at all.

Worthless.

Allegra turned back to Stefano. He was reading the paper, his head bent, his legs crossed.

‘You have a flat in Rome,’ she said. ‘Which part?’

He glanced up, smiling at her faintly, the glint in his eyes making Allegra feel as if he were simply humouring her. ‘Parioli, near the Villa Borghese.’

‘I’ve never actually been to Rome,’ she admitted, a bit embarrassed by her own inexperience. Her life in Italy had consisted of home and convent school, summers at their villa by the lake, and nothing more.

‘I’d show you the sights, if we had the time,’ Stefano said.

‘We’ll leave for Abruzzo right away?’

‘Tomorrow. I have a business dinner tonight. A social occasion.’ He paused, his gaze sliding away from hers. ‘Perhaps you would care to come with me.’

Allegra stiffened, felt the confusion of conflicting emotions. Alarm, surprise, pleasure. ‘Why?’ she asked. Her question was blunt but necessary.

Stefano raised his eyebrows. ‘Why not? Most people bring dates and I don’t have one.’

‘I’m not a date.’

‘No, you’re not,’ he agreed, unruffled, unconcerned. ‘But you’re with me, and there’s no point in you staying alone in the villa, is there?’ He smiled again, humour flashing briefly in his eyes. ‘I thought we were supposed to be friends.’

‘We are,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s just—’

Eyebrows still raised, Stefano waited. Allegra realized he’d tangled her up in her own words. Yes, she wanted them to be friends, and therefore these innocent, innocuous occasions should provoke no alarm or anxiety. And yet …

And yet they did. They did, because they weren’t just friends. No matter how much she wanted to dismiss their kiss, their entire past, she couldn’t. Not as much as she wanted to.

And yet she couldn’t avoid it. Perhaps the only way across this swamp of memory and feeling, Allegra thought, was straight through. It might mean getting muddy, wet, dirty, and even hurt, but she couldn’t avoid Stefano, or what was and had been between them. She didn’t even want to.

The past, forgotten as it might be, had to be dealt with. Directly.

‘All right,’ she said, and gave a little nod. ‘Thank you. That should be …’ she sought for a safe word and finally settled on ‘… pleasant.’

‘Pleasant,’ Stefano repeated musingly. He turned back to his paper. ‘Yes. Indeed.’

She turned back to the window.

They didn’t talk again until the jet landed at Rome’s Fuimicino airport, and Stefano helped her from the plane.

The air wrapped around her like a blanket—dry, hot, familiar. Comforting.

Home.

She took a breath, let it flood through her body, her senses. The air was different here, the light brighter.

Everything felt different.

‘It’s been a long time,’ Stefano said, watching her, and Allegra shrugged.

‘Six years.’

‘You came back for your father’s funeral.’

‘Yes.’ They were walking across the tarmac to the entrance to customs, and Allegra kept her head averted. Her father’s funeral. Her father’s suicide. More things she chose not to think about. To remember.

‘I’m sorry about his death,’ Stefano said after a moment, his voice quiet and far too understanding.

Allegra shrugged. When she spoke, her voice sounded as hard and bright as the sky shimmering above them. ‘Thank you. It was a long time ago.’

‘The death of a parent still hurts,’ Stefano replied, his gaze searching hers, and Allegra shrugged again and looked away.

‘I don’t really think of it,’ she said, and felt as if she’d revealed something—had exposed it to Stefano’s unrelenting gaze, unrelenting knowledge—simply by making that throwaway comment.

Mercifully Stefano dropped the subject and they spent the next short while dealing with customs and immigration.

Stefano had all of their papers in order and it didn’t take long. All too soon they were pulling away in yet another hired car, the ocean a stretch of blue behind them, the flat, dusty plains in front and the scattered brown hills of Rome against the horizon.

Allegra felt exhaustion crash over her in a numbing wave. She’d been physically busy these last few weeks but, more to the point, emotionally she’d been in complete overdrive. She leaned her head against the leather seat and closed her eyes.

She didn’t realize she’d actually dozed until Stefano nudged her awake. The sedan had pulled to a stop in front of a narrow street of elegant town houses, all with painted shutters and wrought iron railings.

‘We’re here,’ Stefano murmured, and helped her from the car. Allegra followed him into the town house. It was elegantly decorated with antiques, sumptuous carpets and priceless paintings, yet it did not have the stamp of individuality on it, of Stefano.

It was impossible, Allegra thought even as she admired what looked like a Picasso original, to know anything about the person who lived here except for the fact that he was fabulously wealthy.

She wondered if Stefano wanted it that way. She was realising, more and more, that she’d never really known him when they’d been engaged. She’d thought that before, of course, when she’d overheard that terrible conversation with her father. Yet now she thought of it in a different, more intimate way, a way that wasn’t fraught with anger and hurt, only a certain sorrowful regret.

She wanted to ask him what books he liked, what made him laugh. The things she should have known and delighted in when she’d been his almost-bride.

And she wouldn’t ask those questions, she told herself sternly, wouldn’t even think of asking them, because there was no point.

Professional.

‘I know you’re tired,’ Stefano said, ‘and you can rest upstairs if you like. I’ll have the cook prepare something light for lunch.’

‘Thank you.’ Allegra hesitated. ‘The dinner tonight … I assume it’s a formal occasion?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t have anything appropriate to wear, I’m afraid,’ Allegra said. She kept her voice light, even though she felt embarrassed. ‘Evening gowns aren’t usually required in my line of work.’

Stefano gazed at her, his face expressionless, yet Allegra saw—sensed—a flicker of something in his eyes. She wished she knew what he was thinking, wished she could ask.

He gave a brief nod. ‘I’ll send someone to the shops to select something for you. Unless you’d prefer to go yourself?’

Allegra shook her head. She wouldn’t know what to choose, and just the thought of wandering around Rome by herself exhausted her.

‘Very well. I need to attend to business, but Anna, my housekeeper, will show you your room.’

As if on cue, a kindly, slight, grey-haired woman emerged from the back corridor.

‘This way, signorina,’ she said quietly in Italian.

‘Grazie,’ Allegra murmured, and the language—her native tongue—felt strange to her ears. She’d spoken English, only English, for years.

Had it been a deliberate choice? A way to forget the past, harden her heart against who she was?

A way to become the person she was now—the English Allegra, Allegra the art therapist. Not Allegra who had stood at the bottom of the stairs, her heart in her eyes for all to see.

She followed Anna up thickly carpeted stairs to a beautifully appointed bedroom. Allegra took in the wide double bed with its rose silk cover, the matching curtains, the antique walnut chairs flanking a marble fireplace. It was far finer than anything she’d ever known, even in her father’s villa.

She smiled at Anna. ‘Grazie,’ she said again and Anna nodded and left.

Allegra sank onto the bed, overwhelmed and overawed. Even though it was only early afternoon, she stripped off her clothes and slipped beneath the cool, smooth sheets.

She could hardly credit that she was here, in Stefano’s house, in Stefano’s bed … one of them, anyway. She laughed aloud, but the sound held no humour. Alone in the huge bedroom, it sounded lonely. Little.

Allegra closed her eyes. Emotions had been flickering through her since she’d first seen Stefano again, flickering to life after seven years of numbness, and she was tired of them, tired of feeling. She didn’t want to analyse how she felt, what she thought, what Stefano felt or thought.

She just wanted to be. To do her job, as Stefano had told her to. She hoped, when she finally met Lucio, she could forget about Stefano completely …

On that hazy thought, sleep overtook her.

She woke to a light knock on the door as late afternoon sunlight slanted across the floor.

‘Allegra?’ Stefano called softly. ‘You’ve been asleep for four hours. We need to get ready for the dinner.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, pushing a tangle of hair from her eyes. Stefano opened the door and Allegra was conscious of her dishevelled appearance, the fact that, even with the coverlet held up to her chest, it was quite obvious she was wearing only a bra and panties.

Stefano’s gaze swept over her for one blazing second, and Allegra felt an answering awareness fire her nerve endings, turn her breathless.

Then his face blanked and he gave her a polite, impersonal smile. ‘There is a selection of evening gowns for you to choose from downstairs. I’ll bring them up.’

‘A selection?’ Allegra repeated in surprise, but Stefano had already gone.

Allegra took the opportunity to slip out of bed and throw on the clothes she’d left discarded on the floor. She was just tying her hair back when he reappeared a few moments later with several elegantly embossed carrier bags.

‘Everything you need should be in there,’ he said. ‘We need to leave in a little under an hour. Anna is going to bring you up some antipasti. You missed lunch.’ He smiled briefly, a teasing, affectionate look in his eyes that did something strange—something pleasant—to Allegra’s insides.

‘Thank you,’ she managed, ‘for being so thoughtful.’

He inclined his head. ‘You’re welcome.’

It was a simple exchange, almost meaningless, and yet, as Stefano left, closing the door behind him, Allegra realized she’d enjoyed it. She liked things simple. She liked not wondering what the hidden meaning or feeling was.

She wanted to enjoy. Enjoy an evening playing dress up like a little girl let loose in her mother’s wardrobe.

Smiling at the thought, Allegra reached for the carrier bags.

Stefano had provided everything—three different designer gowns, all with matching shoes and wraps, as well as undergarments and tights.

She let the silky, luxurious fabrics slide through her fingers. She hadn’t had such beautiful clothes in seven years. Hadn’t needed them and certainly hadn’t been able to afford them.

She was touched by Stefano’s thoughtfulness, even though she knew it was simply his way of operating. She was in his care, so he would provide for her. Everything, always, whether she liked it or not.

She chose a slim-fitting knee-length gown in taupe silk. It was simple yet elegant and clearly well made. She liked the way the silk rippled over her, smoothing to a silhouette as she tugged up the zip.

In the bottom of one of the bags, Stefano had left a small velvet box and when Allegra opened it she let out a small shocked gasp.

They were the earrings he’d given to her the day before the wedding. The earrings he’d told her he couldn’t wait to see her wearing. The earrings she’d never worn, just as there had been so many things she’d never done.

She slipped them from their velvet bed, saw the way the lamplight glinted off their myriad facets, and blinked back tears.

She didn’t know why she felt like crying; she couldn’t untangle the way she felt. Yet, at that moment, she didn’t feel like a possession—she felt like a treasure.

This was dangerous, she knew. Dangerous to let herself feel this way, to flirt on the blurred edge of friendship. It would be far safer to keep her distance from Stefano, to maintain that professional facade.

Yet at this moment, beautifully dressed and about to embark on an evening of entertainment, she didn’t want to.

At this moment, she wanted to be treasured.

She slipped the earrings on and left her hair down, tumbling over her shoulders.

Then she went downstairs.

Stefano was already in the marble hallway, dressed in a tuxedo. He quite literally took her breath away as he turned to face her, his eyes glittering with honest admiration when he saw her.

‘You look stunning,’ he said, and there was nothing but simple sincerity in his voice. His eyes rested on her ears, the diamond teardrops sparkling against her skin, and he smiled, an intimate gesture that spoke more than any word.

Allegra realized she was smiling back, glowing as if she’d swallowed the sun. As if Stefano had handed it to her.

‘Thank you.’

He held out his hand and Allegra took it with only a second’s hesitation. She wasn’t going to let herself think too much. This was one evening, one evening only, and she planned to enjoy it.

They took a car to the St Regis Grand Hotel. As they pulled up to the hotel’s front, Allegra couldn’t help but be impressed by its ornate facade. They were in the heart of Rome, minutes from the Spanish Steps and the Trevi Fountain, worldly, witty people moving, talking and laughing all around them along with the trill of mobile phones and the hum of mopeds.

And Allegra was a part of it. She felt a part of it.

The mid-September air was a balmy caress as they climbed the steps to the hotel. As they entered, Allegra was struck by the huge chandelier suspended glittering above them, the tinkling music from a grand piano, the marble columns and sumptuous carpets that almost caught her heels, all conspiring to create an overwhelming sense of luxury and privilege.

Stefano guided her into the Sala Ritz, yet another sumptuous room decorated with marble pillars soaring to a ceiling with hand-painted frescoes and possessing the same aura of accustomed wealth. Businessmen and their well appointed wives mingled among black-frocked waiters bearing trays of champagne.

Allegra saw the heads turn as Stefano moved through the room, one hand on the small of her back. She saw the eyes slide speculatively towards her, heard the silent questions.

She shook her hair back and smiled proudly. Possessively.

Stefano joined a small group of men and introduced Allegra to his associates.

‘Gentlemen, my friend, Allegra Avesti.’

My friend. Something she’d never been to him before. And she wondered now, distantly, if that was what she really was. If she could be that to Stefano. If she wanted to be.

Yet what other choice was there?

She watched surprise flicker across their faces as they heard the words my friend. A few jaws dropped, and Allegra wondered why they were so surprised.

Surely Stefano had come to business occasions with a woman before—a woman who was not a steady girlfriend or perhaps even a date.

Or was it something else? Unease prickled uncomfortably through her, up her spine and along her insides. Was it that he did come to these functions with a woman, a particular woman, and she was not that woman?

There was no time to consider such a question, or how it had made her feel, as she was soon swept up in the pre-dinner conversation, and took comfort in the innocuous chatter.

‘All right?’ Stefano murmured, his hand holding her elbow, and Allegra felt his breath graze her cheek, felt her whole body shiver at the touch and sound of him.

‘Yes,’ she murmured back, ‘I’m all right. Enjoying myself, actually.’

‘Good.’ There was a note of possessive satisfaction in his voice that should have alarmed her, should have reminded her that Stefano simply thought of her as an acquisition, and a recent one at that. Services purchased and rendered.

But she didn’t want to think, didn’t even want to feel, at least not too much. She just wanted to enjoy. So she smiled lightly and let Stefano guide her to the table.

Dinner was served and Allegra was seated next to Antonia Di Bona, a bony, sharp-faced woman in black crêpe. ‘Stefano’s kept you quiet,’ she remarked, her voice light yet no less catty.

Allegra swallowed and glanced at Stefano across three feet of white damask. He was intent on a conversation with a colleague and she turned to smile coolly at Antonia. ‘I’m just a friend.’

‘Are you?’ Antonia raised thin penciled-in eyebrows. ‘Stefano doesn’t have too many female friends.’

‘No?’ She felt a wave of relief flood through her although, coupled with it, was the needling awareness that Antonia knew something she didn’t and was savouring the moment when she would tell her.

They ate their first course without much more conversation, but then Antonia turned to her again and there was malicious intent in her mocking smile.

‘Have you known Stefano long, then?’

‘Long enough,’ Allegra replied carefully. Although there were probably few people who remembered or cared about her flight seven years ago, she knew they existed. How could they not, when their wedding had been fêted as the social event of the decade?

An event that had never happened. Allegra sought comfort in knowing that she’d called it all off early enough. No one would have gone to the church, no one would have known. She’d never asked her mother for details, how Stefano had responded when he’d been given her note, what he’d done or said.

She hadn’t wanted to know, and she still didn’t. The past, she reminded herself firmly, was forgotten.

‘Long enough,’ Antonia repeated. ‘I wonder how long that is.’ She leaned forward. ‘You don’t seem his type, you know. He prefers …’ she paused, her hard, dark eyes sweeping Allegra’s form with clear criticism ‘… more glamorous women. Do you go out with him very often?’ She raised her eyebrows, smiling sweetly.

‘No,’ Allegra said coolly. Her face burned from Antonia’s casual, cruel assessment, even though she told herself there was no reason to care. Antonia was simply one of those women who enjoyed taunting and tormenting other women. She wouldn’t be happy until she was the last one standing and everyone else bore the scratches from her three-inch fake talons. ‘I’m actually rather busy,’ Allegra said, ‘as is Stefano.’ She knew she should explain that she was associated with Stefano only in a professional capacity, but she somehow couldn’t form the words. Antonia probably wouldn’t believe her, anyway.

Antonia gave a humourless little chuckle. ‘Stefano is always busy. It’s how he’s become so rich.’ She raked Allegra once with her cold eyes, then, bored, clearly dismissing her, added almost as an afterthought, ‘It’s also why his marriage failed.’