Lucy Gordon: Bride By Choice

Helen stared at him in horrified disbelief. ‘Your mother must be a saint,’ she said at last.

‘She is.’

‘She actually-? I don’t believe this. That poor woman.’

‘Mamma isn’t a poor woman,’ Lorenzo said firmly. ‘She rules us all with a rod of iron.’

‘But her heart must have been broken.’

‘I don’t think it was. She and my father always got on well.’

‘You mean, she put up with whatever he did because she had no choice, and made the best of it. Well, you know what I think about that.’

‘Yes, but that wasn’t why I didn’t mention it last night. Surrounded by your family, and your sisters being so young-’

It dawned on Helen that Lorenzo was embarrassed. She smiled, liking him again.

‘You’re really straight out of the old country after all, aren’t you?’ she asked.

‘Well, I am a Sicilian,’ he admitted. ‘But then, so are you.’

‘No way.’

‘Deny it all you like, you can’t escape it.’

‘You’re asking for this sauce in your lap, Martelli.’

‘OK, I give in.’

‘Tell me some more about your half brother. Is he really a member of the family?’

‘He could be if he wanted. If anything, he rejects us, not the other way around. He won’t call himself Martelli. He sticks to Tornese because it was his mother’s name. We don’t see much of Bernardo. He lives in a little mountain village called Montedoro, where he was born. He despises money, won’t even take his rightful share of the inheritance. Recently he fell in love with an English woman, Angie. Everything was fine and we were waiting for the announcement when he suddenly found out that she was rich. That was it. He sent her away.’

‘And she let him?’

‘Not her. Angie’s a doctor, so she bought up the practise in Montedoro, and now she’s living just down the street from him. He’s mad as fire, but he can’t budge her. She won’t stand for that nonsense about knowing her place any more than you do.’

‘Good for her. I like the sound of Angie.’

‘You’d like her if you met her. And I think she’s going to win. She’s blonde and fluffy, and looks as if a wind would blow her over, but she’s got more guts than anyone I’ve ever known.’

‘How did they meet? Was she visiting Sicily or was he travelling?’

‘She came to Sicily with Heather,’ Lorenzo said vaguely, and again Helen had the feeling that he was embarrassed about something.

‘Heather’s married to your older brother, Renato, right?

‘Right.’ Before she could ask any more questions he added quickly, ‘This is good food but I could make it better. We have a potential customer.’

He continued on this subject throughout the next course. He was full of ideas, and Helen had to admit that he was an excellent businessman.

‘I saw Giorgio bending your ear last night,’ she said when he paused for breath. ‘I needn’t ask what about.’

‘Why aren’t we selling his family’s goods?’ Lorenzo confirmed. ‘I’ve already been in touch with Renato about them. Their goods are borderline. They’ve been told to improve the quality and try again, but instead of doing something they just wail about the injustice.

‘There’s no excuse for poor produce,’ he went on. ‘Sicily is the most fertile land in the world. Everything grows there, and grows well if it’s properly tended.’

Something seemed to come over him as he began to talk about his country. He spoke in a new way, with a feeling she could only call love. This light playboy with his silk shirts and easy manners had a passionate attachment to the land that breathed through every word. She watched him, fascinated, and at last he noticed, and smiled.

‘The Martellis have to know about the land,’ he said. ‘It’s how we earn our bread.’

‘It’s more than knowing about it,’ she said gently.

‘Well-yes. It’s part of me and I’m part of it. I can’t help it. I go away but I always go back, and I always will. It’s part of being Sicilian. You never quite escape.’

She smiled sympathetically, but inwardly she was thinking how right she’d been to reject him at the start. Lorenzo was a man who would always win love easily. His charm, his looks, his kind heart, were made to be loved, and a woman would have to be armoured in advance-as she was-to avoid the danger.

‘How long will you be in New York?’ she asked.

‘A few more days. Then I move on to Boston, Philadelphia, Detroit, Chicago and Pittsburgh. That’s as much as I can do in one trip. At least, it’s as much as Renato will let me do. Then he’ll want a full report to see if I’m achieving all he expects and, if I am, he’ll let me come back here.’

‘He sounds like a slave driver.’

‘He does his best. Since our father died Renato has got a bit patriarchal, and I try to assert myself to escape from under his thumb. When I get back to my room tonight I shall have to call him with full details.’

At the end of the meal he asked to speak to the chef. The talk then became entirely businesslike, with Helen taking notes until her head whirled.

‘Renato should be proud of you,’ she said when they were out on the pavement. ‘What now? Do you want to sample some New York nightlife?’

‘What time is it? Nine o’clock? It’s the early hours in Palermo. Renato will kill me.’ He hailed a cab and kissed her cheek as it drew up. ‘I can’t thank you enough for your help. I won’t trouble you again tomorrow, but perhaps we could have a drink before I leave?’

‘That would be delightful,’ she said, in a daze.

‘I’ll call you. ’Bye.’

She saw him once, briefly, before he went to Boston. After Philadelphia he returned to New York for one night and dutifully accompanied her to supper at home, where he played the bashful suitor in a way that made it hard for Helen to keep a straight face, but which also fended off awkward questions.

Then he was off again. During the next two months he kept in touch only fitfully which, Helen told herself, was a relief, as her training period was coming to and end and she was snowed under with work.

She was doing a stint with Erik now, and learning a lot for he was an excellent teacher.

‘I shall never get the hang of these statistics,’ she said at the end of one long afternoon. ‘This column seems very odd.’

He came and leaned over her to see where she pointed.

‘The figures look poor but it’s an illusion,’ he said. ‘We’ve had to artificially exclude some revenue but-’

He went on explaining for a few minutes, and she glanced up with a grateful smile. ‘You explain it so well. Thank you.’

He looked pleased. ‘I expect you’re ready for an end of the day drink.’

‘Yes, please.’

Neither of them noticed the door opening, or the young man who stood on the threshold, stiffening at the sight of their smiling closeness.

‘Hello,’ Lorenzo said.

Erik went to shake Lorenzo’s hand. ‘Good to see you back,’ he said. ‘Everyone is extremely pleased with Martelli produce.’

‘That’s what I wanted to hear,’ Lorenzo said at once. ‘I couldn’t resist dropping in before I return home, just to see how it’s faring in your restaurant.’

‘We were going to go for a drink,’ Erik said easily. ‘Why don’t you dump your things in your room then come down and join us in the Empire Bar?’

‘Great. I’ll be right down.’

But when he returned a few minutes later he found Helen sitting in the bar alone.

‘Erik was called away,’ she said. ‘He says I’m to entertain you.’

She spoke coolly. It was two weeks since his last email, and then he just walked in as though he owned the place.