Second Marriage

by Helen Brooks

  'But…but when you were born they must have loved you,' Claire protested weakly. 'Especially as they both wanted a boy.'

  'I was given to a nanny on the day my mother re­turned from hospital, and as far as she was concerned that was that. My father would visit the nursery peri­odically throughout my childhood, to check on my pro­gress and order the necessary retribution if I wasn't mak­ing sufficient headway, and my mother… I really do not remember her visiting my quarters once, although I sup­pose she must have done at some time or other. I was normally taken to her.'

  He took in her anguished face and smiled, a real smile this time that melted the ice in his eyes. 'It is all right, Claire, it is not the tragedy,' he said softly. 'My nanny was a wonderful woman, and I think I was quite happy until she left to get married when I was almost seven. I was then sent away to boarding school, but in the holi­days, when I came home, I saw Donato, and from the age of nine or so I spent most of my time at Casa Pontina when I was in Sorrento. The two sets of parents were friends socially, although I have often wondered what Liliana's private opinion of my mother was. Liliana was very maternal.'

  Claire couldn't bear it. She just couldn't bear to think of him as a small boy, struggling to prove himself to parents who regarded him in much the same way as an expensive car—an appendage that reflected on them and must be seen to be of the very best at all times. He was acting as though it was all understandable, but what must it have done to his idea of himself, to his sense of self-worth? And she had thought he had had it all. Well, he had—all of everything that didn't matter a jot and noth­ing of anything that was really important to a child.

  She forced the tears back with superhuman effort, knowing he would hate it if she cried for him, and man­aged to speak quite normally. 'So that is why you and Donato are so close,' she said quietly. 'You must have been through a lot together.'

  'He was, and is, the brother I never had,' Romano said simply. 'Through his mother I learnt what mother-love can be, his father always took the time to listen to me, talk to me, and Donato himself was a friend, a brother, who I knew would never let me down.'

  'And then there was Bianca.' She had to speak the name, get it out in the open, although it was hot and caustic on her tongue.

  'And then there was Bianca,' he agreed softly, the shutter she had seen so often before falling across his face.

  'I suppose it was always expected you would marry her?' she asked painfully. 'With the two families being so close, and you growing up with her, it was the perfect outcome.'

  'This was the general opinion when we announced our engagement.'

  'I'm sorry you had such a short time with her as your wife.' Claire felt as though her heart were being torn out by the roots. 'It must have been devastating for everyone concerned—not just you, but Donato and Lorenzo—'

  'You know she was adopted?' he asked suddenly. 'When it was not expected that Liliana could have more children after Donato?'

  'Yes, I think Grace mentioned it once,' Claire said quietly.

  'So there was no Vittoria blood in her veins,' he con­tinued tightly, as thought she hadn't spoken. 'None.'

  'I…' She didn't know what to say, staring at him with big brown eyes as she sought the reason for such a strange comment. Was he saying that in spite of looking on Donato as a brother, and on Liliana and her husband as substitute parents, the fact that Bianca had been adopted had made it easier to fall in love with her, that it removed the 'sister' connection? That must be it. She really couldn't think of any other reason for him stress­ing the point. 'She was very beautiful,' she managed at last, trying to keep her voice from shaking. 'I… You must have made a lovely couple.' It was pathetic, she thought numbly, but it was all she could think of through the whirling pain and jealousy and hurt.

  '"A lovely couple…"' His voice was reflective, smooth, even, but possessed of such a coldness it made her shiver, and her eyes snapped up to his face again. 'Sì, we made a lovely couple, Claire. Many people said this.'

  Oh, she couldn't stand this, she just couldn't. It was destroying her.

  'You know the old tombs, with their exquisitely carved effigies of marble and fine stone, often inlaid with gold and silver?' he remarked quietly, still in the same icy flat tone. 'People look at them and they marvel, do they not, at the craftsmanship, the beauty, the splendour of it all? But inside—inside is a different story. Inside there is decay and stench and dead men's bones.'

  'I don't understand,' she said bewilderedly. Tombs? Effigies?

  'No one could understand, Claire, unless they had been inside the tomb, seen for themselves the difference between the exterior and the interior, where the rot and the decomposition are exposed in all their grimness.' He leant forward slightly now, his eyes haunted as they looked into hers. 'But I have been there. I have seen.'

  'Romano, what are you trying to say?' This was be­coming surreal, misty. There was something she knew she should know, but was unable to grasp.

  'Simply that—'

  'A boy and a girl!' A tornado could not have made a more dramatic entrance into the room than Donato, his face beaming and his eyes alight. 'I have a son and a daughter—a son and daughter, Romano,' he shouted exuberantly, before his voice broke and he fell on his friend's chest with a cracked sob. 'I thought…I thought for a time back there—'

  'I know what you thought.' Romano's voice was deep and husky, and as he hugged his friend his eyes met with Claire's over Donato's head and she saw they were wet.

  'And Grace? She's all right?' Claire asked after a mo­ment or two as Donato straightened.

  'She is wonderful,' Donato said softly, with such a reverent note in his voice that it was all Claire could do not to smile. 'You must come and see the babies, both of you.'

  'Now?' Claire stared at him in amazement. 'But should we? I mean, won't they mind?'

  'They? They? Who are these "they"?' Donato bel­lowed ungrammatically, his face splitting in an ear-to-ear grin. 'No, "they" will not mind if our two dearest friends come to see their namesakes.'

  'Their?…' Claire knew she resembled a goldfish, but she couldn't for the life of her shut her mouth.

  'Little Claire Liliana and Romano Lorenzo.' Donato looked absurdly pleased with himself, before a look of horror came over his face and he clapped his hand to his mouth. 'Oh, I was not supposed to tell you yet,' he said quickly. 'It was to be a surprise.'

  'It is.' Romano's voice was very dry. 'Are you sure about this, Donato? I would have thought one Romano in the family was enough?'

  'We're sure.' Donato all but bounced towards the door. 'Come, Grace is waiting. She is very tired but she wants to see you both.'

  The room in which Grace had been installed was of the sterile-clean hospital variety, but it was possessed of all the little luxuries that wealth made possible. Claire's eyes went straight to the two small cribs at the side of her friend's bed after she had hugged her close.

  'Oh, Grace…' Two tiny black heads peeped out from the blankets, one pink and one blue, and as she ap­proached the see-through plastic cribs one of the babies, the boy, gave a huge yawn and little grimace before appearing to fall asleep again. 'They are beautiful—ab­solutely beautiful. I can't believe it,' Claire said softly, the tears running unheeded down her face.

  'I know.' Grace bore a certain resemblance to a bal­loon that had been popped, and her next words added weight to the notion. The girl weighs seven pounds and the boy six pounds two ounces. Where did I put all that, Claire?' she said.

  'And you didn't have to have a Caesarean, then?'

  'No. The boy had got himself wedged, somehow, but he suddenly popped out like a cork from a bottle, even as the surgeon was preparing to scrub up, and the little girl followed within minutes.' Grace's voice was soft as she added, 'We'd like to name her after you, Claire, if that's all right, and the boy after Romano?'

  'I told them,' Donato admitted shamefacedly.

  'Oh, you're hopeless.' But the loving look she sent Donato sai
d something quite different, and her voice was tender as she said, 'Give Claire to Romano, would you, Donato? And Romano to Claire?'

  If only. As Claire's arms opened to receive the blue blanket, complete with baby, Grace's words echoed in her head like some sort of mocking refrain, and her eyes were blurred as she looked down into the minute little face encircled by soft wool. If only.

  'She is so tiny.' There was a note in Romano's voice she had never heard before, and she lifted her head to glance at him, so big and dark and masculine, standing with the baby cradled tenderly in the curve of his arms. 'I cannot believe her little hands—so perfect,' he added in a shaky whisper, the look on his face as he gazed at the sleeping baby causing a huge lump in Claire's throat and a hot stinging in her eyes. 'And you will be loved, little one,' he said softly. 'You will be treasured all the days of your life.'

  She saw Donato grip his friend's arm for a moment in silent understanding before he said, 'You will be their godfather, Romano, as you are Paolo's?' She knew Donato's present tense was not a mistake, that he and Grace were including their first child in this moment of celebration and that he was as real to them as the two children cradled in their arms.

  'Of course. I would be honoured.' Romano didn't look up as he spoke, his gaze riveted on the baby's wrin­kled little face.

  'And you, Claire, you will be their godmother?' Grace asked quickly. 'Please say yes.'

  'I wouldn't dream of saying no.' Her voice was tremu­lous, and as she looked down at little Romano Lorenzo again, the wonder of his tiny, perfect features and wispy black hair gripping her heart, she wondered if she would ever hold a child of her own in her arms. She didn't think so. She couldn't marry someone she didn't love, and how could any man follow Romano?

  A tear dropped onto the baby's face, and she was just wondering how she was going to get through the next few minutes without breaking down completely when a stout and very austere-looking nurse bustled into the room, and then stood looking askance at them all.

  'I think it is time we were leaving.' Romano smiled as he handed the baby in his arms to Donato and then turned to the nurse, saying something swiftly in quiet Italian which brought a smile to the nurse's somewhat grim face before she shooed them both out after Claire had placed little Romano carefully back in his crib.

  'They are beautiful. I just can't believe how beautiful,' Claire said softly as they walked down the corridor in something of a stupor. Grace had hugged her tightly be­fore she had left, and it meant more than any words could have done. 'What a miracle.'

  'Sì, it is a miracle.' Romano felt as though every sup­port had been knocked from under him. He would never have believed how the sight of the two tiny babies, prod­ucts of Donato and Grace's unquestionable love, would have affected him, and to combat the growing feeling deep in the essence of his heart his voice was unneces­sarily harsh as he said, 'Grace will be even more glad of your friendship now, for the rest of your short stay in Italy. When are you thinking of going back to England?'

  The words in themselves could have been a flattering observation followed by a polite enquiry, but the tone of his voice was neither complimentary or friendly, and as Claire came to an abrupt halt Romano actually walked on a pace or two before he realised she had stopped.

  'Claire?' He turned to meet her blank stare. 'Is some­thing wrong?'

  The emotional roller coaster that she had been experi­encing ever since arriving in Italy, and which had been far more turbulent in the last few hours, shot the words out of her mouth without any conscious thought on her part. 'I think it should be me who is asking you that, don't you?' she said coldly.

  'Meaning?' He raised superior eyebrows, his voice cool.

  'Oh, don't give me that line, Romano. I'm not into playing games,' she bit back furiously, the pain and con­fusion of the last few weeks, added to the bitter-sweet poignancy of the time they had shared in the waiting room and then the moments with the babies, making this latest rebuff all the harder to take. 'You were rude just now—admit it.'

  'I merely asked—'

  'I know what you asked!'

  'Then I do not see the need for these…dramatics.' His icy demeanour did not impress her in the least; she was far too enraged to be intimidated this time.

  'Don't you? Don't you indeed?' she said grimly, mov­ing close to him now and glaring up at him with furious eyes. 'Well, it may come as something of a surprise to you but when you talk to people as though they are less than the dust under your feet, it hurts. Amazing, I hear you say,' she continued, with deep and savage sarcasm, 'but true, nevertheless. You might be rich and powerful and handsome, Romano Bellini, but a little of the milk of human kindness is worth more than anything you've got.

  'And another thing—' she stepped back a pace but without lowering her gaze, which was fixed tightly on his white face '—I shall leave Italy when I'm good and ready, and not before. And no comments from you one way or the other will alter my mind one iota. Got it?'

  'I have, as you say, "got it"—crystal-clear.' Dark col­our had flared across the classical cheekbones, but other­wise his face was as white as a sheet, his black eyes glittering with a rage that matched her own. 'I do not know what brought on this little tantrum, but I certainly get the message—along with half the hospital, I should imagine,' he added coldly.

  'I really don't care,' she declared wildly, the pain and hurt and sheer unfairness of it all making her see red. 'I don't care what people think, Romano. I don't care that I sound like a fishwife, or that you are making this out to be all my fault, because I know it isn't. You were being nasty back there, after the babies and everything. How could you?'

  'Claire—'

  But she had stepped back another pace, and his out­stretched hand met thin air as she turned on her heel and ran a few feet down the corridor and into the ladies' cloakroom they had just passed. She shot the bolt on the door with shaking hands before she slid down the hard wood and onto the floor, there to cry until there were no more tears left.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  How could she have said all that? It was the thought that had been burning on her mind ever since the night the twins were born, but it was always much stronger when Romano was present and she could actually see his tall, commanding and very austere figure in front of her.

  Even now, six weeks later, she still found it difficult to believe that she had actually yelled and screamed at him the way she had, that she had dared to. But he had made her so mad, so angry…

  When she had emerged from the ladies' cloakroom a full twenty minutes after she had flown into it, her face washed and clean and her hair brushed into gleaming order, Romano had been waiting on the other side of the corridor, leaning with easy grace against the snow-white wall.

  She hadn't known what to expect—recrimination, fury, contempt, outrage—but he had expressed none of these things, merely levering himself away from the wall as she shut the cloakroom door and indicating the cor­ridor with a wave of his hand. 'Shall we?' he had asked levelly, his voice flat. 'I have telephoned Lorenzo and told him the good news so he can now go to bed. I thought it only fair.'

  'Yes, of course.' She was surprised at how steady her voice was, considering how she was feeling inside, and the fact that the trembling that was churning her stomach couldn't be seen on the outside was something to be thankful for—especially as Romano resembled a block of stone.

  They drove back to Casa Pontina without another word being spoken, and all the way she was deciding what to say when he dropped her off. She shouldn't have said all those things in the circumstances, with Grace and Donato and the babies and everything, it had been stupid—but she couldn't bring herself to apologise either. She wanted to, especially now the initial rage had gone and she was starting to think about all he had said about his childhood. Her heart twisted as though a knife were being plunged in repeatedly, but something inside, something that was raw with hurt and blinding pain, wouldn't let her.

  And so, when he drew up ou
tside the magnificent old house, she managed a stiff, 'Thank you—goodnight,' which he answered just as stiffly before slamming her door shut with a savagery that said far more than words could have done and striding back round the bonnet and into the car.

  The engine started with a fierce growl and he swung the car round in a violent arc and sped off back down the drive in a blur of screaming metal, leaving her stand­ing on the steps in the quiet of the night, pale and drained.

  He rang her the next morning, very early, before the rest of the household, apart from the maids, were awake. Gina tapped on her door, her face apologetic as Claire struggled out of a deep sleep that hadn't come until the dawn had well and truly broken. 'It is Signor Bellini.' The maid had indicated the telephone extension by the side of the bed. 'He wishes to speak with you, signorina.'

  'Hello?' Claire spoke gingerly as the maid left the room. 'This is Claire.' The fact that she wasn't really awake enabled her to sound both distant and calm.

  'I apologise for calling you at this early hour but I think we cannot leave things as they are. Grace will be home with the children tomorrow and I do not wish her to be upset in any way.' His voice was clipped and terse and her antagonism was instant, banishing the remnants of drowsiness and bringing her to immediate and furious life. 'I would like us to go out to dinner tonight, to get the air cleared, sì?'

  'I really don't think that's necessary, Romano,' she said tightly, her fingers clenched so hard round the re­ceiver that her knuckles gleamed white. 'I have abso­lutely no intention of upsetting Grace—so as long as you don't there is no problem, is there?'

  How dared he? How dared he suggest she was going to run to Grace and pour out all that had happened when Grace was so vulnerable? Couldn't he see she was made of better stuff than that? And what about her anyway? It obviously didn't matter at all that she had been upset.

  'What happened last night was just between the two of us. I am sure we can carry on as normal for the sake of Grace and the children,' she added coldly, her heart thudding.