HELEN BROOKS - Second Marriage

‘Did they?’ She stopped at the door to the dining room, the others having walked ahead. ‘They are good people, aren’t they?’ she said softly as she looked up into his darkly handsome face.

‘Yes, they are. But goodness can make one frighteningly vulnerable at times.’ His voice was cold now, very cold. ‘It is a commodity that is less desirable in this present world than scepticism, I think. To disbelieve, to doubt or question, this is not a bad thing.’

‘Not in some circumstances, but you don’t mean as a general rule, do you?’ she asked, stiffening at the blatant cynicism his words had revealed.

‘That is exactly what I mean,’ he said expressionlessly, his glittering black eyes noting the indignant flush in her cheeks.

‘Well, I don’t agree with that!’ She glared at him, her eyes honey-gold in the artificial light overhead and her body language militant ‘That’s awful. That would mean you could never trust anyone, or believe in them, unless you had a signed affidavit first.’

‘A little extreme, but near enough to make no matter.’ He gestured to the room beyond with a curt nod of his head. ‘I think they are waiting...?’

The dinner table was a vision of heavy, solid silver cutlery, fine crystal glasses, exquisite linenware and a magnificent centrepiece of hot-house blooms that perfumed the air with a sweet fragrance. The room itself was grand and ornate too, and more than a little awe-inspiring, like the rest of Casa Pontina.

As the courses came and went, each one more delicious than the one before, Claire found she didn’t have to work at relaxing. Several glasses of good wine combined with Donato and Grace at their best as amusing and congenial hosts were lulling her unease. The tiring day, mostly spent travelling by plane and car, the memories of everything associated with the accident, the confusion and alarm the dark man opposite her evoked—all of it faded into a still, soothing warmth as the wine and good food did its work. It was a calm respite that she knew wouldn’t last, but it was wonderfully pleasing on the senses.

They laughed, they joked, they ate and drank, but through it all, every moment, every second, she was vitally aware of the big, dark, laconic figure opposite her, every nerve and sinew tuned into him in a way she had never experienced before. She didn’t like it, but there was nothing she could do about it either.

‘Did you go home to change?’ It was towards the end of the meal that she asked the question that had been at the back of her mind all evening, indicating his immaculate evening wear with a wave of her hand.

‘Si, it is not far.’ He smiled politely, and his voice reflected his expression as he added, ‘You must visit my home at some time while you are here.’

Oh, he didn’t think she had been angling for a visit to his villa, did he? Her calm composure shattered instantly. She hadn’t. She really hadn’t.

‘Thank you, but I think I’m going to have plenty to do with the lady in waiting.’ She softened the refusal with a careful smile, hoping he would get the message that he was off the hook, but instead of the overt relief she had expected to see in the lethal black eyes his face took on a coolness, a remoteness that was intimidating.

‘I am sure there will be an opportunity, nevertheless,’ he said stiffly. ‘It will be a pleasure to entertain you.’

Brilliant—she’d offended him now. He’d probably guessed she’d sensed he was offering out of courtesy and, with true Italian pride and hospitality, would now force the issue in spite of his feelings just to save face.

‘Yes, perhaps. But Donato and Grace have mentioned how busy you are. We’ll have to see...’ Her voice trailed off as his sombre gaze took hers and held it in a grip that was paralysing.

‘Saturday evening,’ he said grimly.

‘What?’ She was aware that the other three had paused in the easy conversation they had been holding about future names for the babies, and that Donato and Grace at least were listening with some interest.

‘Dinner at my home on Saturday evening.’ It was said without the slightest pretence at an invitation. In fact the cool, harsh words carried more of a challenge than anything else, and it was one she had no intention of taking up.

‘I don’t think—’

‘Donato and Grace too, of course.’ There was a cold arrogance in the way he spoke that suggested he knew she wouldn’t dare accept an invitation by herself, but even that overt mockery wasn’t going to provoke her into agreeing to go to his home, she thought angrily, bristling in spite of herself. Who did he think he was anyway? Ordering her about as though she were some sort of stupid schoolgirl who wouldn’t say boo to a goose?

‘I’m sorry, Romano. It’s very kind of you, but I really would like a few days to acclimatise and get used to things,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m sure there will be other opportunities—’

‘A week on Saturday, then,’ he said immediately.

She knew a moment’s sheer panic at the fact that a will far stronger than hers was meeting her head-on, and then decided that she had made her point and that to refuse again would be both petty and rude.

‘That will give you enough time to...adjust?’ he asked with deceptive smoothness, one black eyebrow quirking in a manner that could only be called goading.

‘I should think so.’

She managed a bright smile, as though all the undercurrents had completely passed her by, but then stiffened when in the next instant Donato said, ‘That would work out very well, in actual fact. Grace and I have tickets for the opera on that night—you remember you bought them for my birthday, Romano? I was going to suggest that Grace and Claire used them instead, but if Claire is happy to have dinner with you we will know she is being looked after, and we could all go to the opera together another time.’

‘Of course, a week on Saturday is your birthday.’ There was something, just something in the silky soft voice that told Claire that Romano hadn’t forgotten the date of Donato’s birthday for a moment, or the treat he had arranged for his friend and his wife, and as she turned her head again to look him straight in the eye the black gaze was waiting for her. ‘I’m sure Claire would rather you and Grace enjoy the opera together,’ he continued pleasantly. ‘Is that not so, Claire?’

‘I...’ Game, set and match! Why, oh why, hadn’t she agreed to this Saturday, when Donato and Grace could have come with her? ‘Yes, of course,’ she said hastily as the black eyebrow rose still further at her hesitation. ‘There is no way I would dream of taking your ticket, Donato, you know that, but perhaps the week after that would do just as well?’

‘Nonsense.’ Romano’s voice was brisk now, signalling the end to a conversation he clearly considered had gone on long enough. ‘Donato and Grace will enjoy their evening all the more, knowing you are safe in my hands, Claire.’

The black eyes were wicked as they held hers, the message contained in the words for her ears alone, and then his face took on a benevolent expression that made her want to kick him as he turned to face the others. ‘That is settled, then, sì? A pleasant evening for all concerned, I am sure.’

I’m not. The words were so loud in her head she was surprised the others hadn’t heard them, but then, as Romano turned back to her, she knew he had, and had to force herself to say, in as normal a tone as she could muster, ‘Thank you very much, I’ll look forward to it.’

‘Good.’ He didn’t know how near he came to that kick again as he added, in an innocent drawl, ‘It will - be... nice.’

CHAPTER THREE

THIS was stupid. This was really, really stupid. Claire frowned ferociously at the girl in the mirror as she leant back against the small upholstered dressing table chair. The very last thing in the world she wanted was to have dinner alone with Romano Bellini, so why on earth was she preparing to do just that? She should have pleaded a headache, flu, mental collapse—anything!