Lucy Gordon - Rinaldo’s Inherited Bride

‘Take as long as you need,’ David said. ‘I’ve got your work here covered so you don’t need to give it another thought.’

‘Thank you, but of course I think about it all the time. And you. It’ll be lovely getting back to you.’

‘We’re going to have a lot to talk about,’ he assured her.

Rinaldo heard her laughter and it chilled him. Without consciously eavesdropping-so he told himself-he had contrived to hear enough to alarm him.

This man was a lover, in her thoughts all the time. She called him ‘darling’ and longed to return to him.

He began to appreciate the true dimensions of the threat to everything he held dear, and he called himself a fool for underestimating the danger.

His eyes narrowed as he came to a swift resolution. Alex was hanging up, turning back to him, and he swung away from her so that she shouldn’t see his thoughts reflected in his face.

When he was ready to face her again he was smiling.

‘Come,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘This way to my car.’

‘I can’t go with you. I have to stay here for the break-down truck.’

‘Nonsense. Just leave the keys in the ignition. Nobody can steal it, since the car can’t move. Now come on.’

He was making his way to a car on the far side of the parking lot.

‘Come where?’ she asked.

She tried to pull away but his grip, although light, was unbreakable.

‘There are things you need to see.’

‘Will you let me go?’

‘No, I won’t. So don’t waste time asking me.’

‘This is kidnap,’ she seethed.

‘You can call it what you like.’

It would have been easy to scream for help, and rouse some passer-by to assist her. Alex could never quite understand why she didn’t do this.

She was still considering the matter as he opened the door of his vehicle for her to get in.

The car was a heavy four-wheel drive, long past its best, but suitable for rough terrain. Swinging out of Fiesole they were soon at the bottom of the slope and heading for the great hills she could see looming ahead, waiting for them.

‘Are you going to show me Belluna?’ she asked.

‘Some of it. There’s too much to see in one go. But it’s time you saw what you’re negotiating about.’

Soon they began to climb again. Florence vanished. The land grew wild, fierce, somehow darker, yet filled with violent colour. Had there ever been such colours, she wondered?

‘Stop a moment,’ she said.

Rinaldo halted the car, and she immediately opened the door and jumped out.

‘Careful!’ he cried. ‘It’s steep here. But you picked a good place.’

They were up high, looking far out over the valley and the far hills. The sun streamed down over the scene, touching fields, full of flourishing crops. Far off there was a village, its red roofs and glinting windows also bathed in warmth and light.

Alex took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the pure fresh air, without a trace of city fumes.

She was city born and bred, and had always regarded London as her natural home. But in these wide spaces she suddenly felt free to breathe, as if for the first time.

‘Over there are the vineyards,’ Rinaldo said, coming beside her. ‘See, on that steep slope, with the vines arranged in tiers so that they all catch as much of the sun as possible.

‘We also grow wheat and olives, but I dare say the lawyers have told you all that.’

‘I’ve seen it all written down in columns,’ she agreed. ‘But this-is so different.’

‘This is just cash to you, but to us the land is a living, breathing creature that works with us to create new life. Then again, sometimes it works against us, even tries to kill us. But it belongs to us, as we belong to it.’

She mopped her brow. It was the hottest part of the day.

‘Come over here,’ he said, taking her arm and leading her to where a stream plunged downhill. There were a few trees in this spot, giving a blessed shade.

‘Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you here just now,’ he said. ‘You’re not used to this kind of heat.’

‘I’m very tough,’ she assured him.

‘You don’t look it. You look as if a breeze would blow you away.’

She laughed and made a gesture to indicate the still air. ‘What breeze?’

‘Sit down,’ he said, urging her to the water’s edge.

His own face and neck were damp with perspiration. He pulled out a clean handkerchief and dropped it into the stream, then squeezing the water over himself. Alex tried to do the same, but her handkerchief was too small to be effective.

‘Here,’ he said, soaking his again and passing it to her.

She buried her face in it, grateful for the relief, then drenched it again. When she had finished she found him looking at her.

She guessed he was watching for some sign of weakness. If so, he would be disappointed. She had her second wind now and knew that this was something she could deal with, even relish. The sheer ferocity of the elements in this country had lit a small flame of excitement in her. Go now, warned a voice in her head. Before it grows and takes you over.

She laid her hand against the earth, moving her fingers to feel it against her.

‘Not like that,’ he said quietly. ‘Dig in deep, and really feel it. Let it speak to you.’

She tried it, and knew at once what he meant. Here by the stream the earth was springy, damp and crumbling. From it came a lush, powerful odour that was not unpleasant.

Speaking almost in a daze she said, ‘You could grow anything in this.’

His answer came without words. Plunging his own hand into the ground he raised it to show her. She touched it, and at once he gripped her hand, pressing it into the rich earth that he was holding.

It felt good, and the sense of power in his hands beneath the living soil made her strangely giddy.

‘You see?’ he said intently. ‘You see?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I see.’

Something seemed to have taken possession of her. She didn’t want to open her fingers. She had the impression that the sun had darkened, but instead of blotting out her surroundings it made them more vivid.

There was a big scar on the back of his hand. She couldn’t take her eyes away from it.

Then he moved, prising her fingers open and drawing her hand gently down into the cleansing water.

‘It’s time we were going,’ he said quietly.

She nodded, rubbing the earth away, past speech.

When she was sitting beside him in the car he turned it and began the journey back down the track to where the road forked. There was a signpost, showing the way to Florence, but he swung away.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

‘I’m taking you home.’

‘Home?’

‘My home.’

She didn’t let him see how much this pleased her. She was more curious to see Rinaldo’s home than she would admit.

She had pictured a shabby, weather-beaten farmhouse, but the building that finally came into view had a touch of grandeur. It was three stories high, with a double staircase that formed two curves up the front.

But what really amazed her was that it was made of a stone that appeared pink in the red-gold of the setting sun. At that moment the sun shone directly into her eyes, making her blink, and giving the building the appearance of a frosted cake.

She blinked again and the world righted itself. It was just a house, although still more ornate than any farmhouse she had ever seen.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she breathed.

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘At one time it was what I supposed you’d call a great house, but the man who owned it two hundred years ago fell on hard times. He had to sell off some of his land, and start farming the rest.