The Mistress Wife

by Lynne Graham

  For two years her bedroom had been a clutter-free zone empty of Lucca and his untidiness and quick-fire energy. She did not even want to think now about how horribly unhappy she had been. After all, why waste time reliving the past when the present was so much better? She had been back in London for only a week and every day Lucca spent more time with her. He was virtually living with her. He was no longer leaving for the office at six in the morning either and he was finishing earlier. The weekend had been wonderful. Incredibly, he had switched off his phone and he had done no work whatsoever. They had had loads of fun with Marco. The simple pleasure of behaving like a family for the very first time was not one she took for granted. She cherished everything they had shared.

  Lucca, she was beginning to appreciate, had changed during their time apart. He was so much less arrogant and a lot more unselfish and patient. Time and time again he had demonstrated that he could now temper his own inclinations and compromise for her sake and for Marco’s. Yet only two short years ago, Lucca had been very much the kind of male to whom compromise was a dirty word. He had done exactly as he’d wanted when he’d wanted. Her every attempt to make a more secure and comfortable place for herself in his world had ended in abysmal failure.

  With hindsight she could now see that, while Lucca might have married her, he had in many ways carried on living his life as though he were still single. She was amazed that she had not registered that reality sooner. She did believe that Lucca had been faithful to her during that year they had first lived together as man and wife, but at the heart of what should have been Lucca’s commitment to their life as a couple had been a giant black hole.

  He had insisted on hanging onto his flash single-guy apartment even though she’d disliked it. He had refused to moderate his working hours or the frequency of his trips abroad. He had continued to organise his social life without consulting her in any way. They had shared a bed but not much else and what had been shared had been entirely at his discretion. When she had found out that she was pregnant, it had hardly been surprising that she had been unable to picture Lucca adapting to the restrictions that a baby would inflict on his freedom of choice. After all, even though she had been in denial about the fact, Lucca had pretty much refused to make the smallest adaptation to being married.

  But in the present that resistance to change had gone. Lucca was behaving very much like a male keen to demonstrate how adaptable he could be to family life. Even when Marco was cranky, Lucca was marvellous with him. On the most personal terms of all, she reflected in a glow of shy pleasure, Lucca was being exhaustingly passionate and flatteringly attentive.

  Indeed, there was just one cloud on her horizon: Vivien always liked to know exactly where she stood. She found it hard to live in an atmosphere of uncertainty and harder still not to question it. If she had had free choice it would have been to see her future mapped out in front of her with Lucca locked into a lifetime contract, but nothing was that simple. It was true that Lucca was with her at this very moment in time, but on what terms and for how long? It would be very dangerous for her to start trying to make assumptions. She felt it was also too soon for her to seek any form of reassurance. But did they have a future together again?

  Lucca reappeared, superbly dressed in an exquisitely tailored Armani suit. Tall, dark and dazzlingly handsome, he surveyed her from the foot of the tumbled bed, a charismatic smile curving his beautiful mouth. He had come up with an innovative solution to their current situation and he was proud of himself. ‘How would you like to take a trip to Italy, cara?’

  Dragged from her thoughts, Vivien blinked uncertainly. ‘Italy?’ she echoed in astonishment.

  ‘I have a country house a few miles out of Florence. We can be private there,’ he murmured, thinking how enchanted she would be when she saw his Tuscan home. ‘We’ll leave this afternoon.’

  ‘That soon?’ Vivien exclaimed dizzily while wondering when and why he had bought a country house. He had talked about doing that on their honeymoon but nothing had come of it. He had already owned the fabulous villa in Rome, which had been his family home. She had visited it twice in flying visits.

  His spectacular dark golden eyes rested on her. ‘It would please me a lot, bella mia,’ he told her.

  Rarely had Lucca been so sincere in expressing a sentiment. His beautiful hideaway in the Tuscan hills would be ideal. The paparazzi would not know where they were. Nobody would know where Vivien was either. She was unlikely to receive potentially distressing phone calls from her solicitor or letters. They would both enjoy only perfect peace.

  ‘Then of course I can’t wait to go,’ Vivien answered softly.

  An aspidistra in a magnificent pot was delivered a couple of hours later. She thought it was an unusual gift but rang Lucca and thanked him.

  ‘I know how you feel about ferns, cara mia,’ he retorted with audible satisfaction.

  She thought about telling him that an aspidistra was not a fern, but did not have the heart. He would take it badly. Men never were gracious about mistakes, which they believed entailed a loss of face. In any case it was a very handsome aspidistra.

  Bernice phoned mid-morning while Vivien was dragging cases downstairs. Vivien was relieved to hear from her sister and keen to chat and catch up, but soon found herself being subjected to some uncomfortable questioning.

  ‘How long do you have before the divorce becomes final?’ Bernice asked baldly.

  ‘I’m not absolutely sure…’ Vivien confided, her palms growing damp because she was being forced to think about the very thing she most wished to avoid thinking about.

  ‘Don’t be silly. Of course you must know,’ Bernice declared, it being quite beyond her to empathise with Vivien’s shrinking distaste and fear of the whole procedure of divorce.

  Vivien had never wanted a divorce. It was only a couple of months since Lucca, through the usual medium of his legal counsel, had requested a divorce on the grounds of their separation, which had lasted for the required two years. Pride had made her give her consent but she had wept long and hard that night. She had to force herself even to open a letter from her solicitor.

  A few weeks earlier, the divorce petition had gone through the court system. The precise date of that event evaded Vivien because she had been too upset to pay much heed to it. However, she was aware that six weeks and a day had to pass before the final decree of divorce could be applied for. She was convinced that that six-week waiting period could not yet have passed and that there was still a small window of opportunity in which Lucca could change his mind and decide that he wanted to stay married.

  ‘Vivien!’ Bernice prompted sharply.

  ‘Look…’ Vivien was keen to avoid any further discussion of her divorce prospects. Made restive, she tucked the phone between her cheek and her shoulder and went into the porch to lift the small sealed bag of redirected post that had been delivered. It appeared to contain only her favourite seed catalogue and she tossed it into the case she had yet to lock for later perusal. Perhaps it would be more sensible just to be frank with Bernice about what was happening with Lucca, she reflected ruefully. ‘Lucca and I are going to Italy this afternoon.’

  ‘Really? I’m delighted for you,’ her sister said in a surprisingly bright tone.

  Vivien was surprised at Bernice’s change of attitude. ‘You…are?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be? I have a small confession to make too,’ her sister continued in the same bright voice. ‘The day you left I mistook your bank statement for mine and accidentally opened it…and I just couldn’t help noticing that Lucca has paid the most enormous sum of money into your account.’

  Vivien’s green eyes rounded. ‘My goodness, are you sure?’

  ‘Well, you did ask him for cash and I’ll give him his due: he paid up the very same day. Your overdraft has vanished. He’s given you two hundred and fifty thousand pounds…a quarter of a mill!’ the excited brunette declared.

  Astonishment had paralysed Vivien to the spot.
‘That much? You’re not serious?’

  ‘It’s wonderful news for both of us. I can hardly wait for the chance to make a fresh start and now you’ll be able to give me an interest-free loan.’

  ‘A loan?’ Vivien repeated in bewilderment.

  ‘You’re back with Lucca…surely you can spare me a hundred grand to get another business started up?’

  At that blunt demand, Vivien breathed in deep. ‘But I’m not back with Lucca, not in the way you mean. We could still end up apart,’ she confided unhappily. ‘I’m really sorry but I couldn’t possibly loan you his money.’

  ‘Why the hell not? He’s rolling in it!’ Bernice pointed out in truculent disagreement. ‘You are sleeping with him again, aren’t you?’

  Vivien reddened and ignored that intrusive enquiry. ‘First and foremost that money was intended to solve my financial problems and ensure Marco’s security. I don’t have a salary coming in at present. I’m not living in my own home either but I still have the mortgage and bills to meet,’ she reminded the brunette uncomfortably. ‘The situation I’m in now is temporary—’

  ‘Oh, is it? So, now you’re saying you’re just Lucca’s temporary mistress. Is that right?’ her sibling sneered.

  That gibe cut Vivien like a knife. ‘I really wish that I could help you but at this moment in time—’

  ‘No, you don’t…you always were a selfish cow!’ Bernice spat in a rage at being refused the loan. ‘Lucca’s got you right where he wants you. I can’t believe it. Three years back, you wouldn’t sleep with him until you were engaged—’

  ‘Bernice…please!’ Vivien interrupted, stricken with embarrassment.

  ‘And now he only has to stick two hundred grand in your bank account and you’re acting like a whore!’

  On that abusive note, the phone at the other end of the line was slammed down.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘YOU’LL love Il Palazzetto,’ Lucca forecast with immense confidence.

  The name translated as ‘the little palace’. Vivien was striving to keep a straight face because she was already picturing crystal chandeliers, vast marble spaces and a lot of gilded finishes. She thought it very unlikely that she would love his country house. After all, Lucca liked a great deal of luxury. He had been raised in a sixteenth-century Roman villa with the kind of opulence that made more ordinary people gasp and stare. Too much grandeur made Vivien uncomfortable but she had never expected him to go slumming for her benefit.

  It was a glorious day. The limousine was travelling through dense beech woods. Golden sunlight from a perfect blue sky splashed the fresh green leaves and stately pale grey trunks stretched back into the verdant shade created by the closely packed trees.

  They turned off the steep road into a winding lane that cut through groves of oak trees that slowly petered out into a lush meadow of poppies and wild flowers. Silhouetted against the backdrop of the wooded hillside, she glimpsed the tall, elegant tower and the terracotta roof of a rambling old house that fitted into the landscape with timeless perfection. Built of warm mellow stone the colour of honey, it looked so impossibly beautiful that her throat ached and her eyes strained to hold that view.

  Long before the limo even came to a regal halt on the gravel fronting the ancient building, Vivien was experiencing a deep and disturbing sense of déjà vu. Three years ago, they had spent their honeymoon in a contemporary villa filled with cutting-edge technology and furniture that had looked as though it would end up in a design museum. It had been exactly what Lucca liked but she had found the vast echoing spaces soulless and intimidating. On every trip they had enjoyed during that all-too-brief week of being newly marrieds in Tuscany, she had admired the character and beauty of the gracious old houses that she so much preferred. Lucca had started teasing her and he had come up with what he had described as a checklist of her preferences for her dream house.

  Her dream home in the Tuscan hill country had been old and stone built. She had also rather fancied a dwelling that rejoiced in a tall handsome tower from which glorious views could be sampled. She had pictured that imaginary house, composite of so many that she had seen, sited on a wooded hillside surrounded by sufficient land to allow total, silent seclusion from the rest of the world. And here it was: her dream house, purchased by her estranged husband for his own use a good month after they had parted. It was enough of a provocation to make even a sane woman scream…

  Fortunately for Lucca, Vivien hated screaming at him. Or at least, she hated the aftermath of having screamed when she would feel that such a loss of control reflected badly on her strength of character. Resolving to say nothing about the insulting resemblance Il Palazzetto bore to the fantasy home she had dreamt of while on her honeymoon, Vivien climbed out of the car into the sunlight.

  A housekeeper and a maid stepped forward to be introduced and swiftly pounced upon Marco with the kind of enormous appreciation that he most relished. Chuckling at the game the maid initiated, Marco beamed and toddled off happily to receive the cake he had been promised.

  ‘Rosa Peroli will be arriving tomorrow morning to help you look after him,’ Lucca informed Vivien.

  Blinking rapidly, Vivien stilled and twisted round to look at him. ‘Say that again…’

  ‘It wasn’t hard to find Rosa’s family in the phone book. I called her and asked if she would like to work for you on a full-time basis—’

  ‘But I don’t need—’

  ‘It’s all organised,’ Lucca spelt out. ‘Rosa was delighted and said she’d really missed taking care of Marco. She’s keen to start work.’

  Vivien breathed in so long and so deep in an effort to calm herself that she was fearful she might burst. ‘I suppose it didn’t occur to you that you should consult me about this arrangement.’

  ‘It did, but I took a considered decision not to consult you.’

  Vivien glared at him incredulously. ‘Not to consult me?’

  Lucca shrugged wide muscular shoulders sheathed in fine white cotton. ‘You’re used to being a single parent and if you delegate, you feel guilty. But we should be able to relax together occasionally without worrying about Marco. Taking time just for us isn’t a crime, gioia mia.’

  Sea-green eyes fully lodged to his lean, darkly handsome features, Vivien stopped glaring and almost smiled for he had employed the cleverest possible words of persuasion. ‘I suppose you’re right.’

  Closing a lean, purposeful hand over hers, he showed her into a big reception room, which contained wonderfully inviting sofas, and had windows that overlooked a welcoming green expanse of garden. All the rooms were well proportioned and furnished with a contemporary take on plain rustic style. Vivien’s intense curiosity about who had done the decorating increased rapidly. Il Palazzetto was achingly fashionable. Vivien didn’t ‘do’ trendy interior design but she read the magazines with avid interest. And the deeper she got into Lucca’s stunning Tuscan home, the more she found herself imagining Bliss Masterson draping the plaid throw over the wrought-iron seat by the window and adjusting the artfully arranged bare branches that ornamented a starkly simple marble urn. Her chest swelled as she dragged in a quivering breath and struggled to suppress her turbulent emotions. She was trying very hard not to wonder how many other women had enjoyed the same tour with Lucca.

  They climbed to the top of the tower to take in the fantastic views of the rolling countryside. In the distance she could see the purplish blue splendour of the mountains. In the haze of the afternoon heat, a medieval village sprawled with higgledy-piggledy charm across a hilltop and looked for all the world as though it belonged in a children’s fairy tale. Dense woods, silvery green olive groves and flourishing vineyards adorned a lush green landscape of breathtaking beauty.

  But Vivien was not properly appreciative. Indeed her eyes burned with pent-up tears and the images were blurring. She was still picturing Bliss twitching those branches into stylish harmony with her thin, elegant fingers. She had sworn to herself that she would say nothing but t
he torments of her own imagination were more than flesh and blood could stand. ‘You know…you promised me a house exactly like this on our honeymoon.’

  ‘I always deliver,’ Lucca drawled teasingly.

  Vivien went so tense she was surprised her bones didn’t crack. How could he be so obtuse? Did he think she had been complimenting him? The exploration continued. She preceded him into a bedroom where pale blue drapes fell to a polished oak floor. Soft blue, her favourite colour. Her delicate face tightened. Like a police detective hot on the scent of a dangerous criminal, she pushed open the door into what she deemed to be the en suite and there it was, the final proof of his gross insensitivity: the free-standing, exquisitely shaped bath of her dreams!

  ‘I hate you!’ Vivien launched at Lucca on the back of an angry sob.

  Lean, powerful face impassive, Lucca backed up against the footboard of the impressive wooden bed and studied her in apparent astonishment. ‘Santo Cielo… I don’t believe I’m hearing this. What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘You bought my dream home after I’d left you and desecrated it with other women!’ Vivien screeched at him. ‘How dare you bring me here?’

  ‘Possibly I wanted to remind you of what a great guy you walked out on, bella mia,’ Lucca countered with ice cool clarity. ‘What you’re seeing here isn’t what you think it is…what you’re seeing here within these four walls is the faith I once had in you.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she slung back shakily.

  ‘I thought you’d come back to me. It did not once occur to me when you packed and left our home that that would be the end of our marriage.’