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‘Much better. Have you got that coffee on yet?’
‘I thought you didn’t like my coffee?’
‘I don’t, but I need caffeine, and it has to be better than the stuff in the hospital.’
She gave him a look, but got two mugs out and found some biscuits in a tin.
‘Here. Eat these while you wait. We’ll be having dinner in a while. I bought something ready-made so we can have it whenever you’re ready.’
‘Good. I’m starving.’
She laughed. ‘I’ve never known you when you weren’t starving. It’s a miracle you’re not fat.’
‘It’s my enormous brain. It takes a lot of energy.’
She snorted, but he could see a smile teasing the corners of her mouth, and he turned away so she wouldn’t see him laughing in response. Then his smile faded, and he closed his eyes and sighed quietly.
If it wasn’t for this intense physical tug between them which had appeared suddenly when they were fourteen and never faded, life would have been so, so much easier. They could have just been friends, just as they had all their lives until that point. They’d been inseparable, getting into all manner of scrapes together, but then their hormones had made things awkward between them and she’d started spending more time with the girls, and he with the boys.
But despite the occasional awkwardness, they’d stayed friends, and they still were, twenty years later. She was the first person he called if he had something interesting or sad or exciting to share, but since that time five years ago when they’d somehow lost their restraint and ended up in bed for a few giddy and delirious weeks, things hadn’t been the same.
He hadn’t called her as much, hadn’t leant on her in the same way, and if she’d leant on him, he’d given only what he’d had to and no more.
He’d been easing away from her, trying to distance himself because it was just too darned hard to be so close when he could never give her what she wanted—until last June, when he’d nearly lost the plot. He’d hardly seen anything of her since then, and he’d missed her more than he would ever admit.
She heard a quiet sigh, and looked over to where he was sitting.
He looked thoughtful, sombre, and she wondered what he was thinking about. The silly woman who’d got him in this mess with her unprovoked attack?
Or the last time he’d sat on that sofa, when they’d so nearly—
‘Here, your coffee,’ she said, dumping it down on the table beside him. She went back for her own coffee and the biscuits, and handed them to him.
‘No chocolate ones?’
‘Do you know, you’re like a demanding child,’ she grumbled, going back to the cupboard and rummaging around until she found a packet of chocolate coated wafers. ‘Here. I was saving them for a special occasion, but since you can’t cope without them…’
He arched a brow, but she ignored it and tore the Cellophane and put the packet down on the cushions between them, reaching for one at the same time as him. Their fingers clashed, and she withdrew her hand.
‘After you,’ she said, ‘since you’re clearly going to die if you don’t eat soon,’ and his mouth curved into a slight, fleeting smile and he picked one up deliberately and bit it in half.
She looked away. He was teasing her, tormenting her, but her fingers were still tingling from the brush of his hand.
How could she feel like this still? Always, all the time, year after year without anything but hope to feed it?
Except he’d given her hope. They’d had an affair, and last year, they’d so nearly started it up again. So very, very nearly—
‘Good biscuits.’
‘They are. That’s why I was saving them. Don’t eat them all, you won’t want your dinner.’
‘Unlikely.’
She snorted, and put the rest away in the tin and put the lid on, and he just leant back and stretched out his long, rangy body and sighed.
He looked so good there, as if the sofa was made for him, as if it was his body that had moulded it to the saggy, comfortable shape it now was—except he’d only ever been on it once before, and she really, really didn’t want to think about that time.
‘How’s the coffee?’ she asked to distract herself, and he glanced down into the mug and shrugged.
‘It’s coffee. It’s not great. Why don’t we go and buy a coffee maker?’
‘Now?’
He chuckled wearily. ‘No, not now. Tomorrow? I don’t know if I can cope for two weeks without proper coffee.’
‘This is proper coffee. You’re just a coffee snob.’
‘No, I just know what I like.’
‘And you couldn’t possibly compromise to spare my feelings?’
He turned his head and gave her a mocking smile. ‘Now, you know that’s ridiculous.’
Oh, goodness, she couldn’t do this! That smile cut right through her defences and left her so vulnerable to him, but there was no way he was going to know that. So she laughed and hit him lightly with a cushion, then hugged it to her chest and pulled her knees up, propping her feet on the edge of the sofa and changing the subject back to the safer one of his attacker.
‘I wonder when they’ll find her. She makes me nervous.’
His lips kinked in that lopsided smile that was so familiar to her and made her heart lurch once again. ‘It’s not a Bond movie, Anita. She’s just an angry woman who’s probably now very scared.’
She nodded. ‘Probably. What on earth did she want from you?’
He shrugged. ‘Money? They were in business, she cheated him for years, he found out and told her to go quietly and broke up the partnership, and then she decided to go after what she thought was her half. So he produced all the evidence to show she’d cheated him and she gave in, but instead of gaining money, she’s ended up with a legal bill, and she blames me.’
Anita laughed in astonishment. ‘Why? She didn’t seriously expect to win?’
‘Apparently.’
‘She’s deluded, then. Either that or she hasn’t heard of your reputation. She should have just gone quietly.’
‘Of course, but she was distraught. Much more so than I would have expected, and she was so insistent on talking to me. It wasn’t normal behaviour. Maybe if I’d listened I wouldn’t be in this mess now.’
He looked slightly bemused, as if he was still trying to work it out, and she reached out a hand and rested it on his shoulder. Silly of her to touch him, so risky and not really necessary, but she needed to feel his warmth, just to reassure herself that he was still alive, that this woman’s actions hadn’t actually caused his death after all.
But then he turned his head and their eyes locked. His pupils flared, darkening his already dark eyes to midnight, and it was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. Heat scorched through her, a heat born of want and need and a deep and unbearable longing to just lean over and rest her head on his shoulder and hold him close.
For an age they said nothing, and then she pulled her hand away and got up.
‘I’ll get the food in from the car and cook the dinner,’ she said, her voice jerky and tight, and pulling her boots back on, she went out to the car and stood for a moment sucking in the cool air and getting herself back under control.
How could she still love him, still want him, like this? Five years she’d had to get over him, and she’d thought she was doing OK, but tonight she felt as if she hadn’t made any progress at all. And now they were supposed to be stuck together alone here for two weeks, and keep their hands to themselves?
They’d never do it.
He was on the phone when she went back inside with the shopping, talking to his mother.
She could tell it was her, just by the tone of his voice and the patient, slightly indulgent expression on his face.
‘I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me, Anita’s looking after me. Of course I’ll be nice to her. I know she’s a nice girl.’ He glanced across at her and winked, and then his mother said something else and he looked hastily away. ‘Don’t be silly. Of course not.’
Of course not what? Of course not, any chance of them getting back together? It would make his mother a very happy woman. Hers also. Her, too, come to that, happiest of all of them, but it was a fruitless waste of energy thinking about it any more, so she dumped the shopping down on the worktop and started to put it away.
If only she could tune out the sound of his voice, instead of catching every word as if she was eavesdropping! Not that she could help it.
She left the shopping and went into the bathroom, giving it a quick clean. Hopefully by the time she’d finished, he would have got off the phone and she wouldn’t be forced to endure the warm murmur of his voice and that soft chuckle which melted her bones.
By the time the taps and mirror were gleaming and they could have eaten off the fittings, she decided the bathroom was probably clean enough. She went back into the kitchen, but he was still on the phone. To Luca, this time, she thought.
There was medical stuff—details of his treatment, a report on what hurt, what tingled, what ached—definitely Luca. And he was lying, as well. She took the phone from him.
‘Luca? Hi. This is mostly lies. He hurts, he looks awful, he’s dizzy—Gio, no, you can’t have the phone back.’ She stepped further away, listening to Luca’s advice for feeding him things to replace the iron while Gio protested from the confines of the sofa.
‘Will do.’
‘And don’t let him walk on that foot yet.’
‘OK. I’ll do my best.’ She swatted his hand away. ‘He wants you back.’
‘Anita, before you go, I know this is difficult for you,’ Luca said softly. ‘We’re really grateful to you for being there for him. You just take care, OK? Don’t let yourself get hurt, and if it all gets too much, call, and one of us will come.’
She swallowed hard. ‘I’m fine. Here he is.’
She handed the phone back and retreated to the kitchen, wishing she’d bought raw ingredients instead of a ready-made meal. It might have given her something to do for the next hour or so, instead of turning on the oven, putting the pan of lasagne into it and then twiddling her thumbs for half an hour.
She closed the oven door and thought about what Luca had said. Dark green vegetables and red meat, with whole grain bread and pulses.
Well, the red meat was taken care of, and she had some pâté and a mixed salad she could give him for a starter, and the ciabatta was made with stoneground flour. That would have to do for now, and tomorrow she’d go shopping.
She pulled plates out and started arranging the salad. He was watching the television now, flicking through the channels, and then he stopped. ‘Oh, no, for heaven’s sake, why can’t they leave me alone?’
‘What?’
‘It’s made the news. Look. The police said it might and they were going to do some damage limitation, but it doesn’t sound like it.’
She put the knife down and went over, perching on the end of the sofa and watching.
‘Police say Giovanni Valtieri was released from hospital at midday today following an incident yesterday in which he was assaulted. He was seen being driven away from the hospital by a woman believed to be Anita Della Rosso, a friend of the family and one-time girlfriend of the lawyer, who’s been at his side since the incident.’
‘What!’ She plonked down onto the sofa next to him and stared at the television in astonishment. ‘How did they find that out?’
He shrugged. ‘They’re everywhere. Listen.’
There was a reporter standing outside the hospital now, talking about how she’d been seen arriving yesterday and again this morning, and then further talk about their relationship.
‘A hugely successful lawyer in his own right, Giovanni is the colourful and flamboyant youngest son of Vittorio and Elisa Valtieri, members of one of Tuscany’s oldest and most respected families, and his renewed relationship with society wedding planner Anita Della Rossa is bound to be a cause for speculation. Will Anita be planning her own wedding soon?’
The screen went suddenly blank, and she looked at Gio.
His face was rigid, his lips pressed tightly together into a straight line, a muscle in his jaw jumping. He threw down the remote control and sat back, arms folded, fulminating in silence.
He was furious, she could tell, but more than that, he was worried.
He dragged in a breath and turned to her.
‘I never should have dragged you into this. All this talk about our relationship—it’s so public, and now they’re going to point Camilla Ponti straight at you.’
She smiled a little ruefully and touched his cheek. ‘Gio, it’s OK. This is my private bolt-hole, a secret hideout that hardly anybody knows about. She won’t look for us here, everyone thinks I live either in my apartment in Firenze or with my parents. There’s nothing to link it to me, not even the address. I give my parents’ villa as my postal address here. This is just like a guest villa.’
‘Talking of your parents, you’d better warn them,’ he said. ‘If they’re watching this news bulletin—’
Her phone rang, right on cue, and she spent the next five minutes telling her mother he was all right, they were at her villa and it was all just idle speculation. She was simply looking after an old friend.
‘You expect me to believe that? There’s no smoke without fire, Anita.’
She coloured. Her mother didn’t know about their brief affair five years ago. Nobody did, not really. They certainly hadn’t told anyone. Luca and Massimo had guessed, but nobody else had, as far as she knew. Well, apart from the press and now half of Tuscany—
‘It’s just rumour,’ she said lightly. ‘Ignore it. I have to go, I’m cooking supper for us.’
But her mother wasn’t stupid. ‘Take care, carissima,’ she said softly, and Anita swallowed.
‘I will. Ciao, Mamma. Love to Papà.’
She lowered her phone and met his eyes.
‘Is she OK?’
‘She’s fussing.’
‘Of course she’s fussing, she’s your mother. I’m surprised she’s not over here right now checking the sleeping arrangements.’
‘Well, she’ll be disappointed, then, because I’ve made up the spare room for you. Do you want to eat where you are, or at the table?’
‘Here? Do you mind? I can’t be bothered to move.’
Subtext: it’ll hurt too much, even though he’d had his painkillers with coffee earlier. She took his food over to him, with a glass of wine to wash it down.
Not that she approved, but it might help relax him and she wasn’t in the mood to play his mother.
‘Thanks, that looks really good. I can’t tell you how hungry I am.’
