Bedded For the Italian's Pleasure

by Anne Mather

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE train from Bodmin to Paddington rattled over the points and then resumed its steady rhythm. It wasn’t full. Despite the season, the lateness of the hour had apparently put off all but the most determined travellers. Couples with children tended to prefer the earlier trains, although there were one or two toddlers sleeping on their parents’ knees.

  Juliet had been lucky enough to find a corner seat. Although there’d been a reserved ticket attached to it, no one had claimed the seat before the train left the station. In consequence, she wasn’t obliged to make conversation with her neighbours. Tilting her head against the pane, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

  But she’d known that would be impossible before she even tried it. Her mind was too full of the events and images of the day to find any escape in sleep. Even now, it was difficult to assimilate what had happened. Evidently Cary felt the same. Yet despite his disappointment, he had apparently decided to spend another night at the house.

  Not that she cared what Cary did, one way or the other. Discovering he’d continued to deceive Rafe about their relationship had destroyed what little liking she’d had left. Her only consolation was that he hadn’t deceived his grandmother. Lady Elinor had made it her business to learn everything there was to know about her grandson and his ‘girlfriend’. According to Mr Arnold, Cary’s relationship with the stripper from the casino where he worked had not gone unremarked.

  Cary had tried to deny it. He’d even had the nerve to appeal to Juliet to help him out of the pit he’d dug for himself. But Juliet wanted nothing more to do with him, and had said so. And then the surprise MrArnold had delivered to her had caused Cary to accuse her of ingratiating herself with his grandmother for her own ends.

  It had all been rather unpleasant and Juliet hadn’t been able to look in Rafe’s direction. She was sure he must think the same as Cary. That she’d somehow hinted at her financial situation and Lady Elinor had decided to help her out. It wasn’t true. She’d never discussed her finances with his grandmother. But who would believe her now?

  Anyway, it appeared that Lady Elinor had left her the three rings she’d shown them from her jewellery box; the rings she’d offered Juliet to choose from that afternoon at Tregellin. There was the ruby ring, which had been Rafe’s mother’s, the emerald dress ring and the diamond solitaire. They were Juliet’s now to wear or sell, as she pleased.

  Juliet was both touched and embarrassed. The rings were heirlooms, all of them, and she felt she had no right to remove them from the estate. But Mr Arnold insisted that the codicil to the will and been added just weeks ago, at Lady Elinor’s specific request, that she’d wanted her to have the rings with her blessing.

  Josie, who was sitting beside her in the library, where the reading of the will was taking place, squeezed her hand. ‘Elinor liked you,’ she said in an undertone. ‘She wanted you to have something of hers to keep.’

  And Juliet knew that, whatever happened, she would keep the rings; two of them, at least. The ruby, which had been Rafe’s mother’s, she intended to return to him after she got back to London. That way, there’d be no chance of him throwing it back in her face.

  Further bequests followed, to people Juliet hadn’t heard of, and the doctor, whom she had. And Josie, of course. The housekeeper was given a lump sum of one hundred thousand pounds, which brought a gasp of disbelief from Cary, and the title to a small cottage in the grounds, where she could live when she retired.

  Even Rafe looked surprised at Josie’s good fortune, but unlike Cary he was the first to applaud the old lady’s decision. ‘You deserve it,’ he said, his gaze skimming Juliet’s flushed face before moving on to the housekeeper. ‘Without your care and support, she’d never have been able to keep this place going.’

  ‘And that’s a reason to reward her?’ Cary was scathing. He scowled. ‘I knew the old girl wasn’t as hard-up as she pretended to be. But giving away a hundred K! That’s ridiculous!’

  ‘It was her money, Mr Daniels, to do with as she wished.’ The solicitor had regarded him with a reproving gaze. ‘But now we come to the distribution of the bulk of Lady Elinor’s estate. I suggest you allow me to proceed.’

  That had silenced him, but Juliet shivered now as she recalled the events that had followed. No one had been prepared for the news MrArnold had to relate, but she supposed they should have had some intimation when he’d announced that Cary had been left two hundred thousand pounds in treasury bonds. The remainder of the estate—including the house, the farms surrounding it and the contents of a safety-deposit box lodged with her bank in Bodmin—had been left to Lady Elinor’s eldest grandson.

  ‘But that’s me!’ Cary exclaimed, confused by the distinction between his bequest and the latter designation. ‘I’m the old girl’s only legitimate grandson. Rafe…’ He cast his cousin a scornful look. ‘He’s a bastard, in more ways than one.’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ Before the solicitor spoke again, Juliet glimpsed the pain that briefly crossed Rafe’s face. But then, Mr Arnold extracted another envelope from his briefcase and handed it to Rafe with a curious smile. ‘This is yours, I believe. Your grandmother asked me to give it to you with her apologies.’

  ‘What is it?’ Cary demanded, his face red and angry, a mixture of fury and apprehension that things weren’t as simple as he’d believed.

  Rafe ignored him, drawing the document out amid the hushed silence that had fallen over the room. Then, his expression warned them all of the shock he’d just received. His skin had become so pale that Juliet half expected him to collapse. But Mr Arnold took it upon himself to explain that it was Rafe’s parents’ marriage certificate. A certificate that had been dated some thirty-two years ago, before Rafe was born.

  Of course, Cary hadn’t believed it. He’d been incensed, snatching the certificate out of Rafe’s nerveless grasp and brandishing it in his face while he’d called him every offensive name he could think of. ‘This is a fake,’ he’d snarled. ‘The old girl was off her rocker!’ He’d swung round on Mr Arnold. ‘Who did she get to forge this for her? No, don’t bother to answer that. Marchese probably made it himself.’

  ‘It’s no fake,’ the solicitor had informed him smoothly, taking the document out of his hand before any damage was done. Then he’d turned to the other man. ‘I’m sorry, Rafe. I know she wanted to tell you before this, but she was afraid if she did she’d lose you. Tregellin’s yours now. It’s her gift to you. I think you’ll find she’s had this in mind all along.’

  Juliet found her eyes were filled with tears now. Dear Lady Elinor, she thought. You knew which of your grandsons cared about Tregellin and which didn’t. She supposed it was hard on Cary, bearing in mind that he’d expected to inherit the estate. But if he had, he’d have had no hesitation about selling it. And, although Rafe wasn’t going to find it easy, she knew he’d do everything in his power to keep his legacy intact.

  Juliet herself had slipped away while Mr Arnold was explaining the legalities to Rafe and Josie. She wasn’t needed any longer and she had no intention of getting embroiled in Cary’s vengeful schemes. She wouldn’t put it past him to try and contest the will, if he could. But she had the feeling Mr Arnold was more than a match for him.

  It was a couple of days later when she saw Cary again. She was coming out of the boutique at lunchtime when he accosted her. ‘Hey,’ he said, catching her arm and swinging her round to face him. ‘Where did you get to the other afternoon? I thought you must be taking a last look at the property, but although I searched the place I couldn’t find you.’

  ‘Oh—I—It wasn’t my place to be there,’ said Juliet uncomfortably. And then, frowning, ‘How did you know where to find me today?’

  ‘Well, I went to the apartment,’ said Cary at once. ‘And some old lady told me you’d got a job at a boutique in town. She said she thought the place was called Close To You or something, and, as luck would have it, I remembered a place called Close-Up, and here you are.�
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  Juliet pulled a face. She guessed it must be Mrs Heaton who had given him the information. The old lady hadn’t been well lately and, since Juliet had been going into town every day, she’d done a little shopping for her. Naturally, Mrs Heaton had asked where she was working and Juliet had seen no harm in telling her.

  Now, though, she wished she’d been a little more vague about her employer. She couldn’t imagine why Cary might want to seek her out, but her instincts told her it wasn’t just to be polite. ‘So what do you want?’ she asked, aware that she didn’t sound exactly friendly. ‘I only get half an hour for lunch. I’ve got to be back at half-past one.’

  Cary pulled a face. ‘Hey, is that any way to greet your ex-fiancé?’ he demanded.

  ‘You’re not my ex-fiancé,’ said Juliet tersely. ‘Come on, Cary, what do you want?’

  Cary scowled. ‘Let me buy you lunch. Then I’ll tell you.’ He lifted a hand as she started to protest. ‘All right, just a sandwich. There’s a coffee shop across the road.’

  ‘I know that.’ It was where Juliet occasionally spent her lunchtimes. If she’d brought her college books to work she sometimes spent half an hour studying for her course. Thankfully, today she hadn’t brought the books with her. She didn’t want Cary seeing them and ridiculing her efforts.

  ‘OK, then.’ Cary put a hand on her bare arm. ‘Let’s go.’

  It was easier to go with him than to argue. Staff weren’t encouraged to invite friends or relations to visit the shop. The last thing she needed was for Cary to kick up a fuss just outside the door and cause Sandra to come and see what was going on. But she yanked her arm out of his grasp before they crossed the street.

  ‘You’re not wearing one of the rings,’ Cary observed, after she’d accepted a coffee. ‘I don’t know whether you realise it, but those rings were valued at over a quarter of a mill.’

  Juliet’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re not serious!’

  ‘Sure am. I borrowed them one day when I was visiting Tregellin and took them into Bodmin. The jeweller there said he’d give me over a hundred thousand for the lot.’

  Juliet stared at him. ‘But you just said—’

  ‘A valuation is for insurance purposes,’ said Cary quickly. ‘Selling the rings to a jeweller is something else. Anyway,’ he hesitated a moment and then continued doggedly, ‘I wondered if you’d be willing to lend them to me, as—as surety for a loan.’

  Juliet swallowed. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘What do you mean, you can’t?’ Cary had instantly gone from amicable to aggressive.

  ‘I don’t have all the rings,’ she said. ‘I sent the ruby back to Rafe yesterday. It was his mother’s ring and—’

  ‘You bloody fool!’ Cary was furious. ‘Didn’t you realise the ruby was the most valuable of the lot? Oh, I know I didn’t think so at first, but according to the jeweller it’s a very fine Burmese ruby. Apparently, it’s flawless and very rare.’

  ‘Well, good.’ Juliet was glad they were sitting in the coffee bar when she’d told him. She had the feeling Cary might not be responsible for his actions. ‘I’m glad I sent it back to Rafe.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, if that’s all you wanted, I think I’ll get back to the shop.’

  ‘But what about the other rings?’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘Well, are you going to lend them to me, as I asked? You owe me, Juliet. Without that reference I gave you, you probably wouldn’t have a job.’

  Juliet caught her breath. ‘Are you forgetting I fulfilled my part of that bargain? And it didn’t cost you a penny, either. Use the money Lady Elinor left you. That must be enough to finance any deal you’ve devised.’

  Cary scowled again. ‘You must be kidding! That barely paid my debts.’ Then, as she got to her feet, he grabbed her arm again. ‘By the way, if you’re hoping Marchese will thank you for returning his mother’s ring, forget it. Good old Liv is already calculating the odds.’

  * * *

  Juliet didn’t believe him, but later that evening, sitting over a ready-made pizza she’d cooked in the microwave, she couldn’t help wondering what Rafe would do now. Inheriting Tregellin was a wonderful thing for him, but keeping the old place going was something else.

  It was always possible he could do as Cary had suggested when their grandmother was alive and sell one of the farms to gain some capital. There was no doubt that the house needed some immediate renovation, and, although she could understand Lady Elinor’s reluctance to face the upheaval, Rafe couldn’t put it off indefinitely, not if he wanted the old place to survive.

  Still, it was none of her business, she reminded herself. Her involvement had been transitory at best, and she still didn’t feel she deserved the legacy Lady Elinor had left her. Her only consolation was that Cary had known about the rings and might have taken them. He’d have sold them without hesitation once his grandmother was dead. Possibly without Rafe knowing anything about it until it was done.

  She was washing her dishes in the tiny sink when someone rang the bell downstairs. All the apartments were fitted with intercoms for security, and, although she dried her hands and went to pick up the handset, she was fully prepared for some stranger to have hit the wrong button.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Juliet?’

  Her mouth dried instantly. ‘Yes.’

  ‘May I come up?’

  Her hand trembled. She wanted to refuse him. After the way he’d spoken to her at the funeral, she owed him no favours. But the urge to see him again was even stronger. ‘All right,’ she said, depressing the switch. ‘Push the door. It’s open.’

  In the few seconds it would take him to enter the building and climb the stairs, Juliet made a hasty dash to the bathroom. There was no time to wash her face or no time to change or put on some make-up, but she did run a comb through her hair. She’d worn it in a pony-tail for work and, as usual, she’d tugged off the elastic fastener as soon as she’d got home. Likewise, she’d shed her lacy smock and mini, replacing them with a well-washed pink T-shirt and grey shorts that had seen better days.

  He knocked just a few moments later and she hurried back into the living room and closed her bedroom door. Then, barefoot, she padded into the lobby, taking a deep breath before releasing the deadbolt and opening the outer door.

  ‘Hi.’

  Rafe stood on the threshold, casually dressed in a black T-shirt and black jeans. Only on him, the clothes assumed a careless elegance, hinting at the taut muscles and lean power they concealed.

  But it was the thick sheet of art paper he was holding like a shield in front of him that distracted her. It was a charcoal drawing of herself, half-reclining on a tumbled bed. It was a subtle drawing, innocent, yet sexy. A flattering interpretation of how she must have looked that evening after he’d made love to her.

  Juliet swallowed, and Rafe took the opportunity to say, ‘It’s good to see you, Juliet. Are you going to invite me in?’

  Juliet stiffened, trying not to be seduced by his lazy smile. It was obvious that he’d brought the drawing to disconcert her, and he’d succeeded. ‘Is there any reason why I should?’ she asked tightly. ‘I’d have thought I was the last person you’d want to see.’

  ‘Which just shows how wrong you can be,’ remarked Rafe drily, his smile fading a little as she continued to block the door. ‘Here.’ He handed her the drawing. ‘This is for you, if you want it. I’ve got at least a dozen others at home.’

  Juliet gasped. ‘Do you expect me to believe that?’

  ‘I don’t lie,’ he said quietly. ‘If you’d like to visit my studio again, I’ll prove it.’

  Juliet chewed on her lower lip for a moment. ‘So what do you want?’ she asked unhappily, pushing the drawing onto the coat stand just inside the door.

  ‘To talk to you.’ Rafe spoke simply. ‘To apologise, I guess. I behaved like a jerk at the funeral. You seem to bring out the worst—and the best—in me.’

  Juliet sighed. ‘Well—OK,’ she said, realising she was
giving in again. She stepped back to allow him to pass her. ‘Go ahead. The living room’s through there.’

  Rafe stepped inside and she was immediately assailed by the scent of his aftershave, the clean, heated smell of his body. He seemed to hesitate and she stiffened instinctively, but then he walked into the living room, looking about him with an intent dark gaze.

  ‘Do you want a drink?’ Politeness was second nature to her and it was a warm evening outside. Besides, it gave her something to do other than notice how much smaller the room seemed with him in it.

  ‘A soft drink would be good,’ he said, even though he wasn’t driving. But he had the feeling alcohol would just add to his sense of inadequacy.

  ‘Diet cola or orange juice?’ she asked, pretending to study the contents of her small fridge. ‘I’ve got both.’

  ‘Orange sounds fine.’ Then, noticing she was taking out a glass, Rafe came towards her. ‘I’ll drink it from the can.’

  Juliet hesitated, but it was easier not to argue. Their fingers brushed and she felt tiny sparks of energy shoot up her arm. However, Rafe didn’t seem to notice, flicking the tab on the can and drinking thirstily from it. Then he lowered it again and said, ‘I needed that. Thanks.’

  Juliet made a dismissing gesture. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ she suggested, the height difference between them pronounced by her bare feet.

  He was still an intimidating figure, perched on the edge of the sofa, legs spread, his hands still holding the empty can hanging between. ‘Why don’t you join me?’ He looked up at her enquiringly, but Juliet was reluctant to lose the small advantage she’d gained.

  ‘I prefer to stand,’ she said, pulling on the hem of the T-shirt that kept riding up over her bare midriff. ‘So—was there something else?’

  Rafe’s lips twisted. ‘Evidently you don’t think so.’

  ‘Well, you said you wanted to apologise, and you have. What else is there? Oh—’ Juliet frowned as another thought occurred to her. She pushed her fingertips beneath her arms almost defensively. ‘I’m glad your grandmother left Tregellin to you. I’m sure you deserve it much more than Cary.’