A Fever In The Blood

A Fever In The Blood Page 15

by Anne Mather

  'Don't be foolish!' A muscle was jerking in Ben's cheek, and the hand resting on his thigh clenched into a fist. And then, as if the words were torn from him, he said, 'What happened just now was—inevitable. I've wanted you for so long…' He shook his head. 'There have been no other women. Not since that summer you were eighteen, at least. The idea was abhorrent to me. I've buried myself in my work, in my teaching, in this book I'm having such trouble right now in writing. Until you came, begging my help, I'd almost succeeded in convincing myself that I didn't need anyone else. But that night, at the apartment, I realised how wrong I had been.'

  'Then stop talking as if this is all we're ever going to have,' Cass whispered, stretching out her hand and run­ning her nail down the zip of his jeans. 'We don't have to worry about anyone, any more. I just wonder why you took so long to tell me. You must have known how I felt all along.'

  'No!' Expelling a taut breath, Ben forced her hand away from the stirring reaction of his body. 'You still don't understand, do you? What Nonna told you—what she told me, when I was about the same age—is not our secret to tell.'

  Cass blinked. 'But why is it a secret?' she exclaimed. 'It's not as if your mother and my father are still mar­ried!'

  'No.' Ben conceded the point, but he got to his feet again as he did so, and the awful sense of apprehension flooded over her again.

  'Oh, please—' she cried, gazing up at him. 'What are you saying? That Daddy doesn't know you're not his son? Well, what does it matter? It's not as if you're hoping to inherit the company!' Her eyes widened in dismay. 'Or—are you?'

  Ben's face contorted. 'If that's what you want to be­lieve.'

  'It's not what I want to believe.' Cass scrambled to her feet now. 'I'm only trying to make some sense of what you're saying. Ben, stop behaving as if we're en­emies. I love you! Doesn't that mean anything any more?'

  'Oh, Cass!' His response to her was unmistakable, but instead of taking her in his arms he bent and picked up her clothes and pushed them at her. 'Get dressed,' he said flatly. 'I can't think sensibly with you in that state.'

  'Perhaps I don't want you to think sensibly,' she mut­tered tearfully. But she took the dress and panties, and silently put them on, squeezing the ends of her hair be­fore picking up her sandals. 'Satisfied?'

  Ben avoided that question, concentrating on the task of putting on his own shoes. Then he gestured that they should return the way they had come, and scuffing her toes in the grass Cass accompanied him obediently back to the car.

  But once inside the Porsche Ben didn't immediately start the engine. 'Look,' he said heavily, 'I don't know how to say this, but when I brought you here, I wanted this to happen.'

  'You did?' Cass tried not to be too optimistic. Something told her that whatever Ben was going to say, ultimately it would not be good. But she had to listen.

  'Yes.' He laid his hands on the wheel, flexing his fingers as he obviously struggled to find the right words. 'Call me selfish, if you like, but I'd come back to Calvado because I couldn't stay away from you. Lord,' he thrust his fingers into his hair, 'you have no idea how many sleepless nights you've cost me.'

  'Ben…'

  She touched his sleeve, but he shook her off. 'No,' he said. 'You've got to hear me out. I need to tell you.'

  'That you wanted me,' she asked softly. 'I'm glad. Is that why you've spent so much time with Carlo, and your mother?'

  'What do you think?' Ben was ironic. 'The day I found you on the beach—alone—it was pure frustration that made me yell at you. Oh, I don't approve of you swimming there alone. It could be dangerous. But, see­ing you half naked, wanting to touch you and not having the right to do so, nearly drove me insane.'

  Cass expelled an unsteady breath. 'I thought you were mad at me. When I asked if you were like Daddy, you almost flipped.'

  'Yes. Well, I did have some justification,' he re­sponded drily. 'It was bad enough knowing the truth and not being able to tell you, without you throwing Guido's sexual exploits in my face.'.

  'Then, why—'

  'Not yet.' He bent his head. 'This morning when you came down to breakfast and accused me of avoiding you, I couldn't take it any more. I decided I would take you to Verrazzino, and to hell with the consequences.'

  'You wanted your grandmother to tell me?'

  'Hell, no!' He groaned. 'I never thought she'd tell you, not Guido Scorcese's daughter. No.' He shook his head. 'I was going to do the telling. I just wanted Nonna to back me up.'

  'And?' Cass had difficulty in articulating the word.

  'And when I got there, I found I couldn't do it,' he said simply.

  'Why—why not?'

  'Why do you think?' He spoke wearily now. 'Because I realised I couldn't do that to my mother. I've kept her secret for more than fifteen years, and much as I wanted to be free of all the lies and deceit, I knew there was no way I could betray her trust.'

  Cass trembled. 'And that was why you were so tense after we reached your grandmother's house?'

  Ben grimaced. 'It was that obvious, hmm?'

  'Well—to me,' she murmured honestly.

  'So, how did Nonna come to tell you?' he asked sud­denly. 'She's not usually so indiscreet with strangers.'

  'Oh…' Cass bent her head. 'There was a photograph on the dresser. I thought it was you.'

  'And because of that—'

  'She guessed how I felt about you,' exclaimed Cass with harsh emotion. 'She asked if I loved you, and—and I didn't deny it. I suppose she put two and two together.'

  Ben's lips twisted. 'She's a shrewd old lady.'

  'Yes.' Cass took a steadying breath, and lifted her head. 'So—what now?'

  'Now?' His fingers curled about the wheel. 'Now comes the hardest part.' He stared straight ahead. 'We go on as before.'

  'No!' Her cry was anguished.

  'We must.'

  'But, why? Why?' Cass was desperate now. 'If, as you say, you don't care whether Daddy leaves you a part of the company or not, what have you to lose?'

  'Me?'

  'Well—Sophia, then! As I see it—'

  His hand on her shoulder silenced her headstrong out­burst, and she closed her eyes against the ache of longing his lean fingers aroused in her still. 'Listen to me,' he said harshly. 'You know my mother. You know what a proud woman she is. Can you imagine what this would do to her? If Guido was to find out that I was not his son, don't you realise how he would feel?'

  Cass moved her head in a negative gesture. 'He—he would be—surprised—'

  'Surprised?' Ben was scathing. 'He wouldn't be sur­prised!. He'd be bloody furious! For heaven's sake, the man's been supporting Sophia for the past thirty-seven years!'

  'I know—'

  'Then you also know that he wouldn't have provided her with the Villa Andrea without believing he was do­ing it for me as well, for his son!'

  'Oh, Ben!'

  'Now, do you begin to understand?' he demanded, and suddenly realising his fingers were digging. 'Into her soft flesh he withdrew them. 'I'm sorry.'

  Cass felt sick. 'You can't mean this.'

  'I'm afraid I do.' Ben's face was grim when she looked at him. 'Believe me, if there was anything that could be done, I'd have done it.' His mouth took on a bitter slant. 'Once—just once, I came close to destroying everything.' He paused. 'Do you remember? When I came to London to see you?'

  Cass was so distraught, she could hardly think straight. 'To see me?' she echoed. She didn't remember him ever coming to London just to see her.

  'Yes.' Ben was patient. 'Four years ago?' he prompted.

  'Four years ago?' Cass's brows drew together per­plexedly. 'But—but that was when—'

  '—when we'd acknowledged what was between us, I know,' said Ben flatly. 'Or, at least, I thought we had.'

  'What do you mean?' She was confused. 'You—you sent me away!'

  Ben groaned. 'You must know how hard that was now.'

  Cass blinked. 'But—but you were horrible! You called me all sorts o
f names! You said I was spoilt— and selfish—'

  'And I meant it,' he declared grimly. 'How do you think I felt when I got to London and the first thing your mother told me was that you were engaged to Roger Fielding?'

  Cass caught her breath. 'Mummy told you that?'

  'It was true, wasn't it?'

  'Oh…' Cass made a defeated little gesture. 'In a man­ner of speaking, I suppose.'

  'What do you mean?' Ben was confused now. 'Either you were, or you weren't.'

  Cass shook her head. 'It wasn't that simple.' She sighed, realising she had to explain, in however bad a light it painted her. 'After—after I got back from Italy, I flew out to Bermuda. You know Daddy has the villa near Hamilton? Well, he and Mummy were spending the summer there, and—and I needed them.'

  'Go on.'

  'So, Roger was there, too. But you know that, don't you? Well, I was pretty wild after what had happened. In any event, I got drunk, at a party, and—and we had sex.'

  'Oh, Cass!'

  Ben's compassion almost overwhelmed her, but she forced herself to go on. 'Anyway, because of that, Roger proposed. And—and I accepted. I realise now, it was mainly to get back at you, and I'm not proud of it, but I did it anyway.'

  'Oh, hell!' Ben rested his elbows on the wheel, and propped his head in his hands.

  'I knew—I knew as soon as I got back to England that I'd made a mistake, and when Mrs Auden came to tell me you were with Mummy, I thought you had come to tell me you'd forgiven me.'

  'Forgiven you?' Ben groaned. 'Dear heaven, I came to tell you the truth. But when your mother—'

  'Don't say it!' Cass put trembling hands over her ears. 'Don't say any more. I can't bear it.'

  'Ah, Cass!'

  At last her bitter despair got through to him and, giv­ing in to emotions stronger than himself, he pulled her into his arms. She pressed herself against him urgently, her arms so tight around his neck that he could scarcely move at all.

  'Hey,' he said, as her shaking body revealed that she was sobbing. 'Don't, cara. Please, don't.'

  'Are—are you going to send me away again?' she faltered, resisting his efforts to wipe away her tears with his thumb, and he heaved a heavy sigh.

  'I have to.'

  'But—but you were going to tell the truth four years ago,' she protested, and he at last succeeded in drawing back.

  'Was I?' he asked, and she caught her breath. 'Who knows? I might have chickened out at the last minute, as I did today.'

  'Ben…'

  'No, I mean it.' He was ironic. 'It's easy now for me to say what I intended to do. But, if I'm honest—' He shrugged. 'Who knows?'

  Cass drew back in her seat. She felt utterly exhausted. And defeated. No way was Ben going to betray his mother now. Sophia had won. Again! She always won.

  'What will you do?' Ben asked at last, as if the ques­tion had been torn out of him, and Cass managed an indifferent shrug.

  'I don't know.' She hesitated. 'I shall go back to London, of course.'

  'When?'

  'Probably tomorrow.'

  'No!'

  'Yes.' Now it was her turn to be adamant. 'I can't stay here, Ben. Not now.'

  'Oh, hell!'

  With a violent movement, he flicked the ignition, and when the engine fired he thrust it savagely into gear. The tyres spun as they cleared the damp grass, but then they were on the road, and the car took command. With a smooth efficiency that owed little to Ben's clenched hands on the wheel, it ate up the miles between Verrazzino and Calvado, and at least one of its occupants had the unworthy hope that they might not make it…

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  'BUT you can't stay here!'

  Diana Scorcese's voice mirrored her impatience. She looked round the decidedly untidy living-room with scornful eyes, seeing nothing of merit in the comfortably worn cushions of the sofa, or in the tightly packed shelves of books that lined the walls. To her eyes, Maggie's whole apartment was an abomination, and she couldn't imagine how any daughter of hers could con­sider living in such surroundings.

  Trying another tack, she gave Cass one of her most appealing looks, and ruefully shook her head. 'Darling, you know what Daddy's going to say when he discovers where you are. It was bad enough you flying off to Italy without telling a soul where you'd gone. But how d'you think he's going to feel if he finds you're living in this place? If you insist on not going back to the house in Knightsbridge, at least have the decency to come home.'

  'No.' Cass coiled one leg beneath her, and sank down into a corner of the sofa. 'But don't worry. This is only a temporary squat. As soon as I can find somewhere more suitable, I'll move out. Maggie is leaving for the States in less than a week, and she says I can crash here until she gets back.'

  Diana's lips curled at her daughter's vocabulary, but she refrained from making the automatic retort that Cass had expected. Instead, she seated herself with some re­luctance on the edge of the chair opposite and, crossing one silk-clad leg over the other, she tried once again to be reasonable.

  'But what about Roger?' she exclaimed, and seeing Cass's face close up she leant forward and gripped her daughter's arm. 'Darling, we have to talk about it. Sooner or later, he's bound to find out you're back in London. Surely the most sensible course would be to see him? Your father says he's in quite a state. I'm sure he regrets what happened, as we all do.'

  Cass held up her head. 'No, Mummy.'

  'But, Cass—'

  'Mummy, when I agreed to see you, you promised you'd tell nobody where I was.'

  'And I haven't.' Diana sighed. 'But that doesn't mean I approve of you hiding out here like a criminal. Heaven knows, no one likes to find their husband is being un­faithful to them, but it's not the end of the world!' She moved her shoulders impatiently. 'Men are not like women, Cass. They need their little—adventures! Roger doesn't love this woman he's been sleeping with. He loves you. If you agreed to take him back— '

  'No, Mummy!' Cass was adamant. 'I want a divorce, and—and I intend to get one.'

  'Oh, my goodness!' Biting back a coarser expletive, Diana got abruptly to her feet, pacing to the window and back again with unconcealed frustration. 'Your father will never agree to it.'

  'He doesn't have to,' retorted Cass tightly, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. 'Mummy, this isn't the first time Roger's done something like this. You know what happened a couple of years ago. But Daddy intervened, and—'

  'And he would intervene again,' exclaimed Diana, but Cass shook her head.

  'No.'

  'Why not?' Diana was eager. 'Darling, this time you can be sure Roger wouldn't get away unscathed. I'd see to that.'

  'No.'

  'Oh, Cass!' Diana expelled her breath on a gasp. 'This is ridiculous! You're not giving him a chance. At least see him, talk to him.'

  'I have seen him.'

  'I know.' Diana's lips pulled in. 'At Ben's apartment.'

  'Yes.'

  'But how could you talk then? With—with Sophia's son as an unwelcome onlooker!'

  'He wasn't.' Cass looked up at her mother, frowning. 'Is that what Roger told you?'

  'Maybe.' Diana was vague now. 'I think Ben's name was mentioned, but I could be wrong.'

  Cass looked sceptical. 'What you mean is, Roger lied to you, just as he's lied to me,' she retorted. 'As a matter of fact, Ben did come back while Roger was there. Just in time to throw him out!'

  Diana's expression hardened. 'I knew it.' She came back to where Cass was sitting and glared down at her. 'I knew that man had had some part in your decision. It's he who's put you up to this, isn't it? He's been nothing but trouble as long as I've known him.'

  Cass gave her mother a cool stare. 'I thought you liked him.'

  'Me?' Diana made a disparaging gesture, but she didn't meet her daughter's eyes. 'Just because I've al­ways been civil to him, it doesn't mean I actually like the man. Good heavens, Cass, I'm friendly with lots of people. But you must know as well as anyone, that ex­pediency often p
lays the greater part.'

  Cass tilted her head. 'And why was it expedient to be friendly with Ben?'

  'Oh…' Diana was on the spot, and she obviously didn't like it. 'Well, he is your father's son, isn't he? Can you imagine how he would react if I treated Ben as a pariah? No, obviously I've always welcomed him into our house. But I've never cared for your involvement with him, and I—I resent very much the fact that you turned to him when you should have turned to us.'

  Having succeeded in diverting the course of the con­versation, Diana returned to the window again, dabbing her upper lip with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. And, watching her, Cass knew a weary sense of resignation. No matter how long she avoided seeing either Roger or her father, sooner or later she was going to have to face both of them. Scoring points off her mother was not going to get her anywhere. Diana was comparatively easy to defeat. Guido Scorcese was most definitely not.

  'All right,' she said at last, getting to her feet, shaking the creases out of the baggy white trousers she was wear­ing, and Diana turned.

  ' 'All right—what?' ' she enquired cautiously, and Cass pushed her hands into her pockets.

  'All right, I'll see Daddy,' she declared, her nails dig­ging painfully into her palms. 'But not here. I'll come to the house. Would tonight be too soon, or has he got an engagement?'

  Diana swallowed. 'Oh—well, we are supposed to be dining with the Conways,' she murmured, 'but I suppose I could put them off.'

  'Good.' Cass endeavoured to sustain her air of indif­ference. 'About seven o'clock, then? Would that be all right?'

  'Fine. Fine.' Diana came towards her daughter eagerly now, obviously much relieved at this unexpected con­cession. 'Until tonight, then, darling,' she murmured, kissing the air beside Cass's cheek. 'Oh—and you will wear something a little more—conservative, won't you? You know how your father hates you to dress like that.'

  With the door closed behind Diana, Cass leaned weakly back against it. She was trembling, she found, and it annoyed her that speaking to her mother should have proved such an ordeal. However was she going to cope with her father that evening? Perhaps she should have made it tomorrow, or the day after. But the idea of delaying the inevitable was equally as unattractive, and the sooner she got it over with, the better.

 

‹ Prev Next ›