Mary Lyons - The Italian Seduction

by The Italian Seduction (lit)

  Lorenzo explained, as they waited for the race to start, that the Palio was, in fact, a large banner. It was for this, and the glory of representing their own, particular area of the city, that the riders were prepared to risk the lives of themselves and their horses.

  With the excitement mounting, minute by minute during the late afternoon—the air filled with the sound of trumpets, and the noise of a huge crowd of people, all cheering on their favourites—Antonia found herself totally caught up in the atmosphere.

  They arrived back at the house late that night, and it wasn’t until the next morning, at breakfast, that she learned of the large family luncheon party to be held later that day.

  Not sure how she felt about meeting all of Lorenzo’s family en masse, Antonia suggested that perhaps it might be a good idea if she made herself scarce.

  ‘I’d quite like to see that old convent,’ she told Sara. ‘And I could maybe take a picnic with me, and...’

  Nonsense! Of course you must join us,’ Sara told her firmly. ‘And besides, my daughter Claudia wants to meet you,’ she added, her eyes twinkling with amusement. ‘Something to do with a pair of earrings?’

  ‘Oh, Lord!’ Antonia groaned. ‘I’d forgotten all about that. I hope she wasn’t cross about it?ff

  ‘No, of course not!’ Sara laughed. ‘She was merely in­trigued to hear my granddaughter telling her about Uncle Lorenzo’s new girlfriend.’

  Suddenly kicking herself for not having realised that this very astute, clever woman must of course be well aware by now that she and Lorenzo spent each night locked in each other’s arms, Antonia couldn’t seem to stop a deep flush from rising up over her cheeks.

  What on earth did you say to a man’s mother, under these sort of circumstances? she wondered wildly. But, if Sara Foscari had any thoughts on the matter, she was keep­ing them firmly under wraps, calmly pouring herself an­other cup of coffee, before changing the subject and asking Antonia whether she’d enjoyed the Palio.

  Later in the day, as Antonia gazed at herself in her dress­ing-table mirror, wondering whether her simple pale blue cotton dress was perhaps just a little too casual for a formal family meal, she couldn’t help feeling nervous about meet­ing Lorenzo’s family.

  However, later, as she sat among the throng of happy, noisy relatives, Antonia realised that she needn’t have wor­ried. Everyone was very friendly. Especially Claudia—the plump, dark-haired mother of Maria, whom she’d met in Cambridge.

  Claudia introduced her to Lorenzo’s other sister, Isabella—a complete contrast to Claudia, being blonde and slim like her mother.

  The only strange note about this lunch was the fact that Lorenzo’s mother was casting her son occasional, anxious glances, and not appearing her usual calm, relaxed self. In fact, Antonia told herself with a slight frown, Lorenzo had seemed slightly edgy and ill at ease ever since receiving a phone call from Milan, earlier this morning.

  Maybe it was business problems, she told herself with a shrug, her thoughts interrupted as, with the noise of much laughter and the loud ringing of knives being tapped against the large wine glasses, she saw Lorenzo rising slowly to his feet, at the other end of the table.

  Speaking in Italian, of course, of which she caught only a few words, including her own name, he eventually paused, amidst the sound of much laughter, and turned to face her.

  ‘I have been telling my family, Antonia, the reasons why it was necessary that I should be provided with a body­guard. And how astonished I was—and maybe not too happy, either—to have a woman telling me what I could and could not do. However, I have now reassured my fam­ily that I am a reformed character, and clearly understand the necessity of doing as I am told—at all times!’

  ‘Quite right!’ Claudia laughed, before turning to wink at Antonia. ‘And, if you have any nonsense from my little brother, just let me know. I’ll soon sort him out!’

  Her ‘little brother’, who stood well over six foot, joined in the general laughter. As the meal drew to a close, and the assembled company broke up into various groups, Sara Foscari announced her intention of taking a short nap.

  Lorenzo appeared engrossed in an animated discussion with his two brothers-in-law about national politics—and many of the younger members had decided to play football on the large lawn.

  Which led Antonia to decide that this might be the right moment to slip away.

  Picking up her handbag and slowly making her way from the vine-covered patio into the house, she was stopped by one of the servants, conveying the message that someone wishing to see ‘the English lady’ was waiting in a small salon, at the end of the corridor.

  Mystified as to who would want to see her, Antonia opened the door, surprised to see standing by the large win­dow in the salon a woman whom, she was quite certain, she’d never seen before in her life.

  ‘Well ...hello!’ the stranger murmured, turning to face Antonia as she closed the door behind her. ‘We haven’t met before, of course,’ the woman added with a brief, flick­ering smile. ‘But you must be dear Lorenzo’s bodyguard?’

  ‘Er...yes, I am,’ she murmured, wondering exactly where this exquisitely beautiful woman fitted into the fam­ily.

  ‘And also, I understand, his new girlfriend?’

  ‘Well...er...’ Antonia muttered, her mind racing as she tried to work out how to answer such a blunt question. After all, the fact that she and Lorenzo were sleeping to­gether was entirely their own business. And he certainly hadn’t gone public with his own family, right? So, if this woman was a relative of his, it might be as well to tread very carefully.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. You are?

  The woman stared silently at her for a moment, before giving a long, slow smile.

  ‘How remiss of me not to introduce myself,’ she mur­mured. ‘However, for your information, my name is Gina Lombardi. And I was, until a few days ago, engaged to be married to Lorenzo Foscari.’

  Feeling totally confused, with thoughts and questions buzzing noisily in her brain, like wasps trapped in a jam jar, Antonia could only stare speechless and dumbstruck at what had to be one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen.

  But then, as she gradually pulled herself together, the full import of what the stranger had said gradually became clear.

  Gina? Gina Lombardi? Yes, of course! This must be the woman whom Giles Harding’s wife had referred to, so dis­paragingly, during the interval at the Albert Hall—the eve­ning when she’d first been appointed as Lorenzo’s body­guard.

  Her memory of that night, and who had said what to whom, was a little hazy. But Antonia now recalled her dis­tinct impression that Mrs Harding had actively disliked Gina.

  Which wasn’t surprising, Antonia told herself, after an­other swift glance at the woman, who was now admiring her reflection in a large gilt mirror on the wall by the win­dow.

  Such a perfect face and figure was guaranteed to make any normal female feel highly depressed about her own appearance. And she, herself, wasn’t exactly feeling too happy at the moment, either.

  Of medium height with slim legs, perfect ankles and a voluptuous, sexy figure positively guaranteed to make strong men weep, Gina had classical features and an utterly flawless complexion, surrounded by a mass of dusky curls, tumbling seductively down about her shoulders. Although possibly older than she looked, Antonia had not the slightest doubt that this woman had only to beckon with one of her little fingers at any normal, red-blooded man—­to have him lying panting at her feet, in five seconds flat!

  Beginning to recover from her shock at Gina’s sudden appearance, Antonia realised that she had a potentially very tricky situation on her hands. Especially if this exquisitely beautiful woman really was Lorenzo’s ex-fiance. And quite how she was going to handle it she had no idea.

  However, having brushed a hand through her shiny dark curls, and made a slight adjustment to the skin-tight silk dress, clinging like a limpet to her outstanding figure, Gina clearly had
her own agenda in mind as she turned around to face Antonia.

  ‘Lorenzo’s such an attractive and charming man, isn’t he? And amazingly talented in bed, too, of course,’ she added, another small smile playing around her lips. ‘There’s no doubt that I’m really going to miss him.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Antonia shrugged. ‘But I really don’t see that this is anything to do with me. If you’ve got a quarrel with Lorenzo, then I suggest that you take it up with him.’

  The beautiful woman shook her head. ‘No, I’ve no quar­rel with dear Lorenzo—oh, dear me no. So kind. So very, very generous,’ she murmured, gazing down at her beau­tifully manicured hand, and admiring the spectacularly large, flashy diamond ring on one of her fingers.

  ‘No...’ she cooed, raising her large dark eyes to gaze over at Antonia. ‘I’m only here because ...well, I’m a great believer in female solidarity.’

  Female solidarity—my foot! Antonia told herself, con­vinced that this amazingly good-looking woman would have had as little to do with other females as possible.

  Glimpsing the highly sceptical expression on Antonia’s face obviously prompted Gina to change tack.

  ‘Well.., maybe I was putting that just a little strongly,’ she admitted with a shrug. ‘But I thought it only fair to come and tell you that if you’re hoping that Lorenzo is going to marry you you’re very much mistaken.’

  ‘I can assure you that the question of marriage to Lorenzo—or anyone else, for that matter—has simply not crossed my mind,’ Antonia informed her coldly.

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly, darling!’ Gina waved one of her hands briskly in the air. ‘As soon as a woman falls in love with a man—of course she’s planning to marry him. Which is precisely why I’m here. To save you a great deal of unhappiness and heartache. Because I’m afraid that, what­ever he might say, Lorenzo has absolutely no intention of marrying you. Believe me,’ Gina told her coolly, ‘I know what I’m talking about. Dear Lorenzo has a really big prob­lem when it comes to telling the truth.

  ‘For instance,’ she continued, ‘I wonder if he’s told you that he spent three days in bed with me only last week, when he visited Milan? Oh, no—I can see he didn’t,’ she murmured, clearly enjoying the expression of shock on Antonia’s face. ‘Never mind, dear, I expect he told you it was just business—right? But that was just another one of his little lies, like promising that we were to be married. And why not, when I had been his wife in all but name for the past year?’

  Determinedly ignoring the shaft of pain zigzagging through her at the thought of Lorenzo making love to this woman, Antonia took a deep breath to steady herself. She had to cling to the thought that Lorenzo’s private and per­sonal life, before they’d met and fallen in love with one another, was nothing to do with her. Although the infor­mation that while she and his mother had been worried about his whereabouts for those missing three days he’d been in bed with this awful woman was desperately hurt­ful—and not something that she could cope with at the moment.

  ‘Look, I don’t know the ins and outs of this situation,’ Antonia said, determined not to let Gina realise just how upset she was about that episode in Milan. ‘But these things do happen. People can change their mind. And surely it’s better to do so rather than making the mistake of marrying the wrong person?’

  ‘Yes, that sounds very reasonable,’ Gina nodded, turning to view herself in the mirror once again. ‘And you are undoubtedly thinking that, even if he lied to me, there’s no reason to believe that he would treat you in the same way. Yes?’

  Antonia shrugged.

  ‘Unfortunately, the lies he has told me are nothing when compared to the deceit which he has practised on you. And, what is more, I can prove it,’ Gina told her as she walked over to the small table by the window, where she’d left her handbag. ‘My friends in Milan tell me that you are here as Lorenzo’s bodyguard. Correct? To look after him because of the threats against his life made by Giovanni Parini?’

  Antonia nodded. ‘Yes, you’re quite right,’ she said, won­dering how this woman had discovered that fact. Could some of the guards, recently appointed by Lorenzo, have been opening their mouths in the local bars? It seemed as though she’d hit the nail on the head when the other woman gave a low chuckle of laughter.

  ‘I can assure you, we’ve all had a great deal of amuse­ment from the situation. Everyone is saying; Why should Lorenzo need a bodyguard? Especially when Giovanni Parini was caught over two weeks ago, and has been in a police cell ever since.’

  ‘What? What did you say?’

  ‘Here—see for yourself!’ Gina laughed, walking over to hand the newspaper cutting to Antonia.

  It was in Italian, of course, so she had difficulty in read­ing the report through in its entirety. However, there was the picture, clearly captioned with his name, of Giovanni in handcuffs with a policeman’s hand firmly placed on his shoulder, as he was being escorted into what looked like a police station.

  However, Antonia’s relief at realising that the possible assassin was now well and truly under lock and key soon faded away as she noted the date printed at the top of the newspaper.

  Oh, my God! This awful woman was quite right, Antonia told herself, Remembering Tom telling Lorenzo about his calls from Italy and realising that the man must have been apprehended on the very day when she and Lorenzo had visited Cambridge. Which meant ...yes, it had to mean that Lorenzo must have known before his sudden decision to return to Italy that his life was no longer in danger.

  ‘You see!’ Gina exclaimed, a note of triumph in her voice. ‘I told you he was a liar—didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes ...Yes, you did,’ Antonia whispered, utterly shocked and stunned as she stared uncomprehendingly down at the piece of paper in her hands.

  Why? Why had Lorenzo done this to her? Why had he continued to pretend that he was in danger—when he was nothing of the sort? Oh, Lord—she was going to be the laughing stock of her profession! No one would ever let her forget that she’d been so much in love with a man that she’d continued his ‘close protection’ when there’d been absolutely no need for her to do so!

  Almost gasping with pain, she staggered over to sink down into a small chair, with Gina’s hateful, caustic laugh­ter ringing in her ears.

  As she buried her face in her hands, Antonia’s mind was totally filled by two questions, which kept repeating them­selves in a continuous loop through her brain: How could he have done this to her? And what was she going to do now?

  CHAPTER TEN

  CLICKING her teeth with annoyance, Antonia glanced down at the watch on her wrist. She wasn’t going to wait much longer. If the stupid man didn’t turn up for his appointment fairly soon, she was going to call it a day, lock up her office here at the airfield, and drive back to London.

  These chauffeurs were all the same! They hated anyone telling them how to drive their boss’s car. And unfortu­nately, since most of them were middle-aged, retired police drivers, they bitterly resented being given instructions by a mere woman.

  With a heavy sigh at the realisation that nothing seemed to be going right for her lately, she tried to concentrate on the pile of papers in the file on her lap. But, as so often happened nowadays, it seemed almost impossible to keep her mind on anything.

  Although she’d hoped that, after six weeks, the events in Tuscany would have begun to fade slightly from her mind, nothing of the sort seemed to have happened.

  Sitting there in Lorenzo’s family home, that awful after­noon, totally shattered and dazed with bewilderment, she’d desperately tried to think what she was going to do about the situation.

  But she’d soon realised that she needed to get away. To think things through, in peace and quiet. And without that awful woman’s laughter ringing in her ears.

  ‘For goodness’ sake—shut up!’ she’d growled angrily at Gina, who’d fallen silent as the tall Englishwoman had be­gun pacing up and down the floor, clearly buried deep in thought.

  Realising
that it wouldn’t be long before they were dis­turbed by a member of the family—and she really didn’t want to see Lorenzo at this point—Antonia had turned abruptly on her heels to face Gina.

  ‘You live in Milan, don’t you?’ When the other woman nodded, she demanded, ‘So, how did you get here today?’

  Gina shrugged. ‘I just caught a plane to Florence, and hired a car at the airport.’

  ‘Right!’ Antonia muttered, quickly walking across the room and seizing up Gina’s handbag, rooting through it for the keys to her car.

  ‘What are you doing? Where do you think you’re go­ing?’ Gina cried as Antonia turned swiftly towards the door. ‘You can’t just steal my car and leave here, without a word!’

  ‘You’ve got a point,’ Antonia muttered, quickly halting and retracing her steps to pick up the large newspaper cut­ting. After slipping it under the top edge of the mirror on the wall, she grabbed a lipstick out of her own handbag, quickly printing, ‘I THINK THIS SAYS IT ALL!’ in large capital letters on the glass.

  Realising that she couldn’t take the risk of leaving Gina behind, since the other woman would undoubtedly tamper with the message she’d left for Lorenzo, Antonia quickly took hold of her arm, dragging her reluctant figure towards the door..

  ‘What do you think you’re doing? Take your hands off me—at once!’ Gina protested loudly.

  ‘Shut up!’ Antonia hissed savagely. ‘If I have one more peep out of you, I’ll leave you here, trussed up like a chicken! So, just behave yourself and do as I say.’

  Her threat, which she would never, of course, have car­ried out, proved effective, clearly frightening Gina into do­ing as she was told.

  And nothing is ever wasted, Antonia told herself grimly, grateful that she’d taken the time to go over this huge house inch by inch, when determined to ensure Lorenzo’s protec­tion and safety. While she now knew that effort had been a total waste of time, it did enable her to frog-march Gina down a small, dark corridor and out of a door at the side of the house not normally used by the family.