Sara Craven - The Italians - Angelo, Rocco & Stefano - Wife in the Shadows / A Dangerous Infatuation / The Italian's Blushing Gardener

Ellie said in a low voice, ‘I meant—how could you involve me? As you’ve just said—your own cousin.’

Silvia shrugged negligently. ‘Because I knew you were the last girl in the world that Angelo would ever find attractive, so that when he was found in your room, he would look and feel a complete fool. It was the final perfect touch.’

Ellie turned away. She said in a stifled voice, ‘You must be mad.’

‘He made me suffer,’ Silvia retorted. ‘I wanted him to suffer too. To realise what he had lost when he ended our affair.’

‘But it couldn’t have continued,’ Ellie protested. ‘What would have happened if Ernesto had found out?’

Her cousin shrugged again. ‘He would have divorced me, naturalmente, and I would have been free to marry Angelo, who must now be wishing every day of his life that he had not been so hasty and thrown away our happiness.’

Happiness? thought Ellie with disbelief. What happiness could possibly grow from such a selfish obsession—or from inflicting misery on others?

She took a deep breath. ‘If that’s all you came to say, maybe you should leave.’

‘When I’m enjoying all this fabulous hospitality?’ Silvia gave a little, tinkling laugh. ‘I think I’ll stay for a while so we can chat—woman to woman.’ Her voice sank intimately. ‘I’m dying to know, carissima, how you like married life. Does Angelo fulfil every lonely little fantasy you ever had?’

Her gaze swept mockingly over Ellie’s shrinking body. ‘I must tell you that you do not seem the picture of rapture, mia cara.’

‘You can think what you wish.’ Ellie lifted her chin. ‘However, I have no intention of discussing my relationship with …’ She hesitated. She could not bring herself to say ‘Angelo’ because she never used his given name. On the other hand she could hardly say, ‘Count Manzini’ to Silvia of all people.

So she compromised with ‘my husband’—a description totally lacking in accuracy, too, she reminded herself with a faint stab of unexpected pain.

Although she’d always known that she would have to see her cousin again one day, she’d imagined an occasion when others would be present, obliging her to find a way to smile, be civil and pass on.

She had not bargained for this one-to-one confrontation, or that it would take place so soon—or here—on territory that should have been taboo.

She was surprised that the Count had not given private orders that Signora Alberoni was not to be admitted, but perhaps he’d not believed she would have the gall to simply—invite herself like this.

She was thankful that he was not returning to Vostranto until the following evening. She could only imagine his reaction if he’d arrived back to find his former mistress comfortably ensconced in his salotto.

That unaccountable pain stirred inside her again. She’d tried very hard not to think about Angelo and Silvia as lovers, but the gloating expression in her cousin’s eyes had said more loudly than any words that she hadn’t forgotten a thing about sharing his bed and his body.

That Silvia was able to recall all the kind of intensely intimate details about him—how it felt to be kissed by him, touched, taken in passion—that Ellie would never know.

That she didn’t want to know, she corrected herself hastily, but which put her at a terrible disadvantage just the same.

She was aware too that she wasn’t handling the situation particularly well, and that Silvia would be enjoying her discomfiture.

And the knowledge that Angelo had never brought his former mistress here in spite of some pretty heavy-duty wheedling was somehow very little comfort.

It was almost a relief when a tap on the door heralded the arrival of Assunta, with a maid following her, pushing a trolley laden with coffee and a lavish selection of biscuits, cakes and pastries.

‘Dio mio.’ Silvia’s laugh sounded melodiously again. ‘But how delicious! I am being so spoiled today.’

But you always have been, Ellie wanted to say. From birth, according to Nonna Vittoria. The baby visited in your cradle only by good fairies bringing you beauty, charm and uncritical love from all those around you. Making you believe that you could have anything you wanted, and live for yourself alone. And that, whatever you did, you would be forgiven.

And I signed up to that too, went along with it for all these years, even though Nonna—and later Madrina—tried to warn me gently to be careful. Because, even if I was always on your side, there was no guarantee you’d always be on mine. Why couldn’t I see that?

Maybe that was why Nonna bequeathed the house at Porto Vecchio to me—because she knew that, some day, something you’d do would make me need a refuge.

Aloud, she said quietly, ‘Assunta, please make sure that the Signora’s driver is looked after.’

‘Oh, I drove myself, cara,’ Silvia informed her, shrugging. ‘As I often do these days.’ She turned a brilliant smile on the housekeeper. ‘So you are the wonderful Assunta. Count Manzini has sung your praises to me so often.’

Assunta inclined her head in a manner that managed to be polite and sceptical at the same time, then withdrew leaving the maid Rosaria to pour the coffee into the exquisite bone china cups, and hand round the plates of delicacies, giving Silvia the opportunity to fuss with wistful sweetness over the calorific content of each offering.

‘I have to be so careful of my figure for caro Ernesto’s sake,’ she sighed. ‘A woman owes it to her husband to make the best of herself, don’t you think so, Elena mia?’ A comment which accompanied another disparaging look at what Ellie was wearing, and also took in the fact that her hair was drawn back and crammed into an elastic band at the nape of her neck.

I don’t think Angelo would care particularly if I starved myself to death or ate until I burst, she thought, suppressing a silent sigh, and deliberately selecting a choux pastry oozing cream.

Even when Rosaria left and they were alone, there were thankfully no further inroads into the subject of Ellie’s marriage, and Silvia reverted to talking about herself—parties she had attended, film premieres where she had been a guest, a fabulous new boutique, a miraculous new hairdresser.

‘Such a pity you do not spend more time in Rome, cara. I could show you a whole new world.’ Silvia delicately wiped some crumbs of almond cake from her fingertips and put down the linen napkin. ‘But for now you can show me your world,’ she added, a little smile playing around her lips. ‘So—the full guided tour, if you please.’ And paused before adding, ‘Including, of course, the bedrooms.’

Ellie replaced her cup carefully on its saucer, swallowing down the silent scream rising inside her.

She said levelly, ‘I’ll ring for Assunta. She knows far more about the house’s history than I do.’

Silvia pouted. ‘If you wish, but I would rather hear it from you, the mistress of all this magnificence. And of its master, too.’ She shook her head, as she rose, smoothing her dress over her hips with a languid gesture. ‘Ella-Bella, the little mouse. Who would ever believe it?’

Well, I wouldn’t for one, Ellie thought as she crossed the room and tugged at the embroidered bell pull beside the wide hearth. Because I know it couldn’t be further from the truth. And so, I suspect, does she.

And wondered again why Silvia was there.

He still could not believe what he had done. It was ridiculous—impossible—almost making him doubt his own sanity.

Because all the arrangements had been in place. The carefully chosen flowers delivered that morning. The lunch reservation in the eminent restaurant of an exclusive hotel, with coffee served privately and discreetly in a suite on the first floor when the meal was over.