English Rose for the Sicilian Doc

by Annie Claydon

  ‘No.’ This time he kissed her. And he did it properly, taking her in his arms and letting her feel the heat build, stopping just a whisper away from her lips until they opened in a tremulous gasp. Then he took everything that she offered, and made it his.

  Another first. He didn’t remember ever having been quite so lost before. So aware of his own strength and yet so conquered by hers. He made it last for as long as he could, and when finally they both had to breathe again, he kept her locked in his gaze.

  ‘This doesn’t have to be like the last time, Rose. You don’t have to keep this away from everyone.’

  ‘You don’t understand...’

  ‘Then tell me.’ He needed to know, as much as he needed to breathe. She hesitated and he tightened his arms around her, sending the message that he was willing to stand here like this all night, if that was what it took.

  Suddenly she capitulated. ‘I met Alec at the freshers’ ball, at university. I’d had boyfriends before, but he was the first...you know...’

  ‘Yeah. I get the picture.’ That bit was one detail that Matteo probably didn’t need to know.

  ‘He was an only child, like me. My mum and dad used to fill the house with friends, theirs and mine, but he was more solitary. He used to say I was all he had, but that I was all he needed, and I thought that was rather sweet. He was very charming.’

  ‘And you married him.’ Rather sweet didn’t sound much like a solid basis for a marriage, but Matteo let that go.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking. But we were young, and I loved him, and I thought we could make a go of it. I knew what he was like, I went into it with my eyes wide open.’

  ‘So what was he like?’

  ‘He was...he was a dreamer and didn’t bother too much about practicalities. But I thought I could take care of them, and I did until he was made redundant. He decided he wanted to start his own business, so I took on extra work. And then I got pregnant. And I thought I could cope with that as well, but it was too much for me.’

  ‘It would have been too much for anyone.’

  ‘I know that. Pride comes before a fall, Matteo.’

  ‘But...didn’t he support you?’

  ‘That wasn’t what Alec did. He hated it when I had to work late or I brought my work home and so I just stopped talking to him about it. And I worked a bit more because I was miserable, and...it was a vicious circle, and it all finally fell apart.’

  ‘But...’ Matteo was struggling to understand. ‘How was that your fault?’

  ‘On the morning I came back from doing that last model, he was so angry. He said some horrible things...that he wished I wasn’t pregnant because all I thought about was the baby. That I never talked to him any more and that I meant everything to him but he meant nothing to me....’

  She looked up at Matteo, her face composed. The dull look in her eyes was like a knife to his heart.

  ‘I thought I could be the one who kept things going. But I was wrong. I walked into my marriage with my eyes open, and I messed up. And I’m not going to do that again with William.’

  It was heartbreaking. A strong woman, destroyed by the weakness of a man. ‘Would you believe me if I told you that it wasn’t your fault. That you can’t just excuse someone for not facing up to their responsibilities by saying that’s not what they do.’

  ‘I wish I could, Matteo.’

  ‘Okay. So we’ll do this differently, then.’

  Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Differently?’

  ‘Yes. You’re going to pack your things up and come with me. You can work at my place this weekend. Bring William over and I’ll cook and play football with him on the beach. You get to do the hard part, and do Aemilia justice with your model of her.’

  She shook her head, as if he’d said something so special that she couldn’t quite believe it. ‘It’s so nice of you. Supporting me...’

  ‘It’s what I want, Rose. Don’t push me away, please.’

  She pressed her lips together, tears forming in her eyes. ‘I hurt you, didn’t I?’

  Rose couldn’t cry for herself, but she could cry over this. Matteo swallowed down the feeling of helpless anger.

  ‘That doesn’t matter. It’s what we do now that matters. Let’s pack your things up.’

  He put his arm around her shoulders, brushing his lips against her forehead. The kind of thing you’d do with a friend, but he could no longer support that piece of self-delusion. A friend would have let her go if she’d asked, but there was no way that Matteo was leaving her alone this weekend.

  She nodded quietly, as if suddenly all the fight had gone out of her. ‘I’ll fetch some boxes.’

  He helped her wrap and pack everything, and walked behind her carrying the heaviest box. She put hers down to open her car, and Matteo flipped his remote and the boot of his car swung open.

  Rose watched as he put the box into his boot. ‘You’re holding Aemilia hostage?’

  ‘Yeah. Just in case you decide to drive away and do this somewhere else. Because you’re both coming home with me.’ Matteo wondered if she’d object and what he’d do if she did. But she smiled.

  ‘So you’re serious about this?’

  ‘What gave you the idea that I wasn’t?’ Not the kiss, that was for sure. Not anything he’d said either. And if she wanted to measure him by her ex-husband’s behaviour then Rose could think again.

  She nodded, picking up her box and putting it next to his in his car. ‘Drive carefully. I don’t want any of this broken.’

  * * *

  Matteo was taking care with the sudden twists and turns in the road, as if he carried something precious, and Rose’s foot hovered over the brake as she drove behind him. He did carry something precious. All of her broken hopes and dreams. It took an effort of trust to believe that he wasn’t going to stamp on them and grind them into dust under his heel.

  But she’d started something she couldn’t stop. He’d goaded her into it, she knew that, but she’d taken the bait and she’d kissed him, and then told him the very worst thing about herself. It was difficult to decide which of the two had been more intimate.

  She parked outside his house, and he ushered her inside, picking up both boxes at once and walking upstairs. ‘You can work in my study.’

  Following him up the stairs in the semi-darkness, it was difficult to ignore the sudden rawness of his movements. Matteo, the man with the delicate touch, the laid-back attitude to life, who had more passion in him than anyone she’d ever met.

  He led the way to the end of the hallway and up another narrower flight of stairs. At the top, he stopped outside a closed door, and Rose slid around him to open it. Even that was one movement too close, making her want just one more touch. The brush of his arm against hers maybe or the touch of his shoulder as he bent to put the boxes down.

  She flipped on the light, looking around. This was the roof extension that she’d seen, two long rooms arranged along the front and side of the house in an L-shape. The rest of the roof space was taken up by a paved garden, overlooking the sea. The other room was in darkness still, but this one was a marked contrast to the cool sophistication of the rest of the house.

  ‘This is your playroom?’ She smiled up at Matteo and he chuckled.

  ‘Actually, I call it my study, but playroom’s probably a more accurate description.’

  It was an adult version of William’s playroom in London. Instead of picture books, there were shelves of books that ran along the whole of one side of the room. A large sofa was at the far end, with a flat-screen TV fixed to the wall and a satellite dish outside. At this end, a computer stood on a desk, surrounded by books and papers, and in the corner a telescope on a tripod pointed up towards the stars.

  This was where the disparate sides of Matteo’s life seemed to come together. Outsi
de there was a large concrete tub containing a bush vine, trained against the wall, and chairs to sit on in the sun. Inside was all that he could possibly need to feed his restless intelligence.

  ‘The house had been empty for a long time when I bought it and it was in a pretty bad state. But before then, the last owner was an artist and he had his studio up here.’ He pointed towards the other long room, stretching out at a right angle to the one they stood in. ‘That was his wife’s studio. She was a potter. They used to work up here and meet outside when they wanted to take a break.’

  The one thing that was missing from Matteo’s life. Someone to use that second rooftop room. Rose tried not to think about that, in case she became tempted to apply for the position. She didn’t have the qualifications and, anyway, Matteo seemed as dedicatedly single as she was.

  He walked over to the sliding doors that led onto the rooftop garden and opened them, the sound of the sea suddenly bursting into the room. Rose stepped outside, feeling the cool breeze touch her cheek.

  ‘This is lovely. No barriers between your work and the things you enjoy.’

  ‘Should there be?’ He shrugged. ‘I’m lucky, because I love my work. I might draw a distinction between the stress of being at work and my personal life, but the work itself... Medicine has always fascinated me, and I hope it always does.’

  He followed her over to the balustrade, looking across the darkened beach and way out to sea. ‘Isn’t that the way it should be?’

  Rose loved her work too, and the thought that it was possible for it to spill over into her life seemed like a new and exciting opportunity. ‘I’d like to try that. If you don’t mind, that is.’

  He answered with a smile. Matteo clearly didn’t mind one bit. ‘I’ll clear my desk for you, and you can unpack your things while I get coffee. You want coffee?’

  He wanted to try it now. That was no surprise. Matteo always seemed to feel that now was a good time. ‘So we’re looking at a late night?’

  ‘Not necessarily. Whatever we feel like.’

  ‘Better make the coffee strong, then.’

  The hours slipped by, measured only by the moon rising in the dark sky and the sound of the sea. They sat together at his desk, cutting and placing the modelling clay that represented the different muscle groups of the face and neck.

  Finally, Rose leaned back in her seat, stifling a yawn. They’d done much more together than she’d anticipated, Matteo’s knowledge of physiology allowing him to add something to the process. The model still looked like a slightly scary prop for a horror film, but the next layer of clay would bring Aemilia to life.

  ‘Shall I take you home now?’

  ‘I can drive myself. Unless, of course, you’re going with the fantasy that I might not come back tomorrow.’

  Matteo grinned. ‘Yeah, I think I am. Work with me on that one, eh?’

  ‘What time do you want to pick me up in the morning, then?’

  ‘Any time after seven?’ He looked at his watch. ‘You might want a bit of a lie-in, though.’

  Forget sleeping in. Rose wasn’t sure that she could sleep at all, she was so fired up to do more on the model now. She stood up, stretching her cramped limbs. ‘Seven’s fine.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  HE ARRIVED AT seven on the dot, and William was already waiting behind the door for him, his bathing trunks and football shirt packed along with the towels and sunscreen in Rose’s beach bag. They stopped off to buy breakfast pastries on the way, and when he’d made the coffee to go with them, he pointed Rose straight upstairs, with a sotto voce aside to William that as soon as his mother was out of the way, they’d be free to play football.

  The rooftop study was perfect for work. With the sliding doors open, it was cool and airy, remote enough from any activity going on downstairs to allow her to concentrate, and yet she could still wander out into the garden to see what was going on down on the beach.

  A slight commotion, and the sound of Italian being spoken heralded the arrival of Nannu Alberto, and then Rose saw three figures scouring the shoreline for whatever happened to be of interest. William ran back and forth between Matteo and Nannu Alberto, eager to add a few shells and bits of seaweed to their finds, and Nannu Alberto rolled up his trouser legs, wading into the sea with him.

  But it was Matteo that she couldn’t help looking at. Clad in cut-off jeans and a T-shirt, hair tousled in the breeze, walking barefoot on the beach. He was a perfect man, the kind that classical sculpture would bend into a pose and then lovingly create each muscle, each flex of his body. But even that couldn’t do him justice, because he moved with such easy grace.

  It was almost more than she could handle. The addition of a perfect sunset, where Matteo walked alone, would have tipped her over the edge and Rose would have been downstairs, running towards him to recreate last night’s kiss and feel the steady, passionate rhythm of his body against hers.

  She frowned, concentrating hard on the good time that William was having, his high shouts of delight when Matteo caught him up, swinging him in his arms above the waves. And Aemilia was calling her too, all the more strongly for the knowledge that everything she really cared about was right here, her child, her work. And she couldn’t help including Matteo in that list.

  * * *

  The noise moved from the beach to the kitchen, increasing about tenfold at midday. It seemed that Matteo and Nannu Alberto were at their most voluble when discussing cooking. When Rose walked downstairs, William wriggled on the high stool he was perched on next to the countertop, and Matteo lifted him down so he could run over to Rose for a hug and a kiss.

  ‘Mama.’ William was slipping into using Italian words almost without thinking now.

  ‘Are you having a good time?’ It wasn’t a question that really needed asking. All three faces were smiling.

  ‘Yes. I found some things on the beach.’ William broke away from her, scooting out onto the patio to fetch his blue beach bucket, which seemed to contain an assortment of stones, shells and seaweed.

  ‘Not in the house, sweetie.’ Rose turned to Nannu Alberto, and received a kiss on both cheeks and a hug. William had stopped short, his feet inside the house, holding the bucket over the patio stones, and Nannu Alberto walked towards him, chivvying him outside so that the two of them could review their spoils from the morning’s beachcombing.

  ‘You’re doing pizza? Sicilian style?’ A couple of large pizza trays were already out on the counter top, with dough proving in them.

  Matteo laughed. ‘Call it a little of Sicily, a little of New York. Nannu Alberto thinks that’s heresy, and I should be shot. But I don’t have a traditional pizza oven.’

  ‘Really? I thought you’d have every kitchen gadget known to man.’

  ‘I have a sharp knife and a spatula. Those are the only kitchen gadgets you really need. You like anchovies?’

  Rose wrinkled her nose. ‘Are they salty?’

  Matteo shot her a look of mock horror, breaking a piece of bread from a loaf and spreading it with a small sliver of anchovy. ‘Try them. I promise these aren’t salty.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ She took the morsel of bread.

  ‘Trust me. Close your eyes...’

  Suddenly they were quite alone. As she squeezed her eyes shut, she heard Matteo’s quiet words. ‘Chiudi gli occhi.’

  It sounded so much better in Italian. Or maybe it was just the way that Matteo said it. Rose let the tingle of pleasure race through her and then braced herself for the strong, fishy taste of the anchovy.

  ‘Oh. That’s...’ She took another bite. ‘Actually, that’s really nice. Different from home...’

  When she opened her eyes Matteo was flashing her a look that said I told you so in any language. ‘And the cheese?’ He cut a sliver from the block that stood next to the grater, the quirk of
his lips forming an unspoken dare.

  Rose closed her eyes, feeling his fingers brush her lips as he fed her the cheese. ‘Very nice.’

  ‘Keep them closed...’ His voice was laced with a smile.

  One finger ran across her lips, this time a little more slowly. The smell of fresh tomato and then its sweet taste. ‘That’s good too.’

  She knew that he was just inches away. Rose could feel her whole body reacting to the thought of what it might be like to be touched by him. She felt his lips against her forehead, so briefly that she almost cried out with the unfairness of it all. But Nannu Alberto and William were within earshot, even if they were out of sight.

  She opened her eyes and for a moment his gaze caught hers. All the longing and all the uncertainty right there, buzzing between them in the warm air. Then suddenly he smiled.

  ‘There’s a jug of lemonade in the fridge, if you’d like some.’

  Neither of them moved, as if wanting to hold on to this brief closeness for one moment more. Then they heard a voice from the patio, and Matteo swiftly stepped back, turning towards the countertop.

  ‘Mum.’ William ran inside. ‘Don’t you want to see?’

  ‘Yes, of course I do...’ Rose took a breath, almost choking on it. ‘We’ll get some lemonade, and I’ll come and take a look at what you’ve found.

  * * *

  They ate on the patio, a glass of red wine from the bottle that Nannu Alberto had brought, along with the best pizza that Rose had ever tasted. Then Matteo sent her back upstairs to work while he did the washing up.

  Fifteen minutes later he appeared at the doorway of his study, two cups of coffee in his hands. Putting them down on the desk, he pulled up a chair.

  ‘What do you think?’ Rose had been staring at it for a while now, getting to know the emerging shape of the face and deciding what to do next.

  ‘It looks great.’ He sat down. ‘Nannu Alberto and William are both having a snooze downstairs.’

  Rose laughed. ‘My son’s getting more like your grandfather every day.’