by Lucy Gordon
‘Do you understand?’ he said. ‘Answer me.’
She answered, not in words, but in a slow smile that made him growl and pull her hard against him. ‘Are you tormenting me for the pleasure of it?’
‘What do you think?’ she asked, speaking quietly so that he couldn’t hear, had to make out the movement of her lips.
‘I think I won’t let you torment me any more,’ he growled.
She laughed recklessly. ‘How will you stop me?’
‘Don’t challenge me, Heather. You’ll lose.’
‘I think I’ve already won.’
She’d won his lips crushing hers, one arm tight around her waist, the other behind her neck, so that she couldn’t have escaped if she’d wanted to. But she didn’t want to. She wanted to stay in his arms and enjoy her prize to the full. Because afterwards would come the day of reckoning, when she would discover what else she had won with this strange, mysterious, complicated man.
‘Tell me that you never slept with him,’ he said hoarsely.
‘If I did, I had every right to. I was his, not yours.’
‘Tell me you didn’t.’
‘It doesn’t concern you. You don’t own me. You never will.’
He stepped back from her. He was trembling as though he’d run a long race.
‘I do,’ he said. ‘And I always will.’
He fell silent. He might have been waiting for her response, but she was determined to say nothing. Slowly the stormy look died out of his eyes, leaving bleakness behind. ‘The rain has stopped,’ he said. ‘We should leave before it starts again.’
At the villa he stayed only long enough to dry off and change into some of the dry clothes that were still in his room. Heather went to her own room to change, and when she emerged Renato had already gone.
‘He said to say goodbye,’ Jocasta explained. ‘But he couldn’t stay.’
‘No, I didn’t think he would.’
She ate alone that evening, and picked so delicately at the food that Jocasta privately berated her husband, demanding to know if he wanted to drive the mistress away by his bad cooking.
She was late going to bed. As the moon came up she wandered in the garden, finding her way easily along silvered paths. The rose bush shone in the cool light, symbol of a love that had never really died.
That was what she’d thought awaited her here: the sweetness and tenderness of love. It was the kind of gentle experience that, as a northerner, she had instinctively understood.
Instead, in this country of fierce sun and fiercer rain, she’d found a passion as primitive as time itself, passion as these varied, unpredictable people understood it, and it had revealed that at heart she was one of them.
Very well. If she was to be a Sicilian, then she would meet the problem not merely with Sicilian intensity, but with Sicilian cunning.
She was swept again by the memory of Renato’s lips on hers, the way he’d pulled her against him so that her body moulded itself against his. These things had made her want to cry Yes with every part of her.
But his mouth had spoken the language of pride and possession, and no woman of spirit could consent to that. So her words had denied him while her senses clamoured for him. It seemed there was no way to solve the riddle.
Unless…
Next day she drove down to the Residenza in the late afternoon, and found Baptista fresh from her nap, bright-eyed and cheerful. They had tea and cakes together on the terrace as the afternoon light faded. The rains had left everywhere looking freshly washed, and now that the hottest part of summer had gone this time of day was cool and pleasant. Encouraged by Baptista, she described how she was spending her time at the villa.
‘The local priest paid me a ceremonial visit, and said very anxiously that he hoped I played chess. I assured him that I did, and he went away happy.’
Baptista chuckled. ‘Father Torrino is a dear man but the worst chess player in the world. You’ll have to let him win sometimes. So you’re fitting into the community. That’s excellent.’
‘Oh, they’re all looking me up and down and wondering if I’ll “do”,’ Heather said with a smile. ‘They seem to think that I will. It’s a happy place. No wonder you love it.’ After a moment she added significantly, ‘I really don’t want to leave.’
‘I was sure you wouldn’t.’
‘But it’s not that easy.’ Heather sipped her tea and thought for a moment before asking, ‘How many men did you turn down before you finally said yes?’
‘Five or six. My poor parents were tearing their hair, but they persevered.’
Out of the corner of her eye Heather became aware of a shadow on the curtain, and then the figure of a man appearing. She was sure Baptista also knew he was there, but neither of them took the slightest notice of him. Nor did he speak. He was listening intently.
‘It’s not just the man who has to be right,’ Baptista continued, ‘but the circumstances. That’s one advantage of using an intermediary. You negotiate the important decisions first, and then there’s less to quarrel about.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Heather murmured, still refusing to acknowledge Renato’s presence, although he’d poured himself some tea, and taken a seat a little behind them. ‘With certain people there would always be something to quarrel about because they’re just naturally annoying.’
‘I totally agree. A good intermediary takes that into account. Some men are harder to match than others on account of being-how shall I put it?’
‘Full of themselves,’ Heather supplied.
Baptista gave a delighted snort. ‘I love your English idioms. So perfectly expressive. And you have another one-“where to get off!” Such a man needs a wife who can tell him where to get off. As for her, if perhaps she finds her life a little unfocused and lacking in direction, and if he can offer her a life that can remedy these problems-she might well decide to overlook his deficiencies.’
‘There’s another matter to be settled,’ Heather pointed out. ‘Fidelity. The party on my side wouldn’t want to find herself standing in line behind Julia and Minetta and-’
‘Never heard of them,’ growled a masculine voice from behind.
‘I think he’ll decide to forget that he’s ever heard of them,’ Baptista observed blandly.
‘Good,’ Heather said. ‘My party would expect things to stay that way. Did somebody speak?’
The voice growled again. ‘Zoccu non fa pi tia ad autra non fari.’
‘We seem to have been joined by a spirit presence,’ Baptista remarked, unperturbed. ‘It has just reminded us of a Sicilian proverb: Do not do to others what you don’t wish them to do to you.’
‘The point is taken,’ Heather observed gravely. ‘Fidelity on both sides.’
‘Excellent. There are certain other matters to be decided in advance. Like, where they are going to live. I refused two suitors because they disliked Bella Rosaria and wouldn’t spend any time there. All I wanted was a few weeks in the summer, but they wouldn’t budge.’
‘A few weeks in summer sounds ideal,’ Heather said.
‘And the rest of the time here because he does so much business from this house.’
‘Of course, he would need to remain at the heart of his business,’ Heather agreed. ‘But I expect you slipped away to the villa sometimes on your own?’
‘Indeed I did. As I’m sure you would wish to do. Although I doubt you’d be on your own because he loves the place too, and might burden you with his company more often than you’d like.’
‘I wouldn’t mind. He’s at his best at the villa.’
‘Ah, you’ve discovered that.’
‘Almost human. And it’s nice to have something in common.’
‘Once that has been decided,’ Baptista resumed, ‘all that would remain would be to call in the lawyers and arrange the legal details. As to the dowry-’
‘The bride offers Bella Rosaria, a very desirable estate,’ Heather pointed out.
‘An excellent dow
ry,’ Baptista agreed, ‘which will remain her property-’
‘But I thought-that is, she thought she’d be giving it back to the Martelli family,’ Heather protested.
‘After the marriage she’ll be part of the Martelli family,’ Baptista pointed out. ‘Besides, a woman is in a stronger position in Sicily if she has some property of her own. You should advise your party to take my word for it.’
Heather nodded. ‘She will do so. In fact, she’s very aware of how much she owes to your wisdom and judgement in bringing this difficult case to a successful conclusion. Have we forgotten anything?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘In that case,’ Heather said with a sudden air of resolution, ‘you can tell your party that my party finds the arrangements quite satisfactory.’
She rose. Baptista held out a hand and Heather helped her to stand. Then the two women went slowly into the house, leaving Renato alone in the gathering twilight, drinking his tea and staring moodily out to sea. Neither of them had spared him so much as a glance.
CHAPTER TEN
F OR her second wedding in Palermo Cathedral Heather chose a much simpler dress than her first. It was of ivory silk, because that suited her lightly tanned complexion better than white, and she borrowed it from a hire shop in Palermo.
‘It didn’t cost me a penny,’ she told Renato and Baptista triumphantly. ‘I made them a gift of the old one and they were delighted to let me hire one free.’
Baptista gave a crow of triumph. ‘What a business-woman! Didn’t I tell you?’ This was to Renato.
‘You did.’ He was grinning. ‘Perhaps your suggestion was right, Mamma.’
‘Right?’ Heather looked from one to the other.
‘Mamma thinks you should join the business at once,’ Renato explained.
‘I shall be retiring soon and you must take my place,’ Baptista said. ‘Otherwise there won’t be a female voice on the board, and that would be disaster.’
‘You’re on the board?’
‘You’ll enjoy our board meetings,’ Renato told her ironically. ‘First Mamma tells us what she wants. Then the meeting begins, she proposes the motion and we all vote according to her instructions.’
‘Baloney!’ Heather said frankly.
‘No wonder Mamma wants you to take her place. You’re as big a bully as she is.’
‘Take her place?’
‘I can’t go on for ever,’ Baptista said. ‘My dear, you have brains, beauty and business sense. In short, you’re a considerable asset. Naturally I was determined to “acquire” you.’
It might have sounded clinical but Heather already knew that her future mother-in-law loved her. The effect, as Baptista had intended, was to make her feel valued, and to show her to herself not just as bride, but as a woman taking her place in a community. This was what arranged marriages were for.
She would have preferred a quiet wedding, but every guest from last time must be asked back, or they would be offended. So the preparations went ahead on the same scale. In the kitchens the chefs worked night and day to outdo their previous efforts. Even the cake had an extra tier.
There was one other aspect which would be exactly the same. Once more Bernardo would be the best man, and on the night before the wedding Heather drove to Palermo Airport to collect Angie, who had flown in to be her bridesmaid. They dined together in a restaurant, and slipped into the house later, unseen by Bernardo.
‘He really hasn’t suspected?’ Angie asked as she prepared for bed in their old room.
‘Not a thing. Nobody has mentioned your coming, and the first Bernardo will know is when he sees you walking down the aisle with me tomorrow. You haven’t changed, have you?’
‘Not by a whisper,’ Angie said wistfully. ‘And him?’
‘He’s as unhappy as you are,’ Heather said. ‘Trust me. I’m going to fix this.’
‘Goodness, but you sounded like Baptista then,’ Angie said, startled.
‘That’s what they want me for,’ Heather said lightly.
‘Pardon?’
‘This is an arranged marriage. Very suitable.’
‘And that’s why you’re marrying Renato? Because it’s “suitable”.’
‘Certainly,’ Heather said, a little stiffly.
Angie smiled. ‘You’re kidding yourself.’
The morning came. The family departed. Cousin Enrico, who was giving her away, escorted her to the car, and in a few minutes they’d reached the cathedral. This time there was no breeze to stir her veil, no crowd to cry ‘grazziusu’. No romance, no poetry. Only the certainty that this time her bridegroom would be there, waiting to make the deal. A sensible marriage for sensible people.
Then they had started the long journey down the aisle to the high altar. With a sense of shock she saw Renato’s face. Not sensible. Not businesslike. Strangely pale, stunned, exactly as he’d looked on that other day as she descended the stairs to take his arm for him to lead her to her marriage with his brother.
She’d meant to glance at Bernardo to see how he reacted to Angie, but the sight of Renato, his eyes fixed on her with a look she couldn’t understand, wiped everything else from her mind. The cathedral vanished, the guests disappeared. There was only herself and Renato, about to become a part of each other’s lives for ever.
The whole congregation seemed to he holding its breath as they made their responses, and to heave a collective sigh when they turned to walk back down the aisle, into the sunlight: husband and wife. The arrangement was made, the deal done. Both parties were satisfied.
At the reception in the Residenza they each managed to get through their parts without too much self-consciousness. Heather smiled and cut the cake. They toasted each other in champagne and tried not to seem too aware of what everyone was thinking. There was applause as they took the dance floor together.
Out of the corner of her eye Heather saw Angie dancing with Bernardo. They seemed lost in each other, but their faces were distraught, almost desperate, and her heart sank.
‘Did you really think it would work, bringing her here?’ Renato murmured.
‘I hoped,’ she said wistfully. ‘They love each other so much.’
‘Which is why neither of them can see reason. Not like us.’
‘I guess that makes us the lucky ones,’ she said, smiling.
He returned her smile. ‘I think we might be.’
Something in that smile made her aware of the movement of his legs against hers through the material of her bridal gown. His hand was firm in the small of her back, and he was holding her very close. Once before they had danced, and she’d fought to deny her growing physical awareness of him. But now she didn’t have to deny it. Her heart beat a little faster.
At last the guests began to leave, except for the ones who were staying the night, and the bride and groom were free to slip away. Her things had already been moved into the room with the big four-poster bed that for years he had occupied alone.
Now it was hers too. Signora Martelli.
There was only one light in the room, a bedside lamp that cast a small glow over the deep red counterpane and the rest of the room into mysterious shadow. The long mirror showed her to herself, a faint muted figure, still uncertain whether she really belonged here.
Something in the silence made her turn quickly and see Renato standing just inside the door. She hadn’t heard him come in. How long, she wondered, had he been there, looking at her with that strange expression that she couldn’t read?
In this light he looked taller and more imposing than ever, except that when he moved towards her there was a new hesitancy in his manner, and she realised that he wasn’t really very sure of himself either.
Renato had had champagne set there on ice, to wait for them, with two tall crystal glasses. Renato poured two glasses and offered one to her. She raised it to him, feeling her heart quicken its beating beneath the white dress.
‘To us,’ he said. They clinked glasses.
She was still in full bridal regalia, but now he lifted off the pearl tiara and removed her veil himself, causing her hair to fall down about her shoulders. Abruptly she set her glass down. Her hand was shaking.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘It must have been a great strain for you, going through today with all those faces staring at you, wondering.’
‘For you too. In fact they were probably wondering more about you, how you felt taking on the woman your brother-ouch!’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said swiftly releasing her hair where his hand had suddenly tightened. ‘I didn’t mean to do that. I think we should agree never to refer to that-or to him-again. It’s over. It didn’t happen.’
Yes, she thought, that was the only way they could live-as though it hadn’t happened.
When Renato spoke again it was in a suspiciously cheerful voice, as though he were forcing himself to change the subject.
‘Did you see Enrico and Giuseppe vying for Mamma’s favours today?’
‘Yes. Poor Enrico was hopping with rage when she danced with Giuseppe. If she hadn’t danced with him straight after I dread to think what would have happened.’
‘Mamma wouldn’t have done that,’ he said lightly. ‘It wouldn’t have been proper, and today has been a day of great propriety. We should congratulate ourselves. We’ve made a wise marriage, bearing in mind the interests of our family and community. This is what sensible people do.’
‘It’s an excellent business arrangement,’ she agreed. ‘We both gain.’
‘I’m glad you see the position so clearly.’
But as he spoke he was letting his fingertips rest against her neck, setting off a soft excitement deep within her that made a mockery of his prosaic words. She met his eyes, wondering why there was a frown far back in them.
‘You haven’t changed your mind?’ he asked abruptly.
‘No, I haven’t changed my mind.’
‘Ah, yes, you’re a woman of your word, I remember.’ He drew her close, looking intently into her face as though trying to divine something she hadn’t told him.
