The Baby Gambit

by Anne Mather

  Grace nodded. ‘Well—thank you for letting me know.’

  His thin lips twisted. ‘It was my pleasure.’

  She doubted it was, but he was too polite to say otherwise. ‘Um—thanks, anyway. I’m sorry if it’s spoiled your weekend.’

  ‘I will survive,’ he assured her drily, and she wondered what he really thought of her. ‘Enjoy your holiday, Miss Horton. Arrivederci!’

  He turned away without further ado, strolling back along the gallery that overlooked the inner courtyard of the villa with indolent grace. All the apartments opened onto similar galleries, a flight of worn marble stairs giving access to the lower floors, and Grace waited until he’d started down the stairs before going back into the apartment and closing the door.

  She leaned against the door for a moment, before taking a deep breath and walking into the kitchen. But as she edged back onto the stool and raised her mug of coffee to her lips she found Matteo di Falco’s image refused to be displaced.

  She shook her head, a moan that was half laughter, half disgust escaping her throat. So that was Julia’s latest heartthrob, she thought self-derisively. And she’d behaved as if she’d never seen a man before.

  She pushed the half-eaten roll aside and propped her elbows on the counter. She had to admit, Julia hadn’t been exaggerating this time. What was the expression she’d used? Drop-dead gorgeous? Well, he was certainly that, and unlikely to be any more reliable than the rest.

  By the time she’d cleared her breakfast dishes away and unpacked, it was nearly midday. She had wondered if Julia might ring to confirm her change of plans, but she didn’t, so after making sure the apartment was tidy Grace decided to go and explore the town.

  It was much hotter now, the early summer sun baking the walls of the old buildings so that there was little coolness in their shade. Grace was halfway down to the harbour when she began to doubt the sense in what she was doing, but she decided it would be easier to go on than to turn back.

  Besides, there were cafés appearing at every corner, and tables set beneath canvas awnings dotted the small promenade. There were plenty of people about, but it wasn’t difficult to find a table in a shady corner, and she ordered a chilled glass of Campari and soda while she studied the menu.

  There was a delightful breeze blowing off the water, and her eyes were continually drawn to the busy quay, where fishing boats vied for space among sleek yachts and sailing dinghies. Enviably tanned men and women were standing about in groups, modelling the latest styles in designer gear, or sunning themselves on the decks of gleaming motor cruisers anchored in the bay.

  At the end of a short pier, a ferry was boarding, taking passengers to other resorts along the coast, and Grace mused that the whole scene looked as if it had been lifted from the pages of a glossy holiday brochure. So why was it that when the waiter appeared to take her order she felt so alone suddenly? And why did she find herself wishing that there was still a man in her life, too?

  ‘I’ll have the risotto salad,’ she told the waiter, pointing out her choice just in case he didn’t understand what she meant

  ‘Ah, bene,’ he said, smiling approvingly. ‘You like the vino, sì?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ Grace covered her glass with her hand and smiled to soften her refusal. ‘Just the salad, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Okay, signora.’

  The man inclined his head resignedly, and Grace wondered if his use of the more formal salutation was a sign that she was looking old.

  She grimaced. There was no doubt that the waiter was considerably younger than she was. Twelve years, at least, she decided drily, and then caught him watching her as he punched the code for her order into the till.

  She turned her head away at once, anxious to avoid him thinking she was interested in him. But, as she stared at the view, she wondered when she’d stopped being flattered by a stranger’s attention; when she’d become so wary of a man’s motives that she froze out every male she met.

  The suspicion that the waiter was still watching her caused her to glance around again, but the young man was nowhere to be seen. Evidently, he had gone to collect someone else’s order and she decided she must be getting paranoid, sensing eyes upon her when there weren’t any there.

  Yet...

  A shiver rippled down her spine as the uneasy feeling of being scrutinised persisted, and she almost jumped out of her skin when a low masculine voice spoke just above her head. ‘We meet again, Miss Horton.’ Matteo di Falco’s casual greeting was polite, but detached, and she supposed she couldn’t blame him after the way she’d treated him before.

  ‘Oh—’ She looked up at him awkwardly. ‘Um—hello.’ A swift glance up and down the promenade ascertained the fact that he was alone, too. She forced a smile. ‘I’m just trying to keep out of the sun.’

  ‘So I see.’ Long-fingered hands dipped into the pockets at the waistline of his trousers. ‘Bene, enjoy your meal.’

  Grace took a deep breath. ‘Are—are you having lunch—um—signore?’ she asked, with rather more warmth than she’d shown thus far, and his thin lips parted to allow his tongue access to the corner of his mouth.

  ‘What is it you English say?’ he asked, dark humour evident in the depths of his lazy eyes. ‘As if you care, no?’ he suggested wryly. Then, as if regretting his own irony, he added, ‘But to answer your question, no. I was simply exchanging a few words with a colleague, when I saw you sitting here, alone.’

  Grace’s lips tightened at the implied vote of sympathy, and before she could stop herself she said, ‘I enjoy my own company, as it happens.’

  ‘I am sure you do,’ he answered smoothly, but despite the courtesy of his words Grace felt a hot wave of colour envelop her cheeks. For God’s sake, she thought crossly, he would think she was a complete idiot. Not only shrewish, but gauche as well.

  ‘I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,’ she found herself protesting hurriedly, but she saw at once that her efforts to excuse herself had fallen on stony ground.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you did, Miss Horton,’ he countered flatly. ‘Once again, please accept my good wishes.’ He glanced up at the awning. ‘You’ve chosen well. The food here is some of the best in town.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  GRACE was stir-frying a pan of vegetables when Julia arrived home.

  After lunch at the quayside café, she’d spent some time looking round the little town that crowded the harbour, and she hadn’t been able to resist buying some of the fresh fruit and other produce she’d found displayed in the small shops. There had been so many varieties of peaches and plums and apricots, as well as the more familiar things such as beans and peas, sweet corn and peppers, which gave off such an appetising aroma as they simmered in the pan.

  If she’d wondered whether she might run into Matteo di Falco again, that was something she preferred not to think about. But she couldn’t deny that her eyes had been drawn to every tall dark man she’d seen. Still, whatever he’d been doing before he’d spoken to her at the café, he was apparently no longer in Portofalco, and she’d decided she was lucky not to have to deal with him again.

  But it was good to see Julia, and Grace removed the pan from the heat before going to meet her friend. They hugged and exchanged greetings, before Julia subsided somewhat gratefully onto one of the stools that flanked the breakfast bar. ‘I’m beat!’ she exclaimed, pulling a wry face. She nodded towards the stove. ‘But I’m glad to see you’re making yourself at home.’

  Grace grimaced. ‘I hoped you wouldn’t mind. I didn’t know if you’d be coming home, or what time, but I thought if you did you wouldn’t want to go out for a meal. So I’ve made enough for two.’

  ‘Great,’ said Julia, putting her elbow on the bar and resting her head on her hand. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be here when you arrived.’ She pulled a face. ‘I had my weekend all planned.’

  ‘But you had to cut it short,’ murmured Grace sympathetically, taking the bottle of wine she’d opened earl
ier from the fridge. She poured a glass and pushed it towards Julia. ‘Well, you can relax now. Supper’s almost ready.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Julia sipped the wine with evident enjoyment, and as she did so Grace took a moment to glance at her friend. Was it only the fact that she’d had to put in these extra hours that had made her look so weary? Or was there some other problem troubling her? If she waited long enough, she guessed Julia would tell her what it was.

  ‘So, how are you?’ Julia enquired now, straightening her back and resting both arms on the counter. ‘I must say you look pretty good, considering.’

  Grace glanced with mock indignation over her shoulder. ‘Talk about being damned with faint praise,’ she said, wrinkling her nose.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ insisted Julia. ‘I expected you to look all wan and haggard-eyed. Instead of which, it’s me who looks as if I’ve been on a bender for a week.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that.’ Despite her obvious weariness, Julia still possessed the gamine charm she’d had when they were students. Smaller than her friend, Julia had always been excessively slender, with short blonde hair that was presently shaped to curl confidingly in towards her pointed chin. ‘It was a shame the hotel knew where to contact you. If they hadn’t, I suppose they’d have had to call on someone else.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Julia grimaced. ‘That was my fault. If I hadn’t been bragging about going to Valle di Falco for the weekend, they wouldn’t have known where I was. But it’s not every day that you get to meet a real marchesa, and I couldn’t resist telling everyone that I was going to stay at the di Falco villa.’

  ‘Ah.’ Grace could feel a certain tightness in her throat. ‘Does that mean that—that Signor di Falco is really a marchese?’

  ‘Matteo?’ Julia took a sip of her wine, but Grace could see that her blue eyes had become a little dreamy. ‘Well, yes, he is. But these days, like lots of other Italian aristocrats, he doesn’t use his title.’

  Grace was glad of the excuse of attending to the vegetables to turn back to the stove. So, Matteo di Falco was really the Marchese di Falco. Her tongue circled her upper lip. Things just seemed to get worse and worse. What must he have thought of her? She just hoped he didn’t tell Julia what she’d said.

  ‘Anyway,’ Julia went on now, and Grace could hear the animation in her voice, ‘you haven’t told me what you thought of him. Matt, I mean. He did fetch my suitcase, didn’t he?’

  ‘Oh, yes. He brought it.’ Grace judged herself capable of speaking casually, and turned to take a plate of fresh shrimp out of the fridge. If Julia thought she was flushed, she would probably put it down to the heat emanating from the vegetables. ‘He arrived about mid-morning. He explained you’d been summoned back to the hotel.’

  Julia nodded. ‘So what did you think?’ she persisted eagerly. ‘Come on, Grace; don’t you think he’s something else?’ She shook her head. ‘I still can’t get over the fact that he’s interested in me. It’s the real thing this time, girl. I’m sure of it.’

  Grace expelled a breath. ‘He seemed—very nice.’

  ‘Very nice!’ Julia snorted, her weariness apparently forgotten. ‘Can’t you do better than that? When I look at him, “nice” is not an epithet that instantly springs to mind!’

  ‘All right, he’s everything you said he was,’ conceded Grace unwillingly, tipping the uncooked shrimp into the pan and giving them a rather energetic stir. ‘The food’s almost ready. Shall we eat in here? Or would you rather I set the table in the living room?’

  Julia looked as if she would have preferred to continue their discussion of Matteo di Falco, but after swallowing the remainder of the wine in her glass she seemed to think better of it. ‘Let’s just eat here,’ she said, helping herself to more wine. ‘Mmm, it smells delicious. I could get used to this.’

  Happily, the conversation became more general as they consumed the meal, but Julia wanted to know how her friend had come to neglect her health. She expressed her own outrage that Grace’s sisters should have had to be prevailed upon to help, showing little sympathy for their responsibilities towards their own families.

  ‘She’s their mother, too,’ she reminded Grace sagely, getting up to help her friend with the dishes. ‘And they don’t work, remember? They probably have far more free time than you.’

  Grace admitted that that was a possibility, but she had grown so used to being regarded as the fall girl that it was hard to blame anyone else. Besides, she had never considered what she did as a burden before. It was only when she was taken ill herself that she’d begun to realise that she might be doing too much.

  ‘Anyway, you’re here now, and I don’t want you to feel that I expect you to look after me while you’re convalescing,’ declared Julia, putting their clean plates back into the cupboard. ‘I mean, this has been quite a treat, having a meal prepared for me and all, but I’m used to picking up something on my way home if I haven’t eaten, and, of course, I am out several nights a week.’

  ‘That’s okay.’ Grace dried her hands and watched her friend spooning coffee into the filter before retiring to the living area beyond the screen of climbing plants. ‘I’m looking forward to relaxing: reading some books, catching up on my correspondence, that sort of thing. Even a little sunbathing,’ she added as Julia carried the tray containing the coffee into the room. ‘As I said when you invited me here, I don’t want to interfere in your life.’

  ‘As if.’ Julia pulled a face and subsided onto the sofa with a grateful sigh. ‘Ah, that’s better,’ she said, kicking off her shoes and curling her toes into the rug. Then she added, ‘Your being here is not a problem, Grace. Not to me, anyway. I’ve wanted you to come out here for ages; you know that. Only you’ve always had an excuse before.’

  Grace took the armchair opposite her friend, and lifted her shoulders in an apologetic shrug. ‘It hasn’t always been easy—’ she began, and Julia nodded as she pulled herself upright again and reached for the coffee pot.

  ‘Your mother,’ she agreed. ‘I know. But I’m glad I can be of help now. And it makes a change to have an English person to talk to.’

  Grace hesitated and then, conceding to herself that she had been a little offhand about Julia’s boyfriend before, she made an effort to make amends. ‘Um—Matteo—’ she grimaced at her pronunciation ‘—speaks very good English, doesn’t he? Or does he only speak his own language with you?’

  Julia waited until she’d handed her friend a cup of coffee and had got comfortable again on the sofa before replying. ‘As a matter of fact, Matt is partly English,’ she explained, propping her feet on the brass-topped table between them. ‘The marchesa I spoke of—she’s English, you see. She married Matt’s grandfather—oh, it must be over sixty years ago now. Of course—’ she pulled a wry face ‘—she’s more Italian than he is. Do you know, she never once addressed me in English while I was staying at the villa? Matt says she hardly ever uses her native language any more.’

  Grace frowned. ‘You met his grandmother?’ she asked in surprise. ‘Not his parents?’

  ‘His parents are dead.’ Julia gazed somewhat consideringly into space before going on. ‘Matt’s father was a keen skier, and he and his wife were killed in an avalanche near Courmayeur when Matt was just a baby.’ She pulled her gaze back to her friend. ‘His grandparents brought him up.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Grace spoke sincerely, and Julia gave her a rueful look. ‘Yes, so am I. Matt’s grandfather is dead now, but the old lady’s quite a tartar. I don’t think her attitudes have altered since the Second World War!’

  Grace smiled. ‘Aren’t you being a little unkind? Just because she chooses to speak the language she’s most accustomed to, you’re accusing her of being out of date.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t just that.’ Julia spoke defensively. ‘She made me feel as if I wasn’t welcome there.’ She grimaced. ‘To be honest, I wasn’t exactly disappointed when I got that call from the Continental. I think she needs a li
ttle more time to get used to the idea that Matt and I are a couple. It’ll be easier next time. I’ll make sure I’ve genned up on wine-growing and Italian history before I go.’

  Grace’s eyes widened. ‘They own a vineyard?’ She shook her head. She’d put Matteo di Falco down as a wealthy playboy and nothing more.

  ‘They own the valley,’ said Julia repressively. ‘And I don’t think the marchesa really approved of Matt getting involved in a commercial enterprise like making wine. As I said before, she’s an anachronism, Grace. Without Matt’s efforts, they’d have had to sell out years ago.’

  Grace absorbed what Julia had said. ‘So—this is Matteo’s vineyard?’

  ‘Vineyards,’ Julia corrected her firmly. ‘They’ve always grown grapes in the Valle di Falco, of course, but it was his idea to turn it into a real business.’

  ‘I see.’ Grace was impressed.

  ‘Anyway, that’s enough about boring things like making money,’ said Julia, looking more cheerful. ‘Let’s talk about what you really thought of Matt. Don’t you think we’ll make a stunning couple?’

  ‘Stunning,’ echoed Grace obediently, but she couldn’t help wondering if Julia wasn’t being a little premature with her plans. Even if Matteo di Falco worked for his living, he was an aristocrat first and foremost, and Grace hoped her friend wouldn’t be too disappointed if their relationship didn’t work out.

  ‘You’re very cagey,’ said Julia now, sensing that Grace wasn’t being entirely honest, and Grace decided quickly that it was really nothing to do with her.

  ‘Not at all,’ she protested, reaching for her coffee to avoid Julia’s knowing stare. ‘Um—how long have you known him? How did you meet?’

  Julia still looked doubtful, but she accepted the evasion, much to Grace’s relief. ‘We met at a reception in Florence,’ she replied. ‘One of the guests who was staying at the hotel had tickets for a special evening exhibition of Renaissance art. Of course, we’re not supposed to fraternise with the guests, but he wasn’t able to attend the reception, so he offered his tickets to me.’ She shook her head. ‘Not that I’m mad about art or anything like that, but there was going to be wine and canapés, stuff like that, and Maria and I—Maria’s another of the receptionists at the hotel, like me—we thought it might be worth a look.’