Lucy Gordon - The Italian Millionaire’s Marriage

In a fine temper, Lucia called Marco’s home and then, receiving no reply, his mobile phone.

‘Don’t try any more,’ Harriet begged. ‘It’s better as it is.’

Yet she still lay awake most of the night, listening for the sound of his car. When it didn’t come she repeated to herself that this was the best way, for she knew she was weakening. She was in too much danger of throwing herself into his arms and promising anything if only she could stay with him. And that would be fatal. There could be no self-respect in living with a man who knew that you would abandon pride to be with him.

She managed to sleep for a couple of hours, waking with an aching head. Neither she nor Lucia had more than black coffee for breakfast. The hands of the clock were creeping to the moment when she must leave the villa for ever. Leave Marco for ever. No, she had already left him.

There was the sound from the gravel outside.

‘The chauffeur must have brought the car around,’ Lucia said. ‘Oh, Etta dear, remember you promised to keep in touch.’

‘I promise,’ Harriet said huskily, and was enveloped in Lucia’s embrace. Then she felt her hostess stiffen in her arms, and Lucia let out a glad cry.

‘Marco!’

He was standing in the doorway, very pale but composed. Harriet held her breath.

‘You came!’ Lucia was overjoyed.

‘Naturally. Did you think me so lacking in manners that I would allow our guest to depart without seeing her off? I’ll drive Harriet to the airport myself.’

Her heart was beating strongly from the moment of blazing hope, but she forced herself to be calm. This was Marco’s good manners. No more.

He waited in the car while she made her farewells to Lucia. She was still fighting back tears when she got in beside him. Marco studied her face, his own revealing little. Then his gaze dropped to her left hand, bare now.

‘I didn’t know you were coming,’ Harriet said, so I’ve given me ring to your mother.’

He swung the car out on to the Appian Way. ‘This has hurt my mother very much.’

‘I know, but we had a long talk and I think she understands.’

‘That’s more than I do.’

‘And I’ve promised to stay in touch with her.’

‘Good. Then I may hope to hear some news of you.’

‘What was that?’ A heavy truck had passed, drowning out his words.

‘I said I may hope to hear some news of you ,’ he repeated in a harsh, desperate voice.

‘Yes, well-I’ll be in touch about the money.’

‘I’ve told you there’s no rush for that. We can arrange instalments-’

‘No, it’s better to sort it all out now.’

He swore violently under his breath. ‘You’re a hard and stubborn woman.’

Stubborn, yes, she thought. But hard? Perhaps she was just growing a defensive shell against the pain of leaving him. It would work out for the best in the end, she told herself, especially as he was showing her his least amiable side. It really would stop hurting. One day.

At the airport he stayed with her until check-in, and politely made sure that she had her ticket, passport, boarding pass.

‘I’ll go straight through,’ she said. ‘No need to hold you up. Thank you for bringing me.’

‘It was no trouble.’

‘Good luck with the partnership.’

‘What-? Oh, yes. Thank you. Well, I mustn’t waste time. Goodbye, and the best of luck for the future.’

He shook hands with her and strode away without looking back. He found his car, got in and switched on the engine. Then he switched it off again, dropped his head on his arms on the steering wheel, and stayed like that until somebody knocked on the window to see if he was all right.

‘Why did you make me seek you out here, my son?’ Lucia looked around at Marco’s apartment which seemed even more austere and dismaying than ever. ‘It’s been two days now. Why didn’t you come home and talk to me?’

His smiled was strained. ‘You know how busy I am just now, Mamma. This partnership-’

‘You made that excuse to her, and much good it did you.’

He was silent.

Lucia went into the kitchen and made some coffee. When she returned Marco was sitting with his fingers entwined between his knees, staring at the floor. He gave a faint smile of thanks accepting the cup, and one look at his face was enough to send her back to the kitchen, returning at last with a large plate of pasta.

‘When did you last eat?’ she demanded, setting it before him.

He shrugged. ‘Some time. Thanks Mamma.’ He ate a few mouthfuls. ‘This is good.’

She regarded him pityingly. ‘You’ve been very foolish.’

‘Me?’ He was stung. ‘I was the one who wanted our marriage to go ahead.’

‘Yes, and you went about it with all the subtlety of a bludgeon. What’s the result? I’ve lost a daughter-in-law, one I was particularly fond of. It won’t do.’

‘What do you expect me to do? I can’t force her to marry me.’

‘So you’ve learned that, have you?’

‘Mamma it’s easy to talk, but you can’t talk sense to Harriet. She lives in a dream world.’ He gave a grunt of sardonic laughter. ‘She calls herself a businesswoman but the man in the moon has more idea of commerce. She thinks running a business is a matter of loving the pieces and finding them “kind homes”.’

‘Oh, how like Harriet that sounds!’ Lucia sighed.

‘Yes it does. It also sounds like the way she ran the shop into the ground. Now she talks about repaying me the money I loaned her, in a lump sum. How does she think she can do that? She’s not the expert that she thinks she is.’

‘Really Marco, what do you know about the subject?’

He jumped up and went to a concealed safe. A few clicks on the combination lock and he opened the door, taking out an ornate gold necklace.

‘You see this? I took it to London and showed it to Harriet on the first day. Do you remember how proud Poppa was of this, how he used to show it off and tell stories of the dig where it was discovered? Harriet told me that was a fake.’

‘But, my dear boy, it is a fake.’

‘What do you mean? It’s genuine Etruscan.’

‘No, the original was genuine Etruscan. But years ago your father had financial problems, so he sold it. That’s a copy made by a professional forger. He was the best in the business, so good that in all these years nobody has ever spotted it. Until Harriet. She, of course, could spot a phoney at fifty paces.’

He stared at her.

For the second time Harriet lifted the pen, then put it down.

‘It just seems so final,’ she said sadly.

Mr. Pendry, her lawyer, nodded. ‘A sale is final,’ he said. ‘But you’d be very unwise to refuse Allum & Jonsey’s offer.’

‘But who is this firm?’

‘Does it matter? A &J has met your full asking price without any argument, and as you know, I always thought it a little optimistic. Plus they want you to stay and run the place. In a sense you’ll lose nothing.’

‘Except that it won’t be mine any more.’

‘Well, if you really don’t want to sell you could ask Signor Calvani if you could pay him by instalments. Shall I-?’

‘No, thank you,’ Harriet said firmly. He’d hit on the one argument that could sway her. She’d vowed to break all ties between herself and Marco. It was the only way to put him out of her life, if not her heart. Hell would freeze over before she asked him for a favour now. Swiftly she signed her name and pushed the paper over the desk.

‘Now this one,’ Mr. Pendry said. ‘It’s your contract, as manageress, for six months.’

Harriet paused again. ‘I don’t know. Isn’t a clean break the best thing?’

There’s no such thing as a clean break. Haven’t you discovered that in the lonely days and aching nights?