Читать книгу His Lost-And-Found Bride - Scarlet Wilson, Scarlet Wilson - Страница 9
ОглавлениеLUCIA STEPPED DOWN from the chartered flight with her compact red suitcase in her hand. She’d spent most of the flight going over notes, trying to determine who the likely artist of the fresco would be.
The style was vaguely familiar. But there were a huge number of fresco artists spanning hundreds of years. Often the date of the building helped with the determination of the artist, but it seemed that Palazzo di Comparino had existed, in some state, for hundreds of years. The chapel even longer. There were a number of possibilities.
The airport in Tuscany was private—owned by some local multi-millionaire—so she was practically able to walk down the steps into the waiting car.
She gave a nod to the driver. ‘Grazie, I will be staying at Hotel di Stelle.’
He lifted her case in the trunk of the black car. ‘No, signorina. A room has been prepared for you at Palazzo di Comparino.’
Her stomach clenched. She’d been definite about booking her own accommodation. Working with Logan was one thing, living under the same roof—even for a few days—was too much.
‘No, I insist. I must stay at the hotel. Can you drop my bag there, please?’
He gave a little smile and climbed into the driver’s seat. The Tuscan countryside flew past. The roads in the area were winding, climbing lush green hills, passing hectares of olive groves and vineyards, filling the air with the aroma of Mediterranean vegetation. Tuscany was known for its rolling hills, vineyards and fine wines and olive oil.
It was also unique in its representation of class. Every kind of person stayed in these hills. They passed a huge array of houses and tiny cottages dotted over the countryside. Medieval villages, castles—some ruins, some renovated—and old farmhouses crowning hilltops.
After thirty minutes the car passed an old crumbling wall and turned onto a narrow road lined with cypress trees, then rolled into the picturesque village of Monte Calanetti. Lucia put down her window for a better view. The village had two bell towers that were ringing out the hour as they arrived. There was also a piazza surrounded by small shops and businesses, cobblestoned walkways going up and down the narrow streets and a fountain where a few children were walking around the small wall surrounding it and splashing water at each other.
There was an old well on one side next to red-brick houses with gorgeous flower boxes and laundry strung overhead.
A few blue and red scooters whizzed past, ridden by young men with their trousers rolled up at their ankles and their hair flapping in the wind. Helmets didn’t seem to be a priority.
She smiled. It was gorgeous. It was quaint. It could be a setting for a film. Every character that was needed was there—the small wizened woman hanging her washing from a window, the young mother hurrying past with her child, a shopkeeper standing in a doorway and a couple of young girls whispering and watching the guys zipping past on their scooters.
The car turned onto another winding road, again lined with cypress trees. It only took a few moments for the palazzo to come into sight.
It was a sprawling, grand building with lots of little scattered buildings around. Lucia twisted in her seat, but it wasn’t until the car pulled up outside the sweeping entrance of the palazzo that she finally saw the building she was after on the other side of the courtyard.
An old traditional chapel. Dark stonework, arched windows and door. It had two stained-glass windows, which had obviously been added at a later date than the original build.
But before she had a chance to focus on the beauty of the building something else took her breath away.
Logan, emerging from the entrance of the chapel. It had been twelve years since she’d seen him and she hadn’t quite expected the jolt that was running through her body.
He ran his fingers through his dark hair, which was still a little too long. Logan had always been stylish, had always dressed as if the clothes had been made personally for him. Today he had on cream suit trousers and a pale blue shirt, open at the throat with the sleeves pushed up. Only Italian men could get away with cream suits. She imagined his cream jacket would have been discarded somewhere inside the chapel.
It wasn’t just that he’d aged well. He’d aged movie star well. He was still lean, but there was a little more muscle to his frame. His shoulders a bit wider, his shape more sculpted. He lifted his head and his footsteps faltered. He’d noticed her at the same time she’d noticed him, but she could bet his body wasn’t doing the same things that hers was.
The car halted and the driver opened her door. There was no retreat. There was nowhere to hide.
She stared down at her Italian pumps for the briefest of seconds, sucking in a breath and trying to still the erratic pitter-patter of her heart. Thank goodness she’d taken off the stilettos. She’d never have survived the cobbled streets of Monte Calanetti.
She accepted the extended hand of the driver and stepped out of the car, pulling down her dress a little and adjusting her suit jacket. The cool interior of the car had kept the heat of Tuscany out well. It was like stepping into a piping-hot bath. This situation was hot enough without the sun’s intense rays to contend with.
Logan walked over. His faltering footsteps had recovered quickly. He reached out his hand towards her. ‘Lucia, welcome.’
For the briefest of seconds she hesitated. This was business. This was business. She tried to appear calm and composed, even though the first little rivulet of sweat was snaking down her back.
She grasped his hand confidently. ‘Logan, I hope you’ve been well. I take it that is the chapel?’ She gestured to the building from which he’d emerged.
Straight to the point. It was the only way to be. She had to ignore the way his warm hand enveloped hers. She definitely had to ignore the tiny sparks in her palm and the tingling shooting up her arm. She pulled her hand back sharply.
If he was surprised at her direct response he didn’t show it. His voice was as smooth as silk. ‘Why don’t we go into the main house? I’ll show you to your room and introduce you to Louisa, the owner.’
He waved his hand, gesturing her towards the palazzo, and she could instantly feel the hackles rise at the back of her neck.
‘That won’t be necessary. I’m not staying. I’ve booked a hotel nearby.’
Logan exchanged a glance with the driver, who was already disappearing into the palazzo with her red case. ‘Why don’t you have some refreshments in the meantime? I’d still like to introduce you to Louisa and I’m sure you’d like to see around the palazzo—we’ve already renovated some parts of it, including the room Louisa has set aside for you.’
He was so confident, so assured. It grated because she wished she felt that way too. She was trying her best to mimic the effect, but it was all just a charade. Her stomach was churning so wildly she could have thrown up on the spot. It wasn’t just the intense heat that was causing little rivulets of sweat to run down her back, it was Logan. Being in his presence again after all these years and the two of them standing here, exchanging pleasantries, as if what had happened between them hadn’t changed their lives for ever, just couldn’t compute in her brain.
Business. She kept repeating the word in her head. She was probably going to have to keep doing this for the next few days. Whatever it took to get through them. She had to be professional. She had to be polite. The Italian Heritage Board would expect her to discuss her findings and proposals with the owner directly—not through a third party. Maybe this way she could take Logan out the equation?
She gave a nod and walked over the courtyard towards the palazzo. The first thing she noticed as she walked into the wide entrance hall was the instantly cool air. The palazzo may be hundreds of years old but it seemed as though the amenities had been updated. She gently pulled her jacket from her back to let some air circulate.
Logan showed her through to a wide open-plan sitting area. Glass doors gave a wide, spectacular view over the vineyards. She was instantly drawn to the greenery outside.
‘Wow. I’ve never really seen a working vineyard before. This is amazing.’
A beautiful slim blonde emerged from another doorway, her hair tied in a high ponytail, wearing capri pants and a white top. She smiled broadly and held out her hand. ‘Welcome. You must be Lucia. Logan told me to expect you. I’m Louisa.’ She nodded to the view outside. ‘And I knew nothing about vineyards either before I arrived here.’
Lucia shook her hand easily. Should she be cautious? What exactly had Logan told her?
Her eyes flitted from one to the other. Was there a relationship between Logan and Louisa? She watched for a few seconds. Logan had his hands in his pockets and was waiting in the background. He wouldn’t do that if he were in a relationship with Louisa and this was their home.
Louisa nodded towards the doorway that must lead towards the kitchen. ‘Can I get you coffee, tea, water or...’ she gave a smile ‘...some wine?’
Of course. She was in a vineyard. Would it be rude to say no? She was Italian, she loved wine. But she was here for business, not pleasure. ‘Just some water would be lovely, thank you.’
There was a few seconds of uncomfortable silence as she was left alone with Logan again. He moved over next to her, keeping his hands firmly in his pockets.
‘How is your job at the heritage board? Do you like it?’
She gave a brief nod but kept her eyes firmly on the vineyard outside. ‘It was always the kind of job that I wanted to do.’ She left everything else unsaid. If things had turned out differently there was a good chance that she would never have taken the job in Venice. It would have been too far away from the life they had planned together in Florence.
Something inside her cringed. It was almost as if she’d wanted things to turn out this way and that just wasn’t what she’d meant at all.
But Logan didn’t seem to notice. He just seemed more concerned with filling the silent space between them. ‘And how do you like living in Venice, compared to Florence?’ It was his first acknowledgement of anything between them. They’d lived together in Florence for just over a year.
Louisa came back out of the kitchen holding a glass of water. ‘You’ve lived in Florence and now Venice? How wonderful. What’s it like?’
Lucia took the water gratefully. Her throat was achingly dry. For the first time since she’d got here she felt on comfortable ground—questions about Venice were always easy to answer. ‘Venice is amazing. It’s such a welcoming city and it absolutely feels like home to me now. It is, of course, permanently full of tourists, but I don’t really mind that. My apartment is on the Grand Canal so at night I can just open my doors and enjoy the world passing by on the water. Some nights it’s calming and peaceful—other nights it’s complete chaos. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.’
Louisa gave a visible shudder. ‘Too many people for me. Too much of everything.’ She looked out over the vineyards. ‘I can’t imagine what this place will be like when the royal wedding takes place. There will be people everywhere.’ She gave a shake of her head. ‘All the farmhouses and outbuildings are being renovated too. Logan’s the only person staying in one right now while we still have some quiet about the place.’
Lucia didn’t smile. Didn’t react. But her body was practically trembling with relief to know she wouldn’t be under the same roof as Logan.
Now she might consider staying in the palazzo for the next couple of days.
Louisa gave her a smile. ‘I intend to stay out of the way as much possible. Now, about the fresco. What happens next? You do understand that we are under an obligation to get the rest of the restoration work finished as soon as possible?’
Lucia could hear the edge in her voice. The same strong hint that had come from Logan. She chose her words carefully. ‘It all depends on the fresco itself. Or, more importantly, the artist who created it.’
‘Will you know as soon as you look at it?’
She held out her hands. ‘It would be wonderful if we could just look at something and say, “Oh, that’s by this artist...” But the heritage board requires authentication of any piece of work. Sometimes it’s by detailed comparison of brushstrokes, which can be as good an identifier as a signature—we have a specialised computer program for that. Sometimes it’s age-related by carbon dating. Sometimes we have to rely on the actual date of the construction of the building to allow us to agree a starting point for the fresco.’
Louisa smiled and glanced over at Logan, who looked lost in his own thoughts. ‘Well, that’s easy, then. Logan has already been able to date the construction of the palazzo and chapel from the stone used and the building methods used. Isn’t that right, Logan?’
He turned his head at the sound of his name, obviously only catching the tail end of the conversation. He took a few steps towards Lucia. ‘The buildings were constructed around 1500, towards the end of the Italian Renaissance period. The fresco could have appeared at any point from then onwards.’
It didn’t matter how tired she was, how uncomfortable she felt around Logan—it was all she could do not to throw off her shoes and dash across the entrance courtyard right now to get in and start examining it.
She gave a polite, cautious nod. ‘I’m keen to start work with you as soon as possible, Louisa.’
Louisa’s eyes widened and she let out a laugh. ‘Oh, you won’t be working with me.’ She gestured towards Logan. ‘You’ll be working with Logan. I have absolutely no expertise on any of these things. I’ve started to call him Mr Restoration. Anything to do with the work has to be agreed with him.’
Lucia eyes fell to the empty glass on the table. Where was more water when she needed it? This was the last thing she wanted to hear.
She smiled politely once again. ‘But, as the owner, I need to agree access with you and have you sign any paperwork the heritage board may require. I also need to be able to come to and from the palazzo at my leisure. I will be staying at a nearby hotel.’
‘What? Oh, no. You’re staying here. Come, and I’ll show you to your room.’ She was on her feet in an instant. ‘We have renovated some parts of the palazzo, you know.’ She waved her hand. ‘And it will all be finished before the wedding.’ As she reached the door she turned, waiting for Lucia to follow her.
The corners of Logan’s lips were turning upwards.
‘Ms Harrison, I really don’t want to put you to any trouble. I’m more than happy to stay in a hotel and just travel to and from the palazzo. It will only be for a few days. I don’t expect my research to take any longer than that.’
Louisa shook her head. ‘Nonsense. You’ll stay here. I insist. As for the paperwork, Logan will need to read that first and explain it to me. My Italian is still very rusty.’
Louisa had already started up a flight of stairs, obviously expecting Lucia to follow her. ‘You’re going to have a beautiful view over the vineyard. And you’re welcome to use the kitchen if you want.’ She paused. ‘But there’s a really nice restaurant in Monte Calanetti you should try.’
She wanted to object. She wanted to get away from here. But it was important that she have some sort of relationship with the owner. And because of that the words were sticking in the back of her throat. Louisa hadn’t stopped talking. She was already halfway up the stairs. It obviously didn’t occur to her that Lucia might continue with her objections. ‘I’m sure you’ll love the room.’
Lucia sucked in a breath. She wasn’t even going to look in Logan’s direction. If she saw him smile smugly she might just take off one of her shoes and throw it at him in frustration. At least she had the assurance that he wouldn’t actually be under the same roof as her.
Just achingly close.
‘I’ll be back in five minutes. I want to see the fresco,’ she shot at him as she left the room.
She walked up the stairs after Louisa and along a corridor. This palazzo had three floors—it was unusual, and had obviously survived throughout the ages. The person who’d built this had obviously had plenty of money to build such a large home in the Tuscan hills. Even transporting the stones here must have been difficult. What with the land, and the vineyard, along with all the outbuildings she’d spotted and the chapel, at one time this must have been a thriving little community.
Louisa took her into a medium-sized room with a double bed and wooden-framed glass windows overlooking the vineyard. Everything about the room was fresh and clean. There was white linen on the bed and a small table and chair next to the window, with a classic baroque chair in the corner. A wooden wardrobe, bedside table and mirror on the wall completed the furnishings.
A gentle breeze made the white drapes at the window flap, bringing the scents of the rich greenery, grapes and lavender inside. Her red case was presumptuously sitting next to the doorway.
‘I’ll bring you up a jug of water, a glass and some wine for later,’ said Louisa as she headed out the door. ‘Oh, and we don’t quite have an en suite, but the bathroom is right next door. You’ll be the only person that’s using it.’
She disappeared quickly down the hall, leaving Lucia looking around the room. She sank down onto the bed. It felt instantly comfortable. Instantly inviting. The temperature of the room was cool, even though the breeze drifting in was warm, and she could hear the sounds of the workers in the vineyard.
She closed her eyes for a few seconds. She could do this. Two days tops then she could be out of here again.
Logan. Seeing him again was hard. So hard. The familiar sight of Logan, the scent of Logan was tough. She couldn’t let him invade her senses. She couldn’t let him into her brain, because if she did a whole host of other memories would come flooding back—ones that she couldn’t face again.
This is business. She repeated her mantra once more.
The smell of the Tuscan hills was wrapping itself around her. Welcoming her to the area. Her stomach grumbled. She was hungry, but food would have to wait. She wanted to see the fresco.
She walked over and grabbed her case, putting it on the bed and throwing it open.
It was time to get to work.
* * *
Logan had finished pacing and was waiting for Lucia to appear. He’d walked back out to the courtyard and was leaning against the side of the doorway to the chapel with his arms folded across his chest.
It was much warmer out here, but he thrived in the Italian sun.
Seeing Lucia had been a shock to the system. His first glance had been at her left hand but there had been no wedding ring, no glittering diamond of promise. He was surprised. He’d always imagined that after twelve years Lucia would have been married with children. The fact she wasn’t bothered him—in more ways than one.
She’d been hurt, she’d been wounded when they’d split. Even though it had been by mutual agreement. But he’d always hoped she’d healed and moved on. When he’d heard she was working for the Italian Heritage Board he’d assumed she’d pulled things together and was focusing on her career. Now he was suspicious she’d only focused on her career.
Lucia had aged beautifully. She was still petite and elegant. Her pale pink suit jacket and matching dress hugged her curves, leaving a view of her shapely calves.
And she’d kept her long hair. It was maybe only a few inches shorter than it had been the last time he’d seen her. He liked it that way. Had liked it when her hair had brushed against his face—liked it even more when her long eyelashes had tickled his cheek as she’d moved closer.
It was odd. Even though there were lots of parts of his body that could have responded to the first sight of her, it had been his lips that had reacted first. One sight of her had been enough to remember the feel of her soft lips against his, remember the taste of her. And as she’d stepped closer he’d been swamped by her smell. Distinctive. Delicious. In any other set of circumstances...hot.
But not in these circumstances. Not when delays on this project could result in a late completion penalty that could bankrupt his company. Louisa was serious about this place being ready for the royal wedding. She was depending on it.
He straightened as Lucia appeared, walking briskly across the courtyard. She’d changed and was now wearing flat shoes, slim-fitting navy trousers, a pale cream top with lace inserts on the shoulders and a dark silk scarf knotted at her neck. She had a digital camera in her hand.
He was disappointed that her legs were no longer on display.
She stopped in front of him, meeting his gaze straight on. She’d changed a little over the years. There were a few tiny lines around her eyes, but the rest of her skin was smooth. She, like him, had naturally olive Italian skin. Her dark brown gaze was uncompromising. ‘Show me your fresco, Logan.’
It was the most direct he’d ever heard her. He tried not to smile. Twelve years had instilled a new-found courage in her. He liked it.
But something else swamped him for a few seconds. There had been a time in his life that Lucia had encompassed everything for him. She’d been the centre of his universe. He shifted self-consciously on his feet. He’d never felt that way again—he’d never allowed himself to feel that way again.
It was too much. Too much to have so much invested in one person when your life could change in an instant and everything come tumbling down around you both.
It didn’t matter that seeing Lucia again after all these years was swamping him with a host of memories. It was time to put all those feelings back in a box. A place where they were best left.
He gestured towards the entranceway. ‘It’s all yours. Let’s go.’
She walked ahead of him, her tight bottom right in his line of vision. He lifted his eyes to look straight in front of him and smiled as her footsteps faltered as she saw the fresco.
‘Oh...whoa.’
He smiled as he stepped alongside her. ‘Pretty much what I said too.’
She lifted her camera then put it back down and walked right up to the wall. She lifted her hand but didn’t actually touch it. ‘It’s been covered for...how long?’
Logan shook his head, his hands on his hips. ‘I couldn’t say for sure.’ He pointed to the corner of the room where debris was stacked. ‘The wood panelling could be between three and four hundred years old.’
She glanced at the wood and turned back to the fresco. This time she did lift her camera and started snapping, first capturing the full work then systematically snapping detailed sections. Images that she could take time to pore over later.
When she finished she placed the camera on the floor then picked up some tiny fragments of clay that were on the floor—obvious remnants from the uncovering of the fresco. She gathered them in little plastic bags, labelled them, then put them in her bag. Once she’d finished she moved so close to the fresco that her nose was only inches away.
She lifted her fingers. It was obvious she was itching to touch it, but, she was resisting the temptation. ‘I can see the movement,’ she said quietly. ‘I can see the brushstrokes. What kind of brush do you use to paint individual hairs? This is amazing.’
Logan waited, watching her relish her first viewing of the fresco. It was strangely exhilarating. He could see the wonder on her face, see the excitement in her eyes. Just watching her sent a little buzz through his body. Memories were sparking. This was part of the Lucia he’d loved. The wonderful, passionate girl who’d embraced life to the full. When they’d first met she’d been quiet, reserved as a result of her upbringing. But studying in Florence had made her blossom into the beautiful woman he’d quickly grown to love. The buzz, culture and bright lights had been a nurturing environment for the young artistic woman. And the two of them meeting had seemed to spark her even further. All his first memories of Lucia had been about their drive, their passion and their instant connection.
He could feel it even now—twelve years on. The palms of his hands were actually itching to reach out and touch her—just the way hers were obviously itching to touch the fresco. Parts of Lucia had been so easy to read.
Other parts she’d kept tightly locked up and tucked away. Those had been the parts that had sealed the end of their relationship. Every person grieved differently. But Logan just couldn’t understand why she’d been unable to talk to him, why she’d been unable to share with him. After all, he’d been going through exactly the same thing.
He took a deep breath. ‘What do you think?’
‘The fresco was prepared in sections. Giornate—done on a daily basis with small sections of plaster laid at a time to be painted—much in the same way that Michelangelo carried out the work at the Sistine Chapel.’
Logan was incredulous. ‘You think this was done by Michelangelo?’
She laughed. ‘Oh, no. Of course not. The artist of the time just used the same techniques. Michelangelo used different skin tones from those used here.’ She leaned back critically. ‘Different draping of the clothes. This definitely isn’t his work.’
She finished snapping a few more shots with the camera and turned to face him again. ‘I have a program on my computer that I can upload these pictures to. It finds similarities between frescoes and gives the most likely artists.’
He shook his head. ‘Why do I feel as if you don’t really need it? What’s your gut instinct?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. It could be one of a few possibilities.’
He pressed her again. ‘But you think...’ He let his answer tail off.
She brushed her hair off her shoulder. ‘I think there’s a chance it’s a lesser-known Renaissance painter. His name was Burano.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘The same as one of the islands in the Venetian lagoon.’
Logan’s brow creased. ‘He was from Venice, then?’
She nodded.
‘So what was he doing in Tuscany?’
She turned back to face the fresco. ‘That’s my question too. That’s why I’m hesitant. I could be wrong. Journeying between Venice and Tuscany in Renaissance times wasn’t easy, but we both know the European Renaissance started in Tuscany and centred in Florence and Siena.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Venice was the late starter.’
She walked back to the entranceway. ‘Give me some time to run the program and see what it comes up with.’
Logan held out his hand as she made to leave. ‘And in the meantime?’ He spun around. ‘Time is marching on, we’ve still got work to do in the chapel—even if we aren’t anywhere near the fresco.’
She looked around and gave a little nod. ‘Let me give you some recommendations on the best way to protect it in the meantime from dust, plaster and paint.’ Her gaze connected with his. ‘This could be a really amazing discovery, Logan.’
It was the way she’d said his name. Her accent, her lilt. He’d heard it on so many occasions. Last thing at night, first thing in the morning. In the heat of passion and in the depths of despair.
He just hadn’t admitted how much he actually missed it.
His feet were rooted to the spot. But Lucia’s weren’t. She was headed out the door. She was leaving. Who knew how long she would actually stay here. He could get up tomorrow morning and discover her gone.
‘Have dinner with me?’
‘What?’ She stopped. She looked shocked.
‘Have dinner with me,’ he repeated, stepping closer to her. The words had come out of nowhere. He couldn’t take them back. He didn’t want to take them back.
‘We have things we need to discuss.’ He saw a wave of panic flit across her eyes. ‘Business we need to discuss.’
‘Oh, of course.’ She glanced down at her digital camera. ‘My program will take a few hours to run.’ She was stalling. Of course she was. The last thing she’d want to do was have dinner with him.
‘Then you’ll have a few hours to kill,’ he said quickly. This was embarrassing. Logan Cascini wasn’t used to women saying no to him. But Lucia wasn’t just any woman. Lucia was the woman he’d once loved. Sure, it felt awkward. Sure, this wasn’t an ideal situation.
But this was the first time he’d seen her in twelve years. If this fresco turned out to be important, it could have significant repercussions for his business. He had to keep on top of this.
He almost laughed out loud. His mind was giving him all the rational, professional reasons for having dinner with Lucia. But his heart was giving him a whole host of completely irrational, emotional reasons for having dinner with Lucia.
None of them professional. All of them personal.
His mouth kept talking. ‘We can discuss any paperwork that will need to be completed. I’ll need to translate everything for Louisa, and if there’s going to be any extra expenses we’ll need to discuss those too. There’s a nice restaurant in Monte Calanetti. It will give you a chance to see the village.’
She was hesitating, looking for a reason to say no, and he wasn’t prepared to accept that.
He walked around her in long strides. ‘Leave the arrangements to me.’
‘Well, I... I...’ She was still murmuring while he left.
