Lucy Gordon: The Italian Millionaire’s Marriage

‘I’m glad,’ he said, amused. ‘Who do I remind you of?’

‘Emperor Caesar Augustus.’

‘I beg your pardon!’

‘I’ve got him in the shop-his bust in bronze. It’s your face.’

‘Nonsense. That’s pure fancy.’

‘No it’s not. Come on, I’ll show you.’

‘What?’

‘Let’s go and see. We’ve finished eating, haven’t we?’

He’d planned a leisurely liqueur or two, but he could tell it would be simpler to yield. ‘Yes, we’ve finished,’ he agreed.

He was a man who led while others followed, but he found himself swept along by her urgent enthusiasm until they were back in her shop, and she’d turned the lights on the bust.

‘Now is that you or isn’t it?’ she demanded triumphantly.

‘No,’ he said, astounded. ‘There’s no resemblance at all. You brought me all the way back here to look at that?’

‘I’m not imagining it. That’s you. Look again. Look.’

He didn’t look. Instead he gave a soft laugh, as though something had mysteriously delighted him, and came to stand in front of her, putting one hand on her shoulder. With the other he lifted her chin so that he could look into her eyes. She could feel his warm breath against her skin, whispering across her mouth so that a tiny shiver went through her. But although their faces were so close, he didn’t lower his head, only gave her a small, intriguing smile.

‘A sensible man would run for his life at this point,’ he said wryly.

‘And you’re a very sensible man, aren’t you?’

He brushed back a stray wisp of hair. ‘Maybe I’m not as sensible as I thought I was. I know you’re not a sensible woman. You’re completely crazy.’

‘I suppose I am. A woman who wasn’t crazy wouldn’t even consider your idea.’

‘True. Then I must be grateful.’ He looked down into her face, still smiling, still meeting her eyes.

Then something happened that shocked her. His smile faded. He released her and stepped back. ‘Can you be ready to leave in two days?’ he asked with cool courtesy.

She was too stunned to speak. One moment her body had been vibrating from the intimacy of his closeness, his hands, his breath. The next, it was all over, and by his choice, that was clear. He’d deliberately slammed the door shut on whatever might have happened between them next.

She pulled herself together and replied in a voice that matched his own. ‘Speaking as a businesswoman, will I have the money by then?’

‘You will have it by midday tomorrow.’

‘But you haven’t seen my books,’ she said, suddenly conscience stricken.

‘Do I need to? I’m sure they’re terrible.’

‘Suppose you can’t afford me?’

‘I assure you that I can.’

She gave a sharp little laugh, half-tension, half-anger. ‘Then perhaps I should marry you for your money.’

‘I thought that was what we’d been discussing.’

She surveyed him defiantly, arms folded. ‘I can’t put one over on you, can I?’

‘I try to ensure that nobody can. It’s the best way to achieve-’

‘Optimum results.’ She said the words with him, and he gave her a nod of respect.

‘Let me take you home,’ he said.

‘No thank you.’ Anger had faded as she realised that the threat to the thing she loved most in the world had gone. With a sudden beatific smile that startled him she said, ‘I want to be alone here for a while. Now that it’s safe.’

‘I’ll wait for you outside,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s midnight, and I won’t leave you alone with these valuables, a target for robbers and worse. Your untimely death wouldn’t suit me at all.’

‘No, you’d have to rethink the whole plan,’ she agreed affably.

He took her hand. ‘It’s a pleasure to do business with someone who understands what matters. I’ll be outside.’

He held her hand for a moment, then raised it and brushed his lips against the back before walking out.

Left alone, Harriet looked down at her hand, where she could still feel the light imprint of his mouth. She was shaken and her heart was beating either with pleasure or apprehension, she wasn’t sure. She could only do this if she felt in control, and he’d threatened that control. Furiously she rubbed the back of her hand until the feeling had gone.

Then she looked around her and her eyes shone. Safe. At least for a while.

The tempter was there again, whispering that the ‘engagement’ could last just long enough for her to investigate the Palazzo Manelli, and no longer. And why not? The plan would be heartless if Marco’s feelings had been involved, but he’d been at pains to emphasise that they weren’t. He’d looked her over as a piece of merchandise that he could make use of, so why shouldn’t she do the same with him?

She knew another brief flare of resentment at the way he’d drawn close to her then backed off. A man who was so much in control of himself wouldn’t be easy to deal with. If she let him, he would call all the shots. But she wouldn’t let him.

His face came into her mind and her eyes fell on the bronze face of Augustus, the two so exactly alike-whatever Marco thought. She remembered Olympia’s words, ‘Really dishy. That fine nose, and that mouth-all stern discipline masking incredible sensuality.’

It was true, Harriet realised. The wonder was that she alone had seen it in the living man.

DURINGthe next couple of days the whirl of arrangements was so intense that she had no time to think. Marco inspected the shop’s books, groaned at her business practices-‘pure Alice in Wonderland’-but advanced a money order that cleared her debts. It also left her something over to pay extra to Mrs Gilchrist, her excellent manager, who was to take sole charge.

There was one tense moment when Harriet brought a customer to the verge of buying a very expensive piece, only to start talking it down until he lost interest and left the shop empty handed.

‘There was nothing the matter with it,’ declared Marco, who had watched, aghast.

‘I didn’t like him.’

‘What?’

‘He wouldn’t have given it a good home,’ she tried to explain. ‘You don’t understand do you?’

‘Not a word!’ he said grimly.

‘These aren’t just things I buy and sell. I love them. Would you sell a puppy to a man you thought wouldn’t be kind to it?’

‘Harriet, puppies are alive. These things are not.’

‘Yes they are, in their own way. I won’t sell something to a person I don’t trust.’

‘You madwoman. You’ve got windmills in your head. Let’s leave this place while I can still stand it.’

They left next day on the midday flight to Rome. Signora Lucia Calvani was waiting for them, and the moment she saw Harriet her face lit up.

‘Etta,’ she cried, advancing with her arms open. ‘My dear, dear Etta.’

Enveloped in a scented embrace Harriet felt a lump come to her throat at this unexpected welcome.

‘You know why I call you Etta, don’t you?’ Lucia asked, taking her shoulders and standing back a little.

‘My father used to call me that, when I was a little girl,’ Harriet said eagerly. ‘He said it was because of his mother-’

‘Yes, her name was Enrichetta, but people called her Etta. I did, when we were girls together. Oh, you’re so like her.’ She hugged Harriet again.

Her greeting to her son was restrained but her eyes left no doubt that he was the centre of her life. Then she immediately turned her attention back to her guest, drawing Harriet’s arm through her own and leading her towards the chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce.

Their route lay out in the countryside, giving Rome a wide sweep until they were south of the city and hit the Via Appia Antica, the ancient road alongside which stood the ruins of tombs of aristocratic Roman families, going back a thousand years. Here too were the mansions of their modern counterparts. They stood well back from the road, hidden behind high walls and elaborate metal gates, housing families who quietly ran the world. A Calvani could live nowhere else.