Guillermo choked on a swallow, coughing. "Did you see her? You have to be kidding me."
Paulo waited, eyebrows lifted, clearly convinced there was more to the story.
"No, no. This is really just as I told you. I don't even know this woman. Besides she's too old, I think, and priggish. I'm not sure what she is, but certainly no inamorata of mine." He laughed softly. "You should know better, Paulo. I have high standards."
Although none were known to stick around very long, Guillermo always had a glamorous, beautiful woman at his side. Women seemed to like him very much, so that had never been a challenge.
Paulo laughed, "I do know, but seriously. You just rescued her? This doesn't seem like you."
"Certainly it does, caro." Pia entered the room with a plate of antipasti in her hand, bending to offer it to Guillermo. He helped himself to some prosciutto and olives. She met his eye with a smile. "My little brother is most selfless and benevolent. A buon Samaritano." She brushed his long hair from his forehead as she had when he was small, carried the tray to her husband, and bent to kiss his mouth. Then she set it on a small table and left the room. "You don't know him if you think he would leave a stranded lady on the roadside."
"Were you listening in?" Paulo asked, but she didn't reply, tossing a smile over her shoulder.
Both men burst into laughter as she walked away.
"It's true," said Guillermo, lifting his brows and giving his head a little shake, "I'm a saint," and they laughed again.
Just then the object of their conversation entered the room, and their laughter died in their throats. Guillermo glanced up into the most astonishing wide-set blue-green eyes, the color of the Ligurian sea, set in a lovely oval face, surrounded by a thick mane of stunning auburn hair loosely tied back. A Pre-Raphaelite painting. Such a plump mouth, wide and ripe for kissing. She was so much younger than he had thought.
He shot to his feet, nearly upsetting his wine. He set it down and strode toward her.
"Signorina! Bella. How well you look." He would have thought she was an entirely different person, but he knew there was no one else here but the housekeeper-cook. Clio had made a dramatic transformation into an exquisitely beautiful woman.
A pink flush rose into her alabaster cheeks. Delightful. "Thank you." Her gaze dropped shyly to the rug. "I…uh. Your sister was kind enough to lend me some clothes until mine are laundered."
Ochre freckles dusted her nose. An angry red lump swelled on her forehead. Her forearms were patched with bandages. He reached out to take her hand, bringing it quickly to his lips, so soft, she smelled like lavender and ointment. "They suit you very well."
The sound of Paulo clearing his throat brought him to his senses. He stepped back. "Ah. How rude of me. My sister's husband, Paulo Cittadini. Please meet Signorina Clio…em. 'Scusi. I have forgotten again." His eyes met Paulo's, in which he saw the suppressed laughter and teasing that he kept from his face.
"Clio Sinclair McBeal." She narrowed her eyes and snatched her hand away from Guillermo, reaching for Paulo's, now standing beside them.
"You are not badly injured, I hope?"
"Not at all, grazie."
They shook hands, and Guillermo ruefully reviewed their playful conversation from a moment ago. This beautiful young woman he would gladly take to his bed. It seems his body knew better than his mind, even in the dark.
"La ringrazio molto per avermi fatto benvenuto nella vostra casa, Signor Cittadini," she thanked him. "I find I am at your mercy this evening."
Again Guillermo marveled at her excellent Italian. But for a slight accent, she could have been a native. Paulo said, "You are American, Signorina?"
"Please, call me Clio. Yes American and Canadian, both."
While her attention was focused on Paulo, Guillermo let his eyes roam over her. She was tall, as he had already observed. But in the dark, under the mud and wet shapeless clothing, the rest had escaped his notice completely–except for her breasts, of course. His body betrayed him with a hot spasm in the groin. Not only young, but beautiful. Pale and soft, with vivid eyes and hair, long limbs and luscious curves that had been hidden under her utilitarian trousers and shirt, and were now only hinted at under her sister's long silky skirt and sheer, flounced blouse. Guillermo felt himself flood with warmth and stir in his trousers. What a surprise.
"A glass of wine, Clio?" Paulo offered, and she consented.
When Paulo had stepped out of the room, Guillermo recovered his manners and turned to her with a welcoming smile. "I am so happy to see you dry and comfortable, Clio. I hope you will not mind recovering here for the weekend. I am very happy to have the opportunity to get to know such a beautiful woman much better."
"For the weekend?" she squeaked. "Are we not returning to Florence tonight?"
Guillermo froze. Eh? "Tonight? Of course not. It will be much too late after dinner. And I came for the weekend. My visit here is long overdue, and my sister is expecting me to stay."
"That was before–"
"Not at all. You are as welcome as I am. You must stay also."
"But I have–"
Paulo returned with her wine. "Yes, I insist also. It is no imposition, I assure you. We have plenty of room."
"Oh no." She bit her lip, drawing Guillermo's attention to it's fullness and rich ruby color once again. "I don't mean to be ungrateful, but I have an appointment. It's very important."
"In Firenze? Tonight?" Paulo asked.
"Yes. I must–"
"It's much too late now, Clio. It would take us more than two hours in the dark," Guillermo said.
"But… did the police call about my car?"
"Si. They called. I'm afraid your car will not be transported to Montecchiello until tomorrow. And that's only if they can find the fellow with the truck on a Sunday. I told them you would contact them on Monday, and I can take you there on the way back to Firenze, as long as we leave early. I have a meeting in the city."
She seemed to deflate, and her aquatic eyes swam with tears. A long-fingered delicate hand rose to her brow. She had a red welt above her eye, and she flinched as she inadvertently touched it. "I'll be kicked out now. I have to call him. I have to…" She turned to Paulo. "May I use your telephone, please?"
Kicked out? Of where?
"Of course," Paulo said.
"Here. Use my cellular," said Guillermo, handing it to her. His chest squeezed with compassion. She was so overcome with some inexplicable grief. He felt a powerful urge to comfort her and protect her from whatever dire consequences seemed to await her late return to the city.
She took his phone and excused herself, retreating to the far side of the room, and slipped into an armchair facing the dark windows. He watched her anxious reflection in the glass as she dialed. He was quite overcome by her beauty and frailty, all the more so because it took him by surprise. He sensed a kind of stubborn strength in her, despite her having been overwhelmed by her traumatic experience.
"Hello? Dr. Jovi? It's me Clio."
Guillermo tried not to eavesdrop, but he was compelled by his curiosity. A doctor's appointment on Saturday night? He glanced up to find Paulo silently observing him, an expression of amused pity animating his face.
"…and so he brought me here, to a country estate. I won't be able to…"
"Uh. What's for dinner?" Guillermo asked half-heartedly, trying to tear his attention away from Clio. Whatever Pia served would be delicious, he knew.
"You'll find out." Paulo laughed, picked up the weekend newspaper and shook it out. He obviously knew Guillermo wasn't really listening.
"…so sorry, Dr. Jovi. I know I'm behind. I know I promised. I couldn't help…"
Surely no one could blame her for the accident. Guillermo stood up. He could help.
"'Scusi, Clio. Please allow me, to vouch for, uh…"
Clio looked up at him, her distress apparent. She said nothing as he gently took the phone from her hand. "Buonasera, Dr. Jovi?"
The nasal, gravelly
voice of an old man replied, "What? Who is this?"
"This is Guillermo Gabriel d'Aldobrandin."
"D'Aldobrandin…of the uh, il Ministro dei MIT?"
"Si. My brother Jacopo. It is I who came upon Signorina Sinclair this evening, after the automobile crash. It is very lucky for her that I arrived on the scene."
"Indeed?"
"Si. I believe she would have suffered hypothermia if she had stayed out any longer, although her injuries, thankfully, are not serious. I assure you the young lady was not to blame in any way. It was a terrible accident caused by some delinquents. She is very distressed that she cannot keep her appointment this evening. She has tried to persuade me in every way that it is essential, however, I cannot return her to la citte until Monday, perhaps midday. Once we have investigated the condition of her wrecked vehicle in Montecchiello."
"Oh? Is that so?"
"Si. It is. I trust you will be able to reschedule this important engagement with Signorina Sinclair? I would feel personally responsible if she were penalized on my account."
A gruff noise emanated from the phone. Guillermo did not know what to make of this taciturn old man. "Please put Clio on the phone, Signor."
"Of course. Buonasera Dottore." Guillermo handed the phone back to Clio with a reassuring smile, though he was no further enlightened as to the nature of Clio's emergency, or the identity of the old man, and could by no means assure her that disaster had been averted.
Clio listened as the old man apparently found plenty of words for her ears, and Guillermo backed away, returning to his chair and his glass of wine. Again he met Paulo's eye, and between them they silently agreed the whole business was strange. "Way to name-drop, fratello." Paulo's newspaper came up again, and Guillermo sighed.
"But I have." Clio exclaimed. "Everything became clear today, Dr. Jovi. I was going to write it up before our meeting. I see it now."
Guillermo's ears pricked up again.
"Yes, of course, I have photographed it and made sketches. Mm-hmm."
Her voice had altered, growing impassioned and musical. "The painting of Saint Clare of the Cross at the Franciscan Monastery was a revelation. It was so like Bernini's Saint Theresa, and yet not. The situation was different, not so public. There was a unique quality to her ecstatic state.The artist is unknown, but yet very talented. Her swoon is most exquisite. One can only assume the artist knew his subject very intimately. And it pre-dates Bernini. Yes. And if you have not seen the blissful expression on the upturned face of the little saint, Dr. Jovi, then you must make the pilgrimage one day to see it in person."
Guillermo leaned forward and peered at the glowing reflection of Clio in the window glass. Her posture had changed. She sat upright, and her face was open and animated. Instead of folded inward and contained, her body moved energetically and expressively, her hands drawing languid arcs in the air. The scene caused a stirring in his loins, yes; how could it not given the subject matter and the messenger, but also a pressure in his chest. An acute tension. Her passion for her subject moved him, as it transformed her. And if he thought she was beautiful before, now he could see that there was much more to this enigmatic woman who had fallen into his lap.
"Dinner is ready, everyone," announced Pia as she strode into the salon. "Please come to the table. Oh. I'm sorry, Clio, I didn't realize you were on the phone."
"No. I'm finished. It's alright." Clio stood up, once again reserved and polite, but a rosy flush remained on her cheeks, and her eyes were dark and bright with remembered excitement. Guillermo was smitten.
Chapter 5
As they took their places around the dining table, Guillermo realized that not only had he not gotten any information from his sister and Paulo about Bianca's upset, in his fascination with Clio, he'd forgotten all about it. He let it go for the moment, thinking that he would find an opportunity later, as the food was served and everyone was fully engaged with the delicious meal that Pia and her long-time housekeeper Anna had prepared. One of his favorite meals- a rich flavourful pork rib slowly cooked into a relaxed sauce that melted on the tongue, served with creamy polenta. As the meal was winding down, and Paulo sat back to savour his wine, Guillermo broached the subject.
"So. Bianca called me today," he tossed out tentatively.
"Si?" Pia's voice was deceptively light, as though they hadn't already discussed this, but he detected a note of frisson. "And how is she?"
"She did not seem well, in fact."
"Oh. Is she ill? Or broken-hearted again. Or does she need money?" The titter of laughter that Pia and Paulo shared was patently false. Okay. So they definitely knew what Bianca's phone call was about. Somehow.
Guillermo gauged Pia's coyness, wondering what this was leading to. "No. I don't know. She doesn't…didn't call me with her problems. But she was agitated about Jacopo." He watched Pia's eyes dart to Clio, then meet Paulo's steady gaze with a frown. Something was definitely up. "She was incoherent, if you ask me. She was going on and on about the villa being in jeopardy of some kind."
"Oh? How so?" Pia lifted a fork to her mouth.
"Pia. Cut the crap. I came here to find out what's going on with Jacopo. I want to know."
"Memmo. We have a guest," Pia murmured quietly, almost a moan of despair.
"I realize that, sorella. But…" Guillermo's heart squeezed, constricting his breathing. He glanced at Clio. "Is it so bad?"
"Non voglio parlare." Pia's face crumpled, and she buried it behind her serviette with a squeak.
Of course she didn't want to discuss it with a stranger at the table. Clio leaned toward Pia. "I'm so sorry to intrude. Should I go upstairs?"
Paulo took a deep breath and visibly squared his shoulders. "No, of course not. It all will be in the news anyway."
Guillermo's pulse kicked up. He turned to Paulo. "What are you keeping from me?"
"Well. On the one hand, it's not so bad as we thought it might be. Jacopo has negotiated a settlement, and he can keep his office." His gaze jumped to Clio again, making her eyes widen with alarm and discomfort. "The press is not good, but his people are handling it. He will be cleared of all charges."
A settlement! But that was good. At least their family name would not be besmirched while a long, unpleasant court case got dragged out in the press, or worse, that Jacopo would have to abandon his political career. "What kind of settlement?"
"It's terribly complicated, Memmo. He has sworn an affidavit to the effect that there was no intentional nepotism, that he did not know the companies awarded the contracts were subsidiaries of those in which he had invested. And he of course has to pay penalties, and divest himself of his interests."
"Ah. So," Guillermo paused. That was bad for Jacopo. But there was more. Everyone else was too much on edge. "And?"
"That is where it gets complicated. Apparently Jacopo borrowed heavily to invest in these ventures. He borrowed from friends and colleagues, and he… he mortgaged the estate, Memmo. Heavily."
Guillermo frowned. "So, if he sells his interests, he can repay the loans, no?"
Paulo shook his head. "No. The value is not there. He must cut his ties clean, but he will come away with almost nothing. And still he must repay the debts."
"There will be nothing for Villa Cielo, Memmo," moaned Pia. "The estate essere rovinato, ruined!"
He's going to sell it, Memmo. We are losing it." Pia's tears flowed freely now.
Clio sat very still, trying desperately to become invisible, watching Guillermo pull on his lip, scowling furiously as he absorbed the news about his brother. All through dinner, she had been quietly scheming, hoping to persuade him to change his plans and take her back to Florence tonight. She didn't care how late it was, and she didn't think he was the kind of man who kept early hours. She needed to get to work. She needed to work around the clock to meet her deadline.
Dr. Jovi was strangely impressed by Guillermo's involvement in her predicament, and had consented to defer her doomsday deadline to Tuesday at the latest
, but she could tell he was unhappy about it. He was a stern man, her father's agent, and not one to go back on his word. And his word had been: Clio you're out of time. After three years, her research was at an end. She was required to submit a final, final, final summary of her thesis statement and a firm plan for the execution of the final thesis document over the next month or two. And then deliver on it. Or else she would lose her status as a doctoral candidate, she would lose the support of Dr. Jovi, she would lose her funding and she would bring down the wrath of the all-powerful Dr. Donald McBeal. Her father.
It made the loss of her Fiat500 seem trivial by comparison.
But now, the extraordinary troubles of this mysteriously prestigious d'Aldobrandin family overshadowed her own. How could she impose any further on them for help?
Guillermo scraped his hands over his stubbled cheeks, his frustration simmering, flaring. "And you? You cannot help?"
Pia, wiping her eyes, said, "You know I pooled my inheritance with Paulo's when we married, caro. And now we have poured every Euro into the restoration of the vineyard and winery. We have nothing."
"Stronzo!" Guillermo's fists came down hard onto the table, rattling the china coffee cups and saucers and cutlery that lay scattered about on the linen after desert. "Why did Jacopo not come to me?"
"What could you have done, fratello? What can anyone do? This is bigger than any of us can fix."
"That's not the point." Guillermo was shouting now, his face dark with anger. "He should have consulted me. I'm his brother. Technically it is my estate, too. And Pia's. Jacopo had no right to borrow against the family property. You know I am also the Conte. All the d'Aldobrandins are entitled."
"It's true, Memmo. But what is done is done."
The Art of Enchantment (Life is a Journey Book 1) Page 3
