Guilty

by Anne Mather

  Laura nodded now, her mind busy with wondering why Jake’s mother should be calling her. For it had to be Sophia Lombardi. She was the only female Lombardi she knew—apart from Luci, of course.

  Pressing her lips together, she tried to adopt what she hoped was a casual expression. ‘Well—thank you, Mrs Forrest,’ she murmured, glancing uneasily towards the phone. ‘I—er—I’ll call her right away.’

  ‘Oh…’ Mrs Forrest looked a little disappointed now. Clearly she had hoped Laura would be so anxious to make the call that she might forget she was there. ‘Then I’d better go, hadn’t I?’

  Laura managed a smile. ‘I do appreciate your staying. To deliver the message, I mean.’

  ‘You wouldn’t like me to stay on?’ suggested Mrs Forrest hopefully. ‘If it’s bad news…’

  ‘I’m sure it won’t be,’ said Laura, more confidently than she felt. ‘But thank you anyway.’

  With the door closed behind the cleaning woman, Laura was able to breathe a little more easily. But not for long. Whatever reason the Contessa had for ringing her, she would not have done so unless it was something important. But what? Laura’s brain simply refused to work.

  A maid answered the phone to Laura’s ring, and, although the woman’s English was poor, a mention of the Contessa’s name soon brought Sophia Lombardi to the phone.

  ‘Laura?’ she exclaimed, and hearing the relief in her voice, Laura’s knees gave out on her. ‘I’m so glad you felt able to return my call.’

  ‘Um—not at all.’ Laura sank down on to the arm of the chair. ‘I—er—what can I do for you?’

  ‘You did not mind me ringing?’ the Contessa persisted anxiously. ‘I realise it is something of an imposition, but I did not know what else to do.’

  ‘No?’ Laura shook her head bewilderedly. ‘Really—it’s not a problem.’

  ‘You’re very kind.’ The Contessa let out her breath on a wispy sigh. ‘But, even so, I am not sure I have done the right thing in calling you.’

  Laura tried to contain her impatience. ‘Why?’ she asked, as a thousand different reasons presented themselves. ‘I—please—is something wrong?’

  ‘You could say that.’ The Italian woman sounded rueful now. ‘I—it’s Jake, you see. He’s—had an accident—–’

  ‘An accident!’

  ‘—and I’m very much afraid he doesn’t want to get better.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  LAURA came out of the airport at Pisa to find the Count’s chauffeur waiting for her. She recognised the man immediately, not least because of his distinctive livery, though his good-humoured features and luxuriant moustache were surprisingly familiar. Probably because it was he who had brought her back to the airport after the shattering weekend at Castellombardi, Laura reflected tensely. There was nothing about that weekend she could forget.

  ‘Signora,’ he greeted her politely, installing her in the back of the limousine, as before, and depositing her single suitcase in the car’s huge boot. ‘Come sta?’

  ‘Oh…’ Laura knew what that meant. ‘Er—bene,’ she murmured awkwardly. And then, with a tight smile, ‘Grazie.’

  Nevertheless, she hoped the man wouldn’t imagine she had taken a crash course in Italian. The few words she did understand had mostly been picked up from Jake, and in her present state of nerves it was difficult enough to remember her own language, let alone his.

  However, after ensuring that his passenger was comfortable, the chauffeur seemed more concerned with negotiating the traffic around the airport than in conducting a conversation, and Laura was able to relax. Or at least try to, she amended, torturing the strap of the handbag in her lap. But, for the first time since speaking to Jake’s mother, she felt she was actually making some progress towards her destination, and she forced herself to accept that for the moment there was nothing more she could do.

  But it had been a terrible twenty-four hours since the Contessa’s call. For the first time in her life, Laura had regretted the fact that she lived in the north-east of England. It had been impossible for her to get a flight to London the night before, and although she had caught the first available plane this morning she had still had problems about getting on a flight to Pisa. It was Saturday, and approaching the height of the tourist season, and all morning flights were full. In consequence, she had had to wait until the middle of the afternoon before she’d been able to continue her journey, and the flight to Pisa had seemed the longest flight of her life.

  But she was here now, she told herself steadyingly, feeling the coolness of the leather squabs against her back. Until they arrived at Castellombardi, there was nothing she could do, so she might as well try and rest, and enjoy the journey.

  Which was something she hadn’t been able to do since she’d made that call to the Contessa, she admitted drily. But how was she supposed to react, after learning that Jake had suffered some kind of mental breakdown? she wondered. It was hard enough to cope with the reality of what Sophia Lombardi had told her. To believe that she herself might play some part in his trauma was sufficient to convince her she might never rest again.

  She turned her face against the cool upholstery, and tried to stem the ready tears that burned behind her eyes. It was unbelievable. Things like this didn’t happen to people like her. For nearly forty years she had lived a fairly conventional existence. Even having Julie was not such a remarkable event, and the problems they had had were common enough, even in families where there were two parents. She had been quite content to believe that that was all there was. Until Jake Lombardi had come into her life…

  She stifled a sigh. What had his mother said exactly? That Jake had had a fall from his horse? Yes, that was it. He had been missing for almost eight hours, and when the search party had found him he had been unconscious.

  God! Laura shivered, even though the air outside the car hovered somewhere in the high seventies. According to Sophia Lombardi, he had been found near the foot of the ravine, and, remembering the morning she had sat on Caesar’s back looking down into the valley, Laura could only marvel that he hadn’t broken his neck.

  In fact, Sophia had said, no bones had been broken. He had had concussion, and multiple bruising, but somehow he had survived any serious injury. Of a physical kind, anyway, Laura conceded, remembering what else his mother had said. The accident had apparently happened the day after Laura had flown back to England, and since then Jake’s mental condition had deteriorated rapidly. His family had thought at first that it was simply the after-effects of his concussion, but, as time went by, they began to realise that something more serious was wrong.

  ‘That was when my husband began to suspect that Giacomo’s accident might not have been an accident,’ Sophia had explained unevenly. ‘He is—he has always been—an expert horseman, and although at the time our relief at finding him alive, and apparently unharmed, blinded us to other considerations, it soon became apparent that all was not well.’

  ‘Even so—–’

  ‘Even so, nothing.’ Laura’s shocked protest had been swiftly swept aside. ‘You have not seen him, signora. Believe me, he is not the man you knew—or the son I believed I did. I—we—are seriously worried about him.’

  Laura had persisted even then. ‘But—what do you think I can do?’ she demurred. ‘I mean, I—–’

  ‘I do not know if there is anything you can do,’ Sophia had responded honestly. ‘But—and it is a faint hope on our part—Giacomo did mention your name, while he was unconscious. When—when my husband found him, he said something, which we are now convinced was “Laura”. Although I must also tell you that, since he has regained consciousness, your name has never been mentioned.’

  A faint hope indeed, thought Laura now, pressing her face against the soft leather. But one which she, no less than his parents, could not ignore. According to the Contessa, Jake’s withdrawal had begun the day she’d flown back to London, but whether that belief was based on truth, or a simple desire to manipulate the fac
ts, Laura couldn’t be sure. All she could be sure of was that Jake had told his parents he was bringing someone to meet them, whom he cared about. But in what context, and how deeply, only Jake knew.

  She pulled a tissue out of her bag, and blew her nose. She would soon find out, she thought bleakly. Again, according to the Contessa, Jake had become virtually a recluse. He seldom left his apartments. When he did, it was always at night. He seldom spoke. Even Luci couldn’t penetrate the wall of indifference he had built around himself.

  Needless to say, he had lost weight, Sophia had continued. As no one seemed capable of persuading him to eat, the food prepared for him was returned to the kitchen untouched. He was simply not interested in anything, and, although it was obvious the Contessa was not happy about contacting Laura, she had felt she had no other option.

  No doubt his parents blamed her for what had happened, Laura conceded tightly. They needed someone to blame, and she was vulnerable. Not that she resented it. It must be hell, when someone you loved wouldn’t let you help them. It was hell even contemplating how she would feel if they were wrong…

  It was almost dark when they reached Valle di Lupo. But the scent of the pine-strewn hillside was unmistakable, and as they drove down the steep track into the valley Laura tried to calm her suddenly fluttering nerves. What if Jake refused to see her? she fretted uneasily. What if he resented his mother’s intervention? What if he simply insisted she turn around and go back home again?’

  She closed her eyes against that possibility. What would she do if he did send her away? How would she cope, not knowing if he was alive or dead? Dear God, ever since she had spoken to Julie, and learned of the deception her daughter had practised, she had dreamed of seeing Jake again. How unbearable it would be if, having been given this chance, she was not allowed to tell him.

  The huge limousine crunched over the gravelled forecourt in front of the house, and her nails curled into her palms. She was here. The time for uncertainty was over. Already the heavy doors of the castello were opening, and the Count’s servants were coming out to meet them. She had to get out of the car and behave as if her arrival here was the most natural thing in the world, and not the single most important event in her whole life.

  She was ushered into the huge baronial hall, just as she had been before, only then Jake had been with her, she remembered tensely. Now, she was on her own, and, in spite of her eagerness to get here, a timid sense of reluctance reared its cowardly head. Where was Jake’s mother? Where was the Count? Suddenly the house seemed too big, too alien, for her limited ambitions. How could she presume on what had been, at best, a fleeting attraction? The Contessa must be wrong. If Jake was ill, it was nothing to do with her.

  ‘Signora!’

  A man, whom Laura vaguely recognised from her previous visit, was crossing the vast hall to greet her. She seemed to recall he was the Count’s major-domo, or some equally archaic factotum, and her lips twisted as he came to a halt in front of her. Apparently she didn’t warrant a personal welcome from Jake’s parents, she thought bitterly. Whatever the Contessa had said on the phone, she was evidently not considered of sufficient importance to be granted a private reception.

  But that wasn’t this man’s fault, and Laura responded to his greeting with a polite, ‘Buona sera.’ It was all very formal and respectful, and, although she was grateful he didn’t pursue a lengthy diatribe that she would not have been able to understand, she allowed him to escort her to the rooms she had occupied before with definite misgivings. What was she supposed to do? Behave as if everything was as it should be, and after a suitable interval go down to dinner, just as she had on that other memorable occasion? Without an alternative, what choice did she have?

  By the time she had taken a quick shower, and refreshed her make-up, her nerves were as taut as violin strings. No one had come to inform her of the evening’s arrangements, and, while she was fairly sure she was expected to join the family for dinner, she would have appreciated the confirmation. As it was, she had no idea how formal an occasion it was likely to be, and, remembering how elegant Jake’s mother always appeared, she wished she had taken the trouble to pack an evening dress. But, when she’d been filling the one small suitcase she had brought with her, evening dresses had not been high on her agenda, and now her choice was limited to the cotton suit she had travelled in, and a simple linen tunic, packed more for its coolness than its style.

  She eventually chose the coffee-coloured tunic. In spite of the sense of chill that emanated from some place deep inside her, her head felt hot, her hands clammy. She probably looked as if she was suffering from a fever, she thought unhappily, pressing the backs of her hands against her cheeks. If only she could be as cool and composed as the Contessa. Although, she had to admit, the Contessa had not been particularly composed the previous afternoon.

  At eight o’clock, wanting any alternative, Laura left her room, and made her way downstairs. The house was quiet, unnaturally so, she reflected, remembering the buzz of conversation that had greeted her first appearance for dinner in the castello. But then there had been a dozen guests or more thronging the exquisitely appointed elegance of the library. Now, as she paused in the open doorway, she found she was the only occupant, the tray of drinks on a central table mocking her solitary attendance.

  She frowned. This was ridiculous, she thought tensely, trying to summon anger as a counterpoint to panic. Where was everybody? Why had she been brought here, if she was to be abandoned to her fate? Dear God! A quiver of something approaching fear brushed the bare skin of her arms. It was almost as if she was a prisoner here. If she didn’t hang on to her sanity, she would start believing Jake had planned the whole thing…

  She glanced behind her, but there was no one there. No one to prevent her from leaving the castello now, if she chose to do so. Except that she was at least a hundred kilometres from the airport, she reminded herself bleakly. With no obvious means of transport at her disposal.

  Feeling in need of something to bolster her crumbling confidence, Laura entered the library on tentative feet. There was Scotch on the tray, as well as gin, and Campari, and a dozen different liqueurs and mixers. Steeling herself for discovery, she lifted the whisky decanter, and poured herself a generous measure. Then, after ensuring that her audacity was unobserved, she swallowed a mouthful of the spirit, undiluted.

  She was choking as the raw alcohol tore at her throat, when she sensed she was no longer alone. She turned, and through streaming eyes, she saw the shadowy figure standing in the doorway. Typical, she thought tearfully, dashing away the tears that caused her lack of clear perception. Whoever it was was seeing her at her worst, which was probably what they had intended.

  ‘Dio mio, I should have guessed!’

  Jake’s hoarse exclamation was overlaid with tiers of self-derision, and while Laura tried, rather ineffectually, to regain her shattered composure, he turned sideways, and propped his shoulders against the door-frame.

  ‘I—beg your pardon,’ she got out at last, coughing to clear her throat of the constriction, which had little to do with the Scotch she had swallowed. ‘Um—didn’t you know I was coming?’

  Jake rolled his head sideways and looked at her, his eyes dark with unconcealed irritation. ‘Did you really think I did?’ he queried, and, unable to sustain that cool, faintly mocking gaze, Laura’s eyes flickered down over the lean contours of his body. Not that this exercise afforded her much satisfaction, she acknowledged ruefully. In spite of the earliness of the hour, Jake was apparently dressed for bed, his uncompromisingly black silk dressing-gown relieved only by the comparative paleness of his bare calves beneath.

  ‘I—where is your mother?’ she asked, instead of answering him, forcing herself to look into his face again. He certainly didn’t look well, she thought, almost inconsequentially. But even now, here, faced with the undeniable evidence of what the Contessa had said, Laura still couldn’t believe she was in any way responsible for his condition. Even though
her heart palpitated at the thought that he might be suffering some inner mental torment, she couldn’t bring herself to speak the words that might unlock his anguish. His mother could be wrong…

  ‘Don’t you know?’ Jake responded now, his voice entirely without expression, and, realising she had to take the initiative here, Laura shook her head.

  ‘Why should I?’

  Jake studied her still-flushed face for a few seconds, and then straightened away from the frame. ‘But it was she who invited you here, was it not?’ he enquired flatly. ‘I should have suspected something was going on, when she told me she was leaving—–’

  ‘Leaving?’

  Laura was aghast, and Jake’s mouth assumed a cynical slant. ‘Yes, leaving,’ he repeated, with the first trace of satisfaction in his tones. ‘She and my father are spending the weekend in Rome—with Luci.’

  Laura caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘I see.’

  ‘Do you?’ Jake’s dark brows arched over eyes that had never looked more bleak. ‘Well, I do not.’ He raked a hand through his already tumbled hair, and, in spite of her anxiety about him, Laura found the fact that it trembled slightly gave her more hope, not less. ‘Ever since—well, ever since I had a slight accident, a fall from my horse, nothing more—my mother has scarcely let me out of her sight. Then, suddenly, this morning, she announces she is desperate for entertainment. She says she has things to buy, people to see, a desire to visit the opera. All of which necessitate a visit to the city.’ He made a gesture of impatience. ‘I should have realised it was out of character. After all that had gone before, I should have known she would not leave, unless—–’

  He broke off then, and in spite of her own misgivings Laura guessed he was already regretting saying what he had. In a few words, he had endorsed most of what the Contessa had told her, and, although it was a long way from the interpretation his mother had put upon it, nevertheless, it gave Laura the opportunity she needed.