Читать книгу The Truth Behind Their Practical Marriage - Marguerite Kaye - Страница 12

Resisting the urge to take her to one of Florence’s more prestigious ristorante, Aidan decided to risk sharing his favourite humble osteria. ‘The food is simple,’ he said, ‘but it’s much more typical of the region. The kind of dishes that would be served at home, the receipts handed down from mother to daughter.’

‘I thought you viewed food as fuel, Mr Malahide?’

He shrugged sheepishly. ‘I’m Irish, a bit of blarney comes naturally. The truth is, I like food well enough, provided it’s honest and authentic.’

‘That is precisely the kind of food my sister Phoebe loves,’ Miss Brannagh replied, to his surprise, ‘despite the fact that she trained in Paris, in the kitchen of the great Pascal Solignac’s restaurant, La Grande Taverne de Londres.’

‘Judging by the somewhat contemptuous tone in your voice, you are not a fan.’

They were walking along the banks of the Arno, the more scenic if less direct route to the osteria, and Miss Brannagh stopped to gaze up river to the view of the Ponte Vecchio. ‘I am not a fan of Monsieur Solignac the chef or the man,’ she said, her mouth curled into a sneer. ‘More importantly, I am very pleased to say, neither is Phoebe, nowadays. Excellent ingredients, traditional receipts, that is what she serves at Le Pas à Pas. The kind of food that people enjoy eating, not the kind that is served up to be admired.’

‘Is that what Monsieur Solignac does?’

‘I’ve never eaten his food, nor ever will. That man is a—’ Miss Brannagh caught herself short, biting her lip. ‘He treated my sister abominably,’ she finished, her eyes sparking fire, ‘but Phoebe—Phoebe has risen like a phoenix from the ashes. To see her presiding over her stove, in her own restaurant as I did just before I set out on my travels, made me immensely proud of her.’ She blinked, turning her gaze back to the river. ‘Excuse me.’

‘Don’t apologise. You clearly love your sister very dearly.’

‘I love both my sisters very much, we are very close, though of late, seeing them both blossom in their own ways, it’s made me wonder if we’ve been too close.’

‘Is that why you decided to travel the world, to escape them?’

Miss Brannagh laughed. ‘I’m not running from something or someone, I’m looking for something. Inspiration, you could call it. Both of my sisters are happily settled in their different ways. I envy them that—you know, the certainty they have, that they are making something of their lives. I’d like to do the same, but what I want I don’t seem to be able to find, and so far, I’ve not been able to think of an alternative.’

‘Would it be impertinent of me to ask what it is you’re looking for?’

‘Not impertinent but irrelevant, since I’ve had to accept that I am unlikely to find it.’ She shook her head impatiently. ‘I sound like a malcontent, when I am very much aware that I’m extremely fortunate to be able to do nothing at all, if I choose. You know I can’t imagine how we came to be talking about me again.’

‘Because you’re far more interesting than me?’

‘I cannot agree with you there. I know everything there is to know about me, and almost nothing about you, save that you are a mathematician—and I’ve never met a mathematician before. What is it about the subject that you find so fascinating?’

‘The fact that there is a rational answer to every problem,’ Aidan replied promptly. ‘No ambiguity, no doubt, no guesswork. Find the key, and the problem is solved.’

‘If only life were like that!’

‘My thoughts exactly.’ The dark shadow of the one question he knew now that he’d never resolve dampened his spirits for a second, but Aidan closed his mind to it. Looking down into the expectant face of the lovely Miss Brannagh, it was an easy thing to do. He felt he ought to pinch himself, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, but if he was, he didn’t want to wake up. Though for a man who might be dreaming, he’d never felt so alive. It wasn’t only her looks, though she was quite beautiful, with her heart-shaped face and big hazel eyes, lips that really were the colour of cherries, and that hair—true Titian red. Beautiful—yes, she most certainly was that, but it was her earthiness—dreadful word—which made heads turn as she walked past. Her figure was voluptuous. Her smile was generous. She possessed a certain vibrancy, like the warmth of the setting sun. She positively glowed with life. And she seemed determined to live it too. She could not be more different from…

‘You much prefer order, then, Mr Malahide? Mr Malahide?’

‘Order?’ He nodded furiously. ‘Indeed I do. And certainty, and logic. Predictable outcomes. Recognisable patterns—that’s where mathematics and music cross paths. Are you really interested?’

‘I truly am.’

She sounded as if she meant it. Though he had not meant to launch into a lecture, it seemed he had done just that when, coming to a halt he looked back with astonishment at the distance they had walked. ‘I did warn you I’d bore you.’

‘You didn’t. I was hanging on your every word. What’s more I actually understood at least half of what you said. You make it all sound so obvious.’

‘Well that’s because it is, when you have the key, as I said.’ Aidan grimaced. ‘Sadly, what I’ve discovered is that while I’m very good at using the key to unlock the problem, I don’t possess the creative vision, I suppose you’d call it, to actually discover the key myself. Studying here, in the shadow of some of the great, ground-breaking mathematicians, has forced me to acknowledge my limitations.’

‘I think you underestimate yourself. You’ve explained it to me in a way I can understand, and what’s more, you made it sound almost interesting.’

‘That’s an achievement, all right,’ he agreed, laughing. ‘Any time you find yourself with a spare hour or two, let me know and I’ll bore you some more. You’d be astonished how much more sense the world makes when you understand the mathematics that underpin it, from nature to the artefacts in the Uffizi that you so despise.’

‘Shh, that is our secret.’ Miss Brannagh glanced theatrically over her shoulder. ‘And I don’t actually despise art, I just don’t understand why people get so passionate about it.’

‘Aren’t you passionate about music?’

‘Yes, but it is a personal pleasure. I don’t feel the need to bore all and sundry on the subject.’

‘Well that’s me put firmly in my place.’

Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘I didn’t mean…’

‘I’m teasing you.’

‘Oh! We used to tease each other mercilessly at home, but I’m afraid I’ve rather lost the knack, Mr Malahide.’

‘Call me Aidan, and I promise to help you rediscover your ability to tease and be teased.’

‘Then you must call me Estelle, and I would caution you to be careful what you wish for.’

He grinned. ‘Oh, I think I’m prepared to take that chance. Now, here we are at last.’

Aidan watched her anxiously as they were seated in the rustic, verging on basic osteria, the proprietor raising his brows theatrically when he saw Estelle preceding him into the cool of the dark little room, silently mouthing Bella.

‘As I said, it’s an unpretentious eatery.’

To his relief, she saw the charm in the old-fashioned inn. ‘I love it. It’s the sort of place where you just know the food is going to be excellent.’

‘There’s not much choice. Not any choice, really. We eat whatever Signora Giordano has concocted from what was fresh in the market today. And we drink the wine from Signor Giordano’s father’s vineyard,’ Aidan added, as the proprietor approached with a terracotta jug and two thick glasses. ‘How are you, signor?’ he asked, in Italian.

‘God has spared me for another day,’ Signor Giordano replied in his usual lugubrious manner, his attention fixed on Aidan’s guest. ‘Signorina, you have brought the sunshine into our dining room this afternoon.’

He flicked a cloth over the already clean-scrubbed wooden table, before pouring the wine and rattling off the day’s menu, beaming when Estelle asked for clarification, beaming even more widely when she smiled her approval.

‘Your command of Italian is a great deal better than you led me to believe,’ Aidan said when they were finally left alone with a basket of crusty bread, a dish of Tuscan olive oil and a platter of pinzimonio, raw vegetables which today included red peppers, cucumbers, radish and chicory.

Surveying the platter hungrily, Estelle merely shrugged. ‘In essence Italian, French and Spanish are very similar.’ She picked up a baton of peeled cucumber, salted it and dipped it in the olive oil before biting into it. ‘Everything here tastes of sunshine.’

The oil glistened on her mouth. Fascinated, Aidan watched as she picked up her wine glass, took a sip, licked her full bottom lip, then carefully selected a slice of pepper, repeating the process. It had been so long since he’d experienced any sort of desire, it took him a moment to recognise it for what it was. Her kisses would taste of olive oil and wine. Making love to her would be a feast of sensation, a long, lingering delight of soft, giving flesh and hot, hungry lips and caressing hands. Not a duty. Not a means to a desperate end. A pleasure, pure and simple.

‘Aren’t you hungry?’

Appalled by the carnal turn his thoughts had taken, Aidan grabbed a piece of bread and tore it in half, sweat prickling his back, the physical proof of his desire pressing uncomfortably against his leg. ‘Pacing myself,’ he muttered, taking a swig of wine.

‘Affettati misti.’ Signor Giordano presented the next platter with a flourish. ‘Buon appetite.’

‘Salami with fennel,’ Aidan deduced, inspecting the platter. ‘More salami, that one with green peppercorns. Prosciutto, naturally, and some bresaola, which is smoked beef—signora is serving us some real delicacies. May I help you to some?’

‘You may help me to a little of all of it, thank you. How on earth did you discover this place? I would never have found it. Do you think they will mind if I come back alone?’

‘Judging by Signor Giordano’s reaction to you, I’d wager he’d happily keep the best table in the house free each and every day in the hope that you might turn up. It’s the same in Café Piccioli where you have your breakfast. Did you know that the waiter reserves your seat for you? I saw him yesterday, before you arrived, shooing someone away who dared to sit down at your preferred table.’

‘I didn’t realise. I expect I over-tip hugely.’

‘I expect that they would give you your coffee and pastry for free, simply to have you gracing the premises.’

Estelle coloured. ‘I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. Do you think I play on my appearance to get preferential treatment?’

‘Of course not.’

She took a draught of her wine, placing the glass carefully on the table before fixing him with a firm gaze. ‘I am not a piece of art to be stared and gawked at, you know.’

Wondering what particular nerve he had inadvertently hit, Aidan was surprised into a bark of laughter. ‘I meant it as a compliment.’ Seeing her unconvinced, he risked covering her hands with his own, across the table. ‘You’re right to reprimand me, though I stand by what I said. Your beauty is quite dazzling, and whether you like it or not, people will be drawn to—to gawk at you. But I didn’t invite you to lunch because I wanted to bask in your shadow. I was enjoying our conversation, and I wanted to get to know you better. It’s the truth, Estelle, and if you don’t believe me, ask yourself why I brought you here and not shown you off in one of the ristorante where the great and the good eat. Look around you. You will attract a few fleeting glances, but once the food is on the table, that’s all people here are interested in.’

She smiled reluctantly. ‘In that case, I shall eat here every day.’

‘Don’t you mind eating alone?’

‘I’d become accustomed to it at Elmswood Manor. That is—was—my home in England.’

‘It sounds very grand.’

‘Some of it dates back to the reign of William and Mary, though it’s been much adapted and altered over the years.’

‘Have you lived in England long, then?’

Estelle, who had been staring down at her plate, frowning, stared at him blankly, so that he repeated his question. ‘Since I was fifteen. I don’t mind,’ she added, ‘eating alone—that’s what you asked me—I don’t mind it. I much prefer it, in fact, to eating with strangers.’

‘And once again,’ he said, wondering what she’d really being thinking about, ‘that’s put me in my place.’

Estelle’s frown cleared. ‘I don’t mean you—though you are undeniably a stranger to me. Isn’t it odd, I feel as if I’ve known you for far longer than an hour or so. But then that’s most likely because I’ve talked more to you in this last hour or so than to anyone since I left England—made conversation, I mean, proper conversation, as opposed to the usual pleasantries about the weather.’

‘Would you believe me if I told you I feel the same?’

‘Surely you have made some friends here, after all this time?’

‘Some of my fellow mathematicians are amenable enough. But I’ve preferred my own company, by and large,’ Aidan confessed, surprising himself. ‘Until now.’

‘So have I,’ Estelle said. ‘Until now.’

A tense little silence ensued, as they smiled awkwardly, their hands resting on the table, just a few inches from each other. He wanted to touch her. Just to cover her hand with his, as he’d done a moment ago. It was almost as if he was compelled to touch her, drawn to her, as he had been from the moment he’d first set eyes on her.

‘Finito?’

Estelle started at the proprietor’s interruption, snatching her hands from the table. As Signor Giordano whipped away the empty plates with a flourish, she tried to collect her thoughts. What had just happened there? She realised it wasn’t just Aidan’s conversation she was enjoying, it was him. She hadn’t ever felt like this before, but there was no mistaking it for what it was—attraction, and a very visceral, intense one at that, which was unmistakably reciprocated.

‘Stracciatella,’ Signor Giordan announced, setting the bowls down. ‘Egg soup made with beef stock and thickened with ground almonds.’

Estelle picked up her spoon. ‘It smells delicious.’

‘Delicious,’ Aidan echoed.

He smiled, and her tummy gave an odd little lurch in response. She smiled back foolishly, and their gazes held for a long moment, long enough for her tummy to flutter again, for her skin to prickle with heat. ‘I must write this receipt down for my sister,’ Estelle said, because she felt she had to say something. For heaven’s sake, he really wasn’t at all handsome. Though he did have the most irresistible smile. ‘Do you have any siblings?’

‘I have one older sister, Clodagh. She seems to think that gives her the right to organise my life, despite the fact that she has a husband and three children of her own.’

‘But you adore her, really, don’t you?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Aidan grinned. ‘Never more so than when we’re a thousand miles apart. Actually, I don’t mean that. She has my best interests at heart, it’s just that…’

‘Her idea of what that constitutes and yours don’t necessarily align?’

‘There speaks the voice of experience. Is—remind me of your eldest sister’s name?—is she cast in the same mould?’

‘Eloise. And, yes, she is, in a way, though I can’t blame her, for she had to stand in for our mother practically from the moment Phoebe and I were born.’

‘Clodagh had to step into the breach too. Our mother died when I was a babe, not more than two years old. I hardly remember her.’

‘Do you see much of her?’

His face clouded. ‘Not so much these days. She has three boys to raise, so she has enough on her plate. I tend to leave her to it. She lives just outside Wicklow, about fifty miles from Cashel Duairc.’

‘Cashel Doo-ark?’ Estelle mouthed, frowning. ‘Dark Castle?’

‘Brooding, or gloomy, would be a more accurate translation, though the name refers to a previous castle on the site.’

‘Is it your home, then? Do you actually live in a proper castle?’

‘Oh, yes, replete with a lake and turrets, battlements and even a dungeon. Pretty much everything save a moat.’

‘And a resident ghost, no doubt?’

The wine he had been pouring slopped on to the table as his hand suddenly shook. Aidan set the jug down, mopping up the mess with his napkin. ‘Too many to mention.’ He took a draught of wine. ‘Ah good, here comes our next course,’ he said with palpable relief.

‘Pappardelle sulla lepre,’ Signor Giordano announced with a reverence which was entirely justified by the aroma rising from the plate, the gamey smell of hare mingling with wine, garlic and tomatoes.

Aidan was embarrassed, she decided. A mathematician ought not to believe in ghosts, but his dark and gloomy castle obviously harboured something that defied logic and reason. She longed to question him, but she didn’t want to embarrass him further. Picking up her fork and spoon, the first mouthful of the hare ragu made her forget all about ghosts. Her toes curled with pleasure. ‘Delizioso.’

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Aidan said, smiling once again, raising his glass.

‘You haven’t even tasted it yet.’

‘I wasn’t referring to the dish.’

‘Food can be delicious, wine can be delicious, but you can’t describe a person as delicious, that’s ridiculous.’ Though what was ridiculous, Estelle told herself, was to blush at such an odd compliment.

His smile broadened, but he shook his head, refusing to be drawn, and the conversation turned to Florence and remained there, until they had both finished the pasta, and the plates had once more been cleared. ‘Would you like cheese, an ice, coffee?’ he asked.

‘No to all, thank you very much. What I need is to walk off this excellent lunch.’ She hesitated only briefly this time. ‘Would you like to…?’

‘Very much. Give me a minute to settle the bill.’

They made their way back to the Arno, walking along the riverbank as far as the Ponte alla Carraia, pausing in the middle of the bridge to look downriver. It was late afternoon and the sun was obscured by a heat haze, turning the river muddy and sluggish, the usually bright reflections of the buildings on the banks shimmering shadows. The air was damp, not so humid as to be unpleasant but languid, as if the sun were too sleepy to burn the mist away.

They retraced their steps on the opposite side of the river. There were fewer people about at this time of day, and their large lunch had made them both as lethargic as the afternoon, content to wander slowly, to gaze about them at the serene, confident beauty of the city. Estelle talked of her travels, reticent at first, made more garrulous by Aidan’s obvious interest and his perceptive questions.

At exactly the moment when she was beginning to crave a cool drink, he suggested they stop and a little café seemed to appear out of nowhere. She sat beside him at the tiny marble-topped table looking out over the Arno, their knees brushing, her mood as serene as the city. ‘Cashel Duairc. It sounds ridiculously romantic, your home. Is it very old?’

‘Parts of it go back a few hundred years, but the current castle was rebuilt more recently. There’s all sorts of papers, accounts and deeds in the attics. My father was always saying that someone should write a history of the place, but no one ever has.’

‘How exciting. No, really,’ Estelle said, in answer to his sceptical look, ‘there were all sorts of documents in the attics at Elmswood Manor which we consulted to help with the restoration. The walled garden, for example, had fallen into a complete state of disrepair, and I discovered one of the original drawings, along with a map from around the time it had been laid out, allowing Aunt Kate to restore the garden to its original condition. Elmswood Manor is Aunt Kate’s home,’ she explained, seeing Aidan’s confusion. I think I mentioned, she took the three of us in when we were orphaned. It’s a long story, and beside the point. How lucky you are, to have such an archive waiting to be investigated.’

‘You are serious! Should you like to be my archivist?’

‘Yes, please! I am fascinated by old documents.’

‘Good Lord!’ Aidan exclaimed. ‘No wonder the time has passed so quickly today, since we have far more in common than anyone would ever imagine, looking at the pair of us. We are both crusty academics, in our own way.’

Estelle chuckled, but shook her head. ‘One cannot claim to be an academic when one is utterly uneducated. I know nothing of the classics, nor have any interest in them. Ancient history, it seems to me, is nothing more than stories and speculation. I’ve no intentions of visiting Rome, or any of the other popular ancient sites recommended in all the guide books. And I’m not interested in battles and wars or much in politics either.’

‘I was force fed all the classics at school, and I came to much the same conclusion, that it was all speculation. Opinion tacked on to the few known facts.’

‘But weren’t some of the greatest mathematicians ancient Greeks?’

‘Yes, but it’s their work I’m interested in, not—oh, I don’t know, philosophy, history or archaeology.’

‘What has always struck me, reading history books, even recent ones, is how absent women are from the stories they tell. Of course they didn’t take part in important battles, and they were not permitted to be politicians, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t play any sort of role. Take Aunt Kate. Will history take any notice of the key role she has played not only in preserving Elmswood Manor for Uncle Daniel’s heir, but in restoring it to its former glory? To my knowledge, Aunt Kate doesn’t keep a diary. My uncle rarely writes, and what she does with his letters I have no idea. The only evidence of her contribution will be in the account books and all the domestic paperwork—there, I told you you’d be bored.’

‘On the contrary, I’m fascinated. Where is Uncle Daniel and why doesn’t he write?’

‘It’s complicated.’

When she said nothing more, Aidan shrugged and set a stack of coins down on the table. ‘Shall we?’

‘Yes.’ But Estelle made no attempt to move. ‘I had started writing a history of Elmswood, but my time there is over now—by choice, I may add.’ She got to her feet, giving herself a mental shake. ‘And now I find myself collecting recipes for Phoebe while I traverse the Continent. It’s my way of apologising for not taking her venture seriously. A practical reparation, of a sort. Any time you find yourself with a spare hour or two,’ she said, ‘feel free to assist me in my research.’

‘Have a care, for I’m almost certain to take you up on that.’

He offered his arm, and it seemed perfectly in order, as they started walking, to tuck her hand into it. She had never strolled in this way with a man before, their paces matching, the skirts of his coat brushing against the pleats of her gown. It felt perfectly natural, yet it unsettled her at the same time. She was acutely aware of him as a man, of the difference in their heights, his solid presence at her side. For a woman of twenty-five who had been travelling around Europe on her own, she was remarkably inexperienced. Her instincts told her that she could trust Aidan, but could she trust her judgement? Was she being naïve? After all, she had been caught out before, in the early days of her trip. They had spent almost a full day in each other’s company, but without anyone else to vouch for him…

‘What is it, Estelle? You’re frowning.’

‘I was thinking how strange this is—our encounter today, I mean. If this was England and not Florence, we’d never even have dared to take coffee together.’

‘Without an introduction, you mean? I’m very much aware of that. It’s one of the reasons I didn’t approach you before, though I wanted to.’

‘I know, you said you were worried that I’d think you were accosting me. I admit I have been, several times, but I’ve become very adept at rebuffing unwelcome advances. I’ve learned that men seem to assume that any female of a certain age on her own is desperate for their charming company,’ Estelle said sardonically. ‘I knew you were not like that though, because when our eyes met that first time…’

‘On Monday?’

‘Was it only Monday?’ She was blushing. ‘You could easily have taken my looking at you as encouragement, but you didn’t. Not that I was, though I was staring, and I don’t. Not as a rule. Not ever. In fact you are an—an aberration.’

‘You have an endearing habit of bestowing back-handed compliments.’ He quirked a smile. ‘But, speaking for myself, I’d very much like us to continue in this irregular vein—if, that is, you would like to?’ He scanned her face anxiously as she hesitated. ‘You wouldn’t like to? In that case…’

‘It’s not that.’

‘Then you’re wondering what my intentions are?’

Blushing, she nodded. ‘It is not for a moment that I think you dishonourable…’

‘But you’ve encountered too many men on your travels who are?’ Aidan ushered them into the shade of a tree. ‘I’ve no intentions or expectations, save to enjoy more of your company if I’m permitted to. Just to be absolutely clear, and I hope you won’t think me presumptuous, I’m not in the market for a wife, but I’ve absolutely no nefarious intentions either, I can promise you that hand on heart,’ he said, suiting actions to words. ‘I’m no seducer, I pride myself on being an honourable man, and despite the fact that you’re travelling the world all alone, it’s patently obvious that you’re no adventuress. There now, have I cleared the air?’

‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘Then shall we call ourselves friends?’

‘Yes, I’d like that.’ She took his arm again and they walked on in silence, but halfway across the Ponte alle Grazie they stopped once more, this time distracted by the view. The falling sun cast a warm glow on the buildings on the opposite bank, making a golden haze of their reflections in the now still waters of the Arno. Estelle leaned on the parapet to watch as the shutters were being pulled down on the shops which lined the Ponte Vecchio. ‘It’s breathtakingly lovely, isn’t it?’

‘As a backdrop, but so is the subject.’

She turned to face him and her breath caught as their eyes met.

‘May I see you again tomorrow, or is it too soon?’

She didn’t hesitate. ‘It’s not too soon.’

He smiled. They stood together watching the sun sinking and the sky fading from gold to pink before they turned of one accord to continue over the bridge. He walked her to the door of her pension. They made arrangements to meet in the morning. When she bid him farewell, he took her hand, raising it to his lips, before pressing a kiss to her gloved fingertips. She rushed up the stairs to her room, pushing back the shutters to lean out, and he turned and waved. It was the perfect end to a perfect day.