by Sara Craven
When the meal was over, Fiammetta said instantly that the children must rest, prompting an immediate outcry from Emilia.
‘I have used up all my sleep,’ she protested. ‘Marco can rest. I shall swim in the pool.’
‘Not immediately after a meal, I’m afraid.’ Lucy made the veto, and in return received a venomous look and a sharp kick on the shins under the table. Her smothered gasp of pain was masked by Marco’s vociferous denial of his own weariness.
‘Marco, caro.’ Fiammetta put a languid hand to her head. ‘Such noise.’ She turned to Lucy. ‘Lucia, could you do something—?’
‘Of course she can,’ the contessa broke in impatiently. ‘That is what she is employed for. Take the children away, signorina, and amuse them.’
‘There is no need.’ Giulio pushed back his chair and rose. ‘I am going down to the vineyard to talk to Franco. They can come with me. But only if they behave,’ he added sharply as both children descended on him with whoops of joy.
‘You are going out?’ There was displeasure in the contessa’s tone. ‘But Angela will be arriving at any moment.’
‘Then I can rely on you to make her—and her companion—welcome,’ he returned coolly. ‘They are, after all, your guests, my dear Claudia.’ He left the room, a child hanging onto each hand, leaving behind him what Lucy supposed was a pregnant silence.
It was broken by the contessa with a small torrent of enraged speech, which Fiammetta interrupted with a gurgle of laughter. ‘Mamma, have you not yet learned that Giulio is his own man, and that you cannot drive him? He will marry Angela when he is ready, and not before. In the meantime—’ she gave a voluptuous and very wordly shrug ‘—they will both amuse themselves as they wish.’
Lucy felt as if she’d swallowed a stone.
‘Her upbringing should have been left to me.’ Two bright spots of colour burned in the contessa’s face. ‘Then there would have been no such amusements, and the matter would have been settled long ago.’
‘Perhaps.’ Fiammetta shrugged again, this time with indifference, then turned to Lucy who, for a number of reasons, was trying to edge unobtrusively from the room. ‘Lucia, I have found some books and toys which Alison packed for the children among my luggage. If you come to my room, I will give them to you.’
Lucy had no choice but to agree. As they went up the stairs, Fiammetta slipped an arm through hers. ‘Lucia, I want you to know that I am so grateful that you are here. Also that you must not pay too much heed if Mamma is—distant. The truth is she has no great love for the English. Her younger sister, Bianca, whom she greatly loved, married an Englishman, and died in your country after giving birth to Angela. Mamma blamed Bianca’s husband, the hospital—everyone, but in fact it was no one’s fault. It was a tragic accident which could have happened anywhere at any time. Only Mamma has never accepted that.’
Lucy said awkwardly, ‘How terrible. I’m very sorry.’
Fiammetta rolled her eyes expressvely. ‘It gets worse. She wrote to my uncle, offering—no, demanding—to take the bambina and bring her up herself, here in Italy. When he refused—per Dio—what an uproar. He has never been forgiven, believe me.’
Lucy stared at her. ‘You mean, having lost his wife, he was also expected to give up his baby?’
‘Mamma has a mind that runs on one track,’ Fiammetta admitted ruefully. ‘When she married Conte Falcone, both Giulio and I were only children. She hoped very much to bear another child—another son—and when it did not happen she decided instead that Giulio and I should marry.’
She shook her head. ‘What an idea. Neither of us was the least in love with the other—although Giulio is very attractive,’ she added, her full lips curving in a smile that combined mischief with sensuality. ‘Besides, I never knew what he was thinking, and that drove me mad. But with Sergio I always know, so it is perfect.’
Lucy was startled by the frankness of these confidences. ‘Signora... ’ she began with reservation.
‘Oh, so formal, and I cannot bear that. Alison is one of the family, and you must be too. Call me Fiammetta. You are wondering why I tell you these things?’ She led Lucy into her bedroom and closed the door. ‘It is not just gossip, you understand. There is something you must know, if you are to look after my children.’ She paused. ‘There is a big problem with Emilia.’
Tell me about it, Lucy thought ironically. She said quietly, ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ and waited.
Fiammetta picked up a picture book, fiddled with it almost irritably and put it down again. ‘When she was born, Mamma was pleased, naturally. Her first grandchild. But when Marco came—the longed-for boy—that was altogether different. She was crazy with joy—almost as if he were her own son. We thought, Sergio and I, that it would pass, but it has not. And Emilia sees it—and is jealous.’
She took a deep breath. ‘One day, Mamma went into Marco’s room and found Emilia standing by his crib with a glass in her hand. There was water everywhere—on the blanket—on his face. She said she was trying to give him a drink...’ Her voice tailed away.
‘Perhaps it was true,’ Lucy suggested.
‘Mamma did not think so. She was like a madwoman.’ Fiammetta cast her eyes to heaven. ‘She said that the glass could have been broken—accused Emilia of trying to harm Marco, and Emilia shouted back that we all loved Marco better than her and she hated him.’
Lucy said gently, ‘A certain amount of sibling rivalry is part of childhood. My own nephews fight like crazy...’
‘There were other things. When he could just walk, we found her taking him to our swimming pool—to teach him to swim, she said. Which she could barely do herself. If he had slipped...’ She shuddered and put a hand to her mouth.
Lucy put a hand on her arm. ‘But he didn’t-and it must have been a long time ago.’
‘That is what Sergio says, but I cannot forget it. Mamma will not allow it.’ The pansy dark eyes were suddenly filled with tears. ‘Each time Marco has a fall, or hurts himself, she makes me see that it could have been because of Emilia. That she might have hit him or pushed him. And that is not all. Recently Emilia has been stealing—oh, not a great deal—a few thousand lire from my bag, or from Mamma. But it makes me so anxious.’
She spread her hands. ‘Mamma thinks we should send her away—to a school that deals with disturbed children. The Mother Superior is an old schoolfriend of hers, and a trained psychologist. Instead we’ve reached a—compromise. I hired Alison, on the understanding that she should watch particularly for Emilia and that if there were further—incidents we would consider the treatment this school could offer.’
Lucy swallowed. ‘Have you mentioned this to Giulio—I mean Count Falcone?’
‘No.’ Fiammetta shook her head. ‘Giulio was only a young boy-fourteen years of age—when Mamma married his father. He had loved his mother very greatly, and he found it difficult to accept that any other woman could take her place. And Mamma—made mistakes, also. It would be hard now for Mamma to share this trouble with him—to admit that her granddaughter could be—sick in some way. If he was married—if he had children—the family relationship might be closer. He might understand more ...’
‘Well, perhaps things will be different—’ Lucy’s voice sounded peculiarly toneless ‘—when he marries—Angela.’
‘Poor Mamma.’ Fiammetta’s sudden smile was like the sun breaking through clouds. ‘She did not succeed in matching Giulio to her daughter, so now it has to be her niece. One way or the other, he must not escape.’ She giggled. ‘It has become almost an obsession with her.’
‘And do the happy couple have no say in the matter?’
Fiammetta shrugged. ‘It will be no hardship. Angela is very beautiful, and Giulio—well, you must have seen for yourself. He is a man that any woman would want, even without his money and his power.’
She lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘I thought it would happen three years ago, when he was in London and they met constantly, but he would not commit
himself, other than to say she was too young. Since then, they have both seen other people, but in the end they will take each other.’
She nodded. ‘And she will make him a good wife, I think, because she can share his world, his business interests in a way I never could.’ The smile spread into a grin. ‘Sergio does not bother me with such things.’
Lucy was not surprised. Fiammetta had warmth and charm, but was probably not overburdened with brains, or any great depth of character. And she was certainly under the thumb of the contessa. She had lost count of how many times Mamma had been mentioned.
‘But this time Angela has made Mamma angry,’ Fiammetta went on, unconsciously reinforcing Lucy’s opinion, ‘by bringing her latest man-friend here. Never before has she flaunted one of her other relationships in Giulio’s face like this.’
‘Maybe she’s trying to force the issue by making Count Falcone jealous,’ Lucy suggested woodenly.
‘Perhaps you are right.’ Fiammetta clapped her hands. ‘Bravo, Lucia. How clever of you.’ She gave an enchanting gurgle of laughter. ‘And how will he retaliate, I wonder? I think the next few days are going to be very interesting—no?’
I think, Lucy decided detachedly as she returned to the casetta with her arms full of books and games, that they’re going to be almost more than I can bear.
Over the next hour, she busied herself with putting the children’s clothes and other items away, and trying to dispel the forlorn and spartan air of the living area with colourful pots of flowers, brought in from the courtyard, and a bright cloth for the table.
She was sure that it still wouldn’t look anything like home to Emilia and Marco, but at least she’d tried, she told herself, with a brief sigh.
She had closed the shutters against the hot afternoon sun, but the air inside the casetta was stifling just the same, she thought, easing the neck of her blouse away from her damp skin. As she had some time to herself, she might as well cool off beside the pool.
She changed into a black bikini, covered it with a loose silk overshirt, and stuffed her dark glasses, sun lotion and book into a bag.
The whole villa seemed to be sleeping in the sun as she made her way through the gardens. No bees droned in the dense banks of lavender which surrounded the pool, and even the crickets were silent. Not a leaf stirred as she went softly past, the sound of her own breathing alone disturbing the intense, burning quietness of the afternoon.
For a moment, she stood at the top of the steps, looking down at the tranquil turquoise water, remembering the events of the previous night—the music, the raucous laughter, her own terror—with a shiver of revulsion, allowing this new and unaccustomed peace to enfold her like the billowing silk of her wrap.
As well as the cushioned loungers and umbrellas, there was a pile of thickly padded mattresses for sunbathing. Lucy spread one of them under the sheltering branches of the ancient tree which provided a modicum of shade at one end of the pool, then discarded her shirt and slid into the water, feeling it caress her grateful skin like cool satin. She swam one slow, easy length, then lifted herself out onto the tiled surround and sat wringing the water out of her hair.
Fiammetta’s artless confidences were still revolviong in her mind, however much she might try to dismiss them, or tell herself forcefully that they were none of her concern.
Because, for good or ill, she was concerned, she acknowledged with a small aching sigh, and had been ever since that first unfortunate encounter with Giulio in Montivemo.
The mere thought of him was enough to send a tingle vibrating through her senses, however many kinds of fool that might make her.
With a snort of self-derision, she got to her feet and walked around the pool to the waiting mattress, running her hands through her damp hair as she went.
She picked up her towel and began to blot the moisture from her arms and legs, then paused, her mental antennae suddenly, oddly alert.
From somewhere above her, behind the blue wall of lavender and the thickly ranked roses, had come a faint rustle, like a passing breeze. Only the air was still. And, as Lucy listened, she heard the rattle of a dislodged pebble, as if rolling away from a careless foot.
She stiffened, scanning the barrier of flowers for tell-tale signs of movement. She called, ‘Is anyone there?’ But there was no answer. A total hush had descended once again.
I must have been imagining things, Lucy thought, spreading her towel on the mattress and stretching out on it, face down. She pillowed her head on her folded arms and closed her eyes, letting the silence enclose her.
She found a succession of images turning in her mind—Emilia’s wan face, Fiammetta’s anxious eyes, the contessa’s expression of haughty disdain. And, above all else, Giulio Falcone, his amber eyes sparking fire, his mouth rigid in anger or curving in a smile. The instinctive, inherent grace of his lean body. The masked strength of the practised, beguiling hands.
Lucy closed her eyes more tightly and saw tiny coloured lights dance behind her lids. But she could not dispel his image.
His shadow, she thought drowsily, always there in the sunlight. On the edge of every thought and every dream.
And she knew that she was lost, irrevocably, and for all time.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LUCY seemed to be floating on some warm current of air, her whole body totally relaxed, as she looked down at the rolling golden landscape beneath her. Her arms were wings, and she was a bird in flight, a dove, swooping earthward, then spiralling up to freedom.
But somehow she knew that her freedom was an illusion, and destined to be short-lived. Hovering above her was the shadow of a falcon, the predator whom she could never escape, twist and turn as she might.
Then she heard her name called softly through the sunlit air. Was aware of hands smoothing her feathers, stroking her into submission. Touching her with complete mastery.
Suddenly this was no dream, but sheer reality, drawing her up through the layers of sleep to swift, shocked consciousness—and to Giulio, who was kneeling over her, massaging sun lotion into her shoulders and down the length of her back, his fingers practised and very firm.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Lucy sat up, frantically grabbing at her bikini-top, which he had apparently unhooked.
‘Preventing you from being roasted alive, I hope.’ His tone was caustic. ‘The sun moved while you were asleep, little fool.’
‘Wouldn’t waking me and telling me so have been the more obvious course?’ she demanded furiously, the fact that he was correct in no way mitigating her sense of outrage.
‘Perhaps,’ he agreed, the amber eyes slumberously amused under their heavy lids. ‘But not nearly as enjoyable, believe me.’
She bit her lip, mortified. ‘And I suppose it was you playing peeping Tom earlier,’ she accused. ‘Not a be coming role for the master of the house.’
‘What are you saying?’ The dark brows drew together.
‘Oh, don’t pretend,’ she said scornfully. ‘Just how long were you lurking in the bushes, spying on me?’
‘Have a care, Lucia.’ His voice was silk on steel. there are limits, even for you. I arrived a few moments ago, intending to swim. If you had not been lying in the full glare of the sun, I would have respected your privacy and left.’
Lucy, struggling to re-hook her top, surveyed him. He was still wearing the same clothes he’d put on that morning.
‘Swimming, signore? You don’t seem to have a costume—or a towel.’
‘At this time of day, Lucia,’ he said softly, ‘I usually have the pool entirely to myself, so I can forget about such tiresome niceties.’ Watching her, his mouth curving faintly, he began to unbutton his shirt. ‘You wish me to demonstrate?’
She had a potent mental image of what Giulio Falcone would look like stripped, and her mouth went dry.
‘No,’ she said forcefully. ‘Absolutely not.’ She snatched up her shirt and got to her feet. ‘I—I’ll leave you to it.’
He ro
se too, laughing, and lifting his hands in mock surrender. ‘Don’t run away, columbina. Enjoy the sun—now you are protected against it—and also your freedom, while you can.’
‘Oh, heavens.’ Lucy looked belatedly and wildly around her. ‘The children—where are they? Are they all right?’
He gave her a curious glance. ‘They are quite safe—playing with Franco’s brood. Teresa will bring them back to the house when she comes to prepare dinner presently. There’s no problem.’
‘Are you sure Signora Rinaldi will agree?’
He frowned. ‘She has never objected before,’ he said. ‘What is this?’
Lucy bit her lip again. ‘I don’t want to be accused of neglecting my duties, that’s all,’ she returned stiffly.
‘Now, I wonder if that is the whole truth?’ he said softly. ‘No matter; I shall find out eventually.’ He paused. ‘But stay, please, anyway. I don’t want to feel I have driven you away.’
Lucy stood, irresolute, acutely conscious of the expanse of honey-gold skin revealed by the scanty bikini, knowing that he was aware of it too. Knowing that he’d been touching her, running his hands over her naked back.
Giulio waited for a moment, then sighed. ‘Lucia mia, please stop clutching that shirt as if it was a shield. It is not necessary.’
‘No?’ She lifted her chin. ‘You have a short memory, signore.’
‘On the contrary.’ He paused again. ‘If you wish me to apologise for my conduct this morning at the casetta, then I will. Under the circumstances, I had no right to touch—to kiss you. I admit it. But I refuse to do penance for the sun lotion,’ he added. ‘That was a necessity.’
She said rigidly, ‘You had no right, whatever the circumstances.’
He shrugged. ‘Then perhaps I was simply making good use of what precious little time is left to me,’ he retorted. ‘I can hardly be blamed for that.’
‘Except that I’m not here to be used. I’m fulfilling my side of our bargain, and nothing else.’
