Emma didn't have the heart to dally over a second coffee, and some ten minutes later she traversed the wide steps leading down towards the pool with Annalisa close by her side.
'Tell me what it is like in Australia, Zia Emma. Is it true there are cattle stations with thousands of acres?' Her young face was alive with curiosity.
'Millions,' Emma corrected softly. 'Some are so large it takes several stockmen weeks to inspect boundary fences.'
'Don't they use helicopters?'
'Sometimes. It depends on their financial status. Helicopters and planes used for aerial surveillance are expensive to maintain. Owners often prefer four-wheel-drive vehicles, trail-bikes, or stockmen on horseback.'
'I thought men who owned that much land must be rich!' Annalisa declared, clearly astounded, and Emma laughed.
'Not always. Severe drought can have a disastrous effect, and the farmer must manage to pay for feed and the men's wages. If the drought doesn't abate, as it sometimes doesn't for years, it becomes a vicious circle in the struggle to survive.'
'It doesn't rain for years,' Annalisa repeated incredulously.
'Some areas in the Outback haven't seen rain for up to seven years,' she replied solemnly.
'But what happens to all the cattle? So many must die.'
'Australia is a land of many contrasts, where the centre is mostly desert. Dark red sandy soil whose natural vegetation is mainly wild scrub and spinifex.' If she was going to impart an informal geography lesson, she may as well do it properly. 'There are goannas, which look like miniature prehistoric monsters, snakes and lizards, several species of kangaroo, together with the marsupial koala.'
'Where do you live, Zia Emma?'
'In Sydney. While not the capital, it is certainly Australia's largest city,' she explained quietly, aware they had skirted the white-painted balustrading surrounding the pool and were descending a set of stone steps leading down to a terraced garden.
'I have seen pictures of Sydney. It has a large bridge spanning the harbour, lots of tall buildings, and several bays and inlets. It looked pretty.'
'It is,' Emma agreed, visualising the city's landscape without any difficulty at all. The harbour is often host to various sailing craft all year round: yachts, cruisers. Most Australians adore the outdoor life—swimming, boating, surfing—sport of one kind or another.'
'Italy is beautiful, too. There are so many places to see,' Annalisa enthused, quite carried away with numerous plans of her own making. 'Papa telephoned last night from Milan, just before I went to bed. He will be here soon; before lunch, I think.'
A faint fluttering of annoyance stirred deep inside her, then Emma dismissed such a feeling as totally uncharitable. After all, it had been she who had chosen the timing of her visit, not Rosa, and no blame could be attributed to Marc's grandmother. As Enzo had so charmingly pointed out, the villa was large enough to accommodate -several guests, and although she was family, Rosa's nephew and his daughter were equally family and just as entitled to receive hospitality. Except, if she had known in advance, she would not have come. Why? an inner voice demanded. Annalisa is a delightful child, even if Silvana Delrosso appears rather stiff and unfriendly. If the truth be known, it was the imminent appearance of Annalisa's father, Nick. A faint frown creased her forehead as she realised she didn't even know his surname, and a grimace momentarily twisted her lips. She didn't want to meet any eligible member of the opposite sex, for the simple reason she didn't feel equipped to deal with the consequences when projected charm was met with polite rebuff. The male ego was incredibly fragile, she'd discovered, unable to comprehend why a courteous rejection should elicit on most occasions such wounded reaction.
'I'm sure your papa will want a relaxing holiday,' Emma reiterated quietly, unwilling to dampen the young girl's enthusiasm by openly refusing the invitation to be included on any excursions.
'But he does relax,' Annalisa hastened to assure, lie says to stay in one place and not be for ever boarding planes is relaxing—by comparison, that is.'
The vision of a jaded jet-setter sprang immediately to mind, and Emma wasn't sure she liked the projected impression. He probably had a number of mistresses in capital cities throughout the world, she decided dourly, while purporting to be a doting father on his own home ground.
'I think he would prefer to spend as much time with you as possible,' she demurred, only to hear Annalisa reassure quickly.
'But he will be with me. We will be together just the same if you are there, too. Except it will be better. Please, Zia Emma. You will come, won't you?'
Oh dear! To be implored so eagerly was flattering, but nevertheless she was non-committal, tempering her words with a faint smile. 'I'll think about it.'
'If I ask papa to invite you, he will,' Annalisa declared with sureness, and Emma's expression assumed a certain wryness.
'And will you tell your father that you have already issued me an invitation, and convey that I might agree?'
The young girl's features became grave as she met Emma's questioning gaze. 'You think I would play each of you against the other in order to get my own way?'
Damn! Why did it have to prove so difficult to opt out of something she instinctively felt might be misconstrued? Seeking a change of subject she inclined an arm towards various statuary gracing the gardens, their symmetry enhanced by a stand of majestic pines. Every statue bore a graceful beauty, despite being weathered with age.
'Do you know whom they each represent?'
'Of course,' Annalisa answered politely. 'Silvanus is the first; he was the mythological god who protected forests, fields and gardens. It must be true, for the gardens here are very beautiful, are they not?'
Emma had to agree as she took in a variety of multicoloured carefully tended flora. From brilliant reds to palest pink, with splashes of white, grown in beds banked between terraced paths leading, down the gentle slope to the southern boundary.
It was hot, the sun's heat seeming to have intensified in the short time since they'd left the villa. With a rueful glance she caught sight of the slightly pink skin on her arms and knew that if she didn't seek the protection of sunscreen cream soon, she'd burn.
'Would you like to join me for a swim?' The thought of slipping into the pool's cool, sparkling depths held infinite appeal, and she was heartened by Annalisa's enthusiastic response.
'I was hoping you would ask. I don't enjoy swimming on my own. It's not nearly as much fun.'
By tacit agreement they turned and retraced their steps indoors, mounting the curved staircase together.
'I'll meet you downstairs in five minutes,' Emma suggested as she reached the door to her bedroom. 'OK?'
'OK.' Annalisa's dark eyes sparkled with anticipatory pleasure. 'I will tell Zia Rosa where we will be.'
In the bedroom Emma moved quickly across the room and pulled open a drawer, extracting a bikini in bright gold synthetic silk before tossing it to one side in search of the one-piece she'd packed on the spur of the moment. A maillot, it was simple but daringly cut, and black, flattering her pale skin—milk-white, she amended somewhat wryly several minutes later as she checked her appearance in the mirror. Picking up a short beach jacket, she slipped it on, caught up a towel, then she made her way from the bedroom.
The water was refreshing and deliciously cool, and she surfaced from a neat shallow dive to hear a splash close by as Annalisa followed her lead.
For more than an hour they alternately swam or floated atop body-length rubber cushions. Emma emerged to re-apply sunscreen cream to her body, then she slipped back into the water to leisurely stroke several lengths of the pool, deliberately pacing her own style to match that of Annalisa, who was making an admirable effort to keep up.
'I think I've had enough,' Emma vouched as she reached the pool's edge a few seconds behind her young companion. 'How about you?' She lifted a hand and smoothed water from her hair, wishing now she'd thought to wear an adequate cap instead of the silk scarf she'd tied round her
hair.
'It was wonderful,' Annalisa enthused vivaciously, a wide smile almost stretching her mobile mouth from one ear to the other. 'I won! I really beat you, didn't I?' For a moment a faint frown clouded her attractive features. 'You didn't let me win, did you?'
'Now why would I do that?' Emma parried as she placed her hands on to the slate tiles and levered her body up in one fluid movement to sit on the pool's edge. Then she leaned forward and took Annalisa's outstretched hand and pulled her up to sit at her side.
'Because you are taller than me, and your arms are longer,' the young girl declared solemnly, watching with fascination as Emma untied the scarf and released her hair.
It sprang vibrantly free and with a faint grimace she squeezed the excess water out and pushed her fingers through its thickness in an attempt to restore a modicum of order.
'I'm also unfit,' she offered lightly, all too aware of the faint pull of muscles sadly out of tone. It didn't pay to remember that she'd been something of a fitness fanatic, loving to participate in several sports, particularly tennis, netball and aerobics. Marc had been equally avid, and they'd shared workouts together, revelling in maintaining a physical peak. In the past year she hadn't played a single game of anything, although she'd resorted to gentle yoga exercises, preferring solitude against partnered competitiveness.
A faint sound alerted her senses, followed by the distinct chink of ice-cubes as a tray was set down on to the table behind them.
'Oh, good,' Annalisa sighed blissfully. 'Maria has brought us something to drink.'
Emma reached for a nearby towel as Annalisa scrambled to her feet, suddenly aware of a slight prickling sensation at the base of her neck as if some sixth sense had extended its antennae and become acutely attuned to an entity she had yet to recognise.
'Papa! Qui arrivato!'
The animated excitement in the young girl's welcome was explicit, and Emma registered a deep, slightly accented voice issue an affectionate paternal greeting in response.
She turned slowly, her gaze travelling towards a tall male frame standing several feet distant. Something about the dark slant of his head, his height, was vaguely familiar, and she lifted a hand to shade her eyes from the sum as Annalisa launched herself into his arms.
Aware that an introduction was imminent, Emma slid to her feet and reached for her beach jacket, unsure as she slipped it on why she should suddenly feel so reluctant to meet the man who was gently disentangling himself from his daughter's embrace.
'Zia Emma, this is my papa, Nick Castelli.'
Emma felt her eyes widen with shocked disbelief as she met his faintly mocking gaze, and her stomach lurched in sickening unison with the knowledge that the compelling stranger who had shared part of her flight less than thirty-six hours previously and Annalisa's father were one and the same.
CHAPTER THREE
'Mr Castelli,' Emma acknowledged formally, unwilling to take his outstretched hand.
He was aware of her reluctance, damn him! It was there in his eyes, the faint, challenging gleam that dared she flout convention and refuse.
'I've heard so much about you,' she remarked with distant civility, placing her hand in his for a few brief seconds. The enveloping warmth of his clasp seat a slight charge of electricity tingling through her veins, and she snatched her hand back in angry confusion.
'Indeed?' His voice was silky-smooth beneath its veneer of musing indulgence, and for some unknown reason an icy frisson of fear slid stealthily down the length of her spine.
There was an elemental ruthlessness apparent beneath his sophisticated facade, a latent strength that was impossible to ignore. A man, she perceived with instinctive insight, who knew exactly what he wanted and pursued his objective with single-minded determination.
'Annalisa and Rosa have spoken of you with the highest regard,' Emma continued with deceptive coolness.
Why should she feel so betrayed, for God's sake? Because, a tiny voice whispered insidiously inside her brain, it was impossible to believe chance had anything to do with a Martinero nephew and a Martinero grand-daughter-in-law sharing adjoining seats on the same long intercontinental flight. That was stretching coincidence a bit too far. Yet with whom could she lay the blame? Her parents, Marc's, Rosa? Nick Castelli for his complicity ? It was inconceivable he had been unaware of her identity, for there were sufficient family photographs on display in various rooms within the villa, and a framed enlargement of Marc's wedding held pride of place atop a chiffonier in the salone.
'Should I be flattered?'
Resentment flared briefly as she met his steady gaze and saw the cool, assessing quality apparent, the strangely watchful element that bore distinct resemblance to a jungle animal at prey.
'Familial devotion is second to none,' Emma accorded with seeming lightness as she became aware of Annalisa's intense interest in their exchange.
'And therefore prejudiced,' he alluded with faintly mocking cynicism.
'I wasn't aware that that was what I implied.'
'No?'
Determination was responsible for the slight, almost winsome smile that widened her generous mouth. That, and a refusal to allow him to best her. 'I wouldn't presume to judge, Mr Castelli. I barely know you.'
A dark gleam momentarily lit his eyes, then it was gone. 'Perhaps we could walk back to the villa together. Rosa dispatched me to tell you that lunch will be ready in half an hour, and you will both need to shower and change.'
Emma had, perforce, to measure her steps with his as they moved up through the terraced gardens. Every instinct bade her break into a run and race as fast as her legs would carry her into the villa, up the stairs and into her room away from this man. Preferably, if it were possible, take flight on the first available jet out of Rome!
'Papa, what do you think? Should I call Emma, Zia Emma, or just Emma?' Annalisa queried, hurrying her words quickly together before he could answer, her voice sounding incredibly earnest. 'Zia Rosa does not mind, but Silvana says it should be Mrs Martinero.'
'Which does Emma prefer?' Nick Castelli countered, shooting his daughter a musing glance before shifting his attention to the subject of their conversation.
'Oh,' Annalisa hastened, 'Emma says I should ask you.'
'I see.' He sounded grave, as if he was giving the matter serious consideration. 'I imagine it should be Emma's decision,' he drawled at last, watching the play of emotions flit briefly across Emma's expressive features.
He would pass the ball into her court, wouldn't he? 'I prefer Emma,' she acceded quietly, although it was an effort to keep her voice steady.
'Oh, good? Annalisa enthused, her face wreathing with a series of delighted smiles. These holidays are going to be such fun, are they not, Papa? We can take Emma to Naples, and have picnics together.'
Emma had serious doubts about such arrangements, and it was on the tip of her tongue to demur, except she was keenly aware that that was precisely what he expected her to do.
They reached the terrace, and with a murmured excuse she broke away and moved indoors.
In her room she showered and changed into a blue sleeveless dress whose soft, rolled neckline and flared skirt accentuated her slim curves and tiny waist. Make-up was confined to moisturiser and a touch of colour to her lips, and, despite a vigorous brushing, her hair sprang away from her head in a mass of wayward curls, affording Emma a faint grimace as she ran a final check on her appearance. Slim-heeled sandals in white leather completed the outfit, and with a quick glance at her watch she smoothed a shaky hand over her hair, then took a deep breath and made her way downstairs.
Lunch. Emma wasn't even hungry, and she could easily have existed on a piece of fruit instead of the beautifully presented three-course meal served in the sala.
As it was, she dutifully ate the avocado vinaigrette, forked a few mouthfuls of salad, declined the sliced ham and cold chicken and refused dessert.
Throughout the meal she became an interested spectator, aware that the image sh
e'd conjured of a cold businessman too caught up with corporate wheeling and dealing to devote much time to his daughter was unfounded.
If she was honest, she'd wanted to find fault, a flaw that would give her a legitimate reason to dislike the indomitable man seated diagonally opposite her at the table.
Not that she needed a specific reason, for he represented most things Emma disliked in a man. He was too attractive and far too self-assured, with a degree of weary cynicism that was vaguely frightening. Dangerous, she amended. He undoubtedly ate little girls for breakfast! A sudden shiver feathered up from the base of her spine and she tensed her shoulders in order to suppress it. Somehow she doubted his penchant for feminine companions extended to girls; sophisticated socialites well versed in pleasing a man were more likely to be his style—the type he could love and leave with little or no commitment. To become involved with someone of Nick Castelli's calibre would be akin to attempting to tame a prowling tiger.
Heavens, what on earth was she thinking of? The last thing she needed was to foster imaginative speculation over any man, much less Rosa's and Enzo's formidable nephew. Yet, of its own will, her attention was continually drawn towards him as she became startingly aware of what he could represent to her peace of mind.
Annalisa's presence at the table provided a necessary distraction, for the young girl's pleasure was patently obvious, and even Silvana's occasional faint frown couldn't dampen her enthusiasm.
It was a relief when the last plate was removed, and Emma declined wine in favour of chilled water, sipping it slowly as Annalisa chattered with her father.
'Silvana is pleased with my results at school. Even Sister Margherita said I did very well. Didn't she, Silvana?'
Emma saw Silvana's lips tighten a fraction, then relax into a courteous smile. 'Indeed. However, your written French could do with some improvement, and there are a few factors of English grammar which you have failed to correctly grasp.' She turned her attention to Nick Castelli, and the subtle change in her expression, a softening that was meant to convey the depth of their long association was plainly evident. 'I have taken the responsibility of ensuring Annalisa does a few hours' study each day. I trust this meets with your approval?'
An Awakening Desire Page 3
