He was sitting on the sofa in the dark, staring out over the distant valley. Most of the lights had gone now, the headlights of a vehicle moving slowly along the winding roads the only sign of life.
He heard her come in, and he turned his head and held out a hand to her. ‘Bella. I thought you’d be asleep. Come and sit with me.’
He patted the sofa cushion next to him, and she came and curled up beside him, tucking her feet under her bottom and snuggling into his shoulder.
‘You’re late.’
He was. His meeting with Camilla Ponti hadn’t been at all what he’d expected, and he’d spent most of the evening trying to work out what to do from now.
‘Yes. I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m sorry.’
‘You didn’t. I wasn’t asleep. I tried to ring you.’
‘I know. I’m sorry I didn’t answer. I was thinking.’
‘That hard?’
She could see his mouth twitch, just slightly, into what might almost be a smile, but it was a smile that tore at her heart. She reached up and laid a hand on his cheek.
‘So how was she?’
‘She wanted to apologise,’ he said gruffly. ‘She’s fallen apart, Anita. She looked horrendous. Initially when we had our meeting all those weeks ago she was pretty self-contained at first, and you could imagine her as a successful business woman. She was elegant, smartly dressed, composed—well, until she realised she would lose. Today—what can I say? She was untidy, she looks as if she’s aged twenty years and she couldn’t stop crying.’
‘Sounds like a good act.’
‘No,’ he said quietly, ‘it was no act. She was genuinely distraught. She told me she needed the money because her child’s in a care home. He suffered injuries in a car accident before he was born, and she can’t look after him, he needs specialist care. That’s what she needed the money for, why she stole from Marco for years, and why she needs her half of the business. To support her son.’
‘And you fell for this?’ she asked, incredulous, but he just smiled sadly.
‘She showed me a photograph of him. He’s a teenager now, but he can’t speak and he can hardly move and it’s an absolute tragedy. And before you say it, I know it’s true, because after she left I checked up on it.’
Anita sighed, racked with guilt for doubting the poor woman. ‘Gosh, Gio, I’m sorry. It just sounded so implausible—how dreadful for her. For him—for both of them. Doesn’t she have a husband to help support her?’
‘No. He died in the car accident. It turned out he wasn’t insured, so there’s no compensation and the cost of his care falls entirely to her. That’s why she cheated Marco all those years, and then tried to get her half of the business, to cover her spiralling debts. And when it was obviously not going to happen, it pushed her over the brink.’
‘I should think it did. Oh, how awful. So how will she pay his care home bills?’
‘She can’t, and she’s got a lawyer’s bill she can’t pay. And he’s putting pressure on her.’
‘Who represented her?’
‘Bruno Andretti.’
‘Did he know what it was for?’
‘I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, she had no way of winning and he should have told her that. I wonder if he knew about the fraud? If she didn’t tell him, it’s not his fault. I’ll go and see him, see if I can sort it out. And I’ll talk to Marco. He doesn’t know about the child. If she didn’t tell her business partner, I doubt if she told her lawyer.’
‘Is he a friend of yours?’
‘No, but I know him. He’s OK.’
He shifted so he was facing her, and laid a hand gently on her cheek, his eyes tender. ‘You look tired, cara. Come on, back to bed.’
She fell asleep almost instantly, cradled in his arms, and he lay there holding her and thought of their child, of how he’d feel if anything happened to it. The surge of raw emotion shook him, and he wondered how it would feel to be Camilla Ponti, to have no way to help your child and no money to pay the bills, with your life falling apart around you.
He couldn’t let it happen to her, to them. He’d talk to Bruno, and he’d talk to Marco, and see if he couldn’t sort something out for her.
* * *
He went off again the next day.
‘I don’t know when I’ll be back, but it shouldn’t be too late,’ he said as he left her at the door.
At the last second he leant in and kissed her, just a gentle brush of his lips on her startled mouth, and then he drove to Firenze and went to see Bruno.
‘I’m afraid he’s busy,’ his secretary said.
‘Tell him it’s Giovanni Valtieri.’
She disappeared through a door, and came back a moment later looking surprised. ‘He’ll see you now.’
‘Thank you.’
He walked through the door she’d gone through and closed it softly.
‘Andretti.’
‘Valtieri, ciao—come on in. Coffee?’
‘Thank you.’ He took the cup and set it down. ‘I want to talk to you about your client, Camilla Ponti.’
Bruno sat back in his chair, propping one foot on the other knee and rocking slightly on the spring, a smile lurking in his eyes. ‘Ah, yes. Are you better now? I heard you fell over a refuse bag. Careless, that. I take it you want to sue? Because you won’t win.’
‘No, thank you for your concern. I want to talk to you about your bill.’
He frowned. ‘My bill? What about my bill?’
‘I’m surprised you didn’t tell her she had no case. Did you know anything about her? Did you find out why she needed the money? Why she had debts?’
He dropped his foot to the floor and leant forwards. ‘I didn’t know she had debts. She told me nothing—only that Marco Renaldo had refused to give her her share of his company.’
‘Because she’d embezzled funds from him, because she needed the money. She has a son with severe disabilities. He’s in a care home. It’s very expensive, but he needs specialist care.’
‘She didn’t tell me any of this. Am I supposed to be a mind-reader?’
‘No, but you could have checked her credit rating,’ he said drily. ‘However, it’s not too late to help her.’ He picked up his coffee cup from the edge of Bruno’s expensive plate glass desk and took a sip. ‘I want you to waive your fee.’
‘What? Don’t be ridiculous—’
‘I’m not being ridiculous. I’m waiving mine, and I’m going to ask Marco to help her. I know you don’t have to, but it would be a gesture you can well afford.’
He stroked the surface of the desk with an idle finger, and Bruno gave a short huff of laughter.
‘You owe me lunch.’
‘Any time. Just not today, I have a lot to do.’
He drained his cup, shook Bruno’s hand and drove straight to see Camilla Ponti.
‘Your lawyer’s agreed to waive his bill,’ he told her gently, ‘and I’ve paid your son’s overdue fees and the next quarter to give you breathing space.’
Her eyes flooded with tears. ‘But I attacked you,’ she said, confused and unable to believe him. ‘I could have killed you. Why would you do that for me?’
He smiled sadly. ‘I didn’t tell you the whole truth. I don’t have a child yet, but I will, in a few months, if all goes well. So, yes, Signora Ponti. I don’t agree with what you did, but I do understand. And I want to help you, so that you can be there to support him.’
It still wasn’t the whole truth. There was more, but it was too private, too painful and not for her ears, and so he left her then, promising to be in touch, and drove home to Anita.
It was time to explain, to tell her what had happened, and to ask her to try and understand why it was that he couldn’t dare to let her love him.
* * *
She was asleep, curled up on the sofa, her hand under her cheek. She looked so young, so innocent, and he felt a wave of guilt that he’d hurt her all those years ago.
But wasn’t that what he wa
s doing now? He was no good at love. He always failed, always bailed out when it got messy or complicated. By staying with her, wasn’t he putting her at risk of falling in love with a man who couldn’t ever seem to deliver?
Dio, he wanted to, so much, but he wasn’t sure he could. Every time he’d tried, he’d failed. He couldn’t let himself fail Anita. Better not to let her ever rely on him emotionally. Physically, for practical and financial support, yes, of course. But for love?
He didn’t think he had what it took, however much he might want it, but maybe he owed her that explanation. It was just finding the way to tell her that seemed so hard.
She stirred, and he crouched down beside her, brushing the hair out of her eyes.
‘Ciao, bella,’ he said softly, and her eyes flickered open.
‘Gio—you’re home.’
Home. The word sliced through him, and he sucked in a quick, light breath. So welcoming. So dangerous an illusion...
‘Si. I was done early. Can I get you anything?’
‘Tea? I’m so thirsty. I keep trying to drink water but it just makes me feel rough.’
‘Do you need to eat?’ he asked as he put the kettle on.
She nodded. ‘Probably. Not toast, though. I’m off toast.’
He found a packet of plain sea-salted crackers and put them down in front of her. ‘How about these?’
She took one and nibbled the edge of it, and nodded. ‘Lovely. Thanks.’
He was in a suit, she realised. Sharp suit, crisp white shirt, a silk tie she thought she recognised. Power-dressing. Why? Business meetings, of course. He must have been back to his apartment and picked up some more things.
‘Successful day?’
He propped himself up against the kitchen cupboards and smiled slowly. ‘Yes. I persuaded Bruno Andretti to waive his fees for representing Camilla.’
‘You must have been quite convincing.’
‘I was.’
Of course he was. She ran her eyes over him. The suit was immaculately cut, skimming his taut, muscular frame and subtly emphasising his masculinity. Power dressing, indeed. He looked amazing in it, and just looking at him made her mouth water.
‘Go and change, and then come back. We need to go shopping. I meant to go earlier, but I fell asleep, so there’s nothing to eat tonight. Go. Shoo.’ She picked up her tea, grabbed another cracker and settled back on the sofa to wait for him.
* * *
They went to the supermarket and picked up a few things, and then while she curled up on the sofa in front of the television he fried chicken and cherry tomatoes, piled them in a dish and baked it in the oven while they watched the news, and then he served it with a bowl of penne pasta tossed in light olive oil and basil.
He’d stirred some mascarpone through his, because the bland and inoffensive chicken cacciatore was missing the soft and creamy cheese, but he hadn’t wanted to risk cooking it which might bring out the smell. He’d learned quite early on that smell was one of the main things that set her off, and he’d taken to visiting Massimo in his office for coffee in the mornings for that reason.
‘Yummy,’ she said, cutting off another piece of chicken. ‘This is really good. I had no idea you could cook so well.’
‘Of course I can cook. You really think Carlotta let us grow up without knowing something as essential as how to feed ourselves? We can all cook.’
‘Did you leave the mascarpone out?’
‘Only from yours. I didn’t want to upset you. Did you want it?’
‘No. It’s great. Just right. I was a bit worried when you said what you were cooking, but I might have known you’d get round it somehow. I’m sorry, you must be so bored with my dull diet.’
‘It’s not that dull, and I’m sure I’ll survive, cara,’ he said softly, and he wanted to scoop her up in his arms and kiss the guilty little smile off her face. Just in time to tell her—
Oh, this was so hard.
He cleared the table, made them a drink and sat down beside her.
‘No. Go the other side. Let’s play chess. I could do with a mental challenge, it might wake me up.’
He lost. He lost two games running, and then put the set away, his heart pounding.
‘Why are you doing that?’
‘Because I can’t concentrate. I need to talk to you, Anita. There’s something I should have told you years ago, something you need to know.’
Finally.
She sat back against the sofa and searched his face. His expression was serious, his eyes troubled. She patted the sofa beside her.
‘Come here,’ she said softly. ‘Whatever it is, we can deal with it.’
He hoped so. Oh, how he hoped so, but he was very much afraid she was wrong, because there was a flaw in him that he didn’t think even Anita could fix.
And he didn’t dare risk giving her that chance, because in trying to fix him, she could end up broken, and who would fix her? Not him. He had no skills in that department. His only skill seemed to be in doing the opposite, and he’d passed that one with flying colours.
CHAPTER NINE
HE sat down beside Anita, put his arm around her and drew her in to his side.
He was tense, his whole body taut, and she snuggled closer and slipped her arms around him. ‘Hey, relax, this is only me,’ she said quietly. ‘Whatever it is, it won’t change what I feel about you. Just tell me, and then we’ll talk about it.’
She made it sound so easy—but maybe it was. Maybe he just needed to say it.
‘It was just before our affair,’ he began, and she felt her heart start to pound harder. She’d known it was something to do with that time. Maybe now, finally, she was going to find out why they’d split up. He’d gone to work one morning with a tender kiss and a promise for later, and when he came home that evening, he told her it was all over. No warning, nothing. Finished. And she’d been devastated.
‘It was September, and the weather was glorious,’ he went on. ‘I had a brief affair, with a girl called Kirsten. She was Australian and over here studying art history. She was based in the Uffizi at the time, and she was bright, savvy and we had a fling. Only she didn’t think it was a fling, she’d thought it was much more serious than that. I’d kept it light, she never came to my apartment and I never spent the night with her, but somehow she fell in love with me anyway.’
Somehow? Anita nearly laughed, except she knew just how poor Kirsten felt. Falling in love with Gio was painfully easy.
‘I don’t know how she managed to convince herself it was more,’ he said, sounding genuinely perplexed. ‘I was very careful to keep it simple, as uncomplicated and casual as possible. I really, really didn’t lead her on, because I didn’t want her to think I was offering more than I was. It was a pleasant enough interlude, she was a lovely girl, we had fun, but that was all it was, Anita, all it was ever meant to be. So I ended it, as gently as I could, and she got upset. There was nothing else I could do, I didn’t love her, I wasn’t going to marry her, and I felt I’d made that quite clear all along, but she didn’t want to hear it.
‘She stalked me for a while until I told her firmly to leave me alone, and then she gave up and I assumed she’d got over me and moved on. And then I went to your brother’s wedding, and you were there, of course, and we had rather too much to drink and danced all night. And the next day we went back to Firenze, and I took you out for dinner, and then afterwards I took you back to my apartment and made love to you for the first time.’
He touched her cheek, his eyes sad. ‘It was amazing. I’d wanted to do it for so long, and it was better than I could ever have imagined. And we had fun, didn’t we? Lots of fun. We did all sorts of silly things, and we spent every spare minute together, and it was great. And then one day I had a letter, at work, from Kirsten’s parents. She was in hospital in Adelaide. She’d seen us together, apparently, and she’d flown home, got some pills and taken an overdose.’
‘Oh, Gio, no!’ She’d known something shocking was com
ing, but not this. She reached up, tracing her fingers over his face, seeing the lines of grief etched in his skin. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Did she survive? Was she all right?’
‘Yes. Yes, she survived, and she was expected to make a full recovery, but she told her parents she’d wanted to die because she couldn’t get over me, and then after she’d been admitted to hospital the doctors realised that she was pregnant.’
Pregnant? Anita’s fingers stilled against his face, and her hand dropped to her lap. She’d wondered, but...
‘You’ve got a child?’ she asked numbly.
‘No. That’s the worst thing.’ He sucked in a ragged breath. ‘She lost the baby, Anita,’ he said, his voice hollow. ‘She lost the baby because I couldn’t love her the way she wanted me to. She really shouldn’t have got pregnant. I was careful—so careful—but maybe she sabotaged that in an attempt to keep me. Or maybe it wasn’t even mine. I don’t know. She said she didn’t realise she was pregnant when she took the pills, and I have no way of knowing if that’s the truth, but it makes no difference. She tried to kill herself because I let her down, and so a baby died because of me, and I will never forgive myself for that.’
‘No.’ She couldn’t let him believe that. She couldn’t believe he did, it was so far off the mark. ‘A baby died because its mother let herself believe in something that wasn’t true. You hadn’t egged her on, made her false promises, told her you loved her. You didn’t tell her you loved her?’
‘No! No, of course I didn’t. It wouldn’t have been true.’
‘So you hadn’t led her on, but nevertheless she’d painted a happy-ever-after for the two of you that was never going to happen. Trust me, it’s easy to do. I know that. It’s what I did in those few short weeks when we seemed so happy. But then you came home one day, with no hint, no clue, no warning whatsoever, and told me it was over. Was that the day you got the letter?’
He nodded slowly, his eyes filled with regret. ‘Yes, that was the day I got the letter. I didn’t know what else to do. I was stunned, on auto-pilot, and the only thing I could think was that I had to end it before you had a chance to convince yourself you were in love with me, and certainly before you became pregnant. But you’ve already told me how much I’d hurt you, and you were painting happy-ever-afters, so I was already too late,’ he added, his voice strained.
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