An Elusive Desire

by Anne Mather

  ‘The inside of the Castello was not much more than a ruin when il conte‘s father inherited it,’ observed Lorenzo, as Jaime looked up at its solid walls. ‘It was many years since anyone had lived here, and what with the war …’ He shrugged. ‘The old conte spent a small fortune restoring it to a family home again. The present conte was born here, and so, too, was his son.’

  ‘His son!’ Jaime turned to Lorenzo with evident consternation. ‘I mean—I didn’t know Raf—the count—had a son.’

  ‘He does not.’ Lorenzo shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘The child was born too soon. It was already dead, when the dottore took it from its mother.’

  Jaime looked down at the gravelled sweep of the courtyard. She had not known. She had not guessed. But then why should she? Until Nicola rang, she had known nothing of her life in Italy.

  ‘It was very sad,’ said Lorenzo, although he didn’t sound particularly concerned. ‘See, through this archway are the stables. Do you ride, signorina?’

  Jaime gathered herself with difficulty. ‘What? Oh—yes, a little. We were taught to ride at school, but it’s years—–’

  ‘One does not forget, I think.’ Lorenzo made an eloquent gesture. ‘You would make a good horsewoman. So straight the back, so long the legs.’ He gave her an admiring look. ‘Unlike the signora. She does not ride. She is too small to control a horse.’

  Jaime refused to respond to his knowing glance. ‘You’re an expert, I suppose,’ she remarked drily, putting his earlier comments aside, and Lorenzo grinned.

  ‘Of horses? An expert, no. Regrettably. Il conte cares a great deal for his horses. Come, I will show you our latest addition.’

  Jaime wished he had not brought up Rafaello’s name again, but she followed him obediently into the musky atmosphere of the stables, and made suitable noises when he showed her to a stall where a mare and her foal were tethered.

  ‘This is Sylvana, and the little one is called Mazolino,’ said Lorenzo, resting his arms on the rail. ‘See how strong the little one is. Primato—il conte‘s Stallone—he—how would you say?—fathered him.’

  ‘Sired,’ corrected Jaime, unable to resist touching the colt’s shiny coat, and Lorenzo nodded.

  ‘Si, he sired the little one. He has a strong seed.’

  ‘Yes, well—–’ Jaime turned away to walk out of the stables, pausing only briefly to pat the nose of another horse leaning over the gate of its stall. ‘You were going to show me the gardens.’

  ‘I have embarrassed you?’

  Lorenzo joined her outside as she was blinking to adjust her eyes to the light, and Jaime gave him a wry look. ‘No, you haven’t embarrassed me,’ she replied flatly. Then, countering: ‘Were you trying to?’

  Lorenzo grinned. ‘Perhaps. You intrigue me, signorina. I know you are a friend of the signora‘s, yet you seem to know il conte very well. That is unusual, you must admit.’

  Jaime kept her expression neutral. ‘Why? I have known Nicola for years. Long before she married your employer.’

  Lorenzo inclined his head. ‘If you say so, signorina.‘

  ‘I do.’

  Jaime had difficulty in maintaining her indifference. There was something disturbingly familiar about Lorenzo’s attitude, and while she was not afraid that she might not be able to handle him, she couldn’t help wondering if Rafaello was aware of his arrogance.

  The stables had evidently once been quite extensive, but now they were partly converted for garage use. Through one of the open doorways, Jaime glimpsed the gleaming lines of a vintage Alfa-Romeo, but rather than encourage Lorenzo to think she wanted to be alone with him, she made no comment.

  Beyond the stables, an arched doorway set in the wall gave on to the terraced gardens. The hillside had been cut away to form flower and vegetable gardens, and roses and verbena scented the air with their perfume. There were alpine plants adorning a rockery, a low stone wall covered with trailing ferns, and a sloping expanse of lawn, that someone kept manicurely smooth. A stand of cypress formed a natural windbreak, and a shallow flight of steps led down to a path that disappeared into the trees.

  ‘You can see Monteravino from here,’ declared Lorenzo, following her down the steps and pausing to point past her shoulder. ‘That way,’ he said, his breath fanning her cheek, and as she turned to look at him, she saw Nicola watching them from the arched doorway.

  She was immediately conscious of how her closeness to Lorenzo might appear to Nicola, and taking a step backward, she said: ‘I thought you said Signora di Vaggio didn’t get up in the mornings.’

  Lorenzo glanced back over his shoulder. ‘She does not—usually,’ he assured her, in a low tone.

  Jaime shook her head, and leaving him standing there, she walked swiftly up the steps and along the flagged path to where Nicola was waiting. ‘Good morning,’ she said, aware that the other girl’s dress of ice-blue silk and perfect make-up must contrast sharply with her own casual appearance. ‘I thought you were not an early riser. You don’t mind that Lorenzo’s been showing me around?’

  Nicola’s expression was hard to read, but her annoyance was evident in the way she spoke. ‘You could have waited for me, Jaime,’ she declared, her eyes moving past her to Lorenzo, picking his way more slowly towards them. ‘Or was the temptation too great, I wonder?’ Her lips snapped shut, and then: ‘You certainly don’t waste any time, do you?’

  Jaime was amazed, and indignant. ‘I beg your pardon—–’ she began, and then broke off abruptly as Lorenzo reached them and halted right behind her.

  ‘Buon giorno, signora!’ he greeted Nicola, with a curious mixture of deference and mockery. ‘Che sorpresa!’

  Nicola’s eyes flashed angrily. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Where have I been?’ Lorenzo quirked one dark eyebrow. ‘Why, I have been entertaining your so-beautiful friend, signora. I knew you would wish me to do so. You would not wish her to be alone.’

  Nicola’s teeth clenched. ‘Porco!’ she said, and then, realising that Jaime was watching this exchange with something like astonishment, she quickly changed back to English.

  ‘Come, Jaime,’ she said, turning back into the courtyard. ‘Maria has made some fresh lemonade. Let’s go up to my room.’ She cast a scornful look in Lorenzo’s direction. ‘We can talk privately there.’

  With a helpless backward glance at the chauffeur, Jaime followed Nicola along the path, past the stables, across the courtyard and into the house. Lorenzo followed them as far as the garages, and then raised his hand in silent farewell. Jaime, pausing in the doorway to the castle, glimpsed his mocking salute, and wondered, with a feeling of unease, why she had the distinct impression that Nicola was jealous …

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IN all honesty, Jaime had no desire to visit the rooms Nicola shared with Rafaello, but she could hardly refuse without arousing suspicion. Besides, she told herself severely, as she accompanied Nicola up the sweeping staircase, it should make no difference to her what their sleeping arrangements might be, and it was not for Rafaello’s sake she had agreed to make this journey.

  The principal apartments of the castle were close to the head of the stairs. Jaime followed Nicola into a luxurious gold and blue sitting room, with a sumptuous archway giving access to an equally luxurious bedroom. The carpets were soft and deeply piled, the furnishings were all satin and damask, and the enormous bed that occupied a central position would easily have accommodated half a dozen.

  ‘Sit down,’ said Nicola, waving towards a pair of striped Regency armchairs, but Jaime had moved to look out the window, and perched instead on the padded window-seat.

  Nicola looked as though she might like to object, but the appearance with a tray of one of the maids diverted her. ‘Put it there,’ she ordered, indicating a small table, and catching Jaime’s eye added: ‘Grazie!’ with a certain amount of impatience.

  When the door was closed again, Nicola lifted the jug of iced lemonade and offered it to the other girl. ‘Just a little,’ said J
aime, wishing she was still outside on such a lovely morning, and Nicola poured two glasses before coming to stand beside her.

  ‘Thank you.’ Jaime took the glass Nicola offered her and indicated the padded bench beside her. ‘Why don’t you sit down, too? It’s a wonderful view.’

  ‘You think so?’ Nicola was offhand, retreating to take one of the striped armchairs and crossing her legs rather irritably. ‘I’m afraid this place gets on my nerves.’

  ‘But why?’ Jaime was surprised. ‘It’s not as if it’s primitive in any way.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Nicola was edgy. ‘Have you any idea of the thickness of these walls?’

  Jaime sighed. ‘Is that important?’

  ‘It is to me.’ Nicola swallowed her lemonade with one gulp, and then getting to her feet disappeared through the archway into the bedroom. When she returned, she was carrying a small silver flask, and as Jaime watched, she poured a little of the pale-coloured liquid it contained into her glass. ‘Don’t look like that!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s only brandy. Sometimes I think I’d go mad if Lorenzo didn’t get this for me.’

  Lorenzo! Jaime looked down into her glass. Was that why he had adopted that air of patronage in Nicola’s presence?

  ‘Anyway,’ Nicola resumed her seat, and took a generous mouthful of the spirit, ‘you didn’t come here to discuss my drinking habits, did you? I’m not an alcoholic, or anything ghastly like that. There are just times …’

  She let the sentence trail away, and Jaime shook her head. ‘It’s still barely eleven o’clock in the morning, Nicola,’ she said. ‘Do you think it’s wise to risk your health—–’

  ‘My health!’ Nicola interrupted her shrilly. ‘What does my health have to do with anything? I’m healthy enough. It’s Raf! He’s the one you should blame. It’s his fault that I’m in this state.’

  ‘Calm down!’ Jaime was disturbed. ‘I’m not criticising you, Nicola. I simply don’t understand what all this is about.’

  Nicola hunched her shoulders. ‘How could you? You haven’t cared if I was dead or alive for the past five years!’

  ‘That’s not true.’ Jaime spread her free hand. ‘Nicola, you know as well as I do that Raf—well, it was easier for all of us to drift apart. We had nothing in common, after all, and you seemed contented enough.’

  Nicola sniffed. ‘I was—then.’

  ‘So—–’ Jaime was loath to ask it, ‘what went wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. Everything.’ Nicola spoke dramatically. ‘Oh, Jaime, you have no idea …’

  ‘Would it make it any easier for you if I told you that Lorenzo told me about the baby?’

  ‘He did?’ Nicola licked her lips. ‘What did he tell you?’

  Jaime bent her head. ‘Just—that the baby had died.’

  ‘It didn’t die.’ Nicola’s face contorted. ‘It was dead. It was dead long before they took it from me.’

  ‘I know.’ Jaime didn’t know what to say to her. ‘But—–’ her own stomach constricted at the thought, ‘you’ll have other children.’

  ‘I won’t.’ Nicola finished the brandy in her glass and got restlessly to her feet. ‘Raf won’t have any more. He blames me for losing the baby, and he refuses to consider me having another!’

  ‘No!’ Jaime looked up at her with horrified eyes. ‘No, you must be mistaken.’

  ‘I’m not.’ Nicola’s eyes filled with tears. ‘That’s what he told me.’ She shook her head. ‘You know how much I wanted a baby. Do you remember when we were at school and you used to talk about having a career? All I ever wanted to do was get married and have children.’

  Jaime put down her glass. ‘But have you talked to Raf about this?’ she asked carefully, as Nicola groped for a tissue. ‘I mean, surely you can’t mean he’s punishing you for what happened. These things happen all the time. They can happen to anyone.’

  ‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ Nicola blew her nose tearfully. ‘Now do you begin to understand why I’m so unhappy here? Now do you see why I had to talk to you?’

  Jaime caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘Have you mentioned this to anyone else?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Well … your doctor.’

  ‘Dottore Sferza?’ Nicola’s lips twisted. ‘He’s Raf’s doctor, not mine.’

  ‘But in Rome—surely there’s a doctor in Rome you could consult?’

  Nicola shook her head. ‘What could I say? That my husband blames me for our dead child? That he refuses to consider another pregnancy?’ She choked on the words. ‘Could you tell a stranger that?’

  Jaime lifted her shoulders helplessly. ‘But I don’t see what else you can do.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Nicola wiped her nose on the tissue and approached the other girl diffidently. Perching on the edge of the window seat, she reached for one of Jaime’s hands, and although Jaime did not welcome this display of emotion, she could not draw her hand away. ‘Why do you think I’ve brought you here, Jaime?’ Nicola asked, her blue eyes wide and appealing. ‘There is no one else. I couldn’t tell Mummy—-she’d die of shame. And Daddy—well, Daddy would bluster a lot, but he’d never go against Raf in anything. He respects him too much—–’

  ‘Wait a minute!’ Jaime interrupted her there, withdrawing her hand firmly and linking her fingers tightly together in her lap. ‘I don’t think I understand what you’re saying, Nicola.’

  ‘Of course you do.’ Nicola gazed at her confidently. ‘I could always talk to you.’

  Jaime’s mouth felt dry. ‘To talk? That’s why you’ve brought me here?’

  ‘Of course.’ But Jaime’s moment of relief was short-lived. ‘To talk to me—and to talk to Raf—–’

  ‘No!’

  ‘—because you’re the only person he’s likely to listen to.’

  ‘No!’ Jaime was vehement. ‘Nicola, you don’t know what you’re saying.’

  ‘Jaime, Jaime,’ now Nicola was the calm one, putting her point of view with subjective logic, ‘don’t get upset. I’m not asking so much, surely. You’re the only one who knows Raf—the only one who might stand a chance of appealing to him. Can’t you see? It’s the least you can do.’

  ‘The least?’ Jaime was bewildered.

  ‘Of course. We both know that if it hadn’t been for you, Raf would never have married me.’

  Jaime swallowed convulsively. ‘I—I had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘You know you did.’ Nicola was quite dispassionate now. ‘If you hadn’t been so damned determined on being a career woman, you might have been in my position today.’

  Jaime’s colour rose. ‘That has nothing to do with it.’ ‘Doesn’t it?’ Nicola was cold. ‘What if I told you that on our wedding night, Raf called me Jaime?’

  Jaime got up from the window seat, unable to sit still under Nicola’s accusations. ‘I—I still don’t see what I can do,’ she exclaimed through clenched teeth, keeping her back to Nicola, so that the other girl should not see how much her words had affected her.

  ‘You can talk to Raf,’ declared Nicola impassively. ‘Appeal to him on my behalf.’ She uttered a scornful laugh. ‘That should prove novel, at any rate.’

  Jaime swung round. ‘I can’t—–’

  ‘Why can’t you?’

  ‘Raf wouldn’t listen to me.’

  ‘He might. If you tell him how desperate I am.’ Nicola’s expression softened with one of her abrupt changes of mood. ‘You don’t know what it’s like, Jaime. Having this—this craving inside you! I want a baby, Raf’s baby. Surely you can understand that.’

  Jaime drew an unsteady breath. ‘If you waited a while—–’

  ‘Waited?’ Nicola caught her breath. ‘I’ve waited too long as it is. The child—our son—died almost three years ago. I have waited. And I can’t wait any longer.’

  Jaime lifted her eyes to the ceiling. She had been wise to be apprehensive, she thought emotionally. She should have known that Nicola would not have contacted her after all these years without there being
some significant reason. But even if she had consulted her horoscope, or racked her brains from now until next year, she could never have guessed Nicola’s motives in bringing her to the Castello di Vaggio.

  ‘Oh, God—–’ Nicola’s sudden moan of misery attracted Jaime’s unwilling attention. ‘I feel sick!’ she gasped, stumbling across the room towards the bedroom, but before Jaime could help her, she had collapsed in a groaning heap on the floor.

  The brandy, thought Jaime impatiently, as Nicola retched violently, and her resentment turned to pity for the helpless girl at her feet. ‘I’ll get someone,’ she exclaimed, realising she could not possibly attend to this alone, and then fell back abruptly when the door was suddenly thrust open.

  Rafaello stood on the threshold, and Jaime glanced behind her uneasily, aware that Nicola would not want her husband to see her like this. ‘I—could I talk to you?’ she asked awkwardly, hoping he would step back into the corridor, but Raf had already comprehended the situation.

  ‘Have you called for help?’ he enquired crisply, viewing his wife’s wretched condition without expression, and Jaime shook her head.

  ‘I—I was just going for assistance,’ she admitted, tucking her thumbs into the back of her jeans. ‘She—I—it must have been something she ate.’

  Rafaello made no response to this. He simply crossed to the bell pull Jaime had not even noticed and hauled on it heavily. Then, still without speaking, he went into the bathroom and came back seconds later with a soft apricot-coloured towel. Squatting down beside his wife, he wiped her sweating forehead, and then, as the bout of sickness subsided, he helped her to her feet.

  Nicola was too giddy to care who was helping her, but Jaime’s nerves tightened as Rafaello helped Nicola to the bed and began unzipping the blue silk dress which had looked so immaculate earlier. He could be so gentle, she thought, pressing her lips together, and she wished she did not feel so superfluous or so helpless.

  The arrival of one of the maids gave her the opportunity she had been waiting for, and realising Nicola was in no state to know whether she was there or not, Jaime backed out of the room. She needed to get away and be on her own. She needed time to think about the things Nicola had told her. But most of all, she needed to control the crazy awareness that rapidly her emotions were overtaking her reason.