Читать книгу At Her Latin Lover's Command - Susan Stephens - Страница 12

CHAPTER SEVEN

IT WAS A glorious morning. Some inner alarm woke her early and she hurried to take a shower and dress before Carlo woke. She wanted to be ready when he did.

Feeling very positive and excited and energised by the fabulous day, she pulled on the camisole and skirt of the suit she’d worn the day before, making mental plans to organise the packing of her clothes and effects in London. Her makeup was a hasty affair and she whisked her hair into a casual version of her usual neat chignon, the ends spiking out rather rakishly.

For half an hour she sat, drumming her fingers on the dressing table and making occasional adjustments to her make-up. And then she heard the key turn in the lock of the connecting door.

She leapt up, her heart in her mouth. Nervously she smoothed her skirt. Walked shakily to the door. And opened it.

Only Dante was in the room, dressed in a casual cream shirt and pale honey jeans, both so beautifully cut that they’d probably been made to measure. Miranda thought he could have just stepped off a designer catwalk.

He took one look at her pale, elated face. His mouth tightened and he turned.

‘Carlo!’ he called. ‘Your surprise has arrived!’

Miranda heard a clatter as if a toothbrush had been dropped in a basin. She held her breath, hardly daring to believe that her son was really here. And then, there he was, tinier than she remembered, his hair longer, whiter, his small and much-adored face a picture of amazement.

‘Mummy! Mummy!’ he squealed and, laughing in delight, he ran barefooted to her, his arms outstretched in welcome.

‘My darling!’

Swamped by emotion, she swept him up and hugged him close. Carlo’s warm, plump arms wrapped around her neck and he squeezed so tightly that she almost choked.

‘Oh, sweetheart!’ she whispered, kissing his soft little cheek. ‘Sweetheart!’

‘Finish dressing him. He’ll show you where we have breakfast.’

Her sparkling eyes flicked to Dante. He was walking out of the door and looking grim, his normally fluid body jerky and uncoordinated. Presumably with anger.

But she was too happy to care that he couldn’t deal with Carlo’s love for her. She was back with her son and life was improving by the minute.

‘Why you cryin’, Mummy?’ Carlo demanded.

She beamed at him through a mist of tears.

‘Laughing, not crying,’ she told him softly. ‘Sometimes when you laugh, it makes your eyes water. Shall we get you ready for breakfast? Show me where your things are.’

It was the beginning of a new life, she thought as Carlo slid from her arms and gleefully rushed to find his shoes and socks. She would risk everything to be accepted as Carlo’s mother and Dante’s wife.

She took a deep breath. She wanted their love. And would settle for nothing less.

But how? a little voice queried inside her. And she dismissed it because she could not find the answer.

‘He seems very happy.’

She nodded in acknowledgement of Dante’s comment and watched Carlo excitedly running into the scuola materna. She smiled. It was a lovely name for nursery school.

Carlo turned and waved, his rucksack bouncing on his back. They both waved back at him and grinned at his beam of pure delight before he grabbed a little friend’s hand and ran into the nursery.

At first she’d been upset that Dante had told her Carlo must continue with his routine. She’d wanted to spend the whole day with her son and had fully expected Carlo to refuse when Dante had told him to get his rucksack for nursery.

But a beam had spread across Carlo’s face as if the sun had come out and he’d raced off to collect the bag without a murmur. She’d been torn between disappointment for her own sake and relief that his life was continuing as normal.

‘I thought he might not want to go this morning,’ Dante mused, voicing Miranda’s thoughts as their son disappeared through the double doors of the little school.

‘He seemed a bit anxious the way he clung to me before breakfast,’ she admitted.

‘Yes.’ Dante’s voice grew sombre. ‘I was worried that he might be unsettled for a while.’

‘That’s why I talked about getting my clothes and things sent here from England,’ she explained. ‘Then your suggestion about us all going off to Maggiore for tea and cakes after nursery seemed to set his mind at rest.’

‘Blatant bribery, I’m afraid,’ Dante said with a faint smile.

‘It doesn’t matter. Desperate needs, desperate measures!’ She chuckled. ‘The main thing is that he’s convinced I’m here to stay.’

Dante looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You are, aren’t you?’

She met his wary eyes and wondered if he guessed how she felt when she did so. If he knew the bitter-sweet pangs of love that stabbed at her body over and over again.

‘I will never leave,’ she said quietly, not even attempting to conceal her adoration.

He jerked his head away, his expression tense. ‘I wonder what they’re having for lunch,’ he said in an odd, over-bright tone. And he peered at a notice on the gate. ‘Pasta and tomato sauce, boiled beef and green vegetables, fruit. Very good.’

The mood lightened, and Miranda laughed as they began to walk away. ‘Do they provide a menu every day?’ she asked, impressed.

‘Of course. Lunch is an important social occasion. It’s virtually part of the curriculum.’

‘Curriculum?’ she repeated in amusement.

Dante grinned, and for her it was a huge breakthrough in their tricky relationship that he felt he could unbend a little towards her.

‘Daverro! Indeed! Let me see. This term it’s tastes and smells, opposites and colours. Nothing heavy. Just a general awareness of the differences in life. And they’re emphasising friendship this week, too. Carlo is popular, they tell me,’ he said with the touching pride of a doting father, ‘because of his sunny nature. He loves being with other children—that’s why he settled so well.’

‘He’s a very lovable child,’ she said with affection. ‘Open and outgoing.’

‘Unlike you,’ Dante muttered.

She winced. ‘No problem with the language?’ she asked, changing the subject hastily.

‘A friendly smile goes a long way, it seems. And he’s picking up more and more Italian phrases as the days go by.’

A friendly smile. Yes. It broke down barriers. It was something she could put into practice too.

‘Children learn very quickly from their peers,’ she said soberly.

‘And need to be with them,’ he agreed. ‘I had my doubts about putting him in the school when Sonniva suggested it, but she was right. It took his mind off you and he was able to enjoy himself with children of his own age.’

‘I’m glad he’s settled so well,’ she said softly. ‘He’ll have a good life here.’

Her eyes shone. Carlo was happy. She glanced at Dante’s face and saw how strained he looked. The urge to reach out and take his arm, to snuggle into him and cheer him up, was overwhelming. But she didn’t do that kind of thing.

Or hadn’t. Had that been the problem? He’d criticised her for being an ice queen with a harlot’s heart. Told her that he never knew what she was thinking until they were in bed and making love—and even then he’d always wondered if it had been pure bodily gratification on her part.

Her shocked protests had washed over him. He claimed he didn’t know her and, while her reticence had impressed him when she was his secretary, he hadn’t expected it to continue when they were married.

But all her life she’d hidden her feelings—and the cause of them. It had been the only way to survive the hurt when she was eleven and her beloved father had disappeared for ever. And it had stood her in good stead when her mother had screamed at her that it was her fault because having kids meant you couldn’t go out at the drop of a hat with your husband.

Miranda had also hidden the resentment she’d secretly felt within days of her father’s disappearance, when she’d become the prime carer for her little sister so that her mother could have some kind of a life. Miranda thought of the invitations out to parties she had refused and, later, the dates she had turned down. It had been hard, staying at home and watching her mother getting ready to go out on the town instead.

Worse, it had been difficult to cope with the fact that Lizzie had always been the favourite. Miranda had never been loved like the ebullient Lizzie, or allowed the same freedom.

But she knew that resenting your mother and sister, or feeling angry and sorry for yourself, was wrong. Consequently she had told no one of this, determined not to play the victim. And so she had learnt to remain composed and silent, despite the volcanic emotions simmering within her.

Desperate needs…desperate measures. Why not, for once, behave as she wished—as she really felt? In the secret depths of her heart she was spontaneous and loving. Maybe she should abandon the habit of a lifetime and wear that heart on her sleeve. Wryly she looked at her arm. Looked then at Dante’s.

On an impulse, she slid her arm through his and smiled up at him, her breath high in her throat as she waited nervously for his rejection. Instead, he gave her a tight little smile in return and lifted his eyebrow in a query.

‘I wanted to thank you,’ she said in barely concealed delight.

‘For providing you with a luxury lifestyle?’ he asked cynically.

Taking a deep breath and determined not to be rattled, she persevered.

‘No. For being so kind to Lizzie. I managed to speak to her before she left. She was thrilled with your suggestion that you could lend her your car and Luca, to enable her to shop in Milan at your expense.’ Her eyes danced. ‘It was very clever of you, too. I don’t think she even noticed that you’d got her on the evening flight, even though she’d been angling to stay for a week!’

For that, she had a genuine smile from him, Dante’s eyes softening into what seemed like melted chocolate. Her heart beat faster and her pulse rate increased.

‘Carlo told me he was going to paint you a picture today,’ Dante murmured.

‘Oh, really?’ She beamed in delight. ‘I can’t wait!’

‘You mean that!’ He stared at her in surprise.

‘Of course I do.’ She fixed him with an earnest stare, her eyes huge with love for them both. ‘Use your eyes, Dante. Trust your intuition. Would he love me so deeply if I hadn’t loved him? If every small detail of his life wasn’t of the utmost importance to me? I’m thrilled at the thought of having one of his pictures.’ She smiled, encouraged by the softening of Dante’s expression. ‘I hope I can recognise what it is, though!’

To her delight, he gave a warm laugh. ‘After holding his first painting and saying it was a lovely apple—then being told it was a train and it was upside down—I’m very wary of making any detailed comment!’

She giggled, a little wistful that she hadn’t been there to see Carlo’s first picture from nursery school. It was a silly little thing, but to her it was a huge step in her son’s life, like that first word, the first step, and the first pair of shoes.

But Dante had missed those particular moments in his frantic travelling and she couldn’t begrudge him this one. She knew now that he loved Carlo as much as she did.

Their son was the vital link between them—and could, perhaps, bring them together. Whenever either of them talked about him, it was with besotted smiles on their faces. She felt sure that Dante was beginning to realise the part she played in Carlo’s happiness. More importantly, Dante must see now that she loved her child deeply. Maybe soon he’d question the rumours he’d heard about her.

She took a deep breath. Her marriage was worth saving. She’d fight for it with all her might.

Her spirits rose, and as she looked about her with more confidence, she realised they weren’t retracing their steps to the palazzo. Earlier, they had walked with Carlo to the nursery along the improbably named Salita Cappuccini, climbing steep cobbled steps to the top of the hill. Now they were heading down an equally steep set of cobbled steps lined with small boutiques.

‘I’m intrigued. Is this a silent mystery tour?’ she asked with a laugh.

Dante looked a little sheepish. ‘Sorry. I was thinking about something. I was miles away. No, it occurred to me that until we can get your clothes from England, you’ll need one or two things to tide you over. I thought you’d like to do a bit of shopping. And perhaps get your bearings in Bellagio town itself.’

‘That’s very thoughtful!’ she exclaimed gratefully. ‘I was wondering how I could make these clothes last before I was thrown out of Italy for vagrancy.’

His grin flashed and she felt as if she’d drunk heady wine.

‘You would never look a mess,’ he assured her drily.

And then he was greeting acquaintances as they made their way down the hill, drawing her closer as he did so.

Instead of making her happier, this set alarm bells ringing. It dawned on her that his apparent friendliness could be just part of his request that they should keep up appearances. Her joy died.

‘You’ll need some casual clothes and a bathing costume. Perhaps something for the evening,’ he told her. ‘And this is just the place to buy everything.’

Not even noticing how subdued she’d become, he swept her into an elegant boutique and settled himself in an armchair, leaving her to the attentions of a beautiful young female assistant.

Miranda went through the mechanics of choosing stopgap clothes and shoes without much enthusiasm and then began to try on some demure one-piece swimsuits.

She heard him laugh long and hard in a way she hadn’t heard for a long time. Through a gap in the curtain she could see Dante still chuckling over something the young woman had said. The assistant was leaning over him—probably swamping him with perfume, Miranda thought waspishly—and offering him a cappuccino.

Feeling sick with jealousy, she glared at herself in the boring swimsuit. She ought to be bolder. More risqué. Every instinct told her to fight for her man with fair means or foul.

And before she could get cold feet, she grabbed a cotton robe from a hook and tied it around herself. Unnoticed by Dante, who was now surrounded by enthusiastically chattering female assistants, she padded over to the rack of bikinis and grimly selected a turquoise one to take back to the booth.

When she tried it on, she saw that it looked fabulous. Her stomach was very flat but her breasts and hips still held their womanly curves. If he saw this…

No. She dared not. Such behaviour was too outrageous. And yet… This was for her marriage. Desperate measures… For the family she loved.

Taking a deep breath to quell her nerves, she pulled back a tiny part of the curtain so that only her head poked around it.

‘Darling!’ she called as seductively as she dared. The encircling women looked around and he stood up, surprise etched in every line of his face. ‘I’m not sure about this,’ she said with an apologetic smile. ‘I’d like your opinion.’

‘My pleasure. Permesso,’ he murmured to the women and found a way through them.

Miranda drew back into the confines of the deep changing booth, trying to look utterly natural even though she was shaking like a leaf.

Dante’s hand eased back the curtain enough to allow him in. And then he seemed to freeze. The curtain swung back into place. His eyes raked her hungrily.

‘What do you think?’ she asked in a throaty kind of voice. And she lost her nerve. ‘Or perhaps this one would be better…’

Bending down in confusion, she picked up the one-piece, becoming awkwardly aware that her breasts had fallen forwards invitingly and that her loosened hair now tumbled luxuriously about her pink face.

‘Both,’ he said hoarsely. ‘One for public, one for…’

His reaction was so startling that she took a risk she would never have dreamed of taking if her marriage and her child were not threatened.

Stepping closer so they were almost touching, so that the fire in his body heated her skin even from an inch or two away, she lifted her head and finished the sentence for him.

‘One for you and you alone?’ she whispered daringly, with soft longing.

He gave an inarticulate mutter. His hands caught her slender waist and he pulled her into him. Their mouths met in a sweet, exploring kiss, which became harder, harsher, more urgent.

In a delirium, she held his face between her palms, adoring the smoothness of his skin, the wonderful pleasure of his lips on hers, the smell of him, the fresh taste of his mouth, the skill of his kisses as he slowly drove her back against the wall.

His hand was cupping her breast and she groaned because it had been so long since he’d done that. The feel of his fingers as they teased her nipple into a fiercely thrusting peak was driving her mad. And then his head dipped and she felt the warm wetness of his mouth there.

Through half-opened eyes she saw him suckling at her breast and her breath caught in a spasm of love as she looked down at his enraptured face. His eyes were closed, the silky fringe of black lashes a dark crescent on his cheekbones.

‘Oh, Dante!’ she breathed.

He stiffened and detached himself. When he gazed down at her languorous face, there was nothing in his expression to reveal how he felt—except for the burning of his dark eyes.

‘I’ll be outside,’ he said thickly. And left before she could reply.

She reached out to the chair in the booth and all but fell onto it, her legs quite weak. Her reflection startled her. She looked as if she’d been ravished and had enjoyed every minute.

Starry-eyed, she hastily dressed, convinced now that they would make love quite soon. And that a closeness would slowly develop between them. He couldn’t keep his hands off her! she exulted.

‘They’re delivering the things I bought,’ she announced breathlessly to him when she joined his brooding figure outside the shop. ‘I had some funny looks from the assistants, though,’ she added, her face pink with embarrassment.

‘Good. It was a clever idea of yours,’ he said quite casually.

She blinked. ‘What was?’

‘Hauling me into the changing booth,’ he drawled. ‘Word will get out that we’re crazy about one another and that we take any opportunity to touch. Take my arm. Let’s continue the deception, shall we, while I show you around Bellagio?’

Miranda tagged along the quaint, narrow streets beside him, her head whirling. Had he kissed her because he’d found her irresistible, or because he’d seen a chance to pretend they had a normal marriage? And how would she ever know? she thought with exasperation.

‘The lake is shaped like an upside-down Y. Bellagio sits where the three arms of Lake Como meet,’ Dante was telling her in jerky, polite tones as they sauntered down the street, their arms romantically entwined.

His head bent to hers attentively. If she didn’t know better, she thought bitterly, she’d think they were similar to the many lovers she could see gazing into one another’s eyes. Only Dante’s travel-guide delivery made her think differently.

‘It’s generally accepted to be one of the loveliest spots in Italy,’ he continued.

An elderly couple smiled fondly at them, clearly imagining Dante to be whispering sweet nothings instead of spouting the contents of a brochure.

‘Really?’ she said but he didn’t appear to notice her sadness.

‘Certo,’ he assured her in a low growl. He was hating this, she thought. Loathing their closeness. ‘As you can see, it is unspoiled and picturesque, despite the visitors who flock here.’

They walked along an arcaded piazza and while he was murmuring textbook details about Roman cohorts coming to Como for rest and recuperation two thousand years ago she was trying to distance herself from her reaction to his inherently seductive voice and gestures so that she could think of a way to discover his true feelings about her.

If he hated her, she could work on that by proving her innocence—somehow. Given time she could turn lust into love, perhaps. But if he was truly indifferent…

‘Nero came here. Da Vinci, Verdi, Rossini, Liszt, Wordsworth, Shelley… They found it inspired creativity—’

‘OK. That’s enough. You’ve sold it to me,’ she said, uncomfortable with his detachment.

‘What?’

‘I can read the guide books later,’ she muttered.

‘We’re here to be seen and for people to notice us and comment on our manner together,’ he told her tightly. ‘It would look odd if we walked in icy silence.’

‘We could talk about things that matter to us,’ she suggested quietly.

‘And risk a row? It would be preferable to thrash out our differences in private. Ah,’ he said, sounding relieved to have the chance of a diversion. ‘Here’s where the ferryboats leave. Something you need to know. I do have a private motor launch moored below the palazzo,’ he told her, ‘but Carlo loves the public boats because they serve drinks and food. In any case, you’d need the car ferry—which leaves further up there—’ he waved a vague hand to their left ‘—if you want to explore the opposite shores comprehensively.’

Private. Public. Yes, she thought in sudden inspiration. She would get Dante into a private situation and see how he responded to her when nobody was around as a witness.

Cheered, she considered his last remark. ‘I don’t have a car,’ she pointed out.

‘Not yet. As my wife and Carlo’s mother, you can have anything you want, remember? It’s one of the prices I am prepared to pay. I give, you take.’

She only lacked one thing she desired. Dante’s love.

‘A small car would be great,’ she said cautiously. ‘But I don’t like being beholden to you for money. That’s why I wanted to work and be independent.’

‘Then I will give you an allowance and you can spend it as you wish.’ To her surprise he bent closer, his mouth nuzzling her ear. ‘Cars, jewellery, dresses, sexy underwear…’

She quivered, rivulets of heat flowing through her at the husky suggestion in his voice. ‘You’d like me to buy—!’ she began with a breathless hope, and then he broke away.

‘Felipe! Maria!’ he exclaimed, warmly triple-kissing a dark-haired woman and hugging her companion with affection. ‘Allow me to present my wife, Miranda. Darling, these are my good friends Felipe and Maria, who looked after my uncle’s palazzo when he was away.’

With a sinking heart, she summoned up a smile. Dante must have seen them coming. That was why he’d murmured something seductive to get a suitable reaction from her.

His friends would have seen the blush that had crept up her face, the lift of her head as she’d gazed adoringly into Dante’s eyes… Oh, how could she have been so stupid?

‘How do you do—?’ she began politely, swallowing her disappointment.

‘Piacere, Contessa!’

Felipe bowed low and air-kissed her hand. But his eyes twinkled back at her and she decided she liked him enough to make her own smile genuine.

‘Welcome,’ enthused Maria, kissing her several times. ‘You are as beautiful as Dante claimed. No wonder he was lost without you! He was a different person when he knew you were well enough to return.’

‘Was he?’

Miranda’s heart stopped for a brief moment before resuming a louder, faster beat. She longed for that to be true.

‘To begin with, when we met, we thought he was naturally grumpy,’ confided Felipe with a grin. ‘But, ah, when he knew you were on your way here the sun came out and he began to sing in the garden—’

‘Don’t give all my secrets away!’ joked Dante. But he looked uncomfortable.

Miranda was intrigued by what the couple had said. Surely Dante’s marked change of mood couldn’t be explained purely by a relief that Carlo would be more settled? Or was she trying to fool herself?

‘…meet for dinner,’ Maria was saying. ‘But we are late for the Rapido to Como. Excuse us. We will talk more later, yes?’

After a welter of kisses and farewells, they hurried off.

‘Did you sing?’ she asked at once.

He shrugged and seemed shifty. ‘I might have done. Often I’ll have the refrain of a tune in my head and I sing when I’m alone.’

‘You weren’t alone,’ she pointed out. ‘Felipe heard you.’

‘He might have done,’ he conceded. ‘You must understand, though, that in accordance with Italian custom, Felipe exaggerates,’ Dante added shortly. ‘He was being gallant. Telling you what you want to hear.’

‘Is that what you do, Dante? What you’ve done throughout our marriage?’ she asked tensely.

‘No. I have lived so long in England that I’ve lost the art of effusive flattery. I say what I mean, though perhaps not quite so bluntly as the English.’

She thought about this. ‘Felipe genuinely seemed to think you were pleased because I was on my way here,’ she persisted, hoping to get to the truth.

‘I’m sure he and Maria were subjected to conversations with my mother, in which she enthused over my feelings for you,’ he drawled. ‘He would have assumed that was why I appeared to be happy—whereas we know different.’

‘Your mother certainly seems convinced of your adoration,’ Miranda mused, breathing hard and fast. Sonniva, she mused, was a perceptive woman, shrewd and honest…

‘Some people have rose-tinted vision,’ he dismissed. ‘They see what they want to see. Like Felipe and Maria. But…they have been good friends to me since I arrived,’ he added and she had the distinct impression that he was keen to avoid further discussion. ‘They live in the villa not far from us,’ he explained. ‘We’ll see a lot of them, as they have a boy of Carlo’s age.’

‘Good. I like them,’ Miranda said demurely. For the moment she’d let Dante off the hook. But all her instincts told her that he was hiding something from her. She hoped it was his true feelings. ‘I look forward to meeting them again. I’m sure we could all be good friends.’

‘You seem to be accepting the fact that you’ll live here in future. No regrets, I assume?’ he asked, his expression tense.

‘None. I’ll be with Carlo, won’t I?’ And you, she left unsaid.

‘You’ll enjoy the lifestyle, of course,’ he observed, a cynical tone to his voice.

‘You’re thinking I’m looking forward to being the wife of a wealthy man and sweeping from one grand palace to another. But that wouldn’t be enough for me,’ she said, determined to put him straight about her potential as a gold-digger.

‘You want more?’

‘Not in the way you think.’

He shot her a look. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘No. You thought I married you for material gain,’ she said with sadness. How could he ever have believed that? ‘Dante. Was I ever extravagant? Did you see any signs of greed in me?’

He frowned, as well he might. ‘No,’ he admitted.

‘Did I know you were well off when I worked for you?’

‘You could see I had a good lifestyle,’ he grunted.

‘But not flamboyant. You went everywhere by taxi as many people do in London. Your apartment in the City was not in a fashionable area although it was spacious and expensively furnished. You dressed well, but…’ She smiled. ‘You’re Italian. It’s part of your culture. If I’d been hunting for a rich man, I’d have gone for Guido.’ She frowned, a bad taste in her mouth. Then dismissed it because her argument was so important. ‘He flung his money around as if he had bottomless pockets. He has a Maserati. Eats only in the best celebrity restaurants. Wears a lot of jewellery. Everyone in the office thought he was loaded. Why, then, if I’d been truly mercenary, would I have set my sights on you?’

‘I don’t know. I am at a loss,’ he said slowly.

She leaned into him a little. ‘Listen,’ she said softly. ‘Since I was very young, my only wish has been to spend my life with someone I love. Do you believe that?’

‘I think you do care for Carlo, yes,’ he said, looking guarded.

She beamed. It wasn’t quite what she’d meant, but nevertheless it was a milestone. ‘And you accept that he wasn’t starved of love?’

Dante looked uncomfortable. ‘Perhaps my informant made a mistake.’

‘Call the nanny and find out,’ she urged. ‘I have her new number. She’ll complain that she wasn’t allowed enough time with Carlo!’

‘I have seen enough. I don’t need to. I apologise for doubting your maternal instincts,’ he said stiffly.

‘And for doubting my love for you?’ she asked, her heart beating hard.

His head jerked away, his profile suddenly stern. ‘I can’t pretend that your infidelity never happened,’ he clipped and she realised she had a long way to go before she proved her innocence to him. ‘The next week or so will be difficult for both of us. But we’ll settle into some kind of working arrangement, providing you like it enough here.’

‘Like it?’ she cried, hope lifting the burden she’d carried from her shoulders. ‘How could I not? It’s a bonus that Bellagio is so beautiful. I love the lake and the mountains and the romantic little villages. I like the friendliness of the people who smile and nod at us even though they don’t know who we are. I like to see the affection youngsters and their parents show towards older relatives. I like your friends. In fact,’ she added, glancing around her fondly, ‘I like Italians very much.’

‘I’m glad,’ Dante said drily. ‘You’d find life hard if you didn’t.’

‘Mmm. They’re wonderfully…free with their emotions, aren’t they?’ she mused.

She had been watching them for a while. Everywhere she looked, it seemed that people were gesticulating as they conducted lively exchanges. They stood close to one another as if they had no idea of personal space. And yet already she’d noticed that what initially seemed like fiery arguments often ended with laughter and hugs.

She sighed wistfully because here and there she could see courting couples gazing in rapture at one another, content, it seemed, just to breathe the same air, to be on the same planet.

‘You envy their lack of inhibition?’ Dante asked quietly.

‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I do.’

And she vowed to allow the Italian love of free expression to seep into her. It was what he’d been used to. No wonder he’d thought her cold and unresponsive.

‘Me too.’ Dante’s brooding eyes studied his surroundings. ‘You know, I was so intent on handling the London end of the business, marrying you and setting up home there, that I didn’t realise how much I missed Italy until I came back here to live.’

She absorbed this without comment. But she was stunned. He hadn’t been happy in England. She pursed her lips, contemplating the fact that he’d been in virtual exile from the country of his birth.

Scanning the bustling promenade, she compared the greyness of the city of London and the vibrant colours all around them; the roar of the capital city’s traffic, the dirt and the smell of petrol fumes…and the partially traffic-free Bellagio, where stately ferries ploughed their way across a glittering lake. The hurried, preoccupied Londoners wrapped in their own concerns…and the lively Italians hell-bent on living life to the full and including any passing stranger who caught their attention.

‘I understand why you want Carlo to live here,’ she said soberly. ‘I think it’s perfect for him. You love your house and its setting and I’ve fallen in love with it too. Because of that, I’m sure we can all be happy together in time.’

He looked disbelieving. ‘Happiness? Very unlikely,’ he said with a cynical drawl.

‘Wait and see.’ She felt shaky, as if she were poised on the edge of a precipice. She had to make him believe their marriage could be more than a façade. ‘We must both work to that end.’

There was a long pause. ‘Too much has happened. Too much anger, too many scars that can never heal. But I’ll settle for a harmonious relationship. I’m relieved you’re falling in with my plans.’

‘I’ll do everything I can to let people believe we have a good marriage,’ she said earnestly.

Imperceptibly she moved closer to him and they walked along almost hip to hip. She felt him give a little shudder and knew he felt a physical interest in her. First, she thought, they’d have sex. And then it would gradually turn to a trusting, loving relationship.

She was in seventh heaven. Although she was dazzled by the breathtaking views, charmed by Bellagio and overwhelmed by the pleasure of being close to Dante, she was nevertheless alert enough to realise that the set of his body had changed quite dramatically.

It was as though he had been holding himself back before, as if he, too, had imposed some kind of restraint on himself.

When he pointed out the villages across the lake, he became more animated and flamboyantly Italian. Responding to an inner urge, she put her arm around his waist. When he stiffened, she thought he’d shrug it off. But his muscles relaxed again and he slid his arm around her slender waist, making her heart sing with joy.

As they wandered along, she noticed that they were attracting admiring glances. People smiled at them fondly. One day, she promised herself, this would be for real.

Feeling light-headed, she listened with pleasure to Dante’s enthusiastic descriptions of the sumptuous gardens in the villas open to the public.

‘You really love Bellagio, don’t you?’ she laughed, almost drunk with happiness, when he paused for breath.

He scowled and cleared his throat. ‘Everything about it. There’s so much to show you. The day after tomorrow we’ll take a drive inland…’

He had paused. Like her, he had seen that all eyes seemed to be elsewhere, a murmur of voices buzzing excitedly about something. She looked back over her shoulder and discovered the focus of everyone’s attention.

‘Oh, look, Dante! A bride and groom!’ she exclaimed softly. The bride looked very young, perhaps as old as she’d been when she’d married Dante. Her dress was the purest white and the white roses in her dark, glossy hair gave her a touching fragility. ‘Isn’t she lovely?’ Miranda breathed dreamily.

‘Beautiful,’ he agreed, his voice sombre.

She frowned, puzzled. ‘Where’s everyone else? The bridesmaids, guests… There’s just the couple and a photographer!’

‘It’s the custom. They’re being photographed in romantic settings.’

He sounded choked. Emotion had claimed her too. The bride looked as if she might burst with love. The fresh-faced groom couldn’t take his eyes off his adoring wife.

That was how it had been for her, Miranda thought, a pain wrenching at her heart. But not for Dante.

With everyone watching fondly, the couple posed at the foot of the cobbled steps then beneath the arcade. She and Dante looked on, each with their own thoughts, as the photographer persuaded the couple into an artistic pose by a stone balustrade, with the lake and mountains in the background.

So loving, she thought as they laughed and giggled their way to the gangplank of the passenger ferry for another shot.

Somehow Dante’s hand had crept into hers. It was poignant, watching the couple. They hadn’t a care in the world. They were starting married life and were confident it would be roses all the way. She felt tears welling up and fought hard to suppress them as she contemplated the ruins of her own marriage.

‘Complimenti,’ Dante murmured as the rapturous lovebirds wandered past them on their way to another venue.

The bride gave him a sweet smile, which became even warmer when she met Miranda’s wistful eyes. Her new husband said something in Italian and Dante’s grip tightened as the couple moved on.

‘What did he say?’ she asked, where once she would have kept silent.

Dante didn’t look at her, but watched the bride and groom running like children to a seat by a large floral display.

‘He returned the compliment,’ he said eventually. ‘He said he imagined we were recalling our own wedding.’

‘I was,’ she admitted shakily.

She remembered with a sigh that she had been in a dream the whole day. Dante’s lovemaking that night had been tender and profoundly passionate.

She also remembered how his face had glowed with an inner radiance. Her heart thudded. Could Guido have been wrong? Had Dante loved her when they got married? She’d truly believed that he did at the time.

Though, she thought with a shiver, his rapturous expression on their wedding day could have been due to something else: imagining himself stepping into Amadeo’s shoes and inheriting a fortune.

‘Lunch,’ he muttered, drawing her to a table overlooking the lake. He seemed preoccupied and thoughtful.

Daringly she blurted out, ‘I wish it was like it used to be between us.’

He winced as though he felt the same pain that shafted through her body.

‘Those days of innocence are gone,’ he growled.

And with that harsh put-down, he picked up the menu and annoyingly disappeared behind it.

But she persevered, risking an outright snub. It was a chance she had to take.

‘You can’t deny that it would be wonderful if we could be truly together,’ she ventured. ‘Easier all round. No pretences,’ she added haltingly.

He lowered the menu sufficiently for her to see his dark, intense eyes.

‘Yes,’ he rasped and dashed her hopes by following that with, ‘but we have to accept that it would be impossible under the circumstances.’

‘Nothing’s impossible—’ she choked out.

‘I think there is something you should understand about Italian men, Miranda,’ he said tightly. ‘Honour is very important to them.’

His mouth twisted but he kept his head down, his eyes lowered to the damask tablecloth. And in a bleak voice he continued, ‘The worst insult you could imagine would be to call a man cornuto. Do you know what that means?’

Glumly she shook her head. But she could guess.

‘It’s a cuckold,’ he said. ‘A man who’s wife has been unfaithful.’ His eyes lifted to hers—hot, burning, indicating the seething emotions he was repressing. ‘It pains me that anyone could call me a cuckold—and the fact that if they did I would have to stay silent, because it’s true. I try to forget it, to put it aside, but it rips me apart to think of you with other men. When I look at you I think of their hands roaming over your body and I can barely contain my anger and shame!’

Hot tears threatened and she beat them back furiously.

‘I did not betray you,’ she insisted. ‘I have always been faithful.’ Taking a deep breath, she decided to seize the moment and added in a low whisper, ‘I have always loved you.’

And she waited for his response, her heart in her mouth. Everything depended on this. Her future happiness, Carlo’s. Please make him believe me, she thought, her hands tightening into fists beneath the table.

‘A commendable try,’ he drawled, his skin taut with disapproval over the contours of his face as he pretended to scan the menu. ‘But I know the truth. Understand this, Miranda. I can never forgive you.’ His eyes lifted to hers and in them she saw her own bleak misery.

She felt that he’d thrust a knife into her heart. Her confession of love, her attempts to penetrate his barrier of hatred and mistrust, had been in vain. He’d made up his mind. They’d be polite strangers for years to come.

She sat silent and stunned and deeply hurt by his intransigence as Dante beckoned for service.

Conscious of the waiter prompting her, she mechanically put in her order, knowing she wouldn’t be able to do more than toy with her food.

Then, averting her head in misery, she pretended to be fascinated by the boats crossing the lake, but all she could see were white blurs in a mist of blue because tears had sprung into her eyes and were clogging up her throat.

It seemed she was no nearer to saving her marriage. Maybe, she thought in a flood of despair, there was no hope, after all.