Lucy Gordon - Rinaldo’s Inherited Bride

‘Don’t get stroppy with me,’ she advised him, ‘or I’ll drive off and leave you here.’

‘No, you won’t,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘You’d never sink that low.’

‘I could try and force myself,’ she said, getting out of the car and heading for the boot. ‘But I have towing gear, and it seems a shame to waste it.’

They recovered the equipment from the boot of her car.

‘You’d better keep back and let me do the work,’ she told him. ‘Or you might spoil your suit.’

His answer was to strip off his jacket and shirt.

He shouldn’t have done that, she thought, not when she was trying to concentrate on what she was doing. How was she supposed to keep her mind on work when he was standing there, the sun burnishing his torso?

She guessed he must work like this a good deal, for the tan was even all over his broad back, shoulders and chest. With his tall figure and powerful neck, he looked exactly what he was, a forceful, virile male. And she was supposed to think about towing gear. There was no justice in the world.

She forced her attention back to the work, managing to do her full share, moving deftly and skilfully.

‘I see you know what you’re doing,’ he said.

‘If you’d experienced as much prejudice about women drivers as I have, you’d make sure you could do things for yourself, as well,’ she informed him. ‘The garages are the worst. They assume you’re an idiot. One manager told me to bring my husband in and he’d explain it. In this day and age! Oh, heck!’

The exclamation was drawn from her by her hair flopping over her forehead. It was years since she’d needed to brush back her hair, but these days it seemed to happen all the time.

How long had it been since she’d visited a hair salon? Instead of being immaculately styled and coiffed, her hair had grown, becoming almost shaggy. When she finished work and stood up, the slight breeze made it blow about her face.

He replaced his clothes and got into the passenger seat.

‘Where shall I take you?’ she asked when they were on the road.

‘There’s a garage halfway to Florence that will repair the car. When we’ve dropped it there I need to go into the city to keep an appointment. I’ll get a taxi home.’

‘I don’t mind waiting for you. I can do some shopping.’

‘There’s no need,’ he said briefly.

‘Oh, I see. Like that.’

‘What do you mean, like that?’

‘You know what I mean. You don’t want me to know where you’re going. I expect it’s a secret assignation with a mystery woman-’

‘Why would it have to be a secret? I’m a free agent. I do as I please.’

‘Well, perhaps she isn’t the only one,’ she said, wishing he would deny it.

‘You could have a whole harem dotted around Florence,’ she persisted when he stayed silent. ‘Or maybe-’

‘I’m visiting the accountant.’

It took a moment to subdue the flicker of pleasure that he wasn’t visiting a woman. When she was sure she could speak steadily she said,

‘Ah! Yes, I understand. You’re afraid I’ll want to come too.’

‘And I’m sure you will,’ he said with a sigh of resignation.

‘Well, I might drop in, just to do you a favour.’

He ground his teeth. ‘Turn off here for the garage.’

He could be as grumpy as he liked, she thought. Nothing could quell the feeling that surged over her. She didn’t analyse it, but it felt alarmingly like joy simply because he was here. She tried to file it away to be examined later, but it wouldn’t be sidelined so easily.

When they’d delivered the car to the garage she swung back onto the road to Florence.

‘Where am I heading?’ she asked, as they entered the city.

‘The Via Bonifacio Lupi. His name is Enrico Varsi.’

‘Is it all right if I come in with you?’

‘You’re asking me?’

‘I’m asking you.’

‘And if I say no?’

‘Then I’ll wait meekly outside. But I’ll put arsenic in your soup.’

He didn’t reply, and she couldn’t take her eyes off the road, but she knew, with total certainty, that he was grinning.

It was the area of Florence where lawyers and accountants congregated, a place of sedate streets and decorum. Alex had to park a little way up the road and walk back, studying the plaques by the doors. One, in particular, caught her attention, causing her to stop and study it for so long that Rinaldo had to call out,

‘If you don’t come now I shall go in without you.’

She scurried to catch up. ‘You gave in,’ she teased.

She could have sworn he ground his teeth. ‘I did not give in, I merely recognise that you have certain financial rights, and I wish to behave properly.’

‘Same thing,’ she jeered.

‘Get in there before I strangle you.’

Signor Varsi’s offices were luxurious, the surroundings of a very successful man. He spoke well, covering complex matters without needing to refer to notes, and was clearly master of his material.

He behaved perfectly to her, showing the professional courtesy of one accountant to another. He did not talk down to her, and several times invited her opinion. She said as little as possible but her ears were pricked for anything she could learn.

Afterwards she and Rinaldo went for a coffee near the Duomo.

‘You’re very thoughtful,’ he said, glancing at her face.

‘I’m fascinated by the discovery that the Italian financial year runs from January the first to December the thirty-first.’

‘But of course it does,’ he said, puzzled. ‘What else could it be?’

‘In my country it’s April to April.’

‘And the British have the nerve to call Italians an illogical race?’

‘I know.’ She gave a brief laugh and went back to staring into her coffee.

‘Alex, are you all right?’

His unusually gentle tone made her look up. His was looking at her with grave concern that had no hint of irony or suspicion.

‘How do you mean-all right?’

‘You’ve lost the man you loved. You don’t let anyone see that you mind. You smile at Gino and me, you make jokes, and anyone who didn’t know you would think everything was fine in your world.’

‘Do you think you know me?’

‘As much as you’ll let me. And I know that you can’t really be as bright and cheerful as you seem. You’ve given me a shoulder to cry on in the past.’

Looking into his eyes she saw kindness, something she had never found there before. The sight was almost her undoing.

‘I’m not crying,’ she said huskily.

‘Most women would be after their fiancé dumped them for another woman.’

‘There’s no need to make me sound like a weeping wallflower,’ she protested with a shaky laugh.

‘No, you’re no weeping wallflower. In fact, I can’t imagine you ever weeping. You’re too strong.’

‘Strong? Are you sure you don’t mean hard?’

‘I might have thought so once. But not now. You have a deep-feeling heart, but you guard it carefully.’

‘As you do yourself.’

‘Yes,’ he said after a moment. ‘As I do myself. I think we’ve both learned to be cautious. But feelings have to be expressed one way, if not another. I still remember that dent in the wall.’

‘Dent-? Oh, you mean when I threw the ornament?’

‘That was why you did it, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ she said ruefully.

‘So you are an Italian deep inside, after all? The woman who arrived here wouldn’t have chucked things, merely uttered a few well-chosen words.’

‘I wasn’t quite as cool and collected as I seemed in those days,’ she admitted, ‘but I did feel that things could usually be sorted out with reason.’

She gave a brief inner smile, aimed at herself and the person she had been. How little reason seemed to matter, sitting here with the man who brought her to life as she had never thought to be.