Читать книгу Sara Craven Tribute Collection - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 42

THE ring was plain, gold, unflashy and made no overt statement, but each time Flora moved her hand she was acutely aware of its presence—and its significance.

She was now Marco’s wife, legally if in no other way.

And she had to admit reluctantly that so far he had kept his word unfalteringly about that.

She had dreaded that on her arrival at the castello she would be expected to occupy the tower rooms again, even if she did sleep there alone, but to her relief she had been given another suite on the opposite side of the building, large and airy and decorated in light pastels.

‘You may, of course, change anything you wish,’ Marco had said courteously as she’d looked over her new surroundings.

‘It’s totally charming. I wouldn’t want to alter a thing,’ Flora had returned with equal politeness.

But it had been a tricky moment, because Marco had reacted with surprising heat when Flora had refused point-blank to sell her business.

‘I’ve worked hard to build it up.’ She’d faced him defiantly. ‘And I can keep in touch on an everyday basis via the internet. I intend to fly home once a month for consultancy purposes.’

He was frowning darkly. ‘Is that wise—when you are pregnant?’

‘I’m perfectly fit,’ she said. ‘And anyway, it’s not up for negotiation. I’m going to need my job to go back to—later.’

A muscle flickered at the side of his mouth. He said coolly, ‘There is no need for you to work again. I have said I will make financial arrangements for you and the child.’

Flora lifted her chin. ‘All the same, I love my job, and I prefer to maintain my independence. Also I’ve managed to find additional help, so I shan’t have to knock myself out in the coming months.’

During the inevitable flurry of preparations for the wedding she’d heard on the grapevine that a young designer called Jane Allen was looking for a change of scene. Flora had met her, liked her immediately, established it was mutual, and that she would frankly relish being flung in at the deep end, and signed her up on the spot.

But Marco, she knew, had not been appeased in the slightest.

On a happier note, she had been touched by the warmth of her reception at the castello. All the staff from Alfredo downwards seemed genuinely pleased by her return as the Signora.

She’d been agreeably surprised to discover that Ninetta had gone, along with her brother, and presumably was now in Rome with the Contessa, so that particular fly had been removed from the ointment.

And it saved me having to fire her, Flora thought grimly.

When she was subjected to some very obvious cossetting, she realised resignedly that the staff had guessed with the speed of light why their young mistress was sometimes unwell in the mornings.

She also discovered that the Signore’s decision to sleep alone was regarded as a sign of his concern for his bride’s fragile health so early in her pregnancy. Not all men, it was hinted, were so kind or considerate at such a delicate time.

Saint Marco, thought Flora, concealing her gritted teeth under a dulcet smile.

But she could hardly complain that he was adhering so strictly to the terms of the deal, after she’d made it abundantly clear that she wanted him nowhere near her, she reminded herself unhappily.

Except that she was lonely. She was surrounded by devoted people, but she realised immediately that the castello was only really alive when Marco came back from Milan at the weekend.

And it was hard to remain aloof—to mirror his cool courtesy—when she longed to run to him and fling herself into his arms on his return.

He had suggested once that she might wish to invite her family to stay with her, but Flora had not taken up the idea. Her mother had reacted badly to news of the wedding, and had refused point-blank to attend. She was still convinced that Marco was connected with the Mafia, and prophesied nothing but doom and disaster. And Flora knew of old that where she led the rest of the family would follow.

The good news, however, was that Hester had holiday left, and was coming to stay in the autumn.

In the meantime, being pampered in the lap of luxury and discreetly coached in the management of a large household by Alfredo and his wife was hardly the worst fate that could have befallen her.

And if she kept repeating that to herself, she might, eventually, come to believe it, she thought, sighing.

Gradually she was noticing her body changing, adapting lushly to its new role, and the eminent gynaecologist that Marco had engaged to look after her expressed complete satisfaction with her progress.

He also mentioned discreetly that now the pregnancy was firmly established the Signora could happily resume marital relations with her husband, and went away thinking sentimentally how charming it was that his latest patient should blush so deeply at such an ordinary suggestion.

The truth was that Flora was fighting a bitter war with herself—her emotions locked in mortal combat with her common sense.

Marco had claimed he’d come to find her because he wanted her, but he had never, even in their most passionately intimate moments, said that he loved her.

And desire, however strong, was such a transient thing, she told herself, troubled. It took far more than that to make a marriage, especially when the female half was on the verge of swelling up like a barrage balloon. That needed the kind of love she would sell her soul for.

And, since she’d arrived at the castello, Marco had never given the slightest hint by word or sign that he’d been tempted to break his self-imposed rules. On the contrary, she acknowledged with a faint sigh.

Which could indicate that only his weekends with her were celibate. That during his working week in Milan he had already found someone else to share his nights.

And that meant that all Flora had to offer him was the tiny human being growing inside her. Once she’d given birth she would be totally surplus to requirements.

The realisation was preying on her mind—driving her crazy.

She should be relaxed and tranquil, as the consultant had told her, and instead she was being torn apart by misery and the kind of jealousy she had never dreamed could exist.

As a consequence, when he was at the castello she heard her voice becoming clipped and cool, knew that her body language was guarded and even hostile.

Because she was already preparing herself for the pain of parting. Armouring herself against a hurt that would be as damaging as it was inevitable.

At the same time she was fighting a real sense of shame that she could feel all this for a man who had taken and used her only to fuel his need for revenge. A man she had tried so hard to hate.

Oh, why couldn’t he have just left her and gone once he’d achieved his purpose? she thought in anguish. Why had he brought her to his home—and allowed her to fall deeply and irrevocably in love with him?

And, once the truth was out, why couldn’t he have left her alone to recover from the trauma of it in peace? Instead, he had condemned her to this half-life, and she wasn’t sure how much she could take.

Her trips back to London were only a passing distraction, too, she’d discovered. Business was good, clients were plentiful, and Jane was running the company with flair. So much so that Flora wasn’t sure she was really needed there either, and knew that sooner or later Jane was going to offer to buy her out.

I’m going to be like a stateless person, she thought.

When Hester came to stay she wasn’t alone. She was accompanied by Andrew, who was tall, brown-haired and humorous, and who looked at Hester so adoringly that Flora felt a lump in her throat. Her wary wise-cracking friend was suddenly transformed into a woman with a dream in her eyes and a smile of pure fulfilment curving her lips.

And Flora hated herself for feeling envious in the face of their obvious joy.

‘The wedding’s going to be in the late spring,’ Hester confided. ‘By which time the baby will be here, and you can wear something glamorous as matron of honour.’

‘It’s a date.’ Flora kept her smile pinned in place, and perhaps Hes noticed, because she gave her a swift hug.

‘How are things?’ she whispered. ‘I must say Marco’s the perfect host.’

‘Everything’s fine,’ Flora returned.

It was while she was waving them goodbye that she was conscious for the first time of a faint fluttering like a tiny bird in her abdomen.

‘Oh.’ She touched herself with a questioning hand.

‘Is something wrong?’ Marco’s tone was sharp.

‘No.’ She marshalled a smile. ‘On the contrary. I think the baby just moved.’

He took a half-step towards her, his hand going out, then stopped, the dark face closing over.

He said quietly, ‘That is—wonderful news. But I hope you will not become too uncomfortable.’

‘No,’ she said, choking back the threatened tears of disappointment. ‘I—I gather that can happen.’ She gave him a brief, meaningless smile, and went back into the castello. By the time she came down to dinner he was already on his way back to Milan.

As her body had swelled she’d been glad to see the end of the intense heat of summer, although she missed her daily gentle swim. Autumn at the castello was cool and rainy, and she walked every day instead.

On one of her forays she found a small terrier dog of indeterminate breed crouching miserably under a tree, and coaxed him to follow her home. He wasn’t received with unmixed joy by the staff.

‘He is a stray, signora. He could be diseased,’ Alfredo told her, concerned.

‘Then ask the vet to come and look him over.’ Flora stroked the small shaggy head with a gentle hand. ‘I wonder where he came from?’

Alfredo pursed his lips. ‘From one of the rented villas, signora. People do not always take their animals home after a holiday.’

‘How vile,’ Flora said with some heat. ‘Anyway, he’ll be company for me. And he’ll be fine once he’s had a bath and something to eat.’

Alfredo went off muttering, but by the time the little dog had been vetted and groomed he looked altogether more respectable, and, after only a few days, felt so much at home that an armchair in the salotto had become his designated abode.

‘And we will see what the Signore has to say about that,’ Alfredo said ominously.

But Marco seemed merely amused. ‘You should have said you wanted a dog, cara,’ he remarked, fondling the little animal’s pointed ears and receiving an adoring look in return that made Flora silently grind her teeth. ‘I would have found you a pedigree litter to choose from.’

‘Thank you,’ Flora said politely. ‘But I think dogs pick their owners, and I prefer my little mutt.’

And Mutt he was, from then on.

But, as an apparent consequence of his introduction into the household, Marco started staying in Milan for the weekends too, confirming Flora’s unhappy conviction that he had a mistress there.

But he was at home for Christmas and New Year, which were celebrated quietly, although Alfredo had told her that there had often been large parties in the past.

‘But they are a lot of work, signora,’ he said. ‘And the Signore will be anxious that you do not become overtired.’

Perhaps, thought Flora. Or more likely he did not wish to introduce his temporary wife to his family and friends when he knew it would be the only Christmas she would spend at the castello.

Her gift from Marco came in a flat velvet case. One perfect pearl, like a captured tear on its thin gold chain, she thought as he fastened it round her throat, her body shivering in involuntary delight as his fingers brushed briefly against her skin.

In her turn, she’d been careful to avoid anything too overtly personal and gave him a tall, frighteningly expensive crystal decanter that she’d found in an antique shop on her last visit to London.

And he thanked her with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

The weather turned much colder in January, and although Flora still took Mutt for his daily run, she did not go so far afield. She found she tired easily these days, especially as the baby was particularly active at night. Like a drum being beaten from the inside, she thought, remembering a line from a Meryl Streep movie she’d once seen.

Sometimes the movements were clearly visible, and she was aware of Marco watching her one evening, as she lay on the sofa, his attention frowningly absorbed on the tiny kicks and thumps that rippled the cling of her dress.

Do you want to touch? she longed to say. Do you want to feel how it feels?

But then he got up abruptly from his chair and went to his study to work, and the moment passed, unshared.

There was a small shop selling delectable babywear in one of the streets off the town square, and Flora was a regular visit every time new stock came in.

One day, as she emerged with her latest purchases, she realised she was being watched, and, looking round, saw Ninetta standing on the opposite side of the street, staring at her.

She half lifted a hand, but the other woman ducked her head and scuttled away.

She mentioned the encounter casually to Alfredo as he drove her home.

‘The Contessa Baressi’s villa has been sold, signora. I think some members of the family have come down to remove their personal possessions.’

‘Oh.’ Her tone was subdued.

‘But have no fear, signora,’ he added reassuringly. ‘The Signore’s orders are clear, and even if they call at the castello they will not be admitted.’

Mutt was waiting for her at the door, tail wagging furiously.

‘All right, old boy.’ Flora bent with difficulty to pat him. ‘I’ll take you out now. Fetch his leash for me, will you, Alfredo?’

‘Do you think that is wise, signora?’ He peered at the sky. ‘It will be dark soon.’

‘I won’t go far,’ she promised.

The wind was cold on the coast road, and she walked as quickly as she could, her head bent, while Mutt pranced eagerly ahead of her in the rapidly fading light.

Traffic was almost non-existent in winter, and she frowned as she heard the sound of a car approaching fast. She whistled to Mutt, who came running, and clipped on his lead. As she straightened she was caught in the beam of headlights, and flung up a hand to shield her eyes. She expected the car to pull over, but it seemed to be coming straight for her, and she cried out, throwing herself desperately to one side, fleetingly aware of a face, framed in a mass of dark hair, in the driving seat.

She fell heavily, and felt the fume-filled draught on her face as the car went past, its tyres screaming on the wet surface of the road. Mutt, barking hysterically, tried to chase after it, but fortunately she had his lead twisted round her wrist, and after a few abortive attempts to free himself he trotted back and licked her face.

Flora lay very still, her cheek pressed against damp freezing turf, all her senses at fever pitch as she tried to assess what damage might have been done.

Kick me, she pleaded silently to the baby. Kick me hard. But nothing happened.

When, eventually, she tried to move, she felt her ankle screaming at her to stop, and lay back again. She knew she needed to stay calm, but as the minutes passed she began to feel chilled and also extremely scared.

The driver of the car must have seen her fall, she thought in shocked bewilderment, but had made no attempt to stop even though it must have been obvious that she was heavily pregnant.

How long would it be before she was missed at the castello? And, when she was, how would they know which direction she had taken?

She swallowed convulsively. ‘Oh, Mutt,’ she whispered. ‘I think I could be in real trouble.’

As if in confirmation, Mutt flattened his ears, threw back his head, and began to howl.

Time became a blur of cold, and thin rain, and Mutt’s distress. She tried several times to get up, but the pain in her ankle invariably sent her wincing back to the ground. She was sure it wasn’t broken, but it could be badly sprained, which was just as inconvenient.

She became aware that she was drifting in and out of consciousness, and knew that this was the biggest danger. Mutt was quiet too, as if he’d decided his efforts were in vain, and she loosened his lead and whispered, ‘Home, boy,’ praying that the sight of him would speed up the search.

Unless, of course, he got sidetracked by a stray cat, or some other legitimate prey, she thought as she heard him in the distance, bursting into a frenzy of excited barking.

But that wasn’t the only noise. There were voices, she realised, and bobbing lights.

Or was she just delirious with the cold and imagining it all?

Because it seemed as if Marco was beside her, his voice saying brokenly, ‘Flora—mia carissima. Ah, Dio, my angel, my sweet love. What has happened to you?’

She knew that was impossible, because Marco was miles away in Milan, and anyway he didn’t care about her enough to say things like that.

Only his arms were strong around her, and she was breathing the familiar scent of his skin, listening to him murmuring the endearments in his own language that he had once whispered to her when they were making love. And somehow this surpassed every moment of rapture she had ever known with him.

But as he tried to lift her she cried out, ‘My ankle,’ and fell back alone into the darkness.

When she opened her eyes again there was light so bright that it was almost painful. And there was a soft mattress under her aching body, a sharp hospital smell in the air, and tight strapping round her throbbing ankle.

There was also Marco, his face haggard, until he turned into a bearded man in a white coat, who smiled kindly and asked how she felt.

‘Like one big bruise,’ she said, her voice husky. And then, with sudden fear, ‘My baby?’

‘Still in place, Signora Valante, and waiting for a proper birthday. You are a strong lady, and your child is strong too.’

‘Thank God,’ she whispered, and lay back against the pillow, tears trickling down her face. When she could speak, she said, ‘I thought—my husband…’

‘He is here, signora. I will let you talk to him, then you must rest, and in the morning, if all is well, he can take you home.’

‘Everything will be,’ she said.

‘But first I must ask what happened to you. How you came to be lying by the road in such weather.’

She frowned, trying to remember. ‘There was a car,’ she said slowly. ‘Going too fast. I tried to get out of the way, and fell.’

‘Do you know what kind of car—or did you see the number plate?’

She shook her head. ‘It all happened so fast.’

‘Then we must thank God it was not worse,’ he said gravely, and left her.

When she opened her eyes again, Marco was sitting by the bed.

He said hoarsely, ‘I thought I had lost you, my love, my dearest heart. Santa Madonna, I was so frightened. When I saw you lying there on the grass…’

‘But I’m safe,’ she told him softly. ‘And your baby is safe too.’ She pushed aside the covers and took his hand, placing it under the hospital gown on the bare mound of her abdomen. The baby moved suddenly, forcefully, as if woken from a sound sleep, and Flora looked at her husband and smiled, and saw his face transformed—transfigured.

He bent his head and put his cheek against her belly, and she felt his tears on her skin.

He said, brokenly, ‘Flora—oh, Flora mia, I love you so much. These last months have been a nightmare. I could not reach you. I thought I never would. That you would never want to be my wife, no matter how I longed for you. That even when our child was born you might not turn to me.’

He took a deep breath. ‘Mia cara, can you ever forgive the wrong I did you and let me be your husband in truth? I swear I will spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy.’

She ran a caressing hand over his dishevelled hair. ‘I think I might.’ Her voice trembled into a smile. ‘If you’ll kiss me, and tell me again that you love me.’

He raised his head sharply, his eyes scanning her face. He said her name, then his mouth was on hers, passionately, tenderly, in a kiss that was also a vow.

A long time later, she said, ‘Why aren’t you in Milan?’

‘What a question, mia bella,’ Marco said lazily. ‘Anyone would think you were not pleased to see me.’ He’d managed somehow to squeeze himself on to the narrow bed beside her, and was lying with her wrapped in his arms and her head on his chest.

‘I am,’ she said. ‘But I’d still like a straight answer.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘Cara, I have thought about you every day we have been apart, but today it was different. From the moment I awoke this morning I had this strange feeling that you needed me, that I should come to you. And then Alfredo telephoned me, as usual, and told me that Tonio and Ottavia had returned and were staying at the villa. I knew my instinct was right and I should come home at once.’

Ottavia, thought Flora in horror, remembering that briefly glimpsed face at the wheel of the car.

She must have tensed, because he said at once, ‘Is something wrong?’

It might have been, she thought. But it wasn’t. Because if Ottavia had been tempted to run her down she’d pulled out at the last moment. Perhaps it was enough for her to know that the girl she hated had taken a dive into the mud.

Whatever, she thought, it’s because of her that Marco is here with me now. And because of that I can forgive her anything. So I’ll keep her secret. Because she has caused enough trouble and I only want to be happy.

Aloud, she said, ‘I didn’t know Alfredo phoned you each day.’

‘I needed to ask about you, mia cara. To make sure you were well, and perhaps happy. All the questions I dared not ask you.’ He sighed. ‘Every time we were together I wanted to fall on my knees in front of you and beg for another chance, but I was afraid I would just make you angry, and that you would use that as an excuse to leave me again.’