I glowered at Alessandro as I stalked past to lead the way on the rest of the tour. I pointed out the bathrooms, and then the games room, and the juniors’ and the seniors’ common rooms. I spoke in a flat monotone, stripping my expression of anything other than excruciating boredom.
If he was annoyed by my little show of defiance he didn’t show it on his face. His expression was mostly blank, apart from that faraway look I caught a glimpse of now and again. Finally we made our way outside into the sunshine, where the children were playing just before the lunch break ended.
One of my pupils, a little girl called Harriet, came gambolling up with a cheeky grin on her freckled face. ‘Is that man your boyfriend, Miss Clark?’
I’m not one to blush easily, but right then I could feel heat spreading like a grass fire across my cheeks.
When I was a little kid I didn’t think teachers were anything but teachers. I didn’t think they had a personal life. To me they were like police or firemen or other authority figures. They didn’t seem like real people. Not so today’s kids. They know too damn much and way too early.
‘No, Harriet,’ I said. ‘Dr Lucioni is enrolling his niece into our school. I’m giving him a guided tour.’
Harriet scrunched up her face as she peered at Alessandro. ‘Are you a movie star?’
Alessandro’s smile at Harriet made something at the backs of my knees go fizzy.
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
Harriet wasn’t convinced. ‘You look famous.’
‘Run along, Harriet,’ I said. ‘The bell is about to ring.’
As if I’d summoned it, the bell sounded, and Harriet scampered off to join the rest of the girls as they prepared to enter the building for the afternoon’s lessons.
I turned to face Alessandro. ‘That’s my cue as well. When shall I expect Claudia to come to class?’
‘I’ll bring her tomorrow.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘With a temporary nanny.’
‘Why didn’t you bring her with you today?’ I said. ‘It would’ve helped her to get her bearings. Meeting the other girls and so on.’
His eyes tethered mine in a lock that made my insides flutter as if a handful of flustered moths were trapped in the cavity of my stomach.
‘I thought it best for us to meet alone first,’ he said.
I didn’t think it was wise for me to ever be alone with him. I didn’t trust myself. He had a frightening way of dismantling my self-control with a look or a casual touch. My chin was still tingling from where his thumb had stroked. My wrist was still burning as if he had left a brand on my flesh. My inner core was still pulsating with the memory of how his body had moved within mine.
Again I wondered if he was remembering all we had shared in that brief mad fling I’d stupidly thought would last for ever.
His gaze was dark and bottomless…inscrutable, enigmatic. Mesmerising.
The sound of the second end-of-lunch bell startled me out of my stasis. ‘Excuse me,’ I said with a formal quirk of my lips that passed for a smile. ‘I have to get to class.’
He put out his hand, and because we were in full view of the school admin office, as well as Miss Fletcher’s office, I had no choice but to slide mine into it.
His fingers closed around mine in the same way they had before. There was nothing formal or polite about it. It was purely erotic. Wickedly, shamelessly erotic.
I drew my hand away from the temptation of his touch and turned and walked into the school building. But it was not until school finished that day that my hand finally stopped tingling.
CHAPTER THREE
I WAS AT SCHOOL early the next morning…earlier than usual. So shoot me. I’m a lark, not an owl. I like to get on with the day from the get-go. I bounce out of bed and hit the ground like a lightning bolt. It’s because I’m a list-maker. I thrive on being organised. It’s like an addiction. I even write down things I’ve already done, just so I can get that little buzz of satisfaction at seeing it ticked off.
My parents think I’m crazy not to start my day with some peaceful mindfulness practice or yoga poses or chanting. They sleep in until midday when they come to stay, which drives me completely nuts. And I use the term ‘sleep in’ loosely. They do a lot of things in bed when they come to stay, and not much of it involves sleeping.
Everyone thinks their parents don’t ‘do it’, but my parents make sure everyone knows they do. At least these days they’re only doing it with each other. Up until a couple of years ago they had an ‘open relationship’, which meant they could have sex with anyone they fancied and the other wouldn’t mind. Bertie and I found it completely and utterly weird.
My mother is embarrassingly open about sex. My dad too, although he doesn’t drop it into every conversation like my mother does. It’s the first thing she asks me when she calls. ‘How’s your sex life?’ Or, yesterday’s cracker: ‘Did you know having an orgasm every day is good for your pelvic floor?’
Seriously, I think she’s obsessed or something.
I like being at school early because I like being prepared. I like getting my lessons organised, with all the little extra touches I’ve designed that are tailor-made to each child’s learning style and personality. I like watching the girls come in through the school gate or walk over from the boarding house. I guess it’s my version of people-watching.
I learn a lot about the dynamic between parents and their children by watching what happens in the hand over. You can see the parents who have a tendency to do too much for their kids. They’re the one carrying the kid’s backpack or tennis racket or lacrosse stick or musical instrument. I have nothing against parents helping little kids with their things, but senior girls…? Honestly…
I also learn a lot about the dynamic between the girls and what sort of mood they are in as they file into the building. I can tell which girl has had a bad night, or which one is homesick, or which one is lauding it over another. I can almost read their little minds.
Maybe I’m more like my mother than I realise. Scary thought.
After a few of the regulars had arrived I noticed a shiny black sports car pull up in front of the school. A lot of expensive cars pull up in front of the Emily Sudgrove School for Girls, but this one stood out. It was a top-model Maserati, with tinted windows so you couldn’t see who was behind the wheel or inside the car. It had a throaty roar I swear you’d be able to hear from the next suburb. Possibly from across the English Channel.
I watched as Alessandro got out from behind the wheel with the sort of athletic grace I privately envied. It’s not that I’m clumsy or anything, but I’ve never mastered the art of alighting from a vehicle without showing too much leg or, on one spectacularly embarrassing occasion, my underwear—which was unfortunately not the sensible sort.
Alessandro opened the back passenger door and leaned down to speak to the little girl inside. I saw him take her by the hand and gently help her from the car. When I saw him smile at his niece a hand reached deep inside my chest and squeezed my heart. He gave Claudia’s ponytail a little tug and then led her by the hand towards the entrance of school, carrying a suitcase, presumably full of her belongings, in the other.
When we’d been together Alessandro had spoken openly about his desire for a family. I’d been ecstatic. So many men were either not ready or didn’t want kids at all. I was so thrilled that I’d found a man who wanted the things I wanted. Back then I wanted to have kids and do all the things with them my parents hadn’t done with Bertie and I.
I wanted to live with them in a proper house—not a commune or a tree house or a bark hut. I wanted to toilet train them instead of letting them go wherever or whenever nature called. Don’t ask, but rest assured I’d sorted it out by the time I was four and taught Bertie in the process. I wanted to be interested in their education, supervising it so they got the help and encouragement they needed. I wanted to go on holidays—not communal ones, with a guru dictating the programme, but relaxing
ones where I could play with my kids and enjoy the magic of their childhood.
And I wanted to share the whole experience with a man I loved and trusted to stand by me no matter what.
Yeah, I know. What a deluded fool I was.
I was waiting in my classroom, pretending to be sorting out flashcards, when Alessandro arrived at the door. I put the flashcards down and smiled at the little girl standing meekly by his side.
‘Hello, Claudia,’ I said, and squatted down so we were eye to eye. ‘My name is Miss Clark. It’s lovely to have you in my class.’
Claudia had the biggest brown eyes I’d ever seen, fringed with thick lashes that were like miniature black fans. Her skin was olive toned but quite pale, as if she spent a lot of time indoors. She was small for her age, delicate and finely made, with thin wrists and ankles, and she had a pretty little cupid’s bow mouth that was currently finding it difficult to smile.
‘Go on, Claudia,’ Alessandro prompted gently. ‘Say hello to Miss Clark.’
Claudia’s little cheeks turned bright red and she bent her chin to her chest as she mumbled so softly I could barely hear her. ‘Hello, Mith C-C-C-C-Clark.’
My heart gave another painful squeeze when I heard that shy little voice with its lisp and stutter. It reminded me of myself at that age, when I had a terrible speech impediment. I was mercilessly teased about it.
There are times when I can still hear the mean kids imitating my inability to say certain words. Anything starting with a hard-sounding consonant was torture for me. I finally got control of it by the time I was ten—and not because my parents sent me to a speech therapist. They flatly refused to. They believed my stutter was a voice from one of my past lives trying to be heard and that I had to be patient and allow them to channel through me. Yeah, right. Why is it that everyone’s been a prince or princess in a past life and never a penniless pauper?
Anyway, back to my stutter. It was because of a teacher I had—once we were placed back in school—who was really fabulous at teaching drama. She used to give me the best roles to play and like magic my stutter would disappear. It was as if by playing someone else I could forget about my speech impediment. I’ve since done a special education diploma in language and learning difficulties, which I’ve found enormously helpful as a classroom teacher.
I straightened so I could speak to Alessandro. I had to keep my friendly and open smile in place, but it nearly killed me.
‘There’s just enough time for me to take Claudia over to the boarding house to meet the house mistress,’ I said. ‘It would be good to get her settled in before class starts. Her roommate, Phoebe Milton, is looking forward to meeting her.’
A pleated frown appeared between his eyes. ‘You’re right. I should’ve thought of that yesterday. But there’s been so much to do over the last few days.’
I realised then that looking after a small child of six was a probably a relatively new experience for him. He was out of his depth and doing everything he could not to show it. It made me feel a flicker of compassion for him I wasn’t expecting to feel. I didn’t want to feel a flicker of anything for him, but seeing him with his little niece took the sharp edges off my bitterness—like a file does a ragged fingernail.
He was so kind and tender and protective of her. He hadn’t once let go of her tiny hand. Just seeing his large tanned hand gently holding that tiny pale one made my heart contract again. There was so much I wanted to ask him, but with his little charge there to hear every word I had to hold my tongue. I also didn’t want to let little Claudia pick up on anything untoward between Alessandro and I.
He had already said she was a sensitive child and I could well believe it. Her obvious shame at her lisp and her stutter was making my chest ache with sympathy so badly it hurt every time I took a breath. It would be irresponsible of me, not to mention unprofessional, to give Claudia the impression I was at odds with her uncle—even though it was true. From what I’d gathered so far, he was the only anchor she had right now.
Once we got to the boarding house I introduced Alessandro and Claudia to Jennifer Lancaster, the boarding-house mistress. Once pleasantries were exchanged, Jennifer took Claudia by the hand and showed her where she would be sleeping.
‘How long has Claudia been with you?’ I asked Alessandro, once we were out of his niece’s hearing.
‘Two weeks.’
Yikes, I thought. That would certainly have put the brakes on his playboy lifestyle.
‘You mentioned you’d lost contact with Claudia’s mother,’ I said. ‘How long have you been back in contact?’
‘About a month,’ he said. ‘She called me out of the blue and said she needed my help.’
I sent him a sideways glance but he was looking at his niece, who was standing quietly as Jennifer unpacked her belongings. Claudia was biting down on her bottom lip, and even though we were a few feet away I could see the distinct wobble of her little chin.
‘Should I go to her?’ he asked, turning to look at me.
I was tempted to bite my own lip in sympathy for the poor little kid. But I knew from experience that drawing too much attention to the imminent separation of parent/guardian and child sometimes made it worse.
‘The first couple of days will be hard, but she’ll soon settle in,’ I said. ‘Jennifer’s put her with a lovely little kid. They’ll be best friends before you know it.’
Fortunately Phoebe came in at that point, so the two girls had a chance to meet before class. Phoebe was as ebullient as a friendly puppy, thankfully doing enough of the talking for Claudia simply to stand there and smile shyly.
‘At least it’s not for long,’ Alessandro said as he and I watched the two girls interact. ‘I hope to have the house ready in a month, tops.’
Was it the dream house we had talked about while lying in bed in Paris on those wonderful mornings when I’d basked in the glow of his lovemaking? Who would he share it with now? A knife stabbed me under the ribs. Why couldn’t I move on? So what if he found someone to have babies with? I. Did. Not. Care.
‘How long do you think you’ll have Claudia?’ I asked.
‘It depends on how my sister responds to treatment.’ He turned and looked at me again. ‘I would appreciate it if you’d call me immediately if you have any concerns about my niece.’ He handed me a business card with his contact details on it. ‘You can call me any time. Day or night.’
I pocketed the card as Jennifer came over with Claudia and Phoebe, who were holding hands.
‘Ready to meet the rest of your classmates?’ I said with a bright, enthusiastic smile.
Claudia gave a tiny nod without speaking, her big soulful eyes making that knife under my ribs jab a little harder.
***
‘How’s your new pupil settling in?’ asked Lucy Gatton, the Reception/Kindergarten class teacher, when I came into the staffroom at lunchtime.
I gave Lucy a brief rundown on what I’d observed about Claudia and her speech impediment, and the way she compensated for it by allowing others to speak for her.
‘She’s a little on the shy side, but she seems to be fitting in without too much trouble,’ I said. ‘Phoebe Milton’s taken her under her wing.’
I could have kissed Phoebe for how brilliantly she was looking after Alessandro’s niece. Phoebe’s parents were missionaries in Sierra Leone. She had been sent to England with her brother to be educated after an Ebola virus outbreak a few months ago. I was amazed at how easily she had adapted to boarding school. It was as if she was on her own little mission—taking care of the natives, so to speak. She was a born nurturer who was always on the watch for anyone who needed a bit of love and care.
She reminded me of Bertie at that age—always eager to please and friendly to a fault—and I was hopeful that Claudia and Phoebe would become best buddies once Claudia developed some confidence. It was only the first day and the poor little munchkin had been through a lot just recently.
It’s hard as a teacher not to become emo
tionally involved. Too emotionally involved, I mean. The kids feel like my kids. I want to protect them like a mother hen. I hate seeing them struggle. I feel actual physical pain when I see them cry or hurt themselves or get hurt by others. I could tell Claudia was going to be one of those kids I would be lying awake at night worrying about. She had a haunted look in those big brown eyes—as if she’d seen things no child of her age should ever have seen.
‘Was that her father who brought her to school?’ Lucy asked.
‘No, her uncle.’
I could feel the probe of Lucy’s gaze as I set about making myself a cup of tea. I had tried to keep my expression suitably composed when dealing with Alessandro earlier, but anyone who knew anything about body language would have known I wasn’t entirely at ease with him. Half the time my body had been giving off signals I had absolutely no control over.
How was I going to maintain a professional standing when he was around? How much would he be around? Although Claudia was boarding at Emily Sudgrove it was solely for practical reasons. Would he come and visit her regularly? How was I going to avoid him? At the very least there would be the parent-teacher interviews, which we do twice a term—more frequently if there’s a problem.
And the more I saw of little Claudia the more I realised there was a problem…
‘He looks kind of familiar…’ Lucy tapped her chin for a moment. ‘Of course! He’s that celebrity doctor, isn’t he? I didn’t recognise him, dressed in civvies. I saw a couple of press interviews but he was wearing scrubs. He’s gorgeous looking, isn’t he?’
‘Is he?’ I reached for a tea bag from the box on the shelf. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’
Lucy gave a snorting laugh. ‘Pull the other one, Jem. Tell you what—I wish one of my uncles looked like him. Is he single?’
‘Apparently.’ I spent an inordinate amount of time jiggling the tea bag in my cup.
‘So how come he’s looking after his niece?’ Lucy asked.
‘Her mother’s ill.’
‘Cancer?’
Italian Surgeon to the Stars Page 4
