‘Well, if the old saying is true, “home is where the heart is”…’
Sophia smiled. ‘Yes, you’re right. I believe she loved Dad enough to make the moves worth it…’
When their drinks were finished, they said goodbye to Harry’s Bar and made their way to Giorgio’s. There, sitting in a little campo beneath a gaily striped umbrella, they ate the most delicious spaghetti bolognese Sophia had ever tasted and shared a carafe of rich red Chianti.
Though that strong sexual attraction still sparked between them, they were able to talk together easily, like old friends and, her earlier tension forgotten, Sophia was blissfully happy, more than content just to be with him.
Agreeing that Giorgio’s coffee was some of the best they had ever tasted, they were both on their second cup when a couple with two young boys came to sit at an adjacent table.
While the newcomers waited for their drinks, the father and the boys, plainly identical twins, began to play some kind of word game.
The children’s clear treble voices drew Sophia’s attention and, as she began to listen, it soon became evident that the boys, who often answered in unison, were perfectly in tune with each other.
Smiling a little, she remarked on this to Stephen.
He nodded. ‘Yes, one twin often seems to know what the other one’s thinking.’
‘Were your mother and your aunt like that? You said they were very close.’
‘Yes, they were, but they hadn’t the mental affinity that real twins often share.’
‘Oh…I thought they were twins. They looked very much alike, and about the same age.’
‘There was just twelve hours between them.’
Smiling at her puzzled expression, he went on, ‘Though they were successfully passed off as twins, they weren’t even sisters…
‘Do you remember the portrait of a distant cousin, Lucia Fortuna, that hangs in the Long Gallery…?’
‘Yes, a very beautiful girl.’
‘That girl was my grandmother. She almost brought disgrace on herself and the family by becoming pregnant when she was just sixteen.
‘Margherita and Enrico Fortuna, the couple I’ve always regarded as my grandparents, were expecting their first child and, because of various problems, they’d been warned that it would almost certainly be their last.
‘As Lucia and Margherita were expecting their babies at approximately the same time, Margherita agreed to take Lucia’s baby and pass it off as her own child.
‘Between them, the two branches of the family managed to hush the whole thing up. Lucia came to stay at the Palazzo “on an extended visit to her relatives” and, after the birth, returned to Verona with her reputation unsullied. While, as far as the rest of the world knew, Margherita had given birth to twins, which she named Silvia and Francesca.’
‘What happened to your real grandmother?’
‘The deception was so successful that three years later she married the Duke of Radenza…’
‘How fascinating,’ Sophia breathed.
‘It wasn’t until after my “grandparents” had died that my mother told me the whole story and I discovered that, though we both have Fortuna blood, the woman I’ve always called Aunt Fran wasn’t my aunt at all…’
Almost to himself, he added, ‘Which perhaps in the circumstances is fortunate…’
Before Sophia could ask what he meant, he queried, ‘About ready to move?’
‘I’m ready when you are. Where shall we go first?’
‘If you’re agreeable, I suggest we start by taking a look at the Doge’s Palace and the Bridge of Sighs, then we can go further afield, perhaps to the Arsenale and Biennale…’
For the remainder of the afternoon, thoroughly enjoying the sunshine and each other’s company, they explored Venice.
By the time they had made their way back to the Piazza San Marco and sipped a cocktail at the eighteenth century Gran Caffè Quadri, it was almost seven o’clock before they started back to the Palazzo to get ready for dinner.
When Sophia would have gone through to the guest suite, Stephen stopped her. ‘I gave orders to have your things moved into the bedroom adjoining mine.’
‘Oh…’ Flushing slightly, she wondered what the housekeeper would think.
Once again he showed that unnerving ability to walk in and out of her mind. ‘After what happened last night, Rosa thought it was eminently sensible. Of course, if you have any objections…?’
Though she was well aware that she ought to have, that he ought to have consulted her first, Sophia silently shook her head.
‘I’m sure you’ll like it,’ he went on. ‘It used to be Aunt Fran’s bedroom.’
‘Is that where she died?’
He gave a quick nod. ‘Yes. Does that put you off?’
‘No, so long as it doesn’t have bad vibes.’ Sophia smiled up at him.
‘I can assure you that it doesn’t. Quite the opposite, in fact. Rosa was very attached to her mistress and, apart from removing her clothes and personal belongings, she’s left the room almost exactly as it was. So it has a really nice atmosphere, very reminiscent of a lovely lady.’
‘Then I don’t have a problem.’
He reached and tucked a stray tendril behind her ear. ‘How very sensible! Some women would throw a fit at the bare idea.’
‘I suppose it depends on how one looks at things. In a really old place like this it must be almost impossible to sleep in a room where no one has died.’
A gleam in his eye, he said, ‘To be honest, I wasn’t intending you to sleep there.’ Putting a hand beneath her chin, he lifted her face to his. ‘I was expecting you to share my bed.’
His calm assumption that she was his for the taking ought to have riled her enough to arouse her resistance. But just the thought of spending the night in his arms sent her into a spin.
As she gazed up at him, he smiled into her eyes and bent his head to kiss her.
Her lips parted in eager anticipation.
But, before his mouth touched hers, he straightened, and said with a sigh, ‘If I give way to the temptation to kiss you now we’ll never get in to dinner and, knowing Angelo, I’ve no doubt he’s planned something special.’
On legs that felt somewhat like a rag doll’s, Sophia followed Stephen through to what had been his aunt’s bedroom.
Glowing with well-polished antiques, it had two long arched windows, a handsome four-poster and a stone fireplace filled with flowers. As he’d said, it was a charming room, comfortable and homely, with a warm and pleasant atmosphere.
Opening a door to the left, he told her, ‘This is the door into my room.’
Then indicating two identical doors on the opposite wall, ‘Over there is the bathroom and, next to it, Aunt Fran’s private dressing-room-cum-sitting-room.’
As Sophia glanced around, she saw that her case had been unpacked and her things put away. The sight of her jewellery box standing on a chest of drawers, looking as if it belonged there, dispersed any last faint traces of doubt.
Watching her face, he queried, ‘All right?’
‘Quite all right.’
‘Then I’ll leave you to get ready…I would suggest we shared a shower, but…’ Letting the sentence tail off, he went through the communicating door into his own bedroom.
Shivers running up and down her spine at the thought of sharing a shower with him, she laid out a change of clothing and a pair of high-heeled sandals and headed for the bathroom.
She opened the first door and, finding herself in the dressing room, closed it again.
The second door led into a sumptuous peach-tiled and white-carpeted bathroom, with a sunken bath and a luxurious shower stall.
Some fifteen minutes later, showered and perfumed, wearing a simple silk sheath of midnight-blue and small gold hoops in her ears, her hair taken into an elegant chignon, she returned to the living-room.
Stephen was already waiting for her, freshly shaven and dressed in well-cut evening clothes and
a black bow-tie. He looked so attractive, so devastatingly masculine, that every feminine instinct in her responded.
He came over and, taking her hand, looked her over from head to toe.
The simple dress clung to, and emphasized, her slender figure and the chignon drew attention to her neat ears, the pure curve of her cheeks and jaw, her long neck and smooth shoulders.
An afternoon spent in the sun had given her skin a glow, and love had made her green-gold eyes shine and her mouth look soft and inviting.
Lifting her hand to his lips, he said huskily, ‘You look like every man’s dream come to life.’
Feeling her heart swell, she thought, if she was his dream, she was more than contented.
Rather than releasing her hand, he tucked it through his arm and, leading the way to the elegant oak-panelled dining room, seated her at a candlelit table that would easily have seated twelve.
It was beautifully set with fine linen, crystal glasses, fresh flowers and silver candelabra.
Sophia couldn’t help wondering if the housekeeper went to all this trouble when Stephen was on his own.
As he opened and poured the wine, her eyes lingering on the low centrepiece of yellow roses and sweet-smelling stephanotis, she remarked, ‘The flowers are really lovely…’
‘Rosa’s in her element with you here. When I’m alone I often eat in the breakfast room, and she doesn’t get much chance to show off her household skills.’ Wryly, he added, ‘I’m afraid I’m a sad disappointment to her…’
Sophia smiled.
Candlelight reflected in his black pupils, he said softly, ‘You’re even more beautiful when you smile. It lights up your whole face…’
He stopped speaking as the housekeeper came in with the first course.
‘Ah, Rosa, the signorina was just saying how lovely the flowers were.’
Rosa looked gratified. ‘The Mistress always liked flowers on the table…And this zucchini al basilico soup was one of her favourites.’
Sophia tried a spoonful and was able to say in all honesty, ‘It’s absolutely delicious.’
Beaming, Rosa said, ‘I’ll tell Angelo how much you like it…’
The meal, which included finocchio alla toscana, spinach and ricotta gnocchi, pollo alla valdostana and mascarpone and date tart, was wonderful and, apart from a little desultory conversation, they gave it their full attention.
On the surface.
Beneath the surface the sexual tension was gradually building. All Sophia could think about was the coming night and, though her companion appeared to be easy and relaxed, whenever he looked at her, she saw a little lick of flame in his dark grey eyes. When Rosa brought in the cheese and biscuits, Stephen thanked her and asked her to convey their compliments to Angelo.
She smiled and nodded, before asking, ‘Would you like your coffee served here or in the living-room?’
After an enquiring glance at Sophia, Stephen answered, ‘In the living-room, please, Rosa.’
By the time they returned to the living-room, the housekeeper was just bringing in the tray. As she set it down on the low table, Stephen said, ‘Thank you, Rosa. We’ll pour our own.’
‘Will there be anything else, Signor Stefano?’
‘No, nothing else tonight. Buona notte.’
‘Buona notte.’ Eager for the pleasure that awaited them, Sophia would willingly have skipped the coffee but, with a little secret smile, Stephen murmured in her ear, ‘We’d better be all sedate and proper and drink our coffee before we have an early night.’
Settling her on the couch, he filled two of the pretty porcelain cups and asked, ‘Would you like anything with it? A Tia Maria, perhaps?’
She shook her head.
He poured himself a small brandy and came to sit beside her. As he settled himself his thigh brushed hers, heightening the sexual tension still further.
Trying not to give herself away totally, she looked anywhere but at him.
A small silver-framed snapshot standing on a nearby bookcase caught her eye. Though it was slightly blurred, she could make out Rosa standing rather self-consciously while, seated in reclining chairs, a slimly-built woman with greying hair and a handsome fair-haired man smiled at the camera.
Though the woman’s face was curiously familiar, Sophia couldn’t place it, but she immediately recognized the man as a much younger Stephen.
‘How old were you when that was taken?’ she asked.
Following the direction of her gaze, he answered, ‘About eighteen, if I remember rightly. We were in the garden and Rosa had just brought out a tray of tea. Aunt Fran had given Roberto a camera for his birthday, and she suggested that he might snap the three of us…
‘As you can see it’s not a particularly good photograph, but Aunt Fran always liked it. After so many years, she and Rosa were quite close.’
Thoughtfully, he added, ‘Rosa misses having a woman around the place. Now that I’m settled in Venice and able to run Haviland Holdings without working all hours, she’s hoping I’ll get married…’
Remembering the Marquise, Sophia said quickly, ‘But you don’t intend to?’ Then, regretting the question, she stammered, ‘W-what I mean is, you haven’t been tempted to so far?’
‘Oh, I’ve been tempted, but that was a long time ago. Twice, when I was in my early twenties and still wet behind the ears, I thought I might have found what I was looking for.
‘Both women were beautiful, but beauty alone isn’t enough. I wanted someone with warmth and depth and integrity, but Roz turned out to be cold and shallow, incapable of being frank or honest.
‘Helen, on the other hand, was complex and passionate but—I discovered just in time—totally unprincipled. She swore she loved me, while in reality she was intending to marry me for my money and use it to prop up the man she really loved.’ His expression changed as he talked of these women, is eyes became dark, guarded.
‘I decided to give marriage a miss for a while. Though I didn’t live like a monk, I avoided any serious relationships and concentrated on work.’ He smiled, easing the tension.
‘After almost a decade, I’m pleased to say it’s paid off financially. Haviland Holdings has more than doubled in size and is worth three times as much as it was when I took control.’ He leaned back in his chair relaxed and confident.
‘Now I think the time’s come for a change of lifestyle. At this stage I can relegate work to second place and be with my wife and family as much as I want. With unlimited time at our disposal, we’ll be free to enjoy all the pleasures life offers.’
Sophia was pleased he was talking so openly to her. ‘Then you do intend to marry and have children?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Because you want to, or just out of a sense of duty?’ The thought was spoken aloud before she could prevent it.
‘You mean, just so I can produce an heir to the family fortune?’
Aware of the hint of steel behind the cool question, she began unhappily, ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…’
As the words tailed off, he picked up her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. ‘Taking into consideration what I said in the garden last tonight about filial duty, it was a reasonable assumption.
‘But it happens to be the wrong one.
‘When I marry it will be because I want to, not merely from a sense of duty.’
‘I see…’ Then, goaded into it by the fear that the Marquise might have been speaking the truth, she asked, ‘Have you someone special in mind?’
‘Yes, and I’m hoping to make her my wife before too long. I’m turned thirty now and I want, if possible, to have a family while we’re both still young.’
Like someone waiting for the guillotine blade to fall, Sophia waited for him to name his future bride, but he said no more.
Though who else could it be but the Marquise?
Maybe he was the man who had been in love with her all those years ago?
Sophia felt empty, hollow inside.
The
facts, as far as she knew them, seemed to fit. Straight out of university, he would have been young and untried, with little money of his own…And perhaps, for obvious reasons, his family wouldn’t have been too keen on the match…
But now he was a mature man in charge of his own life and with no one to answer to. A wealthy man with looks and charisma. A man the Marquise, who was now free to marry again and in need of a rich husband, had no doubt set her sights on. That would account for her possessiveness and unbridled jealousy.
Her throat feeling as though it were full of shards of hot glass, Sophia swallowed.
It would have been bad enough if he’d just been having an affair with the Marquise. But the knowledge that he was intending to get married signalled an end to any hopes and dreams she might have been harbouring, and brought such pain that she almost moaned aloud…
‘What’s wrong?’ Stephen asked, noticing she’d grown pale beneath her newly acquired tan. ‘You suddenly look shattered.’
‘I’m just tired,’ she lied.
‘Well, that’s understandable. We were walking for hours, and you can’t be used to heat like that.’
‘It’s been such a long, cold spring and we’ve scarcely seen the sun…I’d started to think summer would never come—’ Realizing she was babbling, she broke off abruptly.
He rose and, taking both her hands, pulled her to her feet. ‘Let’s go to bed.’
That lick of flame was back in his eyes.
Pulling her hands free, she said jerkily, ‘I don’t want to go to bed with you.’
‘Don’t worry—’ his voice was gentle ‘—if you’re too tired to make love, you can just sleep in my arms.’
‘I don’t want to sleep in your arms…I don’t want to share your bed…I don’t want to be used…’
Through her own pain and turmoil she was aware that he looked as if she’d struck him.
Just at that moment a knock at the door made them both freeze.
‘Yes, what is it?’ he asked curtly.
The door opened and a flustered-looking Rosa came in. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, Signor Stefano, but Roberto is anxious to have a word with you.’
‘Can’t it wait until tomorrow?’
The Padova Perals Page 13
