‘Well, you weren’t acting proud and special the night you told me about it,’ he observed.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Giovanni!’ She stared at him across the table. ‘What did you expect? I anticipated your reaction…’ She saw the look of remorse which darkened his features and she knew she could not bear him to feel she was attacking him. ‘I understood your reaction,’ she told him softly. ‘The pregnancy came out of the blue. We had made no plans to commit—on the contrary, in fact—and it must have looked like the oldest trick in the book, from your point of view.’
He acknowledged her generosity and her understanding, even though he felt he did not deserve it, and knew then that he owed her nothing less than the truth himself. ‘That’s exactly what I felt at the time,’ he admitted.
‘I know. That’s human nature,’ she murmured. But oddly, now that it was out in the open, his admission had lost something of its sting.
His mouth hardened and he stared angrily down at the boats which bobbed on the water. ‘And is it human nature to make love to a woman so violently—?’
‘No!’ she corrected, so fervently that he turned his head to stare deep into her emerald eyes, seeing forgiveness there. ‘Not violently, Giovanni—passionately, and yes, there is a difference.’
‘I shouldn’t have done it!’ He shook his head as he remembered the fever which had devoured him, a fever more intense than anything he had ever experienced.
‘You didn’t do anything, or, rather, you did—but I did it, too. I wanted you just as much as you wanted me. It felt…’ She struggled to put it into words that would not make him feel trapped still, only this time by the strength of her unrequited feelings for him, rather than an unwanted baby. ‘It felt primeval,’ she said slowly. ‘As though it had to happen, as if something had compelled it to happen.’
‘Snap,’ he murmured, and then his face darkened again as reality made its presence known. ‘Except that our passion lost us the baby, Kate, didn’t it?’
She wanted to take the hurting from him—because when he was hurting she was hurting, too. ‘You can’t know that!’
‘I won’t ever know, will I?’ he questioned darkly.
But then the waiter arrived with their food and half a bottle of white wine, and as if by an unspoken mutual agreement the subject was suspended while they each tried to lose themselves in the beauty of their surroundings and the taste of the fresh fish.
She was sleepy after lunch, and he insisted on taking her back to the villa.
‘Don’t you want to sightsee some more?’ She yawned.
He smiled. ‘You forget—I know the island like I know my own face. These trips are for you, cara mia.’
Telling herself that it was merely habit now that made him call her that, she opened her mouth to object. ‘But—’
‘No buts, Kate. Now you take a siesta,’ he ordered.
She couldn’t have resisted that tone of voice even if she had wanted to. It seemed deliciously decadent to be going to bed in the middle of the afternoon, but it was not decadent at all, because Giovanni gave her a brief, terse goodbye, and left her at the door of her room once more.
The shutters were drawn and the room was a cool haven, but her heart was heavy as she sank down onto the bed. It wouldn’t have killed him to hold her in his arms, surely? To give her the physical comfort and reassurance she badly needed right now.
But no, Giovanni was no hypocrite. He recognised that she was in a weakened state. He would not wish to be cruel to her by raising her hopes, only to dash them again. She must be strong, for the sake of her pride and her sanity.
And then the embrace of sleep claimed her, and she went willingly into its arms.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE midday sun streamed gold into the airy interior of the sitting room, and Giovanni lounged on the sofa as he waited for Kate to finish dressing for lunch. He gave a small groan as he shifted his position. Wanting her never got any easier, he thought. His body seemed to be in a permanent state of arousal.
They had spent the morning in Palermo, and he had taken Kate to the Calverri offices. His secretary had been polite—just—but he could see the naked curiosity in her eyes, wondering what this red-haired Englishwoman meant to her boss.
And now would come her baptism of fire, for within the hour—he glanced at his watch—his parents and his two aunts would be arriving for lunch. They had expressed a wish to meet her, and Kate had reluctantly agreed.
‘But why do they want to?’ she had asked.
‘Kate,’ he had replied patiently, ‘you’ve been here for almost two weeks and they’re rather curious about you, that’s all.’
That’s all. She had nodded. ‘Oh, I see.’
‘And I’ve never brought a woman to Sicily before.’
Well, of course he hadn’t—there had never been any need to. He had had Anna—the fiancée whose name was never mentioned—the fiancée she secretly feared he was gearing up to go back to, which would account for his attitude towards her since they had arrived.
Oh, his behaviour had been impeccable—almost too impeccable. How aloof he had sometimes seemed as he had kept a courteous but definite distance.
Or maybe the miscarriage had killed all his desire for her. Why else would he have gone so far out of his way to avoid any kind of physical contact with her?
‘I bet your parents won’t like me,’ she moaned.
‘Rubbish! Of course they will.’
But to Kate his voice sounded forced.
‘And how will I speak to them? I only know about fifty words in Sicilian!’
‘That’s because I have taught you a new word every day,’ he murmured. ‘It seems we must increase your lessons, cara.’
Please don’t flirt with me, her eyes told him silently.
He acknowledged the reproach with a narrowing of his eyes. ‘And, besides, they speak perfectly good English—all my family do.’
‘OK,’ she had sighed. ‘You win!’
But there was no taste of victory in his mouth, and he still had something he needed to tell her.
He looked up as she walked into the room, her bright hair newly washed and gleaming, a soft-green dress he had never seen before making the most of her tall, slim figure and those heart-stopping legs. Her skin was glowing with a light tan and the good food had filled out her hollow cheeks a little. She looked good enough to eat and, God, how he wanted her!
He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from her, which wasn’t doing his heart-rate any good whatsoever. ‘You look…spectacular, cara,’ he said carefully.
Well, make the most of it, she thought, hoping that her eyes held no trace of her unhappiness. Because soon she would be gone from here and gone from Giovanni’s life for good.
‘Thank you,’ she said calmly.
‘Come and sit down.’ He patted the space beside him, then wished he hadn’t, as she perched beside him, sliding her knees decorously together. ‘Can I get you anything?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I’m fine.’ Which she supposed she was. Well, physically, at any rate. The rest and the recuperation had made her feel whole again. The warm sunshine and the good food had worked their simple magic, as had the island itself, which Giovanni had shown her with the loving pride of the true Sicilian.
It had been all too easy to suspend disbelief. To imagine that this could go on and on—her and Giovanni, a happy couple, to all intents and purposes.
Because once she had resigned herself to the fact that he didn’t want to share her bed any more it had—perversely—allowed her to relax. Sex had always dominated their time together, and it had only been here that true companionship had entered the arena.
That didn’t stop her wanting him, of course—she doubted whether anything could ever put a stop to that, but at least the absence of him in her bed was preparing her for a life without him when she returned to England.
‘What time are your family getting here?’
‘In about an
hour.’ He paused. ‘Kate, there’s something I need to tell you before they arrive.’
She looked up quickly, something in his voice warning her that he wasn’t about to start discussing what was on the lunch menu. ‘Oh?’
‘It’s about Anna.’
Her heart deafened her with a sickening thunder. ‘I rather thought it might be.’
He stared at her. Was she reading his mind now? ‘You did?’
Say it first, she urged herself. That way you emerge with your pride and your dignity intact. Force yourself to congratulate him and then he might remember you with at least a modicum of respect.
‘You’re getting back with her,’ she stated dully.
‘What?’
‘She’s going to marry and become Mrs Calverri…’
There was a moment of stunned silence, and then he laughed. ‘Yes. Yes, she is.’
How bloody insensitive could a man be? The smile she had intended feeling more like a grimace, she said stiffly, ‘I hope you’ll both be very happy.’
The laughter stopped. ‘Do you, Kate?’ he asked softly. ‘Do you really?’
She was fast discovering that she wasn’t that good a liar. She shifted right up to the other end of the sofa and glared at him. ‘What do you think?’ she demanded. ‘Do you think I have no feelings?’
‘You keep your feelings very well-hidden,’ he commented.
‘That’s pretty rich—coming from you!’
‘I am a Sicilian,’ he drawled arrogantly. ‘What’s your excuse?’
‘Well, you must be a grandmaster at concealment—if you’ve been playing the perfect host to me, whilst all the while…all the while…you…you…’ Her words petered out; they had to—much more of this and she would be bursting into howling sobs of hurt.
‘Kate—’
She shook her head. ‘Perhaps I deserve it! After all, it’s no worse than what I did to her—’
‘No, what I did to her,’ he corrected fiercely. ‘It was my relationship and my responsibility. You were right, you know, Kate—you knew nothing of her existence. I should not have blamed you for my own weakness.’
There it was again, that hateful word. Weakness. Well, she would show him just how strong she could be! Fighting on every reserve she possessed, she pulled herself together with a steadying breath. ‘I don’t know if I can face having lunch with your parents—won’t they see this as a conflict of interests? And what about Anna? Won’t she be furious?’
‘I doubt it,’ he said slowly.
She stared at him in disbelief. ‘What, her future in-laws fraternising with your secret lover?’
He frowned over the phrase and then his mouth twisted contemptuously. ‘Never describe yourself like that again!’
‘Well, I am, aren’t I?’
This had gone far enough. He wanted to reach out and take her hand, but her arms were crossed so firmly across her chest that he didn’t even try. ‘Kate, Anna is getting married to my brother.’
She froze. Stared at him, wild hope being squashed by all-consuming insecurity. ‘Say that again.’
‘Anna is getting married to my brother.’
‘Your brother?’
He heard the incredulity in her voice and understood perfectly—because his own reaction had been very similar. ‘He’s been working in Roma. Remember, I told you? Anna met him there, and…’ He shrugged, a rueful smile playing about his lips. ‘It now emerges that Guido is the man for her, that she is happier with Guido than she has ever been in her whole life,’ he finished drily.
Wild hope—which had briefly triumphed—now lost out to insecurity. Just because he wasn’t getting back with Anna didn’t mean he wanted her, did it? You had only to look at his behaviour to know that he didn’t.
‘When did you find out?’ she asked quietly.
His gaze was very steady. ‘The night I arrived in London, the night…’ His words tailed off. He had been feeling like a man free of chains that night. Anna’s new-found happiness had given him a heady sense of freedom that he had been longing to convey to Kate. And new and very different chains had locked themselves around his heart.
‘And was your pride wounded?’ she asked flippantly, because a flip remark seemed the only way that she could push the memory of that night away.
He raised his eyebrows at her defiant pout, and the ache intensified. He contemplated punishing her with a hard, sweet kiss, but at that moment there was a loud ringing at the front door.
‘Saved by the bell,’ he murmured resignedly.
Kate stood up hastily, smoothing down imaginary creases in her dress with hands which were suddenly clammy and she didn’t know if that was a reaction to what he had just told her or apprehension about meeting a group of people she was still convinced would dislike her.
But in that she was wrong. True, his mother scrutinised her intently when they first shook hands, as did his two aunts. His father took one look at her and murmured something softly in Sicilian to his son, who gave a small smile in response.
Kate was seated between Giovanni’s father, and his father’s sister—an absolute delight of a woman named Maria. Giovanni had told her that she was his favourite aunt and she had a very dry sense of humour. And a way of asking questions which really made you want to answer them, though some questions were just too difficult to answer…
They ate pasta alla Norma—eastern Sicily’s favourite pasta and supposedly named after Bellini’s opera, or so Giovanni told her, pouring some wine for his aunt with a smile which nearly broke Kate’s heart.
‘And I believe that you know Lady St John?’ asked Giovanni’s mother.
Swallowing a mouthful of water nervously, Kate nodded. ‘That’s right. I decorated her house for her—and her London flat last year.’
Mrs Calverri nodded. ‘She speaks very highly of you,’ she said.
So Giovanni’s mother had been talking to Lady St John, had she? Why on earth would she do that? Kate wondered. ‘She told me that she’d met you when she was travelling around Europe,’ she ventured.
‘Indeed. Her father was at the embassy in Rome and my uncle was on the local staff there.’ Mrs Calverri gave a smile that bordered on the wistful. ‘Such a summer we girls had!’
Mr Calverri muttered something in Sicilian and his wife batted her eyelashes at him. ‘Don’t be jealous, caro. It was a long time ago!’
They ate cannoli for dessert—pastry tubes filled with fresh ricotta, bits of chocolate and candied fruit—and Michelina had left them with their coffee, when Giovanni’s aunt Maria turned to her nephew.
‘Will you show me your beautiful garden, Giovanni? It is so long since I have seen it.’
Kate looked nervously at Giovanni.
‘Put some music on for Mama and Papa,’ he said softly, and another pang of guilt hit him, hard, as he noted the anxiety which clouded her green eyes. What had he ever done for Kate, other than bring her unhappiness and loss? he asked himself in despair.
His aunt slipped her arm through his and they wandered outside, where the pale sunshine was warm on their skin.
The garden of the villa was beautiful and the pride of an old man who tended to it every day except Sunday and who had known Giovanni since he had been a baby.
Blue-green cypress trees pointed elegant spires skywards and lush, fleshy shrubs contrasted with the bright blooms of the semi-tropical flowers which spilled in such abundance on the edges of a perfect green lawn.
And in February the lawn was strewn with the white petals from the almond tree. ‘Like confetti,’ Giovanni had told Kate, and she had turned away from him, and he had guessed that the memory of her baby was still with her. And always would be with her, he thought now, his heart heavy.
Aunt Maria bent and fussed over the flowers, and pointed at the trees, and when they had reached the far end of the garden she stopped and spoke to him in Sicilian.
‘Something is wrong, I think, Giovanni?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Wrong?’
&nb
sp; ‘Something is troubling you,’ said Aunt Maria perceptively. ‘I can tell.’
His aunt was a wise and insightful woman, he thought, but he said nothing.
‘Something which is threatening your happiness,’ mused Aunt Maria, and she stooped to remove a dead flower.
‘Happiness is too precarious not to be continually threatened,’ he said quietly.
Aunt Maria straightened up, faded blue eyes, which must have once been just like his, narrowing as they regarded him.
‘You and Anna were never right for one another, you know,’ she said firmly. ‘You are far too much your own man to be constrained by tradition. I told your father so. If you send a man to America at such a tender age, I said, you must be prepared for him to break against convention when he comes back.’
‘I loved Anna,’ he said, and his voice broke into a sigh. ‘I never wanted to hurt her.’
‘Of course you loved her!’ declared his aunt passionately. ‘But there is love, and there is love. Sometimes I thought you seemed more like brother and sister.’ She regarded him thoughtfully. ‘And a man like you needs real love; passionate love.’
‘Oh, Zia Maria,’ he said in a tone which was half-mocking.
The look she threw him back was equally mocking. ‘You think that because I am of the older generation, that because I am old, I cannot understand passion?’
He shook his head, vigorously. ‘Never!’ he declared fervently. ‘Passion has no sell-by date.’
His aunt’s eyes narrowed, and then she nodded thoughtfully. ‘Sicilians are by nature and necessity the most secretive of people. Our culture and our history has always required our silence.’
‘But not you?’ queried Giovanni wryly. ‘You’re not like that?’
She laughed. ‘No, you are right—I am not like that! My mother used to despair of my loose tongue!’ She paused for a moment before she spoke. ‘I think that your Kate means a very great deal to you?’
For a moment he didn’t speak; he was not a man who unburdened his soul, nor one who bared his thoughts for others. And yet the weight of his guilt was an intolerably heavy one. He gave a heavy sigh.
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