by Anne Mather
‘Was your trip successful?’ she enquired, after they were all seated, and Jaime held her breath. Nicola must have heard her husband discussing a meeting he had held with his accountant with his mother, yet she was behaving as if nothing had been said.
‘Reasonably,’ Rafaello responded now, his dark face sombre above the ruffled front of his cream shirt. It was obvious he was loath to continue with that particular topic, and as if understanding this Nicola changed her approach.
‘We’ve missed you,’ she said, causing the Contessa’s cup to rattle against her saucer. ‘Jaime was just saying yesterday how empty the castle seemed without you. It was a pity you had to go away, just as you and she were getting to know one another again.’
Jaime didn’t know who was the most embarrassed—Rafaello, the Contessa, or herself. And it was patently untrue that she had made such a statement; Nicola knew that as well as she did. So why was she telling such barefaced lies when they could only alienate the situation still further?
‘I think you exaggerate, Nicola,’ Rafaello said at last, his nostrils flaring. ‘I am sure Miss Forster said nothing of the kind.’
‘Why are you calling her Miss Forster?’ Nicola’s eyes widened ingenuously. ‘You always call her Jaime, you know you do. It would be rather foolish to call her anything else after what you two have been to one another.’
‘Nicola!’
‘Nicola!’
Jaime and Rafaello spoke simultaneously, but Nicola was undeterred. ‘Don’t look so shocked. We all know I’m telling the truth. Where’s the harm? I’m not suggesting there’s anything between you now.’
But she was, Jaime knew that. By adopting this attitude, Nicola was choosing the only sure way she had of insinuating a relationship that she knew did not exist. And while Rafaello’s mother might have baulked at an outright accusation, this apparently innocent innuendo suggested just the right measure of complicity. Jaime could tell by the Contessa’s expression that she was troubled by Nicola’s behaviour, and although Rafaello was more adept at hiding his feelings, his anger at his wife’s conduct was evident in the tautness of his features.
‘Anyway,’ Nicola smiled, content with the reactions she had evoked, ‘you’re home now, and that’s all that matters, isn’t it?’ She finished her coffee and put down her cup. ‘Mmm, that was delicious, Mamma, but I think I’ll go up to my room now—I’m rather tired. Goodnight.’
Her departure was achieved in silence, and after the door had closed behind her, the ominous absence of sound continued. But then, as if she, too, was suddenly tired, the Contessa also rose to her feet.
‘We will talk again in the morning, Rafaello,’ she said, speaking in English for Jaime’s benefit. But as he sprang to open the door for her, saying: ‘Mamma—–’ in a rather driven tone, she placed a reassuring hand on his sleeve.
‘Capisco, capisco,’ she murmured, her expression taut with feeling. ‘Non ha importanza.’
‘No?’ Rafaello shook his head. ‘Buona notte, Mamma.’
‘Buona notte, figlio mio. Buona notte, Jaime.’
Jaime stood up as Rafaello closed the door. ‘I suppose I’d better leave too,’ she murmured, smoothing the skirt of the simple cream chemise dress she was wearing. ‘I’m sorry if what—Nicola said embarrased you or your mother, but—–’
Rafaello rested his back against the door, successfully cutting off her means of escape. ‘It did not embarrass you?’ he asked tightly, pushing his hands into the pockets of his velvet jacket. ‘My wife’s insinuations that you had some personal motive for desiring my return? You were not offended?’
Jaime’s blood ran a little faster. ‘No.’
‘No?’
‘No.’ She crossed her arms protectively across her midriff. ‘You know it wasn’t true. And I’m sure your mother was not deceived. Nicola was just—playing games, trying to—trying to—–’
‘—–divert attention from herself, perhaps?’ Rafaello’s tone was harsh. ‘Mamma tells me you are staunch in her defence.’
Jaime’s brows drew together. ‘Your mother? I—–’
‘We spoke earlier,’ he explained tersely. ‘Before you came down to dinner.’ He paused. ‘She also tells me you and she have spent much time together these last few days.’
‘Oh—yes.’ Jaime could feel her stomach muscles tightening. ‘She has been very kind.’
Rafaello’s dark eyes appraised her. ‘That was not what she said,’ he observed. ‘Mamma was of the opinion that you had taken pity on her.’
‘Oh, no!’ Jaime was fervent. ‘I—we—our outings were of mutual enjoyment, I think. She is a very likeable person.’
Rafaello moved away from the door. ‘Nicola did not accompany you.’ It was a statement rather than a question and Jaime merely shook her head. ‘I am told she spent most mornings in bed.’
Jaime gasped. ‘Do you have her watched?’ she exclaimed indignantly. ‘Surely she—–’
‘I do not have her watched,’ snapped Rafaello in response. ‘But you must understand, there are people in the castle who waste no time in telling me of my wife’s activities while I am away, do you take my meaning?’
‘You shouldn’t listen.’
‘You cannot be serious.’ Rafaello pushed frustrated fingers into his hair. ‘Do you think I should reveal that these things trouble me?’
‘Then Nicola was right; the servants do dislike her.’
Rafaello sighed. ‘The servants do not dislike her, Jaime. They simply have no respect for her.’
‘And whose fault is that?’
Rafaello’s eyes darkened angrily. ‘Are you suggesting that it is mine?’
‘Well, isn’t it?’ Now that she had started, Jaime had to go on. ‘I mean—–’ she took a deep breath, ‘wouldn’t Nicola’s position here be more secure if she—if she had children?’
Rafaello covered the space between them with frightening speed, staring into her startled eyes with sudden loathing. ‘You mean that?’ he demanded contemptuously. ‘You would put me in that position, without a shred of compassion?’
‘A shred of compassion?’ Jaime stood her ground bravely. ‘You married her, didn’t you? You made her your wife! Doesn’t that entitle her to some rights in this supposedly religious country? Or is that kind of loyalty reserved for the church and the holy fathers who administer it?’
Rafaello’s face was suffused with anger. ‘How dare you?’ he choked. ‘How dare you speak to me of loyalty?’
‘She’s your wife, Raf. She had your child! Shouldn’t that mean something?’
‘Yes!’ said Rafaello, between his teeth. ‘It should mean something. It did mean something. But have you never asked yourself why I married Nicola?’
‘I assumed—–’
‘Yes? What did you assume, I wonder? Did you think perhaps that I fell out of love with you and into love with Nicola in the space of a few weeks?’
‘Well—–’
‘Or perhaps you thought I married her to get even with you, that I had condemned myself to a life of bondage for the sake of making you jealous!’
‘I—–’
‘Did you even imagine that perhaps I had never loved you at all? That my feelings for you were as shallow as your feelings evidently were for me?’
‘Raf—–’
‘It was none of those things!’ he told her savagely, his hands clenched at his sides. ‘I had no desire to marry Nicola! I had no interest in marrying anyone. Indeed, that night you left the hotel, my strongest feelings were of self-disgust, and self-contempt, that I should have allowed any woman to so dictate my actions! I despised you, Jaime. But I despised myself still more. You had made me do what I did, you had reduced me to an—an animal, motivated only by rage and jealousy. You were the reason I had abandoned every honourable code! But I was to blame, for being so deceived.’
‘Raf—–’ She would have turned away, but his hand on her shoulder prevented it.
‘You will listen to me,’ he stated grimly. ‘You will hear
what I have to say. Then you will decide which of us is guilty.’
Jaime quivered. ‘Is there any point?’
‘I think so.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘To go on: the night you left the hotel, I was desperate. Self-hatred is the most destructive kind and robbed of the will to destroy myself one way, I proceeded to do it another.’ He paused. ‘Alcohol helped, but it was no real opiate. I was still conscious when Nicola telephoned, still capable of telling her that you and I were through.’
‘Nicola?’ Jaime stared at him, and Rafaello nodded heavily.
‘You did not know? I thought not. Well, your—friend—rang to find out how successful her little ploy had been. She was very clever. She asked to speak to you. I, of course, was in no state to deny that you were not with me.’
‘Even so—–’
‘Wait!’ Rafaello’s fingers dug painfully into her bones. ‘When she discovered you were apparently out of the picture, she rang off. Fifteen minutes later she was at my door.’
‘No!’
‘But yes.’ Rafaello sighed. ‘Oh, do not be misled. Nothing happened—nothing of a physical nature, that is. I was not—how do you say it?—capable of gratifying her in that way. But her father was not to know that.’
‘Her father?’
‘Regrettably, yes. Someone—you may guess who—had advised him of his daughter’s whereabouts. When Charles arrived at the hotel, Nicola chose to be found in a state of some undress. The outcome was inevitable.’
‘But—–’
‘At the time, I did not care,’ exclaimed Rafaello harshly. ‘I suppose I could have denied everything, but my brain simply refused to function. In no time at all the marriage was arranged. It was what Nicola wanted. I thought it was what my mother wanted. And as you and I—–’ He broke off abruptly, his free hand descending on her other shoulder to hold her in an agonising grip. ‘Perhaps there was an element of revenge in it,’ he muttered thickly. ‘Perhaps I did get a certain satisfaction from knowing it might hurt you. But I was wrong, was I not? You did not give a damn!’
Jaime’s breathing quickened. ‘Raf—–’
‘Answer me, damn you!’
‘I—I—I can’t,’ she choked, her voice breaking. ‘I can’t!’
‘Why can’t you?’ Rafaello’s dark eyes were smouldering with some unidentifiable emotion. ‘Are you going to lie to me again? Are you going to tell me you might have changed your mind? Are you going to tie my guts in knots by suggesting you regretted leaving me?’
‘I—I didn’t leave you, Raf—–’
‘What would you call it?’
‘I said I needed more time.’
‘An excuse!’
‘It wasn’t.’ Jaime licked her dry lips. ‘I—I don’t know what I’d have done. After you ordered me out of the hotel—–’
‘After I raped you, you mean? After I destroyed the only decent thing there had been between us?’
‘You didn’t rape me,’ moaned Jaime, in a tortured voice. ‘You know you couldn’t go through with it. You—you made love to me. You always made love to me.’
‘As I want to make love to you now,’ he muttered harshly, his eyes moving hungrily over her face. ‘As I have wanted to make love to you ever since I saw you at the airport—–’
‘No, Raf—–’
‘Yes, Raf,’ he contradicted grimly. ‘Is that not the admission you have wanted to hear?’
‘No—–’
‘But you came here knowing how it would torment me—–’
‘No. Nicola invited me.’
‘And why do you think Nicola invited you, if not to torment me?’
‘Raf, Nicola is desperate!’
‘As am I,’ he told her hoarsely, his hands sliding over her shoulders. ‘As am I, Jaime.’
She turned her face away from his, but his lips slid along her cheekbones, arousing an unbearable sense of recognition. His hands probed her shoulderbones, finding the little hollow beside her spine, and as she was compelled closer, she felt his teeth against her earlobe.
‘Do not fight me, Jaime,’ he groaned, his breath stirring the silky strands of pale hair at her nape, and she felt her senses swimming at the well-remembered feel of his taut body.
‘Raf—–’ she began, half turning her face towards him, but her protest was useless. Moving swiftly, he captured her anxious face between his hands, and her troubled words were stifled by his hungry possession.
Time receded while his mouth reacquainted itself with the parted contours of hers. His lips were warm and passionate, searching and probing and awakening emotions inside her that she had never thought to have awakened again. She wanted to resist him, she wanted to push him away from her, and break that urgent contact before any irreparable damage was done. But her hands and lips betrayed her; the burning urgency of his passion was all-consuming, and her hands groped for the hair at the back of his neck, grasping and holding and clinging to him desperately.
‘Jaime—–’ he said against her mouth. ‘Oh, Jaime, why did you have to come here?’
It was no easier to make the break, but Rafaello’s broken words tore Jaime apart. She had no right to be here. She had no right to be in his arms, holding him to her, returning his kisses, when it was her fault, and hers alone, that she did not have that right. She had made her decision five years ago. She had chosen a career then, because that was what she thought she wanted, and it was no use now trying to justify her actions by admitting that even she could make a mistake. He might not have married Nicola without coercion, but marry her he had, and she knew, without being told, that he would never break that contract. He still wanted her, that might be true, but she could never hope to share his life with him, or bear his children.
With a supreme effort she dragged herself away from him, putting the straps of her gown in order, tucking wisps of hair back into the coil at her neck. Then, when he stood there regarding her with dark brooding resentment, she put the finishing touches to this ultimate denial.
‘I think we must both have drunk too much wine,’ she declared, and the faint hysteria in her voice made it sound as if she was amused by what had happened instead of reeling from the pain. ‘Honestly, Raf, you can hardly complain about Nicola’s behaviour, if you yourself refuse to adhere to the rules!’
CHAPTER NINE
JAIME left the next morning, before Nicola was even awake. Fortunately, she did not see Rafaello again, and she doubted she would have had any breakfast either had the old Contessa not been waiting for her when she came downstairs.
‘You are leaving?’ she enquired, viewing Jaime’s fine wool pants suit without expression. ‘I will ask Giulio to fetch down your bags. I imagine you would like a car to take you to the airport.’
Jaime took a deep breath. ‘I can phone for a taxi,’ she said. ‘I assume there are taxis in Vaggio, are there not? Please don’t go to any trouble on my account, Contessa. I’d really rather leave with the minimum amount of fuss.’
‘I imagine you would,’ remarked Rafaello’s mother evenly. ‘However, I do not believe my son would approve of your trusting yourself to the mercies of Antonio Ponti and his auto pubblica, therefore I myself will drive you to Pisa.’
‘Oh, really—–’ Jaime shook her head helplessly, ‘I don’t think Raf would approve of that either.’
‘Happily, I do not have to consider what my son would or would not approve of with regard to myself, Jaime,’ the Contessa replied firmly. ‘Bene, you will drink some coffee and eat a croissant while I make the necessary arrangements.’
Jaime had not been driven by the Contessa before, and for a time, the idiosyncrasies of the old lady’s style of motoring kept her thoughts from other things. But gradually, as she began to get used to a staccato kind of rhythm, her mind drifted back to that awful scene with Rafaello.
It was useless trying to pretend he would get over it. Her behaviour must have destroyed any lingering trace of emotion he felt for her. And it was no help telling herself she had don
e it for his own good. He would never forgive her, and she would never forgive herself for allowing it to happen.
She didn’t want to remember the things he had said to her after her outburst. They were such cruel things, such painful things; so much agony and resentment condensed into a vituperative stream of abuse. He had wanted to hurt her, and he had succeeded. He had successfully torn her indifference to shreds, and when he left her in the salotto she had felt completely numb.
Unfortunately, the numbness had not lasted. It would have been easier if it had. By the time she had washed and prepared for bed, every jarring nerve in her body was alert to the agony of abandoning all hope, and the tears she had shed had been as much for Raf as for herself. What had she done to him? What had she done to both of them? Could she ever atone for the mistakes of the past?
‘Are you leaving because of what Nicola said?’
The Contessa’s quiet question brought her abruptly back to an awareness of where she was, and Jaime hastily tried to find excuses for her departure.
‘Oh, no,’ she exclaimed, smoothing the leather surface of her handbag with nervous fingers. ‘I mean, that would be foolish, wouldn’t it? After all, it was Nicola who brought me here.’
‘So I believe.’ The Contessa’s foot pressed a little harder on the accelerator. ‘Nevertheless, something must have happened to make you change your mind.’
‘Change my mind, Contessa?’
‘But of course. If you had had any intention of leaving yesterday, would you not have told me so?’
Jaime sighed. ‘It was—I thought it would be the best thing.’
‘Best for whom? For you? For Nicola? For my son?’
‘For all of us, I suppose,’ answered Jaime unwillingly. ‘Isn’t that a pretty little church?’ She pointed to a distant tower. ‘Do you know the name of it? I don’t remember seeing it before.’
‘Talking about churches will not alter the situation, my child. Come, is my son to blame for this sudden flight from Vaggio? You must not allow what he says to upset you. Rafaello has not had an easy life for the past five years, and is it so unnatural that at times he allows his bitterness to show?’
