Читать книгу Sara Craven Tribute Collection - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 39

IT WASN’T really a cloud, Flora decided. It was more a faint shadow. Yet she was aware of it all the time.

It was there in the sunlit days, while she and Marco went to the beach, swam in the pool, played tennis, and explored the surrounding countryside.

While they dined by candlelight, or sat on the moonlit terrace, drinking wine and talking, or listening to music.

It was even there at nights, when he made love to her with such exquisite skill and passion, or soothed her to sleep in his arms.

And the time was long past when she could have said totally casually, Who is Ottavia?

To ask now would be to reveal that it was preying on her mind. That it had come to matter. And she couldn’t let him know that.

Because she had no right to concern herself. The parameters of their relationship were in place, and there was no space for jealousy.

There had been no more unwelcome visitors. In fact, no visitors at all. The real world was hardly allowed to intrude.

Flora was wryly aware how quickly she’d adapted to life at the castello, where unseen hands seemed to anticipate her every wish.

It was the quiet, impassive presence of Alfredo, she knew, that made San Silvestro run with such smooth efficiency. And, whatever his private views on her presence, he treated her invariably with soft-voiced respect.

Which was more than could always be said for Ninetta, Flora acknowledged frowningly. And it was just unfortunate that she had more to do with her than any of the other servants at the castello.

Not that the girl was overtly insolent, or lazy. There was just something—sometimes—in her manner which spoke of a buried resentment. The occasional suggestion of a flounce, and a faint curl of the full lips when Flora requested some service.

Not that it happened often. However much Marco might tease her about it, Flora could no more leave her clothes lying around for someone else to pick up, or abandon wet towels on the bathroom floor than she could fly. But sometimes she felt that Ninetta might have thought better of her if she’d done exactly that.

Or perhaps the girl was just tired of having to run round after yet another of the signore’s mistresses, she thought, with a stifled sigh. Although she could never ask her that, of course. Or whether Ottavia had ever been one of them…

She firmly closed off that line of questioning. She had to learn to live entirely for the present, she told herself. It was pointless concerning herself about the past, or even worrying over the future, because both were out of her hands.

So, it would be one day at a time, and no more, and what was the problem with that when she was so happy?

And no one, she thought, could ever take that away from her.

The boathouse, Flora had soon learned, was not just for show. It contained a speedboat, which Marco used mainly for water-skiing, as well as his windsurfer, and a sailing boat—the Beatrice II.

‘My father built the first one, and named it for my mother,’ he told Flora when he took her sailing the first time, standing behind her, steadying her hands on the wheel. ‘I decided to continue the tradition.’

‘Did she like to sail?’ Flora found she was revelling in this swoop along the coast, her ear already attuned to the slap of water against the bow and the song of the wind in the sails above her.

He shrugged. ‘My father loved to—and she loved to be with him. She even watched him play polo, which terrified her. And she was his first passenger when he got his pilot’s licence.’ There was a taut silence. ‘And, of course, his last.’

Flora was very still. Marco knew every detail of her family background, but up to now had said very little about his own. Perhaps this new candour would drive away the faint mist which seemed to hang between them.

‘There was an accident?’ Tentatively, she broke the brooding quiet.

‘Some kind of mechanical failure.’ His tone was brusque with remembered pain. ‘They were flying down here from Rome for my grandfather’s birthday. I had been allowed home from school for the occasion too, and I remember going with Nonno Giovanni to meet them at the airfield, whining because they were so late and I was getting bored.

‘And then someone came and called my grandfather away into another room. I could watch him through the glass partition, although I could not hear what was being said. But I saw his face—and I knew.’

‘How—how old were you?’ Flora asked, her heart twisting.

‘I was ten. Usually I flew with them too, and I had been angry because they had gone to Rome without me, to collect Nonno Giovanni’s birthday gift.’

He shook his head. ‘To this day I do not know what it was they had bought for him. But it could never have been worth the price they paid for it.’

She said quietly, ‘Marco—I’m so sorry. I—I had no idea, even though you’ve always talked about your grandfather rather than your parents. It must have been terrible for you.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘It was a bad time for us all. And I hardly had time to mourn before Nonno Giovanni began to train me as the next head of the family and the future chairman of Altimazza.’

She gasped. ‘But you were just a small child.’

‘The circumstances demanded that I grow up quickly,’ Marco said drily. ‘That I should understand and accept the responsibilities waiting for me.’

She leaned back against him. Her voice was husky. ‘And when you became a man, what if you’d decided that kind of life wasn’t for you?’

‘Ah, mia cara, that was never an option.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘Only once was I offered a choice—and then I chose wrongly.’ His voice was suddenly harsh.

She said hesitantly, ‘But now you’re free—surely?’

His arms tightened around her. She felt his mouth, gentle on the nape of her neck. ‘I want to believe that, mia bella. Dio—how much I want to believe it.’ There was a note almost of anguish in his tone.

He said no more, and she did not like to probe further.

Later they anchored in a small bay and swam, then picnicked on board. Afterwards, Marco made love to her with slow, passionate intensity, his eyes fixed almost painfully on her face, as if asking a question he dared not speak aloud.

What is it, my love? her heart cried out to him. Ask me—please…

When they arrived back at San Silvestro Alfredo was waiting on the landing stage, grave-faced.

‘There has been a telephone call, signore—from the laboratories. They need to speak urgently with you.’

Marco cursed softly, then turned to Flora. ‘Forgive me, carissima. I had better see what they want.’ He set off up the path to the house, with Alfredo behind him, leaving Flora to follow more slowly.

She had showered and put on a slip of a dress, sleeveless and scoop-necked in an ivory silky fabric which showed off her growing tan, by the time Marco came into the room, his face serious and preoccupied.

He said without preamble, ‘Flora, I have to go to Milan straight away. We have been conducting tests on a new drug to help asthma sufferers, which we believe could be a real breakthrough, but there seem to be problems—something which I must deal with immediately.’

‘Oh.’ Flora put down her mascara wand. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

‘I think you would be too much of a distraction, mia bella.’ His tone was rueful. ‘Stay here and relax, and I will be back in a couple of days.’

‘Then shall I pack for you?’

He shook his head. ‘Alfredo has already done so. The helicopter is coming for me very soon.’

He came across to her and pulled her to her feet. ‘I hate to leave you, carissima.’ His tone thickened. ‘But this is important.’

‘Of course. And I’ll be fine.’ She smiled up at him, resolutely ignoring the ball of ice beginning to form in the pit of her stomach. Because this enforced absence would eat into the diminishing amount of time she had to spend with him. ‘Alfredo will look after me.’

‘You have won his heart.’ He raised her hand to his lips. ‘And that of everyone here.’

Apart from Ninetta. She thought it, but did not say it. Then Marco was kissing her, and she stopped thinking, offering herself totally the yearning demand of his mouth. Aware of nothing but the warmth and strength of him against her.

At last he almost tore his lips from hers. ‘I must go,’ he muttered huskily. ‘I have to change my clothes.’

Left alone, Flora could hear the steady beat of the helicopter’s approach. Coming, she thought, with a stab of anguish, to take him away. And it was ridiculous to feel so bereft—so scared—when he would be back so soon.

It must be the story about his parents which was weighing so heavily on her, she thought with a shiver.

When he emerged from his dressing room he looked almost alien in the formal dark suit. Flora looked across the room and saw a stranger.

Her smile was so forced it hurt. ‘Please—take care.’ Or take me with you.

‘My heart’s sweetness.’ He looked back at her with passionate understanding. He took half a step towards her, then deliberately checked. ‘I shall come back. And then I must talk to you.’ He paused. ‘Because there are things to be said. Issues, alas, that can no longer be avoided.’

He’s going to tell me it’s over, Flora thought, with a lurch of the heart. That all good things must end. That it’s time we returned to our separate worlds and got on with our lives.

With a courage she had not known she possessed, she lifted her chin, went on smiling. ‘I’ll be here,’ she said. ‘Waiting.’

She went out on to the balcony and watched the helicopter take off and whirl away over the trees. Stood, a hand shading her eyes, until it vanished, and the throb of the engine could be heard no longer.

Her hands tightened on the balustrade as she fought the tears, harsh and bitter in her throat.

Only a couple of days, she reminded herself as she turned and trailed desolately back into the room. She could surely survive that.

But her real dread was the nights that she would spend alone in that enormous bed, without his arms around her in the darkness, or his voice drowsily murmuring her name as they woke to sunlight dappling through the window shutters.

And all those other endless nights to come, when she returned to England…

She pressed a clenched fist fiercely against her trembling mouth.

She’d known the score from the first, yet she’d allowed herself to be seduced by the atmosphere at the castello. To drift into a dream world where she and Marco stayed together always. Which was crazy.

It felt so right for her, she thought, but that did not guarantee that he necessarily shared her view. He was looking for entertainment, not commitment. Besides, he was a wealthy man. When the time came he would be sharing his life with a girl from his own social milieu.

As for herself—well, she was back in the real world now, and she was not going to allow herself to fall to pieces.

And if there was heartbreak ahead, maybe it was no more than she deserved for what she’d done to Chris.

She’d betrayed him totally, and yet, she realised guiltily, this was the first time she’d even spared him a thought. He seemed to belong to some distant, unreal part of her life. But he was flesh and blood, would be hurting because of her, and he deserved to have his pain acknowledged.

I was unfair to him from the start, she thought sadly. And particularly when I said I’d marry him. But we’d been seeing each other regularly for months and it seemed the next, logical progression. And—somehow— I persuaded myself that I loved him enough for marriage.

Because I didn’t know what love could be—not then.

I should have known it couldn’t work—after that one disastrous night. I should have stopped it there and then.

She’d been trying for weeks to parry Chris’s growing insistence on making love to her. Finally she’d simply run out of excuses.

She couldn’t even explain her own reluctance. After all, she wasn’t a child, and it had been a natural stage in her relationship with the man she planned to marry. A man, moreover, who was good-looking, undeniably virile, and eager for her.

Yet the fact that she’d still been able to resist the increasing ardour of Chris’s kisses should have been warning enough that all was not well.

She’d felt paralysed with awkwardness from the moment she’d arrived at Chris’s flat and found the scene set with candles, flowers and music playing softly. There had even been a bottle of champagne chilling on ice.

Like something from Chapter Two of The Seducer’s Handbook, she’d thought, wanting at first to laugh, and then, very badly, to run away.

And that had been the only real desire she’d experienced. She’d felt only numb as Chris had undressed her almost gloatingly. He hadn’t been selfish. She knew that now. He had done his best to arouse her, holding his own excitement and need in check.

And she’d held him, eyes closed, and whispered, ‘Yes,’ when he’d asked if she was all right.

But it hadn’t been true. Because everything about it had been wrong. And the pain of his first attempt to enter her had made her cry out as her muscles locked in shocked rejection.

She’d pushed him away almost violently, her frozen body slicked with sweat. ‘No—I can’t—please…’

He’d been kind at first, understanding. Had even comforted her. But it had soon become evident that he was determined to try again.

And each time her mind had gone into recoil as her body closed against him.

And eventually he’d become impatient, then really angry, and finally sullenly accepting.

‘You have a real problem, Flora,’ he’d flung at her over his shoulder as he reached for his clothes. ‘I suggest you get yourself sorted, and soon. Maybe you should see a doctor—or a therapist.’

And she’d buried her shamed, unhappy face in the pillow and thought that perhaps he was right.

Until Marco had looked at her—touched her hand—kissed her. Made her burn for him. Established his possession of her long before the physical joining of their bodies. Transformed her surrender into glory.

When Chris had come back from his holiday in the Bahamas, she’d expected him to exert increasing pressure on her to go to bed with him, and had steeled herself to agree, telling herself it could never be that bad again. But their time apart seemed to have engendered a more philosophical attitude in him, and he’d made no more attempts to force the issue.

Perhaps he’d thought that patience would eventually bring him his reward. Or maybe he’d simply been waiting for her to tell him that the medical treatment she hadn’t even sought had been successful.

She had been telling herself that once they were married and settled they would have all the time in the world to work out their sexual relationship. That compatibility was not necessarily instant.

That Chris would make a good husband—the best—and sex was not the whole of a marriage.

Every excuse under the sun.

And I—almost—made myself believe them, she thought. I could have gone through with it. Only Hes wasn’t fooled for a minute. And, of course, Marco, who looked into my eyes and saw that I was completely unawakened.

Well, no one would think that now, she told herself with a wry smile at the mirror as she walked to the door, on her way downstairs to her first solitary dinner.

As she’d feared, time hung heavy on her hands without him.

He telephoned, of course. Hurried calls during the day between meetings that were not going well. And longer, more personal conversations late into the evening, which sent her to bed burning and restless.

He does it deliberately, she thought, twining her arms round his pillow and pulling it close. He would have to be punished on his return, and she knew exactly how. And she drifted off to sleep at last, smiling like a cat.

He’d been gone for three days when he finally called to say he would be home the following evening.

At last, her heart sang, but aloud she said sedately, ‘Has the problem with the tests been sorted?’

He sighed. ‘Alas, no. There is a serious flaw in the product, as I have suspected for some time, and we may have to start again from the beginning. I am authorising a new research programme, with a new director,’ he added with a touch of grimness. ‘Dr Farese believed he could take advantage of my absence and push the new drug through by cutting down the testing process. He knows differently now.’

Flora was silent for a moment. Then she said with slight constraint, ‘Has all this happened because you’ve been spending too much time with me?’

‘A little, perhaps.’ His tone was rueful. ‘But I do not regret one moment of it, Flora mia. However, it means that I must devote more time to Altimazza from now on.’

Her hand tightened round the receiver. ‘Yes—yes, of course.’

‘But enough of that.’ He paused. ‘Have you missed me?’

She knew that now, of all times, she ought to play it cool—make some flip, teasing remark. Instead she heard herself say yearningly, ‘Oh, so much.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m going to tell Marta to have everything you most like for dinner—pasta with truffles, and that veal thing. Unless you’d prefer the chicken…?’

He was laughing. ‘Choose what you will, bellissima mia. I am hungry only for you.’

She said with sudden shyness, ‘And I for you, Marco.’

‘Then imagine that I am with you, cara.’ His voice sank huskily, intimately. ‘That I am holding you naked—touching you as you like to be touched. You remember, hmm?’

‘Marco!’ She felt the fierce charge of desire deep within her. The swift scalding heat between her thighs. Her voice pleaded with him unsteadily. ‘You’re not being fair.’

‘No,’ he conceded softly. ‘Perhaps not. But when I come back, my sweet one, there will be complete honesty between us—whatever the cost.’

She could hear the note of sadness in his voice and flinched from it, knowing what it must mean. He was warning her that their brief, rapturous idyll was drawing to an end.

She took a deep breath. She said quietly, ‘I—I can’t wait to see you.’

‘It will not be long now,’ he told her. ‘But I must go. They are waiting for me.’

She returned his murmured, ‘Arriverderci,’ and put down the telephone, standing for a moment, staring into space, realising she was going to need every scrap of emotional courage she possessed to get her through the next few days.

She heard a brief sound, and turned to see Ninetta standing in the doorway, watching her. She gasped. ‘Oh—you startled me.’

‘Scusi, signorina.’

The apology was meek enough, but Flora was certain that she’d detected a smirk in the dark eyes before they were deferentially lowered.

She said coolly, ‘Did you want something, Ninetta?’

‘I came to see if you needed me, signorina.’ The girl came further into the room. ‘You look pale. Have you had bad news?’

‘On the contrary.’ Flora met the sly glance head-on, her chin lifted. ‘The signore is coming back tomorrow. I am going to arrange a special dinner for him and I have to decide what to wear.’

Which wouldn’t be easy, she acknowledged with an inward sigh. Travelling light had its disadvantages, and Marco had already seen everything she’d brought with her.

‘Maybe it is an occasion for a new dress, signorina. Rocello has some good shops.’

It was about the first helpful remark Ninetta had ever made, and Flora sent her a surprised glance.

‘Yes,’ she agreed slowly. ‘Perhaps it is.’

She might as well go out in style, she thought, with all flags flying. And she could use the time, as well, to buy some going-home presents—although apart from Hester and Melanie she couldn’t think of many people who would welcome one from her.

She paused. ‘Is there a morning bus into the town?’

For a moment Ninetta looked genuinely shocked. ‘A car and driver will be provided for you, signorina. I shall arrange it at once. The signore would wish it,’ she added, pre-empting any further objections that Flora might have.

I only wish, Flora thought when she was alone again, that I liked her better.

‘I understand that you wish to go into town,’ Alfredo said as he served her breakfast next morning. ‘If you had consulted me, signorina, I would have escorted you myself. As it is, young Roberto will be driving you.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be fine.’ Flora placated him, aware that his normally smooth feathers were ruffled. ‘You must have far better things to do than wait while I shop.’

‘Nothing I could not have postponed.’ He was frowning slightly. ‘The signore placed you in my charge, after all.’

‘Well, Roberto will be a perfectly adequate stand-in.’ She smiled at him. ‘And I’ll only be gone an hour or so.’ She paused. ‘Have I come across Roberto before?’

‘I think not, signorina. He usually works in the grounds, but he drives the cars on occasion. He is the brother of Ninetta, who waits on you.’

Then I only hope he’s more civil, Flora thought as she finished her meal.

Roberto seemed to be a rather stolid young man, with a limited command of English, so the journey into town was completed mostly in silence. However, the views from the winding coast road were sufficiently spectacular to compensate for any lack of conversation.

Rocello was not a large town, but its central square, overlooked by a fine Gothic church, was an imposing one.

Flora arranged to meet the taciturn Roberto by the church in two hours, which would give her time to make her purchases and, hopefully, do a little sightseeing too.

Ninetta had been right about the shops, she soon discovered. There were some delectable boutiques hidden away among the winding side streets, and she soon found a dress she liked—one of her favourite slip styles, with narrow straps and a fluid drift of a skirt, in white, with a stylised flower in crystal beads on the bodice.

A few doors away she came upon a local silversmith, and bought a pair of pretty earrings for Mel, and an elegant chain with twisted links for Hes.

In a small gallery near the square there was a small framed painting of the castello, and, after some heart-searching, she decided to buy it. In the days ahead it might help convince her that this had not been all a fantastic dream, she thought wryly.

It was going to be a very hot day, and Flora was quite glad to seek shelter in the shadowy interior of the church, which was famous for its frescoes painted, it was said, by a pupil of Giotto.

But, even so, she still had some time to while away before her appointment with Roberto. She stationed herself under the striped awning of one of the pavement cafés opposite the church, so that she could spot him as soon as he arrived.

She ordered a cappuccino and sat nibbling some of the little almond biscuits that came with it, idly watching the tourists, who were milling around with their cameras.

‘Signorina Graham. I thought there could not be two women with that glorious shade of hair.’

Flora looked up in surprise to find Tonio Baressi smiling down at her.

‘Oh,’ she said slowly. ‘Good morning.’

He drew out the chair opposite with a flourish. ‘May I join you?’

‘You seem to have done so already, signore.’ Flora stole a surreptitious glance at her watch, hoping that Roberto might be early.

If Tonio noticed the tart note in her voice he gave no sign, merely signalling imperiously to the waiter.

‘So Marco has gone to Milan and left you to your own devices,’ he said, when his espresso arrived. He clicked his tongue. ‘But how unchivalrous.’

‘He has work to do,’ Flora said shortly. My first time in Rocello, she thought, and I have to run into him.

He laughed. ‘Whereas you are strictly for his leisure moments, eh? He is very fortunate to have found a woman so understanding of his—other obligations.’

Flora made a business of collecting together her packages. ‘You must excuse me,’ she said brightly. ‘I’d like to have a look inside the church before my driver comes.’

‘But surely I saw you coming out of the church a short while ago? You must find those frescoes particularly fascinating.’ He was still smiling, but his eyes had narrowed. ‘Or did Marco warn you to shun my company?’

‘Of course not. How ridiculous.’ She bit her lip in vexation, and a certain unease. How long had he been watching her, she wondered, and why?

‘I am relieved to hear it. Please—have another cappuccino. I insist.’

She thanked him with a forced smile and sat back, trying to look relaxed, while scanning the passing crowd for Roberto.

‘I hope you have enjoyed your stay at San Silvestro,’ Tonio went on after a pause. ‘It is unfortunate that all good things must end, no?’

She gave him a composed look. ‘Actually, I still have some holiday left.’

‘Yes, but it is hardly the same for you now that Marco has remembered his responsibilities to Altimazza. He can hardly be expected to commute to Milan on a daily basis. And the castello can be a lonely place.’

Her smile was taut. ‘Please don’t concern yourself about me, Signor Baressi. It really isn’t necessary.’

‘Call me Tonio, I beg. I assure you that I only wish to be your friend.’

‘Thank you.’ She reached for her bag and extracted enough money to pay for her own coffee. ‘That’s kind of you, but now I must be going.’

He said, almost idly, ‘If you are expecting Roberto, he has gone back to San Silvestro. I told him I would bring you back to the castello myself.’

Flora’s lips parted in a gasp of sheer outrage. ‘Then you had no right to do any such thing,’ she exclaimed heatedly. ‘And I prefer to make my own way back. I’ll find a taxi…’

His grin was unrepentant. ‘You fear I shall make advances to you?’ He shook his head. ‘I shall not. I offer friendship only. Something you may welcome before long,’ he added softly. ‘So let us have no more nonsense about taxis. It will be my pleasure to drive you.’

Flora lifted her chin. She said crisply, ‘In that case I’d like to leave straight away. Roberto is going to find himself in real trouble with Alfredo for deserting me like this. He could even be sacked.’

He shrugged. ‘He will easily find another job.’

Tonio also drove a sports car, but a considerably flashier example than the one Marco had used in London. He also considered himself a far better driver than he actually was, and Flora found herself cringing more than once.

When the coast road was suddenly abandoned, and they turned inland, she stiffened. ‘This isn’t the way to San Silvestro.’

‘A small detour.’ He was totally at ease. ‘To the other side of the headland. My aunt, the Contessa Baressi, has expressed a wish to meet you. I know you would not wish to disappoint her.’

She said curtly, ‘I would have preferred to be consulted in advance. And if Marco wishes me to know his godmother, then he’s quite capable of arranging it.’

‘Marco,’ he said, ‘is in Milan.’

‘Yes, but he’ll be back this evening. I can mention her invitation then…’

‘My aunt wishes to see you now,’ he said softly. ‘And her requests are invariably granted. Even by Marco.’ He paused. ‘The two families have always been very close. And he and the Contessa have a very special relationship.’

‘All the more reason,’ she said, ‘for him to be there.’

‘Unfortunately, the Contessa intends to return to Rome very shortly. She was anxious to make time for you before her departure.’

He turned the car through a stone gateway, following a wide curving driveway up to the house.

It was a large, formal structure, built of local stone over three storeys.

The grounds were neat and well-kept, and an ornate fountain played before the main entrance, but for Flora it lacked the wilder appeal of the castello. Or was that simply because she was there under a kind of duress?

She sat very straight in her seat as Tonio brought the car to a halt.

‘Please,’ she said. ‘Will you make some excuse to your aunt and take me back to San Silvestro?’

‘Impossible, mia cara. She does not take disappointment well.’

He came round and opened her door. His hand gripped her arm, his smile openly triumphant as he observed her pallor—her startled eyes.

He said softly, ‘Avanti. Let’s go.’

And he took her up the steps and into the house.