The Mediterranean Rebel’s Bride

by Lucy Gordon

It was a small picture, taken in a machine, and it showed Freda, gorgeous as always, sitting with a young man in his late twenties. He had dark hair that curled slightly, a lean face and a stubborn mouth. Freda was leaning against him, and his arm was about her in a gesture of possessiveness. His cheek rested on her head, and although he was half smiling at the camera it was clear that the rest of the world barely existed for him.

  Polly studied him, trying to decide why, despite his air of joy, there was a kind of fierceness about him that defied analysis. He seemed to be uttering a silent warning that Freda belonged to him, and he would defend his ownership with his last breath.

  But it hadn’t worked out like that. He had lost her for ever. And soon he would know it finally.

  For a long time Polly lay looking at the ceiling, musing.

  What am I doing here? I don’t really want to see Ruggiero Rinucci, and I’m sure he doesn’t want to see me.

  Maybe I should have written to him first? But I don’t have his exact address. Besides, some things are better face to face. Plus, men are such cowards that if he knew why I was coming he’d probably vanish. Oh, heavens, how did I get into this?

  On the edge of Naples stood La Pista Grande, a large winding track that was the scene of many motorbike races.

  Here, too, the firm of Fantone & Rinucci tested their motorbikes, with Ruggiero insisting on doing all tests personally, and taking every machine to the limit.

  ‘If it doesn’t half kill him he thinks there’s something wrong with it,’ one of the mechanics had remarked admiringly, and when Ruggiero was on the track as many as possible of the workforce turned out to watch, cheer and take bets on his survival.

  He arrived next morning with Evie, gave her some technical paperwork about the bike and showed her to the best place in the stands, just where the track curved three times in a short space, so that briefly he would be riding straight for her before turning into another sharp bend.

  ‘If I break my neck, it’ll likely be just there,’ he said, indicating the mechanics who were also there. ‘That’s why they gather in this spot-hoping.’

  Evie laughed. There was a sprinkling of women among the mechanics, and she doubted if they’d come hoping for an accident. More likely it was connected to the sight of Ruggiero in tight black leather gear that emphasised every taut line of his tall, lean but muscular figure.

  He gave a harsh grin and departed, leaving Evie to get to her seat in the front row. As she was settling she became aware of a young woman standing a few feet away. She was slim, with long fair hair and a slightly nervous manner. She gave a brief smile and sat down, looking rather as though she hoped to avoid notice.

  ‘Are you from the factory?’ Evie asked pleasantly.

  ‘No-you?’

  ‘No, I just came to see Ruggiero. He’s my brother-in-law.’

  After exchanging a few more words, the stranger smiled absently and seemed disinclined to talk further. Evie took out the paperwork and plunged happily into facts and figures about sequential electronic fuel injection, adjustable preload and eccentric chain adjuster, totally absorbed until the testing was about to begin. Then she looked at the young woman and realised that she sat like stone, motionless, her eyes fixed on the track as though something vital depended on what she saw there.

  Ruggiero kept his grin in place as he walked towards the two men who were holding the bike. He used the grin as a kind of visor behind which he could hide. Today the effort was greater than usual, because he’d had little sleep. His thoughts about Sapphire had been destructive. Once conjured up, she’d refused to depart, haunting him all night until he fell into an uneasy sleep and awoke after one hour, not at all refreshed.

  The sensible course would have been to delay the test until another day, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit that he didn’t feel up to it. Besides, he refused to give in to fancies. Sapphire could be banished if he were only resolute.

  He pulled on the black helmet that enveloped his head completely, blotting out his identity and turning him into a cross between a spider and a spaceman. A kick and the engine roared into life. Another kick and he was turning out onto the track.

  He took the first circuit at a mere ninety miles an hour-a moderate speed-leaning into the turn so deeply that his knee nearly touched the ground. Then he shot ahead, going faster and faster, until the machine reached a hundred and fifty-the extreme of its ability. But he knew that beyond the official limit there was always a little extra, and he urged it on, demanding just that bit more, and then more, because if he went fast enough he might outrun the ghost that pursued him.

  Yet she was there, just behind him, warning him that flight was impossible. She was there inside his helmet, telling him that she would always be with him.

  But she was also ahead of him, on the track, her long fair hair fanned into a halo by the wind-waiting for him.

  Suddenly all the pictures ran together, so that he could no longer see ahead. Only half knowing what he did, he turned the front wheel, desperate to avoid the apparition that might or might not be there. The next moment he was flying through the air, to land with a brutal force that knocked the breath out of him and sent the world whirling into chaos.

  CHAPTER TWO

  FREDA had known little about Ruggiero except that his family lived in the Villa Rinucci, and Polly would have gone there on the morning after her arrival but for the chance of the hotel receptionist leaving open a Naples newspaper with a picture of Ruggiero just visible. Knowing no Italian, she’d asked the man to translate the piece, and found a description of Carlo’s wedding, with some background about the family, including a mention of the motorbike firm. She had decided to go there first, and the receptionist had called a taxi and given the driver the name of the firm.

  At the factory the language problem had cropped up again, but after a certain amount of misunderstanding she’d discovered that Signor Rinucci was at the racetrack today. She’d taken the taxi on to the track, glad of the chance to observe him unseen. The place was closed to the public, but she’d arrived just as some employees of the firm were being allowed to enter through a side door, and by mingling with them she’d managed to slip inside.

  As soon as she’d reached the stands she had seen him, showing a young woman to a seat in the front row. Polly had held back, wondering what place the woman held in his life. Suddenly he’d grinned, and something cold, almost wolfish about it had made her shiver. Then he’d departed and she’d been able to move down to the front row. The young woman had smiled at her.

  ‘Are you from the factory?’

  ‘No,’ Polly said cautiously. ‘You?’

  ‘No, I just came to see Ruggiero. He’s my brother-in-law.’

  ‘You mean,’ she asked in alarm, ‘he’s married to your sister?’

  ‘No, I’m married to his brother.’ She chuckled. ‘I can’t see Ruggiero ever getting married. He enjoys a wide choice of women without tying himself down.’

  Polly sighed with relief. A wife or girlfriend would have made her mission much harder. She settled down to watch as Ruggiero, in the distance, mounted the fearsome looking bike, started up, gathered speed, then took off like a rocket.

  Lap after lap she watched him with fierce intensity, admiring his ease in the face of danger. The track twisted and turned like a snake, so that he’d no sooner taken a bend, leaning far over to one side, than he had to swiftly straighten up and swing deep in the other direction, then back again, and again. Every move was performed with careless grace and no sense of strain.

  In one place the twisting of the track brought him directly ahead, so that for a stunning moment he was heading right for her. Then he leaned deep into a terrifyingly sharp bend and was gone, vanishing into the distance, while the black visor still seemed to hang in the air before her.

  Then a strange thing happened.

  For no apparent reason she felt a sense of dread begin to invade her. Her brain was on red alert, saying that something was badly wrong
. She knew nothing about bikes, but much about troubled minds, and every instinct told her that this man was labouring under a burden and fast reaching his limit.

  She stood up, pressing against the rail, frowning as her brain tried to understand what her instincts could sense. He was right ahead again. Coming straight for her until he swung into the bend.

  But it was as though he leaned in too deep and couldn’t get out. The next moment the front wheel twisted, jerking the machine into a scissor-like movement that sent him flying through the air.

  All around there were shouts of horror, but Polly was galvanised into action. She was first over the barrier, racing across the track, dodging the lethally spinning wheels of the bike, lying on its side, and throwing herself down by Ruggiero.

  ‘Don’t move,’ she said, unsure whether he could hear her.

  ‘Hey-’ Piero Fantone had caught up and tried to pull her away.

  ‘I’m a nurse,’ she said, struggling free. ‘Get an ambulance.’

  ‘Ambulanza!’ Piero bawled, and turned back to her.

  Ruggiero gasped and made a movement. Through the dark plastic of the visor Polly saw him open his eyes, saw the stunned look in them before they closed again.

  ‘Did he break anything?’ Piero demanded.

  She ran her hands lightly over Ruggiero.

  ‘I don’t think so. But I’ll know better when some of this leather is removed. We need to get him inside.’

  ‘We keep a stretcher here. It’s on its way.’

  From behind the visor a voice growled words she didn’t understand, but the gist of them was clear to Piero, from his urgent voice and attempts to restrain him. His reward was a stream of Neapolitan words that Polly rightly guessed to be curses.

  ‘He’s all right,’ Piero said.

  ‘It’s certainly reassuring,’ she agreed.

  Ruggiero began to fight his way up, swinging his arms wildly so that Polly, kneeling beside him, was knocked off balance. He managed to get onto one knee before keeling over and landing on her as she raised herself. She reached out quickly, supporting him as he collapsed against her, his head thrown back. For a moment she thought his eyes opened and closed again, but it was hard to be sure.

  ‘We should take off his helmet,’ she said, laying him gently back onto the ground.

  Piero gently eased the helmet off, and now she could see Ruggiero clearly for the first time. It was the face in the photograph with Freda, but older, thinner, his hair disordered and damp with sweat, making him look vulnerable-something she guessed was rare for him. His eyes remained closed, but she saw his lips move.

  ‘What’s he saying?’ Piero asked.

  ‘I can’t tell.’ Polly leaned forward, putting her ear close. She felt the warmth of his breath against her cheek and heard a whispered name that made her tense and look at him sharply.

  ‘Sapphire!’

  ‘What did he say?’ Piero asked.

  ‘I-I didn’t catch it. Oh, good-there’s the stretcher. Let’s get him inside.’

  She backed away as several men lifted him and began the journey back across the track. Polly stood watching, frozen with shock, until Evie put an arm around her.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said in a dazed voice. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘Come on-let’s follow them.’

  His head was full of darkness, spinning at top speed, like an endless circle. In the centre of it was her face, smiling provocatively, as so often in their time together. But then the picture changed and he saw her as she’d been at the track, standing there, luring him on until he crashed.

  But then she’d appeared beside him, taking him up in her arms, pulling open his clothes, speaking words of comfort. He’d groaned, reaching out to her, and she had vanished.

  He opened his eyes to find himself lying on a leather couch, with Evie beside him.

  ‘Steady,’ she said.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Her. She was standing there-I saw her-where is she? Ouch!’

  ‘Don’t move. You had a bad fall.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ he croaked, trying to rise. ‘I’ve got to find her.’

  ‘Ruggiero, who are you talking about?’ she asked frantically, fearful that his wits were wandering.

  ‘That woman-she was there-’

  ‘Do you mean the one by the track?’

  ‘You saw her?’

  ‘She was in the stand with me. When you crashed she rushed over and helped you.’

  He stared at her, scarcely daring to believe what he heard.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I’ll fetch her. By the way, she only speaks English.’

  ‘English?’ he whispered. His voice rose. ‘Did you say she was English?’

  ‘Yes. Ruggiero, do you think-?’

  ‘Get her here, for pity’s sake!’ he cried hoarsely.

  Evie slipped out.

  While he waited Ruggiero tried to stand, but fell back at once, cursing his own weakness. But inwardly he was full of wild hope. It hadn’t been imagination. She had returned, her arms outstretched to him, as so often in hopeless dreams. Now it was real. At any moment she would walk through that door-

  ‘Here she is,’ Evie said from the doorway, standing aside to usher in a young woman.

  At first he saw only a tall, slender figure with long fair hair, and his heart leapt. In a movement that afterwards caused him agonies of shame, he reached out an eager hand, said her name. Then the mist cleared and he found himself looking at a face that was gentle and pleasant, but not beautiful-and not the one his heart endlessly sought.

  ‘Hallo,’ she said. ‘I’m Polly Hanson. I was watching, and I’m a nurse, so I tried to help.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he murmured, dazed.

  The world was in chaos. He’d thought he’d found Sapphire. Instead, here was this prosaic female whose passing resemblance was just enough to be heartbreaking. Once more Sapphire was only a ghost.

  He knew he’d spoken her name-but how loud? Had they heard him? He fell back, passing a hand over his screwed-up eyes, wishing things would become clearer.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said again, forcing his eyes to open.

  Piero looked in to say, ‘The ambulance is here.’

  ‘What damned ambulance?’ Ruggiero roared. ‘I’m not going to hospital.’

  ‘I think you should,’ Polly said. ‘You have had a bad accident.’

  ‘I landed on my shoulder.’

  ‘Partly. Your head also took a thump, and I’d like it properly looked at.’

  ‘Signorina,’ Ruggiero said through gritted teeth, ‘I’m grateful for your help, but please understand that you don’t give me orders.’

  ‘Well, the ambulance is here now,’ she said, riled by his tone.

  ‘Then you can send it away.’

  ‘Signor Rinucci, your head may be injured, and I urgently suggest-’

  ‘You may suggest what you like,’ he snapped, ‘but I’m not getting into an ambulance, so spare me any more of your interference.’

  ‘Such pleasant manners,’ said a voice from the door. ‘It must be my son.’

  Hope swept into the room.

  ‘Mamma,’ Ruggiero said painfully, ‘how did you-?’

  ‘Evie called my cellphone,’ Hope said, also in English, taking her cue from the others. ‘And as I was shopping nearby I had only a little way to come.’

  ‘You just happened to be shopping nearby?’ Ruggiero growled.

  ‘Yes, wasn’t it a fortunate coincidence?’ Hope said smoothly.

  ‘If you believe in coincidences.’

  ‘Be quiet and watch your manners,’ his mother said firmly. ‘You’ve now been rude to everyone-’

  ‘He hasn’t been rude to me,’ Evie observed mildly.

  ‘Give him time. He will.’

  ‘Especially if she mentions an ambulance,’ Ruggiero retorted.

  They argued. He was obdurate. In the end
his mother sighed and gave in. The ambulance was sent away.

  ‘I’ll go home and rest,’ Ruggiero conceded. ‘And I’ll be all right for the party tonight.’

  ‘Or you may have passed out completely by then,’ Polly said, with the faintest touch of acid in her voice.

  Evie hastened to explain Polly’s professional qualifications, and what she had done for Ruggiero.

  Hope’s response was to embrace Polly fervently and declare, ‘We are friends for ever. So now I ask you to do one more thing for me. You must come to our party tonight.’

  Beside her, Polly sensed rather than felt Ruggiero make a gesture of protest, and she knew that he didn’t want her in his home. He wanted to get rid of her as soon as he could. And she could guess why.

  But Hope seemed oblivious. ‘Tonight I can thank you properly, and perhaps you’ll also be kind enough to-’ She gave her son a baleful look.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him,’ Polly said.

  ‘You will not,’ Ruggiero snapped.

  ‘Indeed I will,’ she riposted at once.

  ‘I won’t have it.’

  ‘Try to stop me.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ Hope said, pleased. ‘And, Signor Fantone, I commend you for your good sense in having a nurse at the track. I wouldn’t have expected it of you.’

  Having praised and insulted him in one breath, she turned her attention back to Ruggiero. With relief, Polly realised that for the moment she could avoid explanations. Sooner or later everyone would have to know why she was really here. But not yet.

  Hope took charge, arranging for Ruggiero to be helped to her waiting car, and leaving Evie to give Polly a lift to her hotel.

  ‘It’s a big family get-together,’ Evie explained as they drove. ‘The Rinuccis tend to be scattered, but we all returned for Carlo’s wedding yesterday. And, since Hope loves giving parties, she’s going to have another one tonight, before we all disperse again.’

  ‘Was it really chance that his mother was shopping nearby?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Evie chuckled. ‘She does it whenever he’s testing, and she always makes sure she has her cellphone, so that she can be fetched quickly if something like this happens. Of course he guesses, although he won’t admit it, and it makes him grumpy. I’m sorry he was so rude to you. He isn’t normally like that.’