Lucy Gordon: Husband By Necessity

The second book in the Italian Grooms series, 2001

Dear Reader,

Being married to an Italian, I take a special delight in writing about Italian men-the most fascinating and endearing men on earth. I’ve enjoyed telling the stories of the three Martelli brothers.

Although linked by kinship, they are all different. Lorenzo, the youngest, is a merry charmer. Renato, the eldest, is head of the family, a man of confidence and power. Bernardo is their half brother. Only part of him belongs to the family. The other part is a loner who finds it hard to accept love.

And then there is Sicily, their home, one of the most beautiful places on earth, where people’s true passions rise to the surface, giving them the courage to follow their hearts.

Husband by Necessity is the story of Bernardo-who has to fight for that courage after nearly throwing away the love of his life-and Angie, a remarkable woman who dares everything to lead him into the light.

With best wishes,

L G

‘ANGIE,’ Heather called, not for the first time, ‘the cab’s here.’

‘I’m ready,’ Angie called back, not entirely truthfully. She would be ready when she’d finished applying her eye make-up and just touched her lips. It was an article of faith with her not to travel unless looking her best, even when time was fast running out.

For ten minutes the cab had been standing in a downpour outside the London house that the two young women shared. The driver had hauled the last of the luggage down the steps, leaving only Heather, standing by the door, frantically calling back into the house,

‘Angie, the cab!’

‘I know, I know,’ Angie called back. ‘You told me.’

‘I know I told you. I told you ages ago and you haven’t moved.’

‘Coming, coming, coming,’ Angie muttered frantically to herself. ‘Have I got everything? Well, if I haven’t, it can’t be helped. Any minute now, she’s going to kill me.’ She raised her voice and called back to Heather. ‘Tell the man to take the bags out.’

Heather sounded as though she were dancing with frustration. ‘He’s already done that. Angie, I’m going to Sicily to get married, and if you don’t mind I’d prefer to get there before the wedding.’

‘But that’s not for a week, is it?’ Angie asked, appearing at that moment.

‘Well, I’d like not to cut it too fine, and that includes not missing the plane.’

It was the perfect day for leaving London. The rain poured down in buckets, making the journey from the front door to the cab a mad dash. The two young women made it, laughing with delight at escaping, at being on their way to the sun, laughing because they were young and happy and one of them was getting married; because life was good despite the rain.

‘Look at that!’ Angie said when the door was shut behind them. ‘Have you ever seen such rain? Oh, it’s good to be going.’ She saw her friend eyeing her askance and added penitently, ‘Sorry I kept you waiting.’

‘I don’t know how you ever got to be a doctor,’ Heather said. ‘You’re the most disorganised person I know.’

‘Ah, but I’m not a disorganised doctor,’ Angie said with truth. ‘It’s just that in my private life I tended to be-you know.’

‘Birdbrained, scatty and infuriating,’ Heather said.

Angie stretched happily. ‘I really need a holiday. I’m worn out.’

‘I should think you are. It must be tiring running away from all your admirers, Bill and Steve and-’

‘Bill and Steve?’ Angie looked aghast.

‘You do remember them don’t you?’

‘Oh, yes. Last month. History.’

‘Do they know they’re history?’ Heather asked.

‘I tried to break it to them gently,’ Angie said. She added, with a touch of wounded innocence, ‘I always do.’

‘So who was that man who came by last night begging you to come back soon?’

‘That was George-I think.’

Heather chuckled. ‘Honestly Angie, you’re incorrigible.’

‘No I’m not. I’m extremely corrigible-whatever that means. Anyway, I need a holiday because I’ve been working so hard. Accident and Emergency is exhausting enough, but when it’s night duty as well-’ She mopped her brow and looked plaintive.

They had shared a house in London for six years. Heather was quietly lovely and her nature was reserved and modest. The attraction of opposites had decreed that her dearest friend should be Angie, a radiant social butterfly who seemed to regard the world of men as provided for her personal entertainment.

At this moment she was contemplating the pleasures to come. ‘Sunshine, sparkling blue sea, miles of golden sand, and lots of gorgeous Sicilian young men, all liberally endowed with S.A. Or at the very least, C.H.’

Angie divided male attractiveness into two categories-S.A., sex appeal, and C.H., come hither. As far as Heather could understand her friend’s marking system, S.A. was the more immediately exciting, while C.H. was the more subtle and intriguing. Since Angie was, herself, liberally endowed with both qualities, she was in a good position to judge.

‘You make C.H. sound like the poor relation,’ Heather objected now.

‘Not really. But it takes time, and I don’t have time. S.A. is better for short stretches.’

‘Well, you behave yourself.’

‘No way,’ Angie said at once. ‘I don’t come on holiday to behave myself. I come to get a sun tan, fall in love, sample the local delights and act outrageously . Otherwise what’s the point?’

It was easy to believe that she meant every word. Angie was daintily built, barely five foot three, with blonde hair and deep blue eyes. Her nature was romantic and impulsive. She became easily infatuated and, since she looked, according to one besotted admirer, ‘Like the fairy on the Christmas tree,’ she had no trouble inspiring infatuation in return. The result had been a string of intense, short-lived relationships which had caused Heather to describe Angie as a serial flirt.

But appearances were deceptive. Dr Angela Wendham’s love affairs were brief because her true, enduring love was her work. Her ethereal look concealed a brain that had carried her through medical school with honours. She’d gone on to four exhausting years post-graduate training, including stints in Accident and Emergency departments, coping not merely with casualties but with drunks and vicious louts. She was skilled at dealing with both kinds of crises.

But now she planned only to enjoy herself. Heather was about to marry Lorenzo Martelli, a young Sicilian. Angie was to be the bridesmaid, and since it was her first real holiday since she-couldn’t-remember-when, she was going to make the most of it.

It was still raining when they reached the airport. They got quickly into the main hall, pushing a trolley piled high with bags, most of which were Angie’s. Her petite figure and striking beauty repaid good dressing, and she happily gave them their due.

As they were waiting to check in there was a strangled cry of, ‘Angie!’ from the crowd, and a damp young man appeared beside them. In his hand he bore one perfect red rose.

‘I couldn’t let you go without saying goodbye,’ he said soulfully, offering it to her. ‘You won’t forget me, will you?’

‘Of course I won’t,’ Angie said, deeply moved. ‘Oh, Fred-’

‘Frank,’ the young man said edgily.

‘Frank, you’ll be in my thoughts every moment I’m away.’