скачать книгу бесплатно
She stared at him, a little taken back without knowing why, but feeling even more certain that there was something running under the cool, controlled fa?ade that was anything but cool and controlled. Following her into the room for what was obviously a private phone call was not Donato’s style; his manners were always impeccable, his good breeding absolute.
But perhaps he was merely trying to be helpful? she thought quickly. Especially after their conversation about compromise? ‘Thank you.’ She gave the number and then took the phone a few moments later when he spoke her name, his voice flat. After settling herself in the chair opposite his desk she hesitated, expecting he would now leave, but instead he strolled lazily to his own chair, seating himself without a word.
She was now positioned so that he was directly facing her across the polished expanse of wood, and he was making no effort to glance at any of the papers on his desk, his eyes tight on her flushed face as she began to speak.
‘Hello, Claire, is that you?’ she began hesitantly, annoyed to find he was making her nervous. ‘It’s Grace.’
‘Grace?’ Claire’s voice mirrored her concern and Grace felt warmed by her friend’s solicitude. They had only known each other for the last four months, Claire having come to work at the surgery following a long spell in hospital after a severe road accident, but the two of them had immediately hit it off. ‘I’ve been thinking about you all day. How’s it going?’
‘OK.’ She took a deep breath and tried to clear her thoughts, which were gluing together under the rapier-sharp gaze across the desk. ‘But I’m going to need to stay in Italy longer than I thought,’ she said carefully.
‘You are?’ Now the anxiety was transparent. ‘You’re all right, aren’t you? I mean, I know it must be terribly difficult with the funeral and Donato and everything, but there’s nothing more?’
‘Don’t worry, Claire, I’m fine.’ She would have loved to unburden herself to this friend whom she had only known a short time but to whom she had been able to confide all the pain of the past and fears of the future, but with the dark presence across the desk freezing the air all around her it was most definitely not the time. ‘I’ll give you a ring once the funeral is over and we can talk properly, but I just thought I ought to let everyone know I shall be away a few weeks.’
‘I see. Hang on a mo and I’ll put you through to Jim; he left a message that he wanted to speak to you if you rang at any time.’ Claire paused before adding, ‘Take care, Grace, and don’t forget I’m here for you.’
‘I won’t; thank you, Claire.’ As the phone clicked she felt a moment’s surprise at Jim asking for her, and then told herself she should have expected it. Jim had joined the team of doctors at the same time that she had returned to England, and the fact that they were two newcomers had produced a certain affinity between them.
Jim was a mild-mannered, patient kind of individual, well suited to his chosen profession, and with her emotions still raw from Donato’s betrayal, coming as it had so swiftly after the horror of Paolo’s death, she had been grateful for his calm, placid friendship as she had struggled to take up the reins of her new life.
Grace had no immediate relations in England, having been brought up in a children’s home from the age of five, when her parents had been killed in a car accident, and all Jim’s family were in Scotland, so the two of them had got into the habit of eating together most evenings before they went home to their respective flats.
When Claire had joined the surgery she had accompanied them on occasion, as well as introducing Grace to her parents and friends, but Jim had still maintained a watchful, fatherly attitude towards her which she had thought rather touching considering he was only a few years older than her.
‘There is a problem?’ She looked up to find the brilliant dark eyes hard on hers.
‘No.’ She forced a smile. ‘I’m just waiting to be put through; I suppose there is someone with him at the moment.’
‘Him?’ Donato questioned softly.
‘Jim Penn.’ She flushed as she said the name although she wasn’t at all sure why, but there was something at the back of Donato’s glittering gaze that was unnerving. ‘He had left a message that he wanted to speak to me if I rang.’
‘How...thoughtful.’
The tone of his voice brought her eyes sharply to his but then Jim’s Scottish burr sounded down the line and she forced herself to concentrate on the disembodied voice.
‘Grace? What’s happening, girl?’ he asked loudly, concern in every syllable. She had confided the bare facts of her abrupt arrival back in England to Jim, and when the telegram had arrived he had been dead set against her returning to Italy for the funeral.
‘I’m at the Vittoria villa, Jim.’ She paused, vitally aware of the big body opposite her which dominated the masculine room. ‘And I shan’t be returning as quickly as planned so I thought I’d better let you know. I shall be staying in Italy for a few weeks.’
‘Why?’ The word was harsh and immediate and so unlike Jim’s normal mode of speech that she blinked before replying.
‘I...It’s Lorenzo—you know, the little boy?’ she said carefully. ‘He’s very upset and he needs me. It’ll be for a while, Jim, so if you and the others think it would be better to find someone else to take my place—’
‘There is no question of that.’ He sounded very definite and again she blinked, wondering if it was indeed sedate, unemotional Jim at the other end of the phone or if an alien had taken his place while she had been away. ‘Your job will be kept open for you as long as it’s necessary,’ he added in a softer tone.
‘That’s very good of you.’ She wondered if she should ask him to confirm such a statement with the other doctors but decided against it; this new Jim was less approachable than the old one and she wasn’t sure how he would take such a request.
‘No, it isn’t,’ he said quickly. ‘It’s the least we can do. I... We miss you, Grace. The surgery isn’t the same without your fairy footsteps bobbing about.’
There was an urgency in his tone that threw her for a moment and her laugh was forced before she said lightly, ‘They aren’t very fairy-like at the moment; I’m exhausted.’
‘How are things?’ he asked immediately, and again that throb in the Scottish burr made her flush.
‘Everyone is holding up very well.’ There was no movement from Donato, not a whisper of sound, but she could almost taste the dark waves flowing from his hard frame. ‘I’d better go, Jim; this call must be costing a fortune. I just wanted to let you all know as soon as I could. You couldn’t ask Claire to go and see my landlady and explain everything, could you?’ she asked carefully. ‘I wouldn’t like her to think I’m not coming back.’
‘Don’t worry about that side of things; I’ll sort it out,’ Jim said quickly. ‘I’ll go and see her and arrange to let her have a cheque at the end of the month.’
‘Oh, there’s no need for that; I can send her a cheque from here—’ Grace began, but he interrupted her, his voice brisk.
‘I’ll see to it, Grace; I’d like to. You can settle up with me when you’re home.’ There was a faint emphasis on the last word and again she flushed; the note of possessiveness in his voice had never been there before and she was sure she wasn’t imagining it.
‘All right, thank you.’ She hesitated a moment and then said, ‘Goodbye, then.’
‘Goodbye, Grace. Take care, won’t you? And...and don’t stand any nonsense,’ he said thickly and surprisingly.
‘I... No. Right, then, I’d better go...’ She was flustered now and it showed, and there was a moment of heavy brittle silence when she replaced the receiver before she could nerve herself to raise her eyes to Donato. The black gaze was waiting for her as she had known it would be.
‘Your...friend did not want you to come here?’ The words were soft and silky and deadly.
‘I beg your pardon?’ She had heard him perfectly well but needed time to collect her thoughts after the amazing phone call, during which she had seen a side to Jim she had never seen before.
‘He thought you should stay tucked away in safe little England with the ram and the wind and the number ten bus?’ Donato asked cuttingly, his voice vitriolic and his face set in pure unyielding granite.
He was jealous. The knowledge brought her eyes wide open for a split second before a surge of anger tightened her lips and raised her small chin. He didn’t want her, he had made that patently clear by his silence over the last twelve months, but he didn’t want anyone else to have her either! The Vittoria ‘ownership’ trait in full sail. But to be jealous of Jim—Jim of all people.
And then she remembered the timbre of Jim’s voice during the call and found herself flushing with shock. But she had never indicated to Jim, by word or deed, that there was anything more between them than friendship—never; the mere thought of more made her cringe. Jim was like the big brother she’d never had, a steady, dependable rock; if she’d thought for a second he wanted more...
Donato’s hard gaze slashed over her hot face and his voice was even softer when he said, ‘So? You have not answered my question.’ He folded his arms across his broad chest as he spoke.
‘Because it’s irrelevant,’ she said tightly, with bitter resentment.
‘I think not.’ He smiled, but it was a mere twisting of his lips, his eyes icy. ‘I asked you if he advised you not to come. That is a simple enough question, is it not?’
‘It’s nothing to do with anyone else what I do or don’t do,’ she said fiercely. ‘I make up my own mind; I won’t have it made up for me. Is that a simple enough answer?’
‘It will do.’ He rose so suddenly that she flinched before she could control the gesture. ‘Come, I will take you to your room,’ he said arrogantly. ‘You would like your lunch there?’ he continued as he walked to the door. ‘In view of your...exhaustion?’
The brief pause before the last word was meant to intimidate but she ignored the allusion to her conversation with Jim and smiled coolly, willing herself to sound distant and aloof as she said, ‘Thank you, that would be nice.’
Nice? It would be heaven, she thought weakly, preceding Donato out of the room on legs that were distinctly shaky. An hour or two to compose herself before she faced him again seemed like an oasis in the desert right at this moment, and she still had the hurdle of Bianca to overcome as well as the numerous relatives who would be sure to attend the funeral.
When she had first come to Casa Pontina five years ago as a shy and nervous eighteen-year-old she had thought the beautiful old house stretched for miles, and something of that feeling returned now as they walked along the high, elegant hall to the wide, gracious staircase that curved to the upper floor.
Besides the servants’ ample quarters, which were situated beyond the kitchens on the ground floor, there were six massive bedrooms in all, complete with en suite bathrooms, but when Donato had asked her to marry him two months after their first meeting he had ordered the immediate construction of a new wing to the building. The extension comprised a huge fitted kitchen, high-ceilinged dining room and two reception rooms, and four large bedrooms with bathrooms en suite upstairs.
There was no doubt the resulting addition was both aesthetically pleasing and unashamedly luxurious, but it was the fact that it was exclusively theirs that Donato had revelled in, although she had felt apprehensive and worried that Liliana in particular would feel rebuffed by Donato’s move from the main house.
She had been at Casa Pontina one Sunday afternoon just a few weeks before the wedding day when furnishings for her new home were being discussed, and something in her face must have told Romano, who was sitting opposite her at the dining table, how she was feeling.
‘Grace?’ He had sought her out after tea, which was unusual, taking her to one side and speaking quietly as he had looked down at her from his considerable height. ‘You feel uncomfortable about your new home, s??’
‘Oh, I love it, I do love it,’ she said hastily, ‘and I can’t wait to live there.’ She blushed furiously at this point but he pretended not to notice. ‘It’s just that I don’t want Liliana to think we don’t want to be with her. It’s not that, really.’
‘You have told Donato this?’ Romano asked gravely.
‘Yes, and he said not to worry, that Liliana is happy about the arrangement. The thing is...’ She hesitated, feeling a bit silly. ‘I don’t want Donato to think I don’t want to live there so I haven’t really said anything else.’
‘Grace, I have known Liliana all my life, Donato and I have been friends since we were babies, so perhaps you would not think me presumptuous if I spoke to you on this matter?’ Romano asked quietly, smiling his rare smile as she shook her head quickly.
‘She is very happy that Donato has found you, and even more so that you are everything she would have liked in a daughter-in-law; I know this. She understands her son perfectly and feels it is right and proper that he wishes to be alone with you in his own domain; she even suggested that it might be time for her to move elsewhere. She feels a young married couple need time alone and she is right. This arrangement, therefore, is one that she is in complete harmony with, be assured on that, and also that she cares a great deal for you.’
‘Does she?’ Grace had no idea how her face had lit up at his words.
‘Indeed she does,’ Romano said gently. ‘In Liliana’s eyes she is mostly definitely gaining a daughter rather than losing a son; on this have no doubt.’
‘Thank you, Romano.’ She had smiled at him as she had spoken and he bowed slightly in acknowledgement, the action very Latin. It wasn’t the first time she had wondered how someone like Romano had come to be married to a petulant, attention-seeking woman like Bianca, but as before she dismissed the thought quickly, feeling faintly guilty to be thinking about Donato’s sister along those lines.
Romano’s words that day were just the reassurance she needed, and she got even closer to Liliana in the next few weeks as a result of them, her mind having been put completely at rest as to what Donato’s mother thought of her.
She told Donato what his friend had said when he drove her home that same night, and he nodded in agreement. ‘Madre is thrilled you have consented to be my wife; they are all thrilled, but it would not have mattered if I had not had one other person who approved of our match, my love. From the first moment I set eyes on you I knew you would be mine, I knew it; nothing could have kept us apart. You are my destiny, as I am yours; I am going to love you as no other woman has ever been loved before.’
And he had—oh, he had... Her eyes flickered now as she remembered how wildly passionate he was—something she had only fully appreciated on their wedding night, which had also been her nineteenth birthday, when the restraint he had employed during their courtship had blazed into a raging fire that had both thrilled and frightened her with its intensity.
Nevertheless, in the taking of her virginity he had also taken her to the heights, into an experience where she was pure sensation, liquid and mindless and wholly his. He had been the perfect lover, her ecstasy his ecstasy, her pleasure his first concern, and there had been times when their union had left them both stunned and shaking as they had slowly returned from the world of colour and light and exquisite richness that their lovemaking had taken them into.
But that time was over, dead, finished, slashed into oblivion by his infidelity, and now, as Donato passed the staircase and walked to the heavy carved oak door that led to the separate wing of the house, Grace caught at his arm, her voice taut. ‘You don’t expect me to stay in Bambina Pontina?’ she asked sharply, unconsciously using the nickname they had christened their home with in the early days.
‘Of course.’ She could feel the muscled strength in his arm beneath her fingers but he was completely still as he glanced down at her small, dainty hand on his body before raising his eyes to her face. ‘It is your home,’ he said flatly.
‘It was.’ She could hear the panic in her voice and forced it back as she continued, ‘“Was” being the operative word. I’ve no intention of staying anywhere but in the main house.’
‘Grace...’ Her name was said with deep exasperation and he closed his eyes for a moment before shaking his head slowly. ‘Are you going to continue to defy me at every turn? Is this to be my punishment while you remain at Casa Pontina?’
‘I’m not defying you...well, I am, but not just for the sake of it,’ she amended quickly, agitation evident in every line of her slim body and stiffly held head. ‘I want to stay in the main house, that’s all,’ she said firmly, taking a step backwards away from him.
‘I see.’ He surveyed her for a moment from dark, hooded eyes before continuing, ‘And the fact that all your clothes and belongings are as you left them in Bambina Pontina—your books, your records and tapes and so on—this does not mean it makes sense that you should stay there? You have your own sitting room, your own quarters—’
‘Donato—’
‘And your own bedroom, of course,’ he continued smoothly, his face expressionless. ‘I moved out of our bedroom shortly after it became apparent you did not intend to return immediately.’
‘Shortly after...’ Her voice trailed away as she stared at him in utter amazement. Her letter had been nothing if not succinct; she couldn’t have been more explicit about her non-return.
‘So you are quite safe, you understand?’ His eyes were mocking now, scornful of her unease. ‘I have not yet become so desperate for a woman that I have taken one against her will.’
‘I didn’t imagine you would do that,’ she snapped back quickly, angry that he had sensed her apprehension and wishing she hadn’t started the conversation. She couldn’t quite explain her reluctance to stay in their old quarters; it wasn’t that she imagined he would force himself on her—the mere thought of Donato Vittoria behaving in such an ill-bred way was absurd. It was more...more herself she feared.
The thought was shocking and brought her head bolt upright as she faced him, her deep blue eyes dark with confusion and her red-gold hair a blaze of silky fire. She didn’t want to feel attracted to him, to acknowledge that dangerous magnetism he exuded as naturally as breathing, not after the way he had betrayed her with Maria, but...
But nothing, she told herself with bitter self-contempt at her weakness. He was a man possessed of great charisma and power—from the first time she had met him she had seen women go down before that fascinating and indefinable charm like ninepins—but she wasn’t the kind of wife to tolerate liaisons and affairs and what he had done once he could do again. Why was she even thinking like this? she asked herself with very real amazement. There was no question that she would ever put herself in the position where he could betray her again—none.
‘So...’ He had been watching the play of emotions over her face with piercing interest although the ebony eyes were hooded and veiled. ‘There is no logical reason for you to refuse the privacy and comfort of Bambina Pontina, is there? And it will be reassuring for Lorenzo for life to resume some normality, if only for a short time,’ he finished smoothly.
‘I...’
She stared at him as her mind raced. She didn’t want to stay in their old home, not for an hour, a minute, but to admit she feared even the slightest intimacy with him would give that over-sized ego a massive boost. She needed to convince him, and herself, that she was immune to his charm and she would, even if it killed her, she told herself with gritted teeth before nodding tightly.
‘I suppose so. I’ve only brought a few clothes with me so it will be convenient to use the ones I left. I presume they are still in the wardrobe?’ she asked quietly, forcing herself to show no reaction to his touch when he took her arm and walked her over to the door leading to the wing.
‘Of course.’ He sounded almost shocked, she thought grimly. It was clearly all right to cheat on your wife but not to dispose of her belongings. ‘Nothing has been touched.’
Her heart began to thump as Donato opened the door and she stepped into the wide, cream-painted hall she had never expected to see again, the beautiful mosaic tiles beneath her feet and the collection of unglazed, lacy-patterned pottery plates on one wall achingly familiar.
‘Welcome home, Grace.’ His voice was soft and husky and his lips had brushed hers before she could protest, their touch igniting a small flame she strove to hide with harshness.
‘I told you not to do that.’ She glared at him, her cheeks fiery and her breathing shallow. ‘I told you.’
‘So you did.’ He straightened, smiling derisively. ‘But I prefer to give orders, not to take them. Besides—’ he stopped what was clearly going to be a blazing retort on her part with an uplifted hand ‘—it is the Italian way to be hospitable.’
‘That’s not hospitality, it’s...it’s...’
‘When you find an adequate adjective let me know, but, in the meantime, shall we...?’ He indicated the beautifully worked wrought-iron staircase with a nod. ‘I understand your suitcase is already in your room,’ he added smoothly.
‘I see.’ So he’d had this all worked out from the word go, had he? she thought balefully. ‘You’re so very sure of yourself, aren’t you, Donato?’ she said tightly as she shook his hand from her arm. ‘So sure you’ll always get what you want.’
‘Thank you, I like to think so.’ It was meant to annoy and it did, unbearably, but she strove not to let it show as she marched across to the staircase with her head held high. He was impossible—this whole thing was impossible. She should never have come—Liliana wouldn’t, couldn’t have expected her to... But she would have. The knowledge drummed in her head as she walked carefully up the stairs, painfully conscious of Donato watching her ascent from the hall below, his big, dark frame perfectly still.
Duty, respect, responsibility, sacrifice—Liliana had been of the old school and had lived her whole life by such standards. She would certainly have expected the woman she looked on as a second daughter to attend her formal departure from this world; her non-attendance would have been unthinkable.
White sunlight was slanting through the huge arched windows of the landing as Grace reached the top of the stairs and fairly flew along the polished wooden boards without looking to left or right, almost falling into the room they had designated as the master bedroom and then standing with her back pressed hard against the closed door, her eyes tightly shut.
That dream she had had, the night before the telegram had arrived... Liliana had told her then to come home; she could still hear the urgency in the older woman’s voice and see the way her arms had been stretched out towards her. ‘He needs you, Grace, more than you could ever imagine. It is only when you come home that the healing can begin. Come home, Grace, come home.’
She had woken from the dream in the middle of the night, shaking and wet with perspiration, her heart pounding and her mouth dry. Had Liliana really called her? she asked herself now, still with her eyes closed. And if so, if the woman she had loved as a mother had reached out from another world for her help, what would be expected of her?
The dream had confused her at the time; she had lain awake the rest of the night until dawn had broken, trying to convince herself it meant nothing, but since her arrival back in Italy she could see it was perhaps Lorenzo Liliana had been calling her for. That, at least, would make some sense, because her first supposition—that Donato’s mother had been referring to her eldest son—was too ridiculous to entertain, and she had known it immediately she had brought logic and reason to bear.
She slowly opened her eyes, forcing herself to look round the large, bright, sunlit room that had been her marital bedroom for three years. It was here that Paolo had been conceived after long, lazy hours of sweet lovemaking just three months after they had been married, hours when she had moaned under the exquisite sensations Donato had produced so effortlessly in her soft flesh, when the sexual feeling that had flowed in and around and through her had been so unbearably wonderful that she had thought she’d die from it...
Was that how he made Maria feel? She forced the name into her consciousness as a talisman against the weakness that was threatening to overwhelm her. Probably, she thought grimly as her eyes began to focus. Very probably. He was an accomplished lover.
And then she saw them, the carefully arranged display of wild flowers. Michaelmas daisies, blood-red poppies, ragged robin with its delicate pink petals, white and blue forget-me-nots, the deep green leaves and sky-blue petals of germander speedwell, coltsfoot, orange hawkweed, lady’s-smock, scarlet pimpernel...
‘Oh!’ Her hand went to her throat as she gasped out loud. Her wedding bouquet, and only Donato knew its significance. She walked across to the flowers slowly and stood looking at them for long moments before tentatively touching the tall spikes of purple loosestrife and pale blue buddleia, the tiny white flowers of shepherd’s purse splaying out beneath them.
All through the long years in the children’s home she had picked small posies of wild flowers, gathered from the hedgerows and lanes close by, to brighten her windowsill in the dormitory. The delicate beauty of the flowers had been something pure and lovely in the stark, regimented existence within the building where practicality had been the order of the day. They had been a comfort she couldn’t explain to anyone, a hope, a promise that life would get better, and when she had nervously tried to explain her feelings to Donato when the expensive hothouse blooms for the wedding were being discussed she hadn’t thought he’d listened.
