by Anne Mather
'Good morning,' she said, refusing to be daunted by his evident disapproval of her attire. 'Oh, isn't it a beautiful day?'
And it was. Ben had opened the windows in the kitchen, and the sun-soaked air was heady with the scent of the flowers that grew in the walled courtyard below. In the tourist haunts of the city there would already be crowds of people, thronging the steps of the Duomo, and snapping their cameras in the Uffizi Museum. But here, in this peaceful backwater, it was possible to enjoy the real Florence, where the moss-covered walls of private villas opened on to quiet squares and piazzas. It was the Florence Ben had shown her when she'd first come to Italy, and although she had seen the sculptures in the National Museum, and marvelled at the works of Michelangelo and Brunelleschi, she much preferred his conception of the city.
'Did you sleep well?' Ben asked now, pushing an earthenware mug of strong black coffee towards her, and she smiled her thanks.
'Reasonably,' she lied, wondering if he could tell from the lines around her eyes that she wasn't exactly being honest with him. 'Did you? I'm sure you can't have done on that narrow divan.'
'I've slept in worse places,' he retorted drily, pouring himself another cup of the aromatic beverage. He paused and then added, half reluctantly she felt, 'How do you feel? Had any second thoughts?'
'About staying in Italy, you mean?' Cass perched on one of the tall bamboo stools that served the breakfast bar. She raised the mug of coffee to her lips and looked at him over the rim. 'No. Did you hope I would?'
Ben gave her a guarded look. 'No,' he replied, after a moment. 'No, I didn't hope you would. I just thought you might, that's all. After all, you've had time to think it over. You might have changed your mind.'
Cass put the mug of coffee down. 'I've been here almost a week, Ben,' she reminded him. 'If I'd been going to change my mind, don't you think I'd have done so before now?'
Ben shrugged. 'Not necessarily. You've been in Italy a week, that's true, but until last night you hadn't committed yourself to staying.'
Cass sighed. 'You think I should go back, don't you?'
'Did I say that?'
'You don't have to.' Cass got up from the stool and walked blindly across to the window, wrapping her arms around her waist and staring down into the yard below without really seeing it. 'You've decided you don't want the responsibility. OK. I'll make some other arrangement. But I'm not going back to Roger and that's—'
'I haven't suggested you should,' Ben interrupted her sharply, halting her emotional outburst. 'Stop jumping to conclusions that haven't been reached. I just want you to be sure you know what you're doing. I don't want— I don't want Father blaming me for the break-up of your marriage.'
Cass swung round to face him, hoping her eyes did not look as sore as they felt. 'He wouldn't do that!'
'He might,' retorted Ben flatly. And then, 'Oh, what the hell! He's never approved of anything I've done, so why break the habit of a lifetime?' He took a deep breath. 'If you don't mind, I'll go and take a shower and get dressed. If I'm driving to Calvado later today, I'd better get moving. I've got to see Victor Amorini first.'
Cass clasped her hands together. 'Calvado!' she echoed, feeling a renewed sense of optimism. 'Oh, I can't wait to see the villa again—and the sea!' She lifted her slim shoulders. 'I remember, it was so blue.'
'Yes. Well—' Ben halted in the doorway, his expression revealing his dissension with her words. 'I don't think it's a good idea for you to accompany me to the coast. Not today, at least.' He made a rueful gesture. 'Try and understand.'
Cass straightened her spine. 'You mean, you don't think your mother will allow me to stay,' she declared unevenly. 'Why don't you say so?'
'Hey, what is this?' Ben rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. 'I've told you I'll do what I can to persuade her to let you stay. But you have to give me a little space, too. I can't just turn up at the Villa Andrea with you in tow, and expect Sophia to welcome you with open arms. I need to speak to my mother. I need to explain the situation. Then I'll tell you whether she's prepared to let you stay. And not until.'
Cass bent her head. 'All right.'
'You do believe me, don't you?' Ben made a move as if to come back to her, and then seemed to think better of it. 'Cass, I meant what I said last night. I'm not going to force you to go back to England. Just give me a little time. That's all I ask.'
Cass lifted her head again. 'You—you could telephone,' she ventured, but Ben shook his head.
'It's better if I go and see her,' he replied. 'Remember, I've been away for the past two months. She'll be expecting me to see her when I get back.'
Cass hesitated a moment, and then nodded. 'Yes,' she said at last. 'You're probably right. But—what do I do in the meantime?'
'You can stay here,' replied Ben at once. 'I should be back tomorrow. I dare say I could make the round trip in a day, if it weren't for having to report in at the university, but it's probably best if I stay the night. She'll expect it.'
'Will she?' Cass half envied his mother. Sophia had the right to demand his time and his attention. She, on the other hand, was a continuing source of nuisance in his life. She wondered what he really thought about her.
'I'll get dressed,' Ben declared now, evidently deciding her question did not require an answer, and after he had gone Cass resumed her seat and finished her mug of coffee.
Not unnaturally, her mind turned to Ben's mother again as she allowed her thoughts to drift. It was almost exactly four years since she had seen her, for although she had occasionally seen Ben in the years between, Sophia Scorcese seldom left her home in Calvado. Cass remembered her as a rather dour woman, lacking in humour, who only seemed to come to life in Ben's presence. That she loved her son, there could be no doubt. That she had ever loved Ben's father was another matter altogether.
Not that Cass had ever seen her father and Ben's mother together. Apart from herself and Ben, the two halves of Guido Scorcese's life had never intermingled. Ben had aunts and uncles and cousins that Cass had never even met, and she knew her own mother's family disregarded her husband's Italian connections.
Getting up again, Cass went to the sink and rinsed out the two beakers she and Ben had used. Then, glancing round, she considered what she was going to do today. The apartment needed cleaning and, although household chores had seldom appealed to her, the idea of cleaning Ben's apartment was not unattractive. She could do some shopping, too. The fridge needed stocking, and she could buy some food at the little bottega. There were one or two personal items she needed as well, and if she stayed away from the city centre no one was likely to recognise her. Of course, there was always the possibility that Mrs Cipriani might appear and resent the fact that Cass was taking over her duties. But, as Ben had said she didn't expect him back so soon, it might be several days before she put in an appearance.
The decision made, Cass left the kitchen and went into the bedroom again, without giving any thought to the fact that Ben might still be in there. In consequence, she came in through the door just as Ben was emerging from the bathroom, his only attire a dark blue towel slotted about his waist.
'Get out of here!' he snarled in his own language, briefly stung into an instinctive response that was both angry and frustrated, and Cass's eyes mirrored her confusion.
'All right, all right, I'm going,' she retorted indignantly, backing out of the door, but as she walked into his living-room-cum-study her confidence wilted a little. Perhaps she ought not to have come here, after all, she thought uneasily, pressing the palms of her hands together and touching the tips of her fingers to her lips. Ben obviously didn't want her here, whatever he said to the contrary, and the idea that Sophia might relent and let her stay at the villa was fast becoming a pointless proposition. She should have stayed in London, and faced her father with the truth: that she and Roger had never had a real marriage, and there was no possible likelihood of them ever producing the grandchildren he wanted so badly.
&n
bsp; A sound behind her alerted her to Ben's presence, and she turned to face him rather awkwardly.
'I'm sorry—' she began.
However, his, 'I didn't upset you, did I?' overrode her words, and they both shook their heads a little wryly as the apologies were made.
'I never thought,' added Cass ruefully, and Ben was swift to reassure her.
'It was my fault,' he said, pressing down the collar of his shirt, and wiping a droplet of water from the corner of his jaw. His hair was still damp from his shower, its darkness enhanced by its wetness, and because it needed cutting it tended to curl at his nape. Cass couldn't help thinking how attractive he was with his dark skin and dark eyes, and not for the first time she wondered why he had never got married himself. There had been plenty of women, she remembered, only too willing to show themselves as being attracted to him, and she also remembered how jealous she had been when Sophia had played matchmaker on her son's behalf.
But that was all in the past now, she reminded herself hurriedly, as alarm bells began to echo in her brain. She wasn't here to torment herself with how attractive Ben was, or how foolish she had been all those years ago. She was a grown woman now. She had four years of marriage and a great many daunting experiences behind her. Ben was going to help her, and she had no intention of spoiling things by behaving like a fool.
'I shouldn't have barged in like that,' she insisted now, making a determined effort to behave normally. She watched as he picked up his briefcase and examined its contents. 'When are you leaving?'
'How about now?' responded Ben, snapping the locks on the case again and straightening from his desk. 'If I get to the university before nine-thirty, I'll be able to have a word with Amorini before his ten o'clock lecture.'
'Oh.' Cass swallowed her disappointment, and nodded. Then, 'Yes. Yes, I suppose the sooner you get moving, the sooner you'll be back.'
Ben inclined his head. 'That's what I thought.'
Cass took a breath, her tongue circling her lips. 'Do I—do I say good luck?' she asked, attempting for humour and not really succeeding.
'Just goodbye,' advised Ben drily, picking up the briefcase and looking towards the door. He paused. 'I should get back about lunch time tomorrow. Will you be OK?'
Cass pulled a face. 'And if I say no?' she suggested half jokingly, determined not to let him see how the prospect of another day on her own really affected her, and Ben's eyes narrowed.
'Cass—'
'I'm only teasing!' she exclaimed, not sure that she could cope if he should choose to be sympathetic, and his face cleared.
'OK.' He smiled and her heart turned over. 'If you should need to get in touch with me, the number's in the book by the phone. Do you have enough money?'
'That's one thing that's never been in short supply,' Cass replied swiftly. She hesitated. 'You will drive carefully, won't you? She frowned. 'I suppose you still have that awful sports car?'
'I don't think the technicians at Porsche would agree with you about its being awful, but yes, I'm afraid I still drive a fast car.' He grimaced. 'And you, I suppose, are still afraid of speed. You know, that's one thing I had forgotten about you.'
Cass caught her breath. 'The only thing?' she asked, unable to prevent the question, and his mouth drew down at the corners.
'I think so,' he replied, holding her gaze for a long, fateful minute. And then, without another word, he went out of the door, and presently she heard the outer door slam as he left the apartment.
CHAPTER THREE
FLORENCE was not a large city, but it was not the easiest place to get out of. Its narrow lanes and one-way streets made driving not only a hazard but a trial, and Ben got heartily sick of having to step on his brakes every time some careless pedestrian stepped negligently into the road.
Yet, for all that, he loved the place, its spectacular blend of ancient and modern as familiar to him as it had been to Dante in his day. There was always something new to see: a shrine glimpsed through an open gateway, the courtyard of a palazzo bright with tubs of geraniums. The centuries-old fortresses and Renaissance mansions all jostled cheek by jowl beside the muddy waters of the Arno, whose broad embankments protected the city from the flooding that used to occur.
Ben passed the Ponte Vecchio and headed north-west out of the city, the powerful little Porsche the ideal vehicle to thread in and out of the traffic. The car, which he had bought more than five years ago, remained his one real indulgence, and he had missed its responsive roar and swift acceleration in the rather sedate saloon he had been supplied with during the time he was in Australia.
He remembered now how horrified Cass had been when he had taken her out in the Porsche for the first time. He had driven on to the autostrada and given the car its head, and when the speedometer had reached two hundred kilometres an hour she had clutched his arm in a vise-like grip and begged him to slow down. Of course, he hadn't. He hadn't really realised how scared she actually was. He had even laughed; but when he had looked at her and seen her white skin and frozen features he had quickly come to his senses. He had pulled off the motorway and attempted to apologise, to comfort her, but she had lost her head. She had been like a little tigress, he remembered unwillingly, beating at him with her fists until he had been forced to get out of the car and leave her. He had known that, if he had stayed where he was, he might have been tempted to subdue her in a way that would have been totally unforgivable. As it was, when he got into the car again, she had been red-eyed and silent, and for the remainder of the day he had not been able to get a word out of her.
Of course, it hadn't lasted. Cass had never been able to sustain her anger for long. But the car had remained a bone of contention between them, and he wondered if she remembered that day as vividly as he did.
He frowned then, turning his mind away from avenues that were best left unexplored. For the present, he had more immediate problems to confront, not least how best to approach the suggestion of Cass spending the summer at the Villa Andrea. It was not going to be easy, he knew that. For the past four years Cass's name had seldom, if ever, passed his mother's lips. Yet wasn't it a sign of Cass's innocence that she had not hesitated before coming to him—and his mother—for help?
His mouth compressed. Perhaps. But would Sophia see it that way? After all, she was still full of hatred for the man who had divorced her in favour of a younger woman. It didn't matter to Sophia that for years she and Guido had been living apart. He had still been her husband, and she had fought tooth and nail to prevent him gaining his freedom.
Ben sighed as the sleek little sports car slotted in to the traffic heading for Lucca. It wasn't as if she had loved Guido Scorcese, he thought impatiently. She had only married him because she was pregnant. Yet, for all that, she had been jealous of his second wife: jealous of her youth and sophistication, and most particularly jealous of the daughter he had sired within ten months of their wedding. She had never liked Cass, he remembered reluctantly. Cass had been that woman's daughter; a bastard in Sophia's eyes, who regarded marriage as sacrosanct. No matter what had gone before, taking her vows in the church of the Madonna in Genoa had made Sophia Martini Guido Scorcese's partner for life, and nothing and no one could persuade her otherwise.
Ben's hands tightened on the wheel as he steered the car into the fast lane of the autostrada. So, he conceded once again, it was not going to be easy to convince his mother that she had to allow Cass to spend the next couple of months at Calvado. Apart from anything else, she would see the break-up of Cass's marriage as proof that nothing good came of going against the will of God. Like father, like daughter, he reflected, anticipating his mother's reaction. She would never accept that it was possible to make a mistake, in marriage as in everything else. And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Sophia would be suspicious of his motives, too, regardless of any claims to the contrary.
Beyond Lucca, the autostrada linked with the main route to Genoa, and, glancing at the thin gold watch o
n his wrist, Ben saw that it was already after one o'clock. He was tempted to stop somewhere and have something to eat, but he suppressed the notion. He knew that idea was simply his subconscious struggling to find reasons to delay his arrival, and although he could have done with a beer he kept his foot on the accelerator.
Calvado was just north of Sestri. It was a charming little fishing village, overlooking the Bay of Porto Camagio, that in recent years had become something of a mecca for yachtsmen. Narrow streets sloped steeply down to the harbour, where a new marina provided berths for more glamorous craft than the fishing-boats that thronged the jetty, and one or two good hotels had been converted from the eighteenth-century residences once used by patrician Genoese families. Gardens, bright with floral displays, nestled among groves of palm and citrus trees, and from the road that ran down into the village Ben glimpsed the sandy cove where he and Cass used to swim and snorkel all those years ago. Happily, those holidaymakers who found their way to Calvado had not ruined its character or its atmosphere, and, had his mother been more amenable to his continued state of bachelorhood, Ben thought he would have spent much of his free time at the villa. Not that Sophia would have approved of any female he might choose, he reflected wryly. But she persistently produced so-called 'suitable' young women for his inspection, daughters of friends of hers for the most part, in whom Ben had absolutely no interest.
The Villa Andrea was situated on the cliffs overlooking the bay. Sophia had moved here after her divorce from Guido Scorcese, preferring the anonymity of Calvado to the sympathy she would have received from her relatives in Tuscany. Besides which, there were no reminders of her husband at Calvado, and although she had made few friends Ben knew she was not lonely.
The villa was reached down a winding track, where bushes of crimson oleander sprang up between the gnarled trunks of ancient olive trees. He passed other villas, whose gardens were vividly framed against the dark green of the wooded hillside, and then there was the Villa Andrea, with its jasmine-strewn walls and morning glory cascading over the porch.