Second Marriage

by Helen Brooks

  After an hour or two of serious shopping they had whiled away any remaining time before Grace had had to get back to feed the twins at sunny pavement cafes, where they had sipped coffee and nibbled at wickedly rich cream cakes whilst watching the world go by.

  It should have been an idyllic interlude before her return to England, and Claire had worked hard to make it so for Grace, but all the time, whatever she was doing and whoever she was with, the tall, lean figure of a dark Italian intruded onto the screen of her mind.

  Still, she thought now, as she glanced again at the beautiful cocktail dress in ivory brocade hanging in her wardrobe, at least she had found the perfect dress for the party. She had balked at the price at first—it had seemed outrageously expensive for a strapless, above-the-knee bit of nothing—but once she had tried it on she was hooked. The dress had fitted like a glove—tight, but not too tight—and the cut and design flattered her figure like nothing she had worn before.

  'Oh, it's perfect, Claire, you've got to have it.' Grace had tried to buy it for her but she had insisted on paying for the dress herself, and she had known exactly why she was buying it. He wanted nothing to do with her— fine. He felt sorry for her—not so fine. But tonight she was going to go out of his life with a bang, not a whim­per, or die in the attempt!

  But all that would come later. For now she was going to go down to the pool with Grace and the children for the afternoon and relax—something she was finding harder and harder to do these days.

  She turned from the wardrobe and walked over to the huge mirror by the window, there to gaze at the bikini-clad figure that stared back at her. She had bought the bikini on the same day she had bought the dress, and she recognised it was something of a statement—al­though she hadn't actually analysed what it was saying.

  Her fingers moved slowly over the faint marks on her stomach as she mused into the big brown eyes looking back at her. This was her—good or bad, perfect or im­perfect. It was her, and she wasn't going to hide from herself again. All over the world people coped with far, far worse, and they did it with integrity and courage too. Well, she might have lost her way for a time, concen­trated too much on what had been spoilt rather than what she still had, but she wasn't going to do so again.

  She was fortunate, very fortunate, and she was going to count her blessings every day, every hour, every min­ute, for as long as it took for this dense black cloud that enveloped her from morning to night to lift.

  And what if it never lifted? the probing little voice in the back of her brainbox asked softly. Then she would cope with that too. She would have to.

  The rich scent of summer was heavy on the warm, slumbering air as she walked down to the pool where Grace and the others were already in residence. Donato, Lorenzo and Attilio were in the cool, spotlessly clean water, thrashing about in a mad game of tag which seemed almost violent.

  She was glad to see Lorenzo entering in with such gusto. The boy had been a little nervous for a few days after his close escape from drowning, but he was now as confident as ever, if a good deal wiser.

  They had discovered that he had sidled into the kitchen and coaxed a huge supper out of Cecilia just minutes before the near fatal swim, and also that he hadn't bothered to keep up his fluid intake during a day of energetic exercise in the hot sun—something that Donato had warned him about time and time again.

  A ten-minute lecture in Donato's study had ensured that neither mistake was likely to be repeated again.

  In spite of the noise from the pool she must have fallen asleep on the big cushioned lounger under the shade of the trees, because when some sixth sense made her open her eyes it was to see Romano lying next to her, clad only in a pair of breath-stoppingly brief swim­ming trunks, his dark eyes narrowed on her face.

  'Ciao, Claire,' he said softly, his tanned, muscled body turned fully towards her as he lay on his side, one arm supporting his raised head.

  If she'd been fully compos mentis the sight of that near naked, perfectly honed male body just a foot or so away would have knocked her for six; after surfacing from a deep sleep she found the effect devastating, and she was frozen to the spot.

  'Grace has taken the infants in to feed them and Donato and Lorenzo are helping to set up a marquee on the big lawn for your party. Grace thought it would be good to eat outside tonight,' he continued quietly. 'All is bustle and excitement.'

  'Except here.' She sat up as she spoke, painfully aware that he had watched her as she slept, had been able to inspect every inch of her body as she had lain vulnerable and still. She didn't like that. She suddenly found that it was one thing to make brave new principles and wear her bikini for the rest of the world, and quite another to do so if Romano was around.

  'Except here,' he agreed softly.

  'Shouldn't…shouldn't you be helping Donato?' she said quickly. 'And I really must go and see if Grace—'

  'I wanted to talk to you.'

  'Oh.' It stopped her garbled panic as though cutting through it with a knife. 'Why?' she asked warily.

  'I just wanted to know what your plans were, that is all,' he said calmly, 'and whether you intend to return to Italy in the near future—I know that Grace would like this.'

  The brief ray of hope died, although her heart still continued to thud against her ribcage so hard it was pain­ful. 'I would like it too, but I don't think it's possible,' she said quietly, drawing on all the strength she pos­sessed not to break down in front of him. She drew her knees up to her chest, dropping her chin on them and letting the silky veil of her hair hide her face as she said, 'The last two months, being with the twins and helping Grace change them and look after them, has made up my mind about something, and I feel I ought to do it now before all the doubts and uncertainties get in the way again.'

  She heard him swing his legs off the lounger but she didn't look at him, even when he spoke again. 'May I ask what that thing is?'

  'I am going to work with children again,' she said slowly. 'The accident I told you about, when Jeff left me, well, it was a bad one—a very bad one—although it wasn't my fault. But the other driver died; he was only eighteen. I had the children I was nannying in the car with me, and…and I lost my nerve for a time—a long time. I was frightened of being responsible for anyone again, I suppose.'

  'They didn't…?'

  'Oh, no, they weren't badly injured,' she said hastily. 'In fact it was only minor cuts and bruises and concus­sion, and they were allowed home the next day, but…but it could have been different and that's what kept haunt­ing me—that and the crash itself. I…I was in hospital for some time—abdominal injuries and broken limbs but thankfully no permanent damage—but…but the scars on my stomach were nothing to the ones in my mind,' she finished painfully.

  'Claire—'

  'But I love children and I love working with them and I've made up my mind I won't let the past beat me,' she said quickly, before he could continue. She didn't want to hear words of comfort, not now; she wouldn't be able to take it.

  'You are very brave.' There was a note in his voice that made her draw her head up in spite of herself, and when she looked at him she saw his face was very white, with a small muscle working in his jaw, and his body was stiff and still. 'Very brave.'

  'No, not really,' she said sadly. 'Not most of the time.' Not over you. I will never be brave over you… The knowledge that soon she would never see him again was suddenly overwhelming with him there, in front of her, and something of the dread and horror that had pierced her heart must have shown on her face because he sud­denly reached out to her, moving swiftly as he shifted over to her lounger.

  'The worst is over. You have faced your demons and conquered them,' he said urgently as he took her into his arms, turning her round so she was half sitting on his lap. 'But why not give yourself more time—work here with the twins while you get used to the idea? Grace would love that—'

  'No, I can't—'

  As he took her mouth it fused with his own in a
kiss that was all desperation and fire. The pale honey-gold of her body was almost translucent against the satin dark­ness of his skin, the jet-black body hair that covered his chest and limbs making his skin look even darker and hers paler in contrast.

  They clung together for long minutes as he crushed her fiercely against him, his mouth exploring hers in an agony of desire. 'Stay—you know you want to stay,' he said at last as he lifted his head to look into her dazed face with glittering eyes. 'I only have to touch you and a fire consumes us both. You know this is true.'

  'Yes, I know,' she murmured helplessly.

  'Then stay,' he said imperiously. 'Stay in Italy.'

  'I can't.' Everything in her wanted to agree to his demand, to melt against him, to take anything he was prepared to give for as long as he was prepared to give it. 'You know I can't.'

  'I know you are fighting the fire, Claire, and you can­not win,' he murmured huskily. 'It would be good be­tween us, you must know this. You cannot tell me that your other boyfriends, this Jeff, even, made you feel like this? When I take you it will be as though you are the first—I am the first. The earth will explode and there will only be us. You must know this, feel it?'

  'Don't, Romano…'

  But her protest was lost as he kissed her hungrily, his hands and mouth arousing her to fever-pitch until tiny little moans sounded deep in her throat.

  'You see?' He raised his head to look down into her flushed face. 'You see what you would be denying us both? This is nothing, nothing to how it could be when the two of us are alone and the whole night is before us. I want to touch you, kiss you, taste every inch of your body, take you into that timeless world where there is only sensation and pleasure.'

  He wanted her. He wanted her. And this wasn't pity, she told herself tremblingly. However Jeff had viewed the marks on her body they didn't matter to Romano, she knew that now, but…

  'But you don't love me.' Her mouth expressed her thoughts and she arched away to look up fully into his dark face. 'And one day you would leave me.'

  'Love is an illusion, Claire, apart from for the fa­voured few,' he said urgently. 'What we would have is far more substantial, more real—a fusing of our bod­ies—'

  'Love is not an illusion, Romano.'

  She knew, in the split second before she said it, that this would be the end, but she couldn't endure much more of this without agreeing to everything he said, and then she would be lost, mindless, a puppet to be picked up and dropped at his will, or when his sexual hunger needed sating. So she needed to finish it—now—and she knew only the truth would do that.

  'I know because I love you,' she said woodenly, a tiny part of her wondering at the fact that in all her wildest dreams she had never imagined telling him that in order that he would leave her.

  He remained perfectly still for what seemed like an eternity, and then shook his head slowly, his eyes fixed on hers. 'No, you do not. You are mistaking physical desire for something else—something that is propagated by novelists, the film world and the media for their own ends, something that does not exist for the vast majority of us.'

  'I would like to believe that, Romano.' She moved away from him, sliding down the lounger and then standing to look down at him as her heart cracked open and slowly began to bleed. 'It would be wonderful to believe that, the way I feel right now, but I know it isn't true. Don't ask me how I know that I love you, that I'll keep on loving you, because I can't really give you an answer. It's just something here, deep inside, that is as real to me as taking the next breath.'

  'You thought you loved Jeff.' He rose now, standing so the length of the lounger was between them, and his voice was harsh and cold. 'You were going to marry the guy, for goodness' sake.'

  'I told you about that—he wasn't honest with me and I was fooled by him; it was that simple.' This was killing her, killing her. 'But this isn't like that. Perhaps I had to taste the counterfeit to know the real thing, I don't know, but you've been honest—blatantly honest,' she added painfully, 'and I'm under no illusion that you can return my love. However, the way I feel makes it impossible for me to stay in Italy. I'm sorry, Romano, it just does.'

  'You are running away—'

  'No.' She stopped him with an upraised hand, her chin rising and her back straightening. 'No, I am not running away. I am leaving. That is quite different. I didn't mean to lay all this on you. I wouldn't have, except…'

  'I pushed you into it,' he ground out grimly.

  'Perhaps it's for the best—I don't know.' She shook her head, her silky hair stroking her face from which all colour had fled. 'But I do know I can't stay. If I go now it ends cleanly, with some dignity, but if I stayed…if I stayed I'd turn into the sort of woman I despise—a little toy, a marionette, just waiting for the next phone call, the next time you wanted me in your bed.'

  'It would not be like that.' He raked his hair back from his forehead in a gesture of sheer frustration. 'We would be friends, companions too. It would not just be sex—'

  'I can 't be your friend, Romano.' Her voice was too shrill and she lowered it quickly, clasping her fingers into tight fists at her sides as she prayed for control until this was finished. 'Don't you see? I want more, much more than that, and in the end I'd be like a millstone round your neck. You'd grow to hate me and I might even grow to hate you too, even as I loved you. I want it all, you see.' She couldn't stop the tears falling but she spoke on through the pain and anguish, knowing she had to make him see. 'I want all of you—everything. To be your friend, lover, wife, the mother of your children, the companion you're with in old age—all of it.'

  He looked stricken now, his face as white as hers with a tinge of grey that spoke of his own inner turmoil.

  'And I know that can't be, that your heart is buried with Bianca, that you wanted all that with her and she was taken from you…'

  She couldn't say any more, her voice trailing away in a muffled sob as she turned and ran, ran as though her life depended on it, along the length of the pool and out into the garden towards Casa Pontina.

  And even then—foolish, stupid, ridiculous though it was—a tiny part of her hoped he would follow her, catch her before she reached the house, tell her he had realised now, at last, that there was some hope for them, that he could perhaps learn to love her.

  But he didn't. And she reached the house and her room. And then there was just silence.

  CHAPTER NINE

  'Claire? Claire, are you all right?'

  At the sound of Grace's voice outside her door Claire turned from the window where she had been standing in numb silence for nearly an hour, too devastated even for the relief of tears.

  She had done and said everything she'd promised her­self she never would—why, why hadn't she kept quiet? she asked herself with genuine horror. But it was too late now to count the cost; the deed was already done and her humiliation was absolute. And yet, in the exact same circumstances, would she do any different if she had the time over again? She turned the thought over in her mind as she walked across the room to the door. No, not really. It had seemed, no, it had been the only way to make him understand that she had to leave and not return.

  Oh, Romano… She leant her forehead against the wood for a moment before she opened the door. She would have suffered humiliation a thousand times worse if only it could have made him love her.

  'Claire?' Grace was standing on the landing, her vivid blue eyes shadowed with concern. 'Is anything wrong? I don't mean to pry but Donato said you ran back to the house as though the devil himself was after you, and that Romano left without saying goodbye. You…you haven't argued or something, have you?'

  'Not exactly.' Claire gazed at her wearily. 'But some­thing is wrong—terribly wrong—for me at least. You'd better come in for a minute and I'll tell you.'

  'I don't want to pry—'

  'No, I want to tell you,' Claire said quickly. 'It's only right that you know, Romano being Donato's best friend and all. Perhaps I should have told you be
fore, but I didn't want to worry you or spoil things. Anyway, I'm going now, and you should know. The bare facts are that I've fallen in love with Romano and he doesn't feel the same. He's just attracted to me—physically, that is.'

  'Oh, Claire.' Grace sat down on the bed with a little thud. 'Does he know? That you love him, I mean?'

  'That was the cause of me running back to the house and him disappearing this afternoon,' Claire said grimly. 'He'd got in mind that we could have some fun together, a light affair—something very grown-up that would end amicably with no hard feelings and where we could still be friends—but I couldn't see it that way.'

  'I should think not.' Grace glared into the distance. 'Men! They're on a different planet from us, aren't they?'

  'Admittedly he didn't know I loved him then.' Claire sighed. 'I should think now he does know he's congratu­lating himself on a lucky escape. He looked…he looked quite horrified.'

  'Did he say he didn't love you?' Grace asked care­fully.

  Claire nodded dismally. 'He doesn't believe in love, real love, any more. I think that when Bianca died his feelings went into cold storage. Perhaps he'll never meet anyone else he can care for the way he did her.' It was agonising but she had to face it.

  'Bianca?' Grace's eyes shot to her face. 'He said he still loved her?' she asked incredulously.

  'More or less.' Claire walked across to the window again, looking down into the gardens below with her back to the room. 'Anyway, regardless of all that, he doesn't love me, and I can't stay feeling as I do. You understand that, don't you?'

  'Of course I do, but…' Grace's voice trailed away and she made a small sound of exasperation in her throat. 'Oh, Claire, there's so much I want to tell you but I don't feel it's my story to tell. I made a promise—' She stopped abruptly and then said, 'Bianca wasn't what she appeared, that's all I can say, and I've really thought over the last few weeks that Romano was interested in you.'