‘Come on, let’s get you home,’ he said, and she nearly laughed hysterically. Home? Her safe, cosy little house in Herne Hill with its shabby décor and tired furniture that she couldn’t afford to update, with its roof in need of attention and its tiny courtyard garden filled with pots that she would plant up later in the year—that was home.
‘Isabella? Are you all right, cara?’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘We’ll take the main road, it’s quicker. They’re expecting us for a late lunch.’
Her stomach turned over at the thought, but she didn’t know if it was lunch or the family which worried her more. She fell into step beside him as he towed the luggage across to the short-stay car park and unlocked his car—the outrageously sexy Italian sports job she’d last been in when he’d brought her here all those weeks before, after the night that had changed both their lives forever.
‘So how did you get your car here?’ she asked, still amazed by that ridiculous detail and trying to focus on something other than the upcoming meeting.
‘I had it dropped off by the garage where I store it if I’m out of the country,’ he said, and stashed their cases in the boot before settling her into the seat. The leather was warm, and she relaxed back against it with a little sigh.
‘All right, cara?’
‘I will be. The turbulence was a bit much.’
There had hardly been any, he thought, but she’d looked doggedly out of the window for the entire journey, her face chalk white, and he wondered if it had been the turbulence or if she was just nervous. Not that she normally seemed a nervous person. Rather the opposite, but he guessed there was a lot going on today and he already knew she wasn’t a good flyer. Still, the flight was over now, and there was only the drive left. With a quick glance into his mirror, he pulled out into the traffic and set off for home.
His parents were expecting them, but he hadn’t told them anything about Isabelle because he didn’t want them making a great fuss and putting on some massive welcoming committee that would scare her off. He was just happy that she was here, that he’d got her here at all. She was tense enough as it was without any added fuss.
He put his hand on her leg and gave it a quick squeeze, and she glanced across at him and smiled fleetingly.
It was all she could manage. Her stomach was in knots, and the nearer they got to his home, the worse it became. Thank God the main A1 Rome road was smooth, although it twisted and turned and plunged from time to time into long, dark tunnels as it wove through the Tuscan hills.
Then they turned off onto the twisting little minor road that wriggled its way through the beautiful rolling countryside, the picture-postcard landscape of Tuscany unfolding in front of her, with the avenues of cypress trees like sentries along the roads, the little hilltop towns sprinkled along the way keeping guard against the Florentine invasion.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said softly, staring out at the scene so familiar from postcards and paintings that it was almost a cliché now, and yet in the flesh she found she loved it, and the tension started to leave her, taking the nausea with it.
‘It’s my favourite place in the world,’ he told her. ‘And not just because it’s home. It’s also very beautiful in a stark, rather severe way, but there are problems here, of course, which the tourists don’t see. It’s hard to keep the young people here in the old towns. There’s nothing for them. Agriculture is dependent on the weather, and not everyone wants to make wine or olive oil or cheese, or act as a guide for the tourists. So they go to the cities—to Siena, to Firenze, to Pisa—or further, maybe, to Roma or Milano, and so the elderly lose their support and the schools lack children.’
‘But your family are still here, and you keep coming back.’
‘We belong here,’ he said simply, and with a sudden shock she realised it was true, that this was his home, and if she’d imagined that when they got married she could talk him into living a cosy little life in London away from his family, she was almost certainly deluded.
And beautiful though the landscape was, she couldn’t imagine it feeling like home, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
He decided to go straight to the lodge so she could rest and freshen up before going to meet the family, but when he turned onto the drive he could see cars over there clustered in front of the building. Several cars—or vans. Workmen?
Damn. That meant it was out of action, and of course the alternative to being in the lodge was to be in his usual room in the house, with her in the adjoining room. Damn. At least in the lodge they’d have had a bit more privacy, which was why he’d suggested it, and he much preferred the simplicity of the lodge.
Not that the privacy was an issue, and maybe it would be easier in the house to maintain a little more distance. It had been an unwritten rule that whatever any of them did, they would be discreet and not subject the family to their romantic entanglements until they were married. And so far, only Massimo and his sister Carla had tied the knot. The rest of them—Gio, Anna and Serena—were still single. And him, of course, at the moment. But not for much longer.
Beside him, Isabelle sat up a little straighter. ‘Are we nearly there?’
‘Yes, but we can’t stay at the lodge. There are vans outside—it must be being decorated or something.’
She turned her head towards him. ‘So where will we stay?’
‘In my parents’ house.’
She looked ahead along the curving drive lined by an avenue of trademark cypress trees, but the only buildings she could see were a village in the distance and a huge stone edifice, more like a castle than a house. A fortress? Or a fortified hill town, but so small it only had this gravel road to it? That was what it looked like. A little fortified hill town. But of course his parents’ house was also a farm, so perhaps that was the house and the farm buildings and all the offices and workers’ accommodation. That would make sense.
And maybe it would be smaller close up. She’d find out soon enough, she told herself as they drove along the gravel track and up the hill.
‘Massimo will be here—he runs the family business and lives here with his children. He’s a single parent—he lost his wife shortly after their third child was born—she had a brain haemorrhage.’
‘Oh, how dreadful! How old are the children?’
‘Eight, five and three, or something like that. I don’t know. They grow up so fast. They live in a wing of the house.’
A wing? So maybe it wouldn’t be smaller…
‘Gio’s here, too,’ he said, as they went through a great archway into an area at the front of the huge building and pulled up beside a black Ferrari. ‘I thought he might come to check you out. Come on. Let’s go in.’
She opened the door and got out, transfixed by the size of the building. So much for her idea that it might be smaller than it appeared. It was truly huge, even larger close up, great sweeping steps climbing to the huge double doors on the first floor, and as she stared at the forbidding and impressive entrance, the door opened and an elderly man hobbled down the steps towards them, holding out his hands in welcome.
‘Signore!’ he cried, and she realised in shock that this man must be the archetypal ancient retainer, and this enormous edifice, this monumental building, was Luca’s family home.
Luca turned towards him with a smile and took his outstretched hands, touched as ever by the warmth of the old man’s greeting.
‘Roberto! It’s good to see you again. How are you?’
‘I am well, Signore. And you?’
‘Very well, thank you. Is my mother inside?’
‘Si, Signore. And your father. They’re expecting you, and your brothers are with them. Carlotta said to tell you lunch will keep until you’re ready.’
‘Good. Thank you.’ He switched to English for Isabelle’s benefit. ‘Roberto, let me introduce you to a friend of mine, Isabelle Thompson. She’ll be a guest with us for a few days.’
Roberto’s eyes swivell
ed to her, standing very still a little behind Luca, and he hauled himself up straighter and beamed a welcome. ‘Signorina,’ he said gravely, bowing low, ‘Welcome to the Palazzo Valtieri.’ And then he turned back to Luca, and embraced him. ‘It’s good to see you again,’ he said, reverting to Italian. ‘You’ve been gone too long. Carlotta is very excited. She’s busy cooking for you.’
Luca laughed softly. ‘Thank you.’
‘Now I will take your luggage upstairs.’
‘No. I’ll do it. I’ll take Isabelle up and let her change and freshen up, and then we’ll go and meet my parents. Just tell Carlotta we’re here—oh, and get some Prosecco on ice. We have something to celebrate.’
‘Si, Signore. At once!’ And he scurried off, shaking his head and grinning from ear to ear.
‘Right. Let’s go and find my parents,’ he said.
‘Do you supply maps?’ she asked a little drily, and he gave a tired laugh.
‘It’s not that big.’
‘Not? Luca, don’t be ridiculous! It’s enormous!’ Isabelle exclaimed, still reeling. ‘I mean, I knew it would be big, but this is crazy! Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because it’s nothing to do with anything.’
She rolled her eyes and glared at him. ‘Luca, you have servants! Youliveina palazzo, for heaven’s sake! That is not nothing!’
She climbed the first few steps, staring around her and taking it all in, her heart pounding.
It was stunning. Absolutely stunning. Huge terracotta pots containing what looked like olive trees flanked the broad steps which led to the massive dark wooden doors in the centre of the house, and tall windows were arranged symmetrically in three rows across the front, taking advantage of the spectacular view. At roof level, high up over the front door, was what looked like a massive mantel clock with a fine black iron frame above it supporting a brass bell.
And then she thought of her little house that he’d been so damning about, and the pre-nuptial agreement she’d asked him to sign before their marriage, and she wanted to die of humiliation.
She didn’t feel so much out of her depth as nailed to the bottom of the ocean, and she was furious with him for not warning her. Or with herself for not having worked it out. She felt so ill prepared, so stupid, so totally unready for this whole meeting that she could have wept.
But she wouldn’t. She was made of sterner stuff than that. Instead she tucked her bag under her arm and went down to the back of the car where Luca had removed the cases from the boot. Thank God for Sarah and her charity shop, she thought, and reached for her case, only to receive a warning growl.
‘I’ll take that. You’re not carrying anything except the baby,’ he said firmly, and she gave in. Let him carry it, if it made him feel good. She didn’t have the energy to argue. Instead she straightened her shoulders and followed him up the steps and through the great heavy entrance doors.
She wasn’t going to cry, and she wasn’t going to waste her energy arguing. She was busy saving it for the coming confrontation, when his parents met her and realised that their son had brought home a plain, very ordinary and slightly pregnant Englishwoman for their inspection.
Oh, well. Look on the bright side. At least the baby didn’t show yet…
‘They’ll be in the salon overlooking the garden,’ he told her. ‘Would you like to take a shower and change into something fresh before we go and join them?’
She was staring around her at the frescoed walls of the colonnaded logia around the central courtyard as he led her through the villa to the main stairs, and she looked utterly overawed. ‘Please,’ she said quietly, and he felt a prickle of guilt for the fact that she’d had to travel when she still wasn’t feeling good—but what was he to have done?
Flying at this stage wouldn’t hurt her or the baby, and he was keen to introduce her to his family and let her see the home that he loved so much—the home he hoped to return to at some point in the future. And he badly wanted her to love it at least a little.
‘Maybe I should let you rest—go and talk to them myself first.’
‘Warn them about me, you mean?’ she said drily, and he grimaced.
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘But it’s what you’ll have to do, Luca. They don’t know anything about me, never mind that I’m pregnant—they’ll be so upset.’
‘No. They’ll love you.’ As I do.
The thought shocked him into immobility for a moment, but she didn’t notice. She was busy studying the frescoes on the stairs, her face growing more and more serious.
‘These are wonderful, Luca. This must be a really important house.’
He pulled himself together. ‘It may have been one of the Medici villas. The provenance is a little uncertain, and it had a chequered history before my ancestors acquired it. It’s been in my family for over three hundred years.’
She was silent then until he led her into the bedroom adjoining his, and again she stared around in shock. As well she might, he thought, because in comparison to the frescoed halls, it was almost monastic in its simplicity, and that was the way he liked it.
There were no plastered ceilings in this part of the house, just terracotta tiles between the beams to match the floors, and the walls were white.
But it was the view that held Isabelle’s attention, and she stood at the window and stared out over the landscape, her face turned away from him so he couldn’t read her expression.
‘Is this land all yours?’
‘Yes. Pretty much what you can see from here belongs to the family.’
‘I thought you were farmers,’ she said, her voice shocked, and he winced.
‘Well, we are, in a way. Growing grapes and olives is farming.’
She gave a tiny but distinctly unladylike snort. ‘How large is your farm, Luca?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Massimo, he’s the figures man. Several thousand hectares. I’m not sure how it’s divided up. About one third each of pasture, vines and olive groves. I’ll take you on a guided tour—or get him to do it. He’ll be better, if you’re really interested. It’s his passion.’
She turned away from the window, her nerves starting to get the better of her the more she found out.
‘Is there a bathroom? I’d like to wash and change, then we need to go and drop this bombshell on your parents,’ she said, and he could tell from her expressionless face how much she was dreading it.
‘Sure,’ he said, and opened the bathroom door. ‘Help yourself.’
She took her washbag from her case and paused in the bathroom doorway.
‘You don’t need to wait,’ she told him. ‘I’ll come and find you when I’m ready. Where will you be?’
‘My bedroom’s through that door. We share the bathroom. I’ll go and get changed—give me a tap when you’re finished so I can shave.’
She nodded and closed the door, turning her back to it and staring round at the very modern and beautiful fittings. Marble walls, a huge walk-in shower with a head the size of a dustbin lid and a bath you could get an entire family in.
She looked at it longingly, but settled instead for a shower, which made her feel a little better, but by the time she’d dried and dressed herself in her new trousers and a soft sweater, her heart was pounding.
She went into the bathroom and tapped on the door. ‘I’m finished,’ she called, and the knob turned and he came through it.
‘Thanks. I won’t be long.’
He’d changed his trousers, but he’d taken off his shirt and the sight of that shadowed jaw above his beautifully muscled chest made her mouth dry. She backed away, shut the door to her side and walked to the window, sitting down on the padded window seat and staring out over the beautiful rolling countryside.
A few minutes later he tapped and came through, looking good enough to eat. ‘Are you ready?’ he asked.
‘As I’ll ever be,’ she said, and stood up, running her hands a little nervously over the
front of the trousers. ‘Will I do?’
He smiled at her and nodded. ‘You look lovely. Cool and fresh and composed.’ His smile softened. ‘They’re just people, cara. That’s what my old university professor used to say to us about patients, whether they were intimidating or from a very humble background. “We’re all just people.” Remember that.’
‘Just so long as they do,’ she murmured under her breath, and squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, she followed him through the twisting, winding corridors, down the ornately frescoed staircase to the courtyard, and then round to the other side and into a huge room overlooking the terrace.
‘Ah, they’re outside, taking advantage of the sun.’
A group of people, three men and a woman, were sitting under a beautiful colonnaded pergola entwined with the stems of jasmine, just bursting into leaf, and he took her by the hand and led her towards them, their feet crunching over the gravel and alerting the dogs, who leapt up and ran towards them, tails wagging furiously as they greeted Luca and checked her out.
‘Luca! Figlio mio!’ An elegant middle-aged woman got to her feet and hurried over to him, hugging and kissing him, and then her eyes found Isabelle’s and she let him go and put her head on one side, a hesitant smile touching her mouth, as if she was uncertain of her ground. As well she might be, Isabelle thought, suddenly presented with a strange woman on the arm of her son.
‘And you must be Isabelle. Welcome to Italy,’ his mother said, and she thought there was something a little wary about her eyes. Oh, lord, what am I doing here? she thought, but then his mother smiled and took her hand. ‘I’m Elisa, and this is my husband Vittorio.’
‘I’m very pleased to meet you. I’m sorry, I don’t speak any Italian—I feel really rude but I will try and learn it.’
‘It’s no problem. We all speak English,’ Vittorio said. ‘It’s good to meet you, too. Welcome.’
He shook her hand firmly, his eyes assessing but less wary than his wife’s, and then she was being introduced to two men who were clearly related to both the others—Luca’s older brother Massimo, who apparently ran the estate, and his younger brother Gio—the lawyer who’d delivered the thinly veiled threat, owner of the black Ferrari and with a distinctly speculative look in his eyes.
The Valtieri Marriage Deal Page 12
