by Sara Craven
‘And I told you that the whole thing was a disastrous mistake.’ Flora made herself meet her friend’s concerned gaze. ‘On both sides,’ she added. ‘So we’re just trying to make the best of a bad job.’
‘But all this civilised behaviour doesn’t include having dinner with the guy?’ Hester shook her head. ‘It sounds to me as if you’re running scared, Flo.’
There was another taut silence, then Flora sighed defeatedly. ‘Very well, then. Call him back and tell him we’ll be there. I presume he’s staying at the Mayfair Tower?’
‘You know he is.’ Hester gave her a swift hug. ‘Besides, the food there is bound to be better than the ham salad we had planned—especially when you’re eating for two now,’ she added slyly.
Flora gave her a constrained smile. ‘Please don’t remind me.’
Marco was waiting for them in the bar, meeting Flora’s fulminating look with equanimity and no overt air of triumph.
Hester was wary to begin with, but was soon blinking under the full force of his charm.
He was relaxed, amusing and attentive to Flora, without undue fuss. And, apart from offering her his arm as they went into the dining room, he was scrupulous about avoiding physical contact with her.
He should have been an actor, Flora thought sourly as she sipped her sole glass of vintage champagne.
But she couldn’t fault him as a host, and the food and wine were delicious.
The only awkward moment occurred at the end of the evening, when he was seeing them to a waiting taxi. Acutely aware of Hester’s expectant gaze, Flora allowed him to take her hand and kiss it.
He said softly, ‘I’ll call you tomorrow, carissima,’ and bent to kiss her cheek.
It was the merest brush of his lips, but her whole body surged in a response of such force that she nearly cried out.
She murmured something, then stepped back, avoiding his gaze.
‘So,’ Hester said, as they drove home. ‘You still maintain this marriage is just a business arrangement?’
‘Yes,’ Flora said defensively. ‘What of it?’
Hester shrugged. ‘Just that, when questioned, nine out of ten women said that, given the chance, they’d rip his clothes off and drag him into bed. And the tenth was in her nineties and short-sighted.’
She groaned. ‘God, Flo, he exudes sex like lesser men do aftershave. I felt it when I first saw him and it wasn’t even directed at me. Also, he’s seriously rich and definitely powerful. So—why the arm’s length treatment? Are you completely mad?’
‘I certainly was,’ Flora returned shortly. ‘Which is why I’m in this appalling mess now. And I’m not going down that path again. Ever.’ She hesitated. ‘I do have my reasons, Hes.’
‘Then I have to admire your will-power, even if I don’t understand it.’ Hester took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. ‘And I wish you luck, honey, because something tells me that you’re absolutely going to need it.’
And as she lay awake that night, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the demands of her unsatisfied body, Flora was forced to concede unhappily that Hester could well be right.
CHAPTER TEN
THE ring was plain, gold, unflashy and made no overt statement, but each time Flora moved her hand she was acutely aware of its presence—and its significance.
She was now Marco’s wife, legally if in no other way.
And she had to admit reluctantly that so far he had kept his word unfalteringly about that.
She had dreaded that on her arrival at the castello she would be expected to occupy the tower rooms again, even if she did sleep there alone, but to her relief she had been given another suite on the opposite side of the building, large and airy and decorated in light pastels.
‘You may, of course, change anything you wish,’ Marco had said courteously as she’d looked over her new surroundings.
‘It’s totally charming. I wouldn’t want to alter a thing,’ Flora had returned with equal politeness.
But it had been a tricky moment, because Marco had reacted with surprising heat when Flora had refused point-blank to sell her business.
‘I’ve worked hard to build it up.’ She’d faced him defiantly. ‘And I can keep in touch on an everyday basis via the internet. I intend to fly home once a month for consultancy purposes.’
He was frowning darkly. ‘Is that wise—when you are pregnant?’
‘I’m perfectly fit,’ she said. ‘And anyway, it’s not up for negotiation. I’m going to need my job to go back to—later.’
A muscle flickered at the side of his mouth. He said coolly, ‘There is no need for you to work again. I have said I will make financial arrangements for you and the child.’
Flora lifted her chin. ‘All the same, I love my job, and I prefer to maintain my independence. Also I’ve managed to find additional help, so I shan’t have to knock myself out in the coming months.’
During the inevitable flurry of preparations for the wedding she’d heard on the grapevine that a young designer called Jane Allen was looking for a change of scene. Flora had met her, liked her immediately, established it was mutual, and that she would frankly relish being flung in at the deep end, and signed her up on the spot.
But Marco, she knew, had not been appeased in the slightest.
On a happier note, she had been touched by the warmth of her reception at the castello. All the staff from Alfredo downwards seemed genuinely pleased by her return as the Signora.
She’d been agreeably surprised to discover that Ninetta had gone, along with her brother, and presumably was now in Rome with the Contessa, so that particular fly had been removed from the ointment.
And it saved me having to fire her, Flora thought grimly.
When she was subjected to some very obvious cossetting, she realised resignedly that the staff had guessed with the speed of light why their young mistress was sometimes unwell in the mornings.
She also discovered that the Signore’s decision to sleep alone was regarded as a sign of his concern for his bride’s fragile health so early in her pregnancy. Not all men, it was hinted, were so kind or considerate at such a delicate time.
Saint Marco, thought Flora, concealing her gritted teeth under a dulcet smile.
But she could hardly complain that he was adhering so strictly to the terms of the deal, after she’d made it abundantly clear that she wanted him nowhere near her, she reminded herself unhappily.
Except that she was lonely. She was surrounded by devoted people, but she realised immediately that the castello was only really alive when Marco came back from Milan at the weekend.
And it was hard to remain aloof—to mirror his cool courtesy—when she longed to run to him and fling herself into his arms on his return.
He had suggested once that she might wish to invite her family to stay with her, but Flora had not taken up the idea. Her mother had reacted badly to news of the wedding, and had refused point-blank to attend. She was still convinced that Marco was connected with the Mafia, and prophesied nothing but doom and disaster. And Flora knew of old that where she led the rest of the family would follow.
The good news, however, was that Hester had holiday left, and was coming to stay in the autumn.
In the meantime, being pampered in the lap of luxury and discreetly coached in the management of a large household by Alfredo and his wife was hardly the worst fate that could have befallen her.
And if she kept repeating that to herself, she might, eventually, come to believe it, she thought, sighing.
Gradually she was noticing her body changing, adapting lushly to its new role, and the eminent gynaecologist that Marco had engaged to look after her expressed complete satisfaction with her progress.
He also mentioned discreetly that now the pregnancy was firmly established the Signora could happily resume marital relations with her husband, and went away thinking sentimentally how charming it was that his latest patient should blush so deeply at such an ordinary suggestion.
> The truth was that Flora was fighting a bitter war with herself—her emotions locked in mortal combat with her common sense.
Marco had claimed he’d come to find her because he wanted her, but he had never, even in their most passionately intimate moments, said that he loved her.
And desire, however strong, was such a transient thing, she told herself, troubled. It took far more than that to make a marriage, especially when the female half was on the verge of swelling up like a barrage balloon. That needed the kind of love she would sell her soul for.
And, since she’d arrived at the castello, Marco had never given the slightest hint by word or sign that he’d been tempted to break his self-imposed rules. On the contrary, she acknowledged with a faint sigh.
Which could indicate that only his weekends with her were celibate. That during his working week in Milan he had already found someone else to share his nights.
And that meant that all Flora had to offer him was the tiny human being growing inside her. Once she’d given birth she would be totally surplus to requirements.
The realisation was preying on her mind—driving her crazy.
She should be relaxed and tranquil, as the consultant had told her, and instead she was being torn apart by misery and the kind of jealousy she had never dreamed could exist.
As a consequence, when he was at the castello she heard her voice becoming clipped and cool, knew that her body language was guarded and even hostile.
Because she was already preparing herself for the pain of parting. Armouring herself against a hurt that would be as damaging as it was inevitable.
At the same time she was fighting a real sense of shame that she could feel all this for a man who had taken and used her only to fuel his need for revenge. A man she had tried so hard to hate.
Oh, why couldn’t he have just left her and gone once he’d achieved his purpose? she thought in anguish. Why had he brought her to his home—and allowed her to fall deeply and irrevocably in love with him?
And, once the truth was out, why couldn’t he have left her alone to recover from the trauma of it in peace? Instead, he had condemned her to this half-life, and she wasn’t sure how much she could take.
Her trips back to London were only a passing distraction, too, she’d discovered. Business was good, clients were plentiful, and Jane was running the company with flair. So much so that Flora wasn’t sure she was really needed there either, and knew that sooner or later Jane was going to offer to buy her out.
I’m going to be like a stateless person, she thought.
When Hester came to stay she wasn’t alone. She was accompanied by Andrew, who was tall, brown-haired and humorous, and who looked at Hester so adoringly that Flora felt a lump in her throat. Her wary wise-cracking friend was suddenly transformed into a woman with a dream in her eyes and a smile of pure fulfilment curving her lips.
And Flora hated herself for feeling envious in the face of their obvious joy.
‘The wedding’s going to be in the late spring,’ Hester confided. ‘By which time the baby will be here, and you can wear something glamorous as matron of honour.’
‘It’s a date.’ Flora kept her smile pinned in place, and perhaps Hes noticed, because she gave her a swift hug.
‘How are things?’ she whispered. ‘I must say Marco’s the perfect host.’
‘Everything’s fine,’ Flora returned.
It was while she was waving them goodbye that she was conscious for the first time of a faint fluttering like a tiny bird in her abdomen.
‘Oh.’ She touched herself with a questioning hand.
‘Is something wrong?’ Marco’s tone was sharp.
‘No.’ She marshalled a smile. ‘On the contrary. I think the baby just moved.’
He took a half-step towards her, his hand going out, then stopped, the dark face closing over.
He said quietly, ‘That is—wonderful news. But I hope you will not become too uncomfortable.’
‘No,’ she said, choking back the threatened tears of disappointment. ‘I—I gather that can happen.’ She gave him a brief, meaningless smile, and went back into the castello. By the time she came down to dinner he was already on his way back to Milan.
As her body had swelled she’d been glad to see the end of the intense heat of summer, although she missed her daily gentle swim. Autumn at the castello was cool and rainy, and she walked every day instead.
On one of her forays she found a small terrier dog of indeterminate breed crouching miserably under a tree, and coaxed him to follow her home. He wasn’t received with unmixed joy by the staff.
‘He is a stray, signora. He could be diseased,’ Alfredo told her, concerned.
‘Then ask the vet to come and look him over.’ Flora stroked the small shaggy head with a gentle hand. ‘I wonder where he came from?’
Alfredo pursed his lips. ‘From one of the rented villas, signora. People do not always take their animals home after a holiday.’
‘How vile,’ Flora said with some heat. ‘Anyway, he’ll be company for me. And he’ll be fine once he’s had a bath and something to eat.’
Alfredo went off muttering, but by the time the little dog had been vetted and groomed he looked altogether more respectable, and, after only a few days, felt so much at home that an armchair in the salotto had become his designated abode.
‘And we will see what the Signore has to say about that,’ Alfredo said ominously.
But Marco seemed merely amused. ‘You should have said you wanted a dog, cara,’ he remarked, fondling the little animal’s pointed ears and receiving an adoring look in return that made Flora silently grind her teeth. ‘I would have found you a pedigree litter to choose from.’
‘Thank you,’ Flora said politely. ‘But I think dogs pick their owners, and I prefer my little mutt.’
And Mutt he was, from then on.
But, as an apparent consequence of his introduction into the household, Marco started staying in Milan for the weekends too, confirming Flora’s unhappy conviction that he had a mistress there.
But he was at home for Christmas and New Year, which were celebrated quietly, although Alfredo had told her that there had often been large parties in the past.
‘But they are a lot of work, signora,’ he said. ‘And the Signore will be anxious that you do not become overtired.’
Perhaps, thought Flora. Or more likely he did not wish to introduce his temporary wife to his family and friends when he knew it would be the only Christmas she would spend at the castello.
Her gift from Marco came in a flat velvet case. One perfect pearl, like a captured tear on its thin gold chain, she thought as he fastened it round her throat, her body shivering in involuntary delight as his fingers brushed briefly against her skin.
In her turn, she’d been careful to avoid anything too overtly personal and gave him a tall, frighteningly expensive crystal decanter that she’d found in an antique shop on her last visit to London.
And he thanked her with a smile that did not reach his eyes.
The weather turned much colder in January, and although Flora still took Mutt for his daily run, she did not go so far afield. She found she tired easily these days, especially as the baby was particularly active at night. Like a drum being beaten from the inside, she thought, remembering a line from a Meryl Streep movie she’d once seen.
Sometimes the movements were clearly visible, and she was aware of Marco watching her one evening, as she lay on the sofa, his attention frowningly absorbed on the tiny kicks and thumps that rippled the cling of her dress.
Do you want to touch? she longed to say. Do you want to feel how it feels?
But then he got up abruptly from his chair and went to his study to work, and the moment passed, unshared.
There was a small shop selling delectable babywear in one of the streets off the town square, and Flora was a regular visit every time new stock came in.
One day, as she emerged with her latest purchases, she r
ealised she was being watched, and, looking round, saw Ninetta standing on the opposite side of the street, staring at her.
She half lifted a hand, but the other woman ducked her head and scuttled away.
She mentioned the encounter casually to Alfredo as he drove her home.
‘The Contessa Baressi’s villa has been sold, signora. I think some members of the family have come down to remove their personal possessions.’
‘Oh.’ Her tone was subdued.
‘But have no fear, signora,’ he added reassuringly. ‘The Signore’s orders are clear, and even if they call at the castello they will not be admitted.’
Mutt was waiting for her at the door, tail wagging furiously.
‘All right, old boy.’ Flora bent with difficulty to pat him. ‘I’ll take you out now. Fetch his leash for me, will you, Alfredo?’
‘Do you think that is wise, signora?’ He peered at the sky. ‘It will be dark soon.’
‘I won’t go far,’ she promised.
The wind was cold on the coast road, and she walked as quickly as she could, her head bent, while Mutt pranced eagerly ahead of her in the rapidly fading light.
Traffic was almost non-existent in winter, and she frowned as she heard the sound of a car approaching fast. She whistled to Mutt, who came running, and clipped on his lead. As she straightened she was caught in the beam of headlights, and flung up a hand to shield her eyes. She expected the car to pull over, but it seemed to be coming straight for her, and she cried out, throwing herself desperately to one side, fleetingly aware of a face, framed in a mass of dark hair, in the driving seat.
She fell heavily, and felt the fume-filled draught on her face as the car went past, its tyres screaming on the wet surface of the road. Mutt, barking hysterically, tried to chase after it, but fortunately she had his lead twisted round her wrist, and after a few abortive attempts to free himself he trotted back and licked her face.
