The Italian Matchmaker
Page 1
THE ITALIAN MATCHMAKER
Santa Montefiore
www.hodder.co.uk
Praise for Santa Montefiore and THE ITALIAN MATCHMAKER:
‘This is quite simply a beautiful read and will make you believe again in love that conquers all’
News of the World
‘Montefiore is adept at writing perceptive character analysis . . . The Italian Matchmaker will lighten up even the most gloomy of readers’
Sunday Express
‘If you’ve finally got that longed for glass of chilled Prosecco . . . now is the perfect time to read this gripping romance . . . It is as believable as the writing is beautiful’
Daily Telegraph
‘It twangs on every heartstring, presses every button and is utterly irresistible . . . It’s lovely stuff – glossy lifestyle glamour with a soul . . . you’re spellbound by the sheer charm of the enterprise’
Daily Express
‘Santa Montefiore is a superb storyteller of love and death in romantic places in fascinating times’
Plum Sykes
‘Anyone who likes Joanna Harris or Mary Wesley will love Montefiore’s atmospheric romance’
Mail on Sunday
Also by Santa Montefiore
Meet Me Under the Ombu Tree
The Butterfly Box
The Forget-Me-Not Sonata
The Swallow and the Hummingbird
Last Voyage of the Valentina
The Gypsy Madonna
Sea of Lost Love
The French Gardener
First published in Great Britain in 2009 by Hodder & Stoughton
An Hachette UK company
Copyright © Santa Montefiore 2009
The right of Santa Montefiore to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
Epub ISBN 978 1 848 94671 2
Book ISBN 978 0 34084 054 2
Hodder & Stoughton Ltd
An Hachette UK Company
338 Euston Road
London NWl 3BH
www.hodder.co.uk
For Louis Dundas
Love for ever
CONTENTS
The Italian Matchmaker
Praise for Santa Montefiore and THE ITALIAN MATCHMAKER:
Also by Santa Montefiore
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
1
England
Spring, 2001
Luca stood alone in the library, gazing out of the window at the glistening gardens of Dinton Manor. The clouds hung low and heavy in the Hampshire sky, releasing a light but persistent drizzle. A couple of blackbirds pecked the grass in search of worms before returning to the towering lime trees that had just begun to sprout new green leaves. The peaceful silence was punctuated every now and then by whoops of laughter that erupted from the drawing-room on the other side of the hall where the rest of the house party were commenting loudly on the Sunday papers or playing Scrabble. Luca found their joie de vivre grating. He had only come for Freya, having lost touch with her over the years. He admired her home, her family, her obvious contentment, and realised that in the last two decades he had somehow drifted off course.
He blew smoke against the glass, lost in a fog of melancholy as he considered his life. He was forty-one. Single again. Father of two little girls entangled in the wreckage of an acrimonious divorce. Unemployed, having quit the City after twenty years as a fund manager, making money with such dedication that making money had become an end in itself – a greedy, empty existence that gave him no satisfaction.
He had left the City in a blaze of speculation. Telephones had buzzed as the news travelled across continents, leaving the banking world in a state of shock. Luca Chancellor, with a billion under management, had sold out to his two partners and just walked away. No one could explain it and Luca wasn’t giving any answers. Instead, he had put his head down, turned off his mobile telephone and fled to the countryside. After a structured life in finance his newfound freedom made him uneasy; it had no limits.
Before he could dwell further on his unravelling life, he sensed he was no longer alone. The scent of ginger lily reminded him of that summer long ago when he and Freya had been lovers. She slid her arm around his waist and leaned against him.
‘Here you are, Luca. What are you doing?’
‘Thinking.’
‘Thinking’s dangerous. What are you thinking about?’
The smile in her voice encouraged him. ‘You and me. Summer of seventy-nine.’
‘You mean the summer I fell in love with you, only to be rejected when autumn came?’ She laughed, able now to make light of a situation that had hurt her deeply at the time. ‘Cast aside with all the other women who thought they’d be the one to tame you.’
‘You’ve always been different. Letting you go was the stupidest thing I ever did.’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. It wasn’t meant to be.’
‘You would have been good for me.’
‘I’m not sure you’d have been good for me. You were far too handsome and arrogant to stay faithful to one woman.’
‘I’m a different man from the one I was back then.’
‘Leopards don’t change their spots. Once a bounder, always a bounder. Still, you lasted with Claire for what? Ten years? That’s nine more than I expected.’
‘Look at you,’ he said, turning to face her, his cornflower-blue eyes intense with regret. ‘Happily married to Miles. Big, beautiful country house. Four blond, rosy children.’ He ran his gaze over her features. ‘More beautiful with every passing year.’
She blushed. ‘Oh, Luca, really, don’t. You only want what you can’t have.’
‘Are you happy with Miles?’
‘Very.’ She curled a tendril of blonde hair behind her ear.
‘Pity. I’d like to make love to you again.’
Freya withdrew her arm. ‘Just because you’re half Italian doesn’t mean you can say things like that to a married woman.’
‘You’re my oldest friend. There’s nothing I can’t say to you.’ He dragged on his cigarette, now barely a s
tub.
She lifted a china ashtray from the sofa table and handed it to him. ‘That’s a horrid habit. You should quit.’
‘Now’s not a good time.’
‘It never is.’
‘It’s as if I’m dying and seeing my life pass before my eyes. I was so consumed with making money I never had time for the important things. I’ve messed up my marriage. I never wanted to be one of those fathers who tears his children’s lives apart. But look at me. I’ve made more money than even Claire can spend in a lifetime. I doubt she can remember the last time she travelled commercial. Bloody woman’s fleecing me for as much as she can get. Yet, if she’s a monster, I’ve only myself to blame for turning her into one. Money’s no substitute for love. In spite of all my worldly goods, Freya, I’m an empty vessel.’
She touched his arm. ‘The girls will survive. I did.’
‘You were lucky. Your mother married again very quickly. Fitz picked you up before you had time to fall on your nose. Your mother’s not vindictive like Claire. She’s sensible. She didn’t poison you against your father.’
‘It’s still bewildering when you discover your parents don’t love each other any more and want to be with someone else. However amicable, you still feel you’re in some way to blame – they don’t love you enough to stay together. But children are resilient. They adapt quickly. Yours will too.’
‘John Tresco is no Fitzroy Davenport. It makes my skin crawl to think of him being a father to my daughters.’ He paled and took a final drag before stubbing out his cigarette.
‘Why don’t you disappear for the summer? You were just telling me about that amazing palazzo your parents have bought. The Amalfi coast sounds the perfect place to go and check out for a few months. Decide what you want to do. London is stifling in the summer and everyone goes away. You’ll only be miserable if you stay. Perhaps your girls could join you there in the holidays. Children love palaces.’
‘There’s nothing peaceful about my mother! I’ve spent most of my adult life avoiding her.’
‘At the expense of your father.’
‘She’s relentlessly social. Can’t think how he puts up with all those people. That’s not what I need right now.’
‘A change of scenery will do you good – sun, sea, time to reflect.’
‘On all my mistakes!’
‘No one’s perfect.’
‘I’m carrying a heavy load, Freya.’
‘Then drop it. Go and visit your parents. I know Romina can be a bit over the top but she’s got a good heart. Blood is thicker than water and besides, I’m sure they’re longing to show you their palazzo.’
He looked at her and grinned. For an instant her stomach lurched as she glimpsed the handsome rogue of her youth in his now jaded features. ‘You see how good you are for me,’ he said, the twinkle in his eyes restored. ‘I should have married you while I had the chance. It’s taken me years to discover that the woman I have always loved has been right beside me all along. Miles is a lucky man.’
‘You’ll laugh at this conversation one day. You don’t really love me, you love what I represent. I’m like a sheltered harbour, but once you’ve taken time to recharge, you’ll realise that you don’t want a sheltered harbour. You’ve always been a man for the high seas. I’m far too placid for you, you’d get bored with me again like you did in seventy-nine.’
‘You’re wrong. I was never bored of you, I wasn’t ready to settle down, that’s all. Bad timing.’
‘Come, let’s go back to the drawing-room. Mum and Fitz will be arriving soon for lunch.’
‘No, let’s go for a walk.’
‘In this drizzle?’
‘You’re meant to be a country girl!’
‘It’s a huge pretence. I have to keep it up for Miles. He won’t touch London with a bargepole. Are you sure you don’t want to give Annabel a try?’ she asked, changing the subject. ‘I can tell she fancies you.’
‘She’s got that lean and hungry look that turns my blood cold,’ he replied, watching Freya’s nose crinkle with laughter. ‘I’ve begun to notice it in the eyes of single women pushing forty – as well as the loud tick-tock of their biological clocks. Thank you, Freya, for thinking of me, but I’ll pass.’
‘A good hostess thinks of all her guests’ needs.’
‘My only need is one that you are unable to give me.’
‘And one you shouldn’t mention under my roof,’ she retorted swiftly.
‘You never used to be so proper.’
‘I’m married,’ she repeated, with emphasis.
He sighed. ‘That’s not how I like to remember you.’
‘I don’t want to know how you remember me.’ She blushed again.
‘Car bonnet, your parents’ barn, midnight, summer . . .’
‘Enough! I don’t know what you’re referring to! I’m ready for that walk now. Let’s see if the others want a brisk route march before roast lamb.’
Luca wished she hadn’t asked the entire house party – of adults, children and dogs – to join them on their walk. He didn’t feel in the least bit sociable. Besides, there was no one except Freya he wished to talk to. Miles, every bit the landowner in Barbour, boots and tweed cap, led them up the track towards the wood, his wife dutifully walking a few paces behind with her brother-in-law and his wife. Luca found himself accompanied on both sides by women. Annabel, whom Freya had picked as his date, was pretty but dry like a chicken roasted too long in the oven, while Emily, whose vertically challenged husband hung behind with their children, was red-faced and plump as a goose force-fed for foie gras. He disguised his scowl by lifting his chin, his height giving him a great advantage, and watched Freya’s streaked blonde curls bounce against her back as she marched through the long grass to keep up with her husband. He couldn’t imagine what she saw in Miles, nice as he was. Two of their children hurried past, chasing a black Labrador, and he observed their golden hair and skin, inherited, as fortune would have it, from their mother. Miles had that pale, Celtic skin dappled with freckles, his thinning hair a dull reddish blond. It irked Luca to see Freya with a man like that. Had she married a man like him he would have raised his glass and bowed out of the game, graciously accepting defeat from an equal player. Miles wasn’t his equal; Miles was inferior on every level. Freya had clearly compromised.
‘Come on, slow coaches!’ Miles shouted at the entrance of the wood. ‘You won’t work up an appetite unless you put in a bit of effort.’ His Labrador sat obediently at his feet, panting excitedly.
‘It’s like boot camp,’ Emily complained. ‘Miles always has to be the first, whether it’s on the ski slope or tennis court, he always has to be the best.’
‘And is he?’ Luca asked, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.
‘No,’ said Emily dryly. ‘At least not when he’s playing tennis against Hugo. My husband might be short but he moves quickly around the court.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Miles is not a very good loser.’
‘You’ve known them a long time?’
‘Almost ten years. Since they moved down here. We live about twenty minutes away, just outside Alresford. We met through mutual friends. Freya’s heavenly. Not a competitive bone in her body.’
‘What makes them work as a couple?’ he pressed. Emily’s round face beamed at the chance to enlighten the handsome Continental.
‘You could say they work because they’re opposites. Freya’s so laid-back. Miles is sporty and competitive. Freya just rolls her eyes and smiles.’ She glanced warily at Annabel and lowered her voice. ‘I think Miles is rather pompous, actually. Perhaps Freya likes a man who takes control.’
‘What do you think, Annabel?’ Luca thought he might as well get something out of the walk. It was now drizzling heavily and he could feel a cold trickle down his back. Hunching his shoulders he wondered how long it would be until lunch.
‘Miles is a very good lover,’ Annabel stated authoritatively. Luca shuddered. The thought of Freya making love to Miles was
as unappealing as the rain trickling down his spine.
‘Did she tell you that?’
Emily honked with laughter. ‘Did she really say Miles is a good lover?’ she echoed, suddenly seeing him in a completely different light. ‘Well I never.’ She couldn’t wait to tell Hugo.
‘Yes, he’s got an enormous cock,’ Annabel explained as if she were discussing the size of his car. ‘And he enjoys pleasuring her. He can stay down there for hours.’ Luca looked more appreciatively at Annabel. He liked women who were unashamed of sex. It had been Freya’s innocence that had frightened him back in ’79.
‘Secrets of the powder room?’
‘I’m sure Freya would kill you if she knew you had told us,’ said Emily, clearly titillated by the conversation.
‘But she won’t know, will she?’ replied Annabel coolly. ‘It’s not the kind of thing one discusses over dinner, is it?’
‘So how come she told you that piece of intimate gossip?’ Luca asked, watching Freya walk on ahead of them, oblivious of her secrets being divulged.
‘We got drunk one evening just after she’d met Miles. I’d had a regrettable night with a man who looked like Sylvester Stallone but was a terrible disappointment, and she just came out with it. Looks can be deceptive. Miles is not only rich but a wonderful lover too. What more can a woman want?’
Up ahead, Freya joined her husband. He put an arm around her waist and drew her against him a moment while the others caught up. They shared a joke and she briefly rested her head on his shoulder. Luca felt jealousy rise in his throat. Miles wasn’t handsome but he was a good lover. He couldn’t help but wonder how he compared. It was so long ago now, Freya had probably forgotten. Yet, Luca hadn’t forgotten her. His memories of making love to Freya were like scenes on a video. He could take it out and play them over and over again at will. She had been naïve, sweet as nectar, and shy. He had opened her up like a bud and deflowered her. He had kissed her embarrassment away and she had let herself go, abandoning herself to the pleasures of sex. Then he had casually tossed her aside, scared off by the intensity of her desire to marry and live happily ever after. He had dropped her, leaving her to be picked up by Miles with his big house, big ego and big cock. If he had been more mature where would they all be now?