by Sara Wood
‘How wonderful!’ sighed the blonde, pushing Verity back a little and examining her in detail. ‘A kindred spirit at last!’
Verity did the same, establishing what she’d instinctively known already; that this was not another of Vittore’s women because there were deep laughter lines around the blue eyes and mobile mouth which had taken some time to get there.
‘Mother—’ began Vittore.
‘Oh! Yes!’ The woman laughed and the lines danced attractively. ‘I’m Honesty, Vittore’s mother. Stupid name, isn’t it? But I’m stuck with it. Maria calls me La contessa Onsty, which taxes her teeth somewhat. And you’re Verity and so, so welcome! He never said you were beautiful, but then he was bowled over by the excitement of bringing Lio home. I can understand that. I watched the two of you from the window earlier, playing in the garden. He’s adorable. I can’t wait to get my hands on him! And you were so good with him. I can see you care for my grandson deeply. I’m so glad you’re going to be here for a few months while he settles in.’
Verity opened her mouth to make the situation clear, anxious that Vittore’s mother didn’t get the wrong idea, but already she was rushing on in her excitable, unstoppable way.
‘…and you’re interested in plants, too, aren’t you? I couldn’t help but notice that you examined them with great interest and—’
‘Mother,’ interrupted Vittore politely.
Honesty laughed and grinned at him fondly. ‘He’s so commanding. Just like his father. Now,’ she said, guiding the amused Verity to the table, ‘let’s eat. I’m starving. We’ll have to take turns talking, so we actually get a calorie or two down us. Why,’ she demanded, hardly drawing breath as she waved Verity to a chair and sat down herself, robustly attacking a bread stick, ‘are you interested in gardens? Vittore was conceived in this one, beneath the mimosa. I’ve had a fondness for it and shooting stars ever since. Do you have a garden yourself? What’s it like? Do you favour Gertrude Jekyll or—?’
‘Mother,’ murmured Vittore, his hand affectionately covering Honesty’s, ‘perhaps you could allow Verity to answer one of those questions?’
‘He thinks Italians are the only passionate people in the world,’ Honesty confided, leaning towards Verity. ‘But we know different, don’t we? Your turn,’ she finished abruptly, and beamed expectantly.
Verity’s eyes glowed. Yes. She liked this woman. ‘I have questions of my own, first.’
‘Fire them at me. Oh! Maria! Spaghetti and clams! My favourite, along with risotto. We eat that all’onda here—like the wave, so that it ripples when you shake the pan. It’s a very Naples thing. I’ll teach you how to make that sometime. But now, try this, Verity. The tomato sauce is to die for. You’ll have to talk at the same time.’
‘If she’s allowed,’ drawled Vittore.
Suppressing a giggle, Verity waited till Maria had placed a heaped plate in front of her and then asked, ‘You’re English, er…Honesty?’
‘As they come. Met Arturo—Vittore’s father—when I interviewed him for the magazine I worked for. I’d intended to write a scathing article about the shallow, irrelevant world of fashion and ended up praising his humanity and astuteness to the skies and losing my ability to walk.’
‘Oh!’ Verity looked shocked. ‘How awful!’
‘I think she means,’ interjected Vittore softly, ‘that her knees went weak at the sight of Father.’ He smiled at Verity and raised a meaningful eyebrow when she blushed, half-afraid that he knew the perilous state of her own knees.
‘And I never recovered,’ sighed Honesty, not noticing any of the by-play. ‘Odd how love can hit you like a sledgehammer. They say there’s no such thing as love at first sight, but boy, can I prove them wrong! It’s no use fighting it. I tried, because I was hell-bent on becoming journalist of the year one day, but I kept weeping into my tea and diluting it till it tasted vile so I gave in to the inevitable.’
Flustered, Verity flicked a quick glance at Vittore. He was looking at her thoughtfully and his eyes kindled when their gazes met.
‘Ask her about Bianca,’ he said huskily.
‘Oh, such a sweet girl!’ Honesty enthused, needing no asking. ‘You’ll like her. Straightforward, loyal, hard working and totally without guile. Of course, she’d been earmarked for Vittore years ago when she was still in her pram. Two dynasties would have been joined with their marriage. They were about to become engaged when Arturo died. Two months later, Vittore had married your sister instead. I’ve no idea why,’ she said candidly. ‘They had nothing in common. You haven’t told me about your gardening interest,’ she accused, frowning at Verity.
‘Why don’t you concentrate on eating, Mother and let Verity speak?’ Vittore was frowning. Evidently he wasn’t too pleased with his mother’s revelation.
‘Bianca spends a lot of time here, does she?’ Verity asked as Honesty was opening her mouth to reply.
‘Second home when she’s not working. She and Vittore are like that.’ Honesty twisted her middle finger over her forefinger. ‘Nothing sexual of course. Brother and sister. No spark, you see. She and Vittore meet often because she’s doing his job so he can concentrate on the children.’
Verity’s head was reeling. ‘Children?’ she asked faintly, imagining dozens of illegitimate babies spread all over Italy.
‘Well, there’s an awful lot of them now,’ Honesty said quite shamelessly. ‘It all began when Lio disappeared and Tore roared around like a wounded bull for weeks on end. Maria and I stopped weeping on one another’s shoulders and started worrying about Vittore. We shouted at him and bullied him until he came down to earth again. And I suggested that he should hurl all his pain and energy into helping children with special needs. Anyway, he’s set up these centres—no, Maria! I haven’t finished! Do come back in a moment! I know, but it’s delicious. You’re a treasure. Where was I? Centres…yes, all over the world, which cater for severely handicapped children and give them education, physiotherapy, a home, hope, holidays, oh, a life. You should see their progress, their happiness! It’s heart-warming… Yes, Vittore. I’m eating, look! You tell me things, Verity. About yourself. I can’t hog the conversation all the time.’
‘Are you sure? You’ve succeeded so far,’ Vittore drawled. His mother grinned, quite unperturbed.
Verity was staring at him, bewildered by what she’d heard. It seemed inconceivable that Vittore could do something so worthy, so touchingly good. Nothing was making sense any longer. Perhaps he wasn’t the shallow, clothes-mad, spoilt Lothario she’d imagined.
Though, she mused cynically, he could still be nice to children and yet try to bed every reasonable-looking woman he met.
And something else had caught her attention. Vittore’s mother had claimed that no spark existed between him and Bianca. Could that be true? She tried to think of their behaviour objectively. There was certainly love of a kind. Surely Bianca must adore him? And he’d take advantage of that, any man would.
She saw Honesty was waiting for her to speak and, realising this was unusual, she found herself forgetting Bianca and smiling back at the friendly, enthusiastic woman.
‘You want to hear about my background. There isn’t much. I suppose you know I was adopted. I went off to study at a horticultural college and lost touch with Linda. I’m a landscape gardener. I love the garden here. It’s everything I adore.’ Honesty beamed at her and Verity continued, quite relaxed and comfortable despite the grand surroundings. ‘Before I stopped work to look after Lio,’ she confided, ‘I’d built up a good clientele in London and had become fashionably in demand, though I found that most of my work was a little repetitive because some things were “in” and some were “out” and I like more freedom than that.’
‘My style, too. I can tell from the way you’re dressed,’ said Honesty, allowing Maria to remove her plate at last. ‘You’re not inhibited or repressed, are you? Not with that hair tumbling about. No, don’t stuff it up! Let it cascade. I envy you the colour. Mine’s tinted. Pure w
hite underneath but I’m not ready to look old yet,’ she said with a devastating frankness. ‘Yours is beautiful. Isn’t it, Vittore?’
‘Yes.’
His mother frowned. ‘What’s the matter with you? Fling compliments at her! She’s gorgeous! Where are your manners?’
‘I’m saving Verity’s blushes,’ he said drily.
‘Well, she’s gone bright red, so you haven’t succeeded,’ Honesty retorted tartly. ‘Ohhh!’ she squealed, leaping to her feet in horror.
‘What is it?’ cried Vittore in alarm.
‘My cuttings!’ She flung down her napkin in haste and pushed back her chair. ‘I forgot to spray them!’
‘Good grief! Plant cuttings! I thought you’d been bitten by a nest of vipers at the very least.’ He subsided into his seat again with an indulgent grin. ‘Can’t someone else—?’
Vittore’s suggestion was waved away with an impatient hand. ‘I wouldn’t trust anyone with them,’ his mother said firmly. ‘Got to go. See you again. You understand, Verity, don’t you? Plants, like children and love, need nurturing. Ciao, darling.’ She blew kisses. ’Bye, Verity. Can’t wait to talk gardens with you. I’m in awe of your talent. We’ll plan something new for the garden, shall we? Surprise Vittore. Must dash. Love your dress sense!’
‘Drive carefully, Mother!’ admonished Vittore, rising again and accompanying her to the door.
‘You bet. I wouldn’t want to die now, darling,’ she assured him, ‘not with my grandson to enjoy. Shoo. Get on with your meal. You have a guest. I can let myself out. Byeee!’
Vittore turned, his face wreathed in fond smiles. ‘Dear Mother. Do you feel as if you’ve been flattened by a steam-roller?’ he asked Verity, returning to his seat.
She laughed. ‘She’s a one-woman hurricane! But she’s wonderful, Vittore. Not at all the kind of person I was expecting.’
‘I hoped you’d like her. Maybe you’ve got me wrong, too,’ he said quietly.
She was silent while a dish of lamb was brought in. Maybe she had. But how would she ever know?
An hour later, after the lamb, some rich, crumbly cheese and choux pastry filled with a kind of custard and topped with wild cherries, she had ditched her caution and—perhaps influenced by the appropriately named Honesty—was just being herself.
It was a wonderful relief. She could let rip and say what she thought, flinging phrases at Vittore that made him roar with laughter. Suddenly she felt witty and more alive than at any time in her life. She loved making him laugh. He did it with utter abandon and came back at her with amusing remarks and tales that meant they were both weak with laughter by the time tiny cups of espresso arrived.
‘Thanks, Maria,’ he said fondly, his face bright with pleasure. ‘Fantastic meal, as usual.’ He kissed his fingers in appreciation. To Verity’s surprise, Maria dropped a heavy kiss on Vittore’s forehead. He smiled up at the housekeeper as if this were nothing unusual. ‘Leave all this,’ he said. ‘It can wait till the morning. ‘Sera.’
‘Buona sera. Buona sera, signorina Ferty.’
Verity beamed. She felt as if she was glowing.
‘Goodnight, Maria. Thank you for the lovely meal. You are a marvellous cook.’
‘No, no!’ Maria dismissed. ‘I cook with love. For good man.’
‘Yes. I understand,’ Verity said quietly.
It was obvious that every dish had been made with loving care by Maria for the employer she adored unconditionally. That was significant.
Verity watched the housekeeper leave, every inch of her bustling with pride, and felt a new warmth towards Vittore. So far, there had been no evidence to support Linda’s accusations.
And yet Linda had fled. Sipping her wine thoughtfully, Verity decided to see if Honesty could shed light on that. At least, she thought in amusement, Vittore’s mother would be frank and wouldn’t clam up!
Vittore pushed back his chair and stood up. He pocketed the baby monitor then picked up the tray of coffee and chocolate truffles.
‘Shall we have these outside?’ he suggested. ‘The angels’ trumpets smell wonderful at night.’
‘Brugmansia? I love them. Where are they?’ she cried eagerly, thinking ruefully as she asked that he knew just how to tempt her into the magical night.
But she followed, nevertheless, heartened by the wonderful food and the warm, family atmosphere. She had to admit that she’d been wrong about the move to Italy. This would be the perfect place for Lio to grow up—provided Linda had lied about Vittore being addicted to sex.
‘Come.’
Vittore held out his free hand. She had meant to refuse it, but found herself moving forwards and slipping her hot hand in his. In silence they walked across the lawn. Moonlight sifted through the trees and the huge bowl of the starry sky seemed as dense as black velvet.
Vittore’s grip tightened. She felt right, strolling beside him, as though they’d been together for a lifetime. It was the romantic night that seduced her, of course, she told herself. Plus the pleasure of talking with someone on her wavelength. The fun they’d had over dinner. Two glasses of wine.
She stumbled and his arm slid around her waist to steady her. There it stayed and she made no effort to move away from his embrace because she was standing enraptured by the view.
They stood high above the sea, the gentle waves whispering on the sandy shore of a small cove. The Amalfi Bay stretched in a loving curve, its shape only discernible by the twinkling lights around its edges and on the almost vertical hills above.
The exotic sound of thousands of cicadas whirred in her head and the sharp lemon scent of white angels’ trumpets almost overpowered her senses.
Vittore put the tray on a small wrought iron table and handed her the tiny cup of espresso. She bent her head and sipped, thinking that this dark, rich—almost chocolate—flavour was just one more sensual attack on her vulnerable body.
She seemed to be closer to him. Had she moved or had he? She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move now, that was for sure. The empty cup was removed from her shaking hand. A truffle offered to her mouth.
Blind with the beauty of it all, she obediently parted her lips and let Vittore slip the chocolate in. His fingers lingered. Traced a nerve-tingling path to the corner of her mouth as the explosions of taste melted deliciously on her tongue.
There was the lightest of kisses on her lips. The faintest sensation of electrifying excitement when the tip of his tongue brushed along her mouth. And then he had drawn back, his eyes hungry in the darkness.
‘Time you were in bed,’ he said huskily.
She swallowed and tried to find indignation at the loaded suggestion. But all she could manage was a throaty croak.
‘I know,’ he murmured. ‘I could stay out here all night too. But you need your sleep. Lio is hard work. I’ll walk you back.’
Verity was so astonished that she didn’t resist when he politely took her elbow and strolled back through the garden with her. This was good, she tried to tell herself. But contrarily, she felt disappointed that he wasn’t even going to make a pass. He’d set up that madly erotic moment, when her senses were totally overwhelmed, and he hadn’t capitalised on it.
She burned. Everywhere. Felt unfinished, a desperate ache filling the sweet, moist core of her body which angrily urged her to slither seductively against him and torment him beyond all control.
He shouldn’t be so indifferent. It wasn’t right! How dared he turn her on and not follow through? And now they’d reached the house. Soon he’d leave her and she’d be left in her room, frantic with need.
‘Goodnight,’ he breathed.
She should be glad. Tried hard to feel relief. Instead, she bristled, mortally offended. Her eyes lifted to his in unconscious reproach. Hot violet melted under his dark gaze.
‘Night,’ she said in a pathetic husk.
It seemed he couldn’t go. She didn’t know how long they stood there, bound by the incredible heat that they generated together. Only that she became
more and more liquid as the temperature rose, her breathing more erratic, her desire total.
Suddenly in her desperation she reached up and drew down his head, a groan escaping from her as their mouths met in an explosive kiss that rocked her on her feet.
His passion erupted. She was on the ground beneath him, the weight of his body and his grinding mouth everything that she had wanted to relieve the terrible wanting. Their arms and legs sought to trap one another in frantic movements and soon she hardly knew where her body ended and his began.
His mouth was on her breast. Hot, urgent, infinitely sweet. She arched her back and moaned, pressing herself against him, eager it seemed to become part of his body.
She felt her dress being peeled down to her waist so that his avid lips could explore her bare, tingling skin. Then his hands began to caress her legs, moving far too slowly upwards while she writhed and encouraged him with biting kisses, moans and little begging pleas.
She adored his mouth. Adored his body, its clean, male smell, the silk of his hair, the feel of the muscles beneath the skin. Her fingers, mouth and teeth learnt him as her womanhood clamoured for more and more.
She heard a groan rip from his throat and then there were no more fingers creating unbelievable delights, no hard thighs gripping her tightly, no swooping mouth satisfying her with such sweet roughness.
Her eyes opened. His lashes were lowered and he was awkwardly settling her bodice back into its proper place, the line of his jaw hard as if his teeth were clenched like a vice.
Humiliation washed over her. Not only had she lost her head and invited his kisses, but he’d discovered that he wasn’t interested in her after all! And this was a man who adored women and everything that they had to offer!
Perhaps he did only want to snare her to gain Lio’s confidence, and he hadn’t bargained on her taking the situation so far.
Groggily she sat up. Ignored his silently offered hand and scrambled clumsily to her feet.
‘Verity—’