‘I am. Of course I’m all right.’
‘Well, you don’t look it. You look like you’ve been partying with the vampires.’
‘Very funny,’ he said, turning away so he didn’t have to see the worried look in her eyes.
‘I called Luca,’ she said, and he snapped his head back round again.
‘You what?’
‘I called Luca. They wouldn’t tell me anything, wouldn’t let me in to see you, so I pulled strings.’
Damn. ‘What did he say?’
‘He’s threatening to come back.’
‘That’s ridiculous! It’s just a scratch—’
‘Gio, you don’t get taken into Theatre for a scratch!’
She broke off, took a breath and then carried on in a level tone, ‘Anyway, your mother snatched the phone off him before he could say much and she’s pretty upset. I promised I’d get you to ring her the moment you came round.’
He let out a short, harsh sigh and closed his eyes.
He shouldn’t have called her—except, of course, he would have had to because he was supposed to have been picking her up en route. And when he didn’t turn up and she couldn’t get him, she would have rung alarm bells anyway.
‘You shouldn’t have called him.’
‘They already had. They asked me for family contact details, and they wouldn’t tell me anything so I had no idea how badly you’d been hurt, but it sounded bad. They used the word “urgent”,’ she said drily. ‘It didn’t seem like the time to argue.’
No, of course not. What was he thinking? The moment he’d been admitted and they found out his identity they would have been on the phone to his brother, because he worked in the hospital and was known to all of them.
And now apparently Luca was threatening to come back and his mother was in hysterics and all because some stupid, stupid woman had come after him.
‘So—what actually happened?’ she asked, perching on the edge of the chair beside him and reaching for his hand, then thinking better of it because of the bandages.
‘A client’s ex-business partner hit me with her handbag,’ he said, his voice disgusted, and she gave a tiny incredulous laugh.
‘Excuse me? Her what?’
‘Humiliating, isn’t it,’ he said drily, ‘but it gets worse. I ducked out of the way, tripped over the kerb and fell over my own refuse bag. That’ll teach me to do my recycling properly.’
Anita glared at him. ‘Gio, how can you joke about it? They told me it was serious! What really happened?’
He gave a short, dry laugh. ‘That is exactly what happened, and believe me, it feels pretty serious. I hurt like hell.’
‘I can imagine.’ She bit her lip, puzzled. She still hadn’t got to the bottom of this, she was sure. ‘So—what did she actually do to you? Really?’
‘Apart from attempting to knock me out with her handbag? Nothing. She didn’t need to. Goodness knows what she keeps in it, the thing weighed a ton. Anyway, it knocked me off balance and I fell over the refuse bag. Then I pulled the glass out. Not a smart move.’
She rolled her eyes, then frowned, sifting through his words again and coming up with something she didn’t understand. ‘What glass, Gio? Pulled it out of what?’
‘I reckon it was a wine bottle. I dropped the bag, and I heard glass breaking before I fell on it. I cut my hand when I fell, and a piece stuck in my thigh, so I pulled it out, but it wasn’t a good idea because it had severed the artery. If it happens again, apparently, I have to leave it there. Don’t worry, it missed the important bits,’ he added drily.
She glared at him, shocked he’d been hurt so badly and furious that he was treating it so lightly when she’d been going through hell. ‘This is no time for joking, Gio! A severed artery? You could have bled to death!’
He reached out his hand, then remembered and dropped it carefully back onto the covers.
‘Come round this side,’ he said gruffly, but there was a drip there and it was no better.
Actually, that wasn’t true. It was better. She sat down beside him, threaded her shaking fingers carefully through his and closed them firmly round his hand.
Dio, it felt good to hold her. The warmth from her palm spread into him and thawed the ice that seemed to have formed inside him, and as the tension eased, he realised how tight he’d been holding himself.
For a moment they said nothing, then she frowned slightly, her brow puckering as she tried to make sense of it.
‘Why did she try to attack you, Gio? Who was she? One of your thwarted lovers?’
He laughed softly. ‘No. A very disappointed woman. We had a meeting with her today, the reason I had to delay leaving, and she came off worst. She feels I cheated her.’
‘And did you?’
‘No. I just made sure she got what she deserved from my client, which was nothing,’ he said, and he watched her frown again.
‘Wow. And she attacked you for that?’
‘Well, to be fair I did most of it myself when I fell up the kerb and landed on the bag. Apparently my ankle isn’t broken, though, which is good news. It’s just bruised and sprained.’
He nearly laughed at the ‘just’ but he hurt too much to bother.
‘And your hand?’ she asked, arching a brow towards his bandaged fingers. ‘I can still see all your fingers, so I guess you didn’t cut them off.’
‘No. They seem to be there and they all move. As I say, most of it was my own fault.’
‘Mmm. That really wasn’t very clever, was it?’
He snorted at the mild understatement, and her fingers tightened a little. ‘Sorry. The police are here, by the way, waiting for you to feel well enough to talk to them. And you need to phone your mother.’
He nodded. ‘Call her now for me—I’ll talk to her first. And then I’ll talk to the police. She didn’t really do anything.’
‘Gio, she attacked you. If she hadn’t, none of this would have happened.’
‘She hit me with her handbag. That’s all. The police don’t need to be involved.’
‘And if she comes after you again?’
He shrugged. ‘She won’t. And if she does, I’ll be ready for her this time.’
She gave up arguing. She dialled his mother, handed him the phone and then left him alone and went and found something to eat and drink.
It could have been fantastic, or cardboard. It wouldn’t have made any difference, because she couldn’t taste it, not with the image of him lying there like a ghost so fresh in her mind. But it was food, and she ate it mechanically while she beat herself up about not answering his first call.
What if he’d died? What if he’d rung her, and then passed out from loss of blood before he could call an ambulance? No, he must have called one first. He surely wouldn’t have been stupid enough to call her so many times before he called the medical services? Maybe, if he had her on speed-dial. Maybe he’d thought it would be quicker, but then she hadn’t answered, and that could have cost him his life...
She felt sick, and pushed away the last of her panini. Cardboard, she decided finally, realising she was probably being unfair, but whatever, she couldn’t eat any more of it. She went back to him, and found him propped up on his pillows looking pale and drawn and very tired.
‘What did the police say?’
‘They’re going to talk to her. Apparently she called an ambulance, so she at least has a conscience, but her phone’s now switched off—’
‘She called an ambulance?’
‘Yes—why?’
Because it meant he wouldn’t have died because of her. She shook her head, relief taking her legs out from under her, so she sat down shakily on the chair beside him. ‘Nothing. I’m just surprised. So how are you feeling?’
He shrugged. ‘Much the same. The doctor’s been, as well, while you were gone. They’re going to keep me in overnight and review me in the morning, but they think I can probably go home tomorrow. I have to have another blood transfusion. The vampires
were a bit greedy.’
He smiled, but she couldn’t smile back. Not when he’d come so close. She looked at her watch. Nearly midnight.
‘I’ll go home now, then, and I’ll come back in the morning. Do you want me to bring you some clothes in when I come?’
‘Please. My bags are in the car already. If you could bring the small one, it’s got everything I’ll need. The big one’s just ski stuff. You’d better clear it with the police on the way out, or they might not let you get it. It’ll be a crime scene now, apparently. I’ve told them they’re over-reacting, but they seem to feel they need to collect the evidence. Here, my keys. It’s the little Mercedes sports, by the way.’
‘Where’s the Ferrari?’
He smiled. ‘I do too much driving in the city. It was fun, but not practical in the city streets. The Mercedes is much more sensible.’
‘That doesn’t sound like you.’
‘Maybe I’ve changed.’
She just laughed at that. Giovanni Valtieri would never change. She’d given up hoping for miracles.
She took the keys from him, and bent and kissed his cheek, letting her face rest there for a moment. She could feel the slight rasp of stubble, the roughness curiously comforting and reassuring as he turned his head against hers and touched her cheek with his lips.
‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ she murmured, and with another light brush of her lips against his jaw she straightened up and met his dark, weary eyes.
‘Ciao, Anita,’ he mumbled tiredly. ‘And thank you.’
‘Prego. You take care. No more fighting with women.’
He gave a soft chuckle and raised his good hand as she left, and she winked at him and went out into the corridor. The policeman was there, and she asked him to contact the team at his apartment building to alert them that she’d need access to his car.
Then she walked away without waiting for the OK. She was tired and emotionally exhausted, and she just wanted to get home, but first she had to get his bag. The area was cordoned off by the police, as he’d said, and she had to get them to escort her to his car and get the soft leather grip from it.
She made her way home, undressed and crawled into bed, but she couldn’t sleep. She could so easily have lost him—not that he was hers anyway, but the thought of him dying—
‘No! Stop it! He’s going to be all right. Stop torturing yourself.’
But all she could see was his washed-out face.
* * *
‘So can you go?’
‘Yes, but I have no idea where I’m supposed to go. I can’t drive like this, I can’t get upstairs to my apartment, and the police have said it’s not a good idea to go back to my apartment anyway until they’ve spoken to Camilla Ponti and assessed her state of mind, but they can’t find her anywhere. She wasn’t at her home address or any of the other places they’ve tried, and they just don’t think it’s a good idea for me to hang around in Firenze.’
She nodded. That made sense.
‘So why not go on holiday as we’d planned? I can drive.’
‘On a skiing holiday? What’s the point? I won’t be able to do anything. You go and join the others, I’ll just go home to the palazzo. Carlotta can look after me.’
She shook her head. ‘They’re away. They’ve gone to visit their grandchildren in Napoli while your family don’t need them. There’s no one there.’
Damn. He’d forgotten that. So what was he supposed to do?
‘Well, you’d better come with me, then,’ she said after a slight pause. ‘I’m on holiday now, so are you—we’ll go to my villa, and I can look after you.’
‘No. You’re supposed to be going skiing. You can’t do that for me,’ he objected, ludicrously tempted.
‘Why on earth not? I’ve been rescuing you since you learned to climb trees. Why not now? You can’t cook, you can’t walk, you can’t drive, but you can rest and recover there while you keep out of the way and wait for the police to catch her. It’s the obvious solution.’
It was. So obvious he’d already thought of it and dismissed it. On the surface it sounded the perfect plan. The only ‘but’—and it was a huge one—was that it meant spending the next two weeks with Anita alone, with no one to diffuse the tension.
And that was a bad idea.
CHAPTER TWO
IT took them a while to discharge him, but finally he was wheeled to the entrance.
Anita’s car was there, drawn up to the kerb, engine running. All he had to do was get out of the wheelchair and into it.
Huh. It was a nightmare, but he gritted his teeth and managed somehow. His inflexible right foot in its support bandage was the most awkward thing—that, and the fact that his wounded thigh muscles really didn’t want to lift his leg, and his heavily bandaged right hand was all but useless.
It didn’t help that it was tipping down with rain, either, but at last he was in, more or less dry with the help of a man with an umbrella, and the door was shut.
‘OK?’ she asked briskly as he was finally settled beside her, but he’d known her nearly thirty-five years, and the concern in her voice was obvious to him.
Obvious, and strangely reassuring.
‘I’m fine,’ he lied through gritted teeth. ‘Just get us out of here.’
He turned up the collar of his rain-spattered and blood-stained leather jacket and hunched down in the seat as she pulled away. He was glad to be getting out of the city. He didn’t think Camilla Ponti posed a real threat, but the last thing he wanted was Anita in danger, however slight the risk.
She left the city streets behind, heading out of Firenze, and after a few minutes she turned her head and flashed him a smile. ‘Better now?’
They were on the A1 heading south past Siena towards the Montalcino area where both his family and hers had lived for generations.
Home, he thought with a sigh of relief.
‘Much better,’ he said, and resting his head back on the seat, he closed his eyes and drifted off.
* * *
He was asleep.
Good. He’d lost a lot of blood, and he’d be exhausted. She didn’t suppose he’d slept much last night, what with the pain and awkwardness of his injuries, and anyway, it was easier for her if he wasn’t watching her while she drove, because his presence, familiar as it was, always scrambled her brains.
Even when he was fast asleep she was ludicrously conscious of him, deeply, desperately aware of every breath, every sigh, every slight shift of his solid, muscular body.
She knew every inch of it. Loved every inch of it. Always had, always would.
Fruitlessly, of course. The one time she’d felt there was any hope for them it had been snatched away abruptly and without warning, and left her heart in tatters. Anyone with any sense would walk away from him, tell him to go to hell and find his own solution, but Anita couldn’t do that.
She couldn’t walk away from him. Goodness knows she’d tried a hundred times, but her heart kept drawing her back because deep down she believed that he loved her, whatever he might say to the contrary.
And one day...
She gave a soft, sad huff of laughter. One day nothing. She was stupid, deluded, desperate.
‘Hey.’
She turned her head and met his eyes briefly, then dragged hers back to the road.
‘How are you?’ she asked. ‘Good sleep?’
‘I’m just resting.’
‘You were snoring.’
‘I don’t snore.’
‘You do.’ He did. Not loudly, not much, just a soft sound that was curiously comforting beside her. As it had been, for those few blissful weeks five years ago.
‘Why did you laugh?’
‘Laugh?’ She hadn’t—
‘Yes, laugh. If you can call it that. You didn’t look exactly amused.’
Ah. That laugh, the one that wasn’t. The laugh because against all the odds she could still manage to believe he loved her.
‘I was thinking about my mee
ting yesterday,’ she lied. ‘The bride thought we could wrap it all up in an hour. She was miffed when I left.’
‘Is that where you were when I rang you?’
She nodded, biting her lip at the little rush of guilt, and he tilted his head and frowned.
‘Anita? It wasn’t your fault. I knew you were in a meeting.’
‘I should have been out by then. I could have answered it—should have answered it.’
‘I wouldn’t have answered you if I’d been with a client.’
Of course not. She knew that, but it didn’t make any difference, and if he’d died—
His hand closed over hers, squeezing gently. ‘Hey, I’m all right,’ he said softly. ‘I was fine, and the ambulance came really quickly, because she’d already called it.’
‘Well, good. I don’t suppose there was a lot of time to waste, and what if she hadn’t called it? What if you’d passed out?’
He dropped his hand again. ‘It was fine, the bleeding was all under control,’ he lied. ‘And I’m all right, you can see that. Now I just have to get better. I wonder if they’ve found her yet.’
‘Will she go to prison for it?’
He laughed a little grimly. ‘What, for hitting me with her handbag? No. She didn’t mean to do this, Anita.’
‘You’re very forgiving.’
‘No, I’m not. I’m thoroughly peed off because I shouldn’t even have been here, I should have been on holiday and the only reason I wasn’t was because of her. I’m just a realist and anyway, it’s not really me she’s angry with, it’s Marco. It’s just profoundly irritating.’
Irritating? She nearly laughed. ‘So, have you warned him? Your client? She might go after him.’
‘Don’t worry, he’s out of the country now. He was leaving yesterday straight after our meeting, but anyway he has very good security.’
‘Maybe you should move to somewhere more secure. Your apartment isn’t exactly impenetrable. OK, she might be just a bit of a nutter, but what if it was someone really serious, with a real grudge?’
He shrugged, contemplating the idea not for the first time, but he loved it where he was, overlooking the rooftops. He had a fabulous view and he was loath to lose it. Sometimes he sat out on his little roof terrace and imagined that the rolling hills there in the distance were home.
The Valtieri Baby Page 2
