A Fever In The Blood

by Anne Mather

  'For me, also.' Lucia withdrew her hands from his to cup his lean face with loving fingers. 'Sophia said in her letter that you might come, but I know what a busy man you are.'

  'Not too busy for you, Nonna,' he assured her, getting to his feet again with some reluctance, as out of the corner of his eye he saw Cass hovering in the doorway. His grandmother saw Cass, too, as he moved out of her line of vision, and her eyes widened uncomprehendingly, requiring an explanation. 'I—this is Cass— Cassandra,' he volunteered, as he had done before. 'I hope you don't mind me bringing her with me. I—wanted her to meet you.'

  Lucia gave him a questioning look. 'Cassandra?' she echoed, in a faint voice. 'You mean—this is Guido Scorcese's daughter?'

  'Yes.' Ben took Cass's distinctly anxious fingers in his and drew her forward. 'Cass, this is my grand­mother-Lucia Pisano.'

  Cass took the hand the old lady held out and made a polite response. But it was obvious she had taken his grandmother's startled words to mean something else, and Ben guessed she was associating her attitude with Sophia's.

  'She is a beautiful girl,' Lucia said now, as Cass stood somewhat awkwardly beside him. 'I am very pleased to meet you, Cassandra. You do not know this, but I have wanted to meet you for a very long time.'

  The old lady spoke in Italian, and Ben glanced at Cass to see if she understood. She seemed to, but she still looked a little anxious, and taking her wrist between his fingers he applied what he hoped was a reassuring pres­sure.

  'Don't worry,' he said, speaking in English now. 'Nonna likes you.'

  Cass was breathing rather unevenly. He could hear it. And her eyes, when she looked at him, were still full of doubt. 'Um—Sophia is her daughter,' she mumbled, low enough so that only he could hear, and he wished they were alone.

  'Nonna's not Sophia,' he told her softly. 'Now, sit down and relax. It's going to be all right.'

  'You must be hungry,' said Lucia suddenly as Cass subsided into a basketwork chair, and Ben quickly en­lightened her.

  'We had lunch at Monte Giorgio,' he told her gently, ignoring her automatic protest. 'We didn't want to put you to any trouble, cara. Besides,' he glanced at Cass, 'we weren't very hungry. We'll get a meal on our way back tonight, so don't worry about us.'

  'Then you must have some wine. I insist,' declared the old lady, evading his hands to take a bottle of the rich red vintage of the area from her shelves. 'There, in that cupboard, Benvenuto, you will find some glasses. We cannot allow Guido Scorcese's daughter to visit us without offering her any refreshment.'

  'Oh, really—' began Cass, recognising the fact that her relationship to her father was being mentioned again, but Ben silenced her.

  'It's OK,' he said, half impatiently, following his grandmother's instructions and taking three rather fine glasses from the cupboard. He uncorked the bottle him­self and poured the wine. 'Salute,' he added, raising his glass to theirs. His lips twisted. 'A fine wine drunk in fine company.'

  He watched Cass as she sipped her wine, and felt a dark renewal of his frustration. He had brought her here, he acknowledged bitterly. He had introduced her to Nonna. And what now? He expelled a heavy breath. He couldn't do it. He couldn't say what he had intended to say, and live with his conscience.

  He caught his grandmother's eyes upon him, and moved abruptly away. The need for absolution was al­most overwhelming, but at what price? He needed to get out of the house. He needed to get away from the awful web of deception that still held him in its choking grip. He had thought that by coming here he could expunge his guilt, but he couldn't. This was his problem, and his alone. He couldn't involve Nonna in his miserable plight.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CASS didn't know what to do. Ben had gone outside and left her sitting with the old lady, and it would have been rude of her to get up and follow him. All the same, she thought it was rather inconsiderate of him to abandon her in this way. Particularly as her knowledge of Italian was comparatively limited, and his grandmother didn't appear to have a single word of English.

  Exchanging a rather nervous smile with Lucia, she looked uneasily around the small kitchen, searching for something to distract the old lady's attention. A pair of photographs in a leather frame, standing on the white­washed dresser, caught her eye, and with a murmured, 'Chi é questo?' she got up from her chair and crossed the room.

  She saw at once that it was a picture of Ben and his mother, a younger Ben, with, surprisingly, a dark mous­tache. She shook her head. She couldn't ever remember seeing Ben with a moustache, but she supposed it was possible he had grown one once. After all, there had been long intervals of time when she hadn't seen him. All the same, he did look to be in his early twenties in the picture, and as far as she remembered he had been at university in England at that time. Hadn't he?

  Suddenly becoming aware that Lucia was watching her, she coloured. Then, turning with the photographs still in her hands, she murmured awkwardly, 'Um— Ben—Benvenuto é sua madre, no? Lui era molto giovane!'

  'No, signora.' The old lady shook her head, and then, as if realising Cass didn't comprehend her meaning, she added in poor, but perfectly understandable, English, 'Is not Benvenuto. Is—how you say?—il figlio di mio fratello, capisce?'

  Cass blinked. 'You mean—your nephew?'

  'Ah, si.' Lucia nodded. 'Nephew, yes. Is handsome, no?'

  'Is handsome, yes,' said Cass ruefully, setting the frame back on the dresser. It had disturbed her, seeing Ben's image so closely reflected in the face of a cousin. A cousin once removed, at that, she amended silently. She wondered why Ben had never mentioned the resem­blance. After all, it was unusual.

  'Come,' said Lucia abruptly, breaking into her thoughts. 'Sit.' Evidently, she knew more of Cass's lan­guage than she had thought. 'Speak of Benvenuto.'

  'Of Benvenu—' Cass broke off. 'I don't understand. Non capisco! What can I tell you?'

  Lucia's veined hands gathered her shawl more closely about her. 'Is well?' she asked encouragingly. 'Is happy?'

  Cass moistened her dry lips, wishing Ben would come back. But he didn't, and she had to answer. 'I—think so,' she murmured. 'Um—yes.'

  Lucia regarded her consideringly. 'You stay Sophia, no?'

  'What? Oh—yes.'

  'Benvenuto also?'

  'At the moment.' Cass nodded, in case her words were unfamiliar. 'For a few days, at least.'

  'Bene, bene.' The old lady lay back in her chair. 'So­phia—she knows you come here?' She pointed the floor.

  Cass shook her head now, and cast an anxious look over her shoulder. Where was Ben? Why didn't he come back?

  'Il suo padre—' Lucia was speaking again, and Cass had to listen to her, '—he send you?'

  To Italy? No.' Cass sighed. 'But, well—I've been ill. I needed a holiday.'

  'E che di suo marito? Your—husband. Is not with you?'

  'No.' Cass wondered how many questions she was going to ask, but she decided she had to be honest. 'I— I've left him.'

  'Ah.' Lucia's dark eyes, so like her grandson's, glit­tered. 'You come—to Benvenuto, si?'

  Cass wondered if her face could possibly look as red as it felt. 'I—suppose so,' she admitted uncomfortably.

  'E—you care for Benvenuto?'

  Cass sighed. 'Naturally.'

  'Naturale?' echoed her companion softly. She paused. 'You love him!'

  Cass gulped. 'Well—he is—he is my brother.'

  There was silence for a few moments, and Cass stared out into the brilliant sunlight until her eyes were blind in the shadows of the room. Her brother! she thought unsteadily. But she had never treated him like a brother. Was that obvious to Lucia? Was it obvious to anyone else?

  'I—I wonder where Ben has gone,' she ventured at last, forced to say something to break the uneasy silence, but Lucia seemed as absorbed with her thoughts as she had been until her conscience got in the way. 'Um—I expect we'll have to be leaving soon. It's such a long drive back.'

  'Is not true,' said Lucia sud
denly, and Cass stared at her in confusion.

  'Oh, it is,' she assured her confidently. 'It took us almost five hours to—'

  'No. No!' Lucia waved her hands impatiently. 'No kilometres! Il suo fratello! Your brother! Benvenuto is not your brother!'

  In spite of his earlier contention of leaving before dinner, it was after eight o'clock before Ben was allowed to depart. He had returned, accompanied by two of his cousins, and their wives and families, and in the result­ing confusion it was easy for him to avoid her eyes.

  Besides, everyone wanted to meet her and talk to her, and the wine flowed freely as reminiscences were ex­changed. The children, particularly the girls, hung about her chair, admiring her sandals and her hair and the sim­ple gold bangle she wore on her arm. They all wanted to try it on, and even the youngest, a baby of no more than eighteen months, crawled up her skirts and settled in her lap.

  Yet, for all their kindness, Cass couldn't wait to leave. The things Ben's grandmother had told her, the amazing story she had told about Francesco—Ben's real father— and Sophia, and Guido, couldn't wait to be related. And it was a hundred times more annoying because Ben seemed totally immune to her signals.

  A simple meal was prepared, and although food was the last thing on Cass's mind she felt obliged to eat a little. Actually, the spicy bolognese and newly baked bread was very tasty, and despite her agitation she man­aged to eat her share. The food helped to ease the grow­ing feeling of excitement in her stomach. It helped to calm her nerves and slow her racing pulse.

  Ben, however, ate little. Aware of him with every nerve in her body, Cass seldom took her eyes off him, and if anyone else besides his grandmother noticed, she didn't much care. Oh, Ben, she fretted silently, what did they do to you? The secret he had harboured all these years had almost destroyed their lives.

  At last Ben was forced to say his farewells. It was almost dark, and when several members of the family accompanied them back to where they had left the car moths and other flying insects hummed about their ears. There were one or two derisive comments about the Porsche, but they were made and accepted in good part, and Ben embraced each of his cousins in turn before climbing behind the wheel. Cass came in for her own share of hugging, particularly from the children, and on impulse she gave the eldest girl her bangle, refusing to take it back again when the girl's mother demurred.

  'Please,' she said, 'per favore, non importa!' and she made a dismissing gesture it would have been rude to contradict.

  'Grazie, grazie!'

  The Italian woman thanked her politely enough, but as they drove out of the square Ben's reaction was fu­rious. 'Don't you realise, you embarrassed Gina there?' he demanded, cornering too fast and sending a solitary hen squawking into the ditch. 'These people can't afford to throw expensive gold bracelets around as presents! What will Maria do with it? Her mother won't let her wear it, and it's not much use for anything else.'

  Cass caught her breath, the urgency she had felt to talk to Ben alone evaporating in a cloud of indignation. 'She could always sell it!' she retorted, hunching herself into the farthest corner of her seat. 'What a fuss to make, for heaven's sake! Isn't gold a good enough currency for your precious Italian relatives?'

  Ben's face was dark with anger. 'You will not speak of my family in that contemptuous way!' he snapped. 'The Pisanos are a fine and respected family in Verrazzino. I'm proud to be one of them.'

  'I'm sure you are.' Cass made the remark in the same defiant tone, and Ben glared at her.

  'What is that supposed to mean?' he countered. 'Ar­en't they good enough for you? Is that what you're try­ing to say?'

  'No, of course not.' Cass was angry at his summary assumption. 'I liked them. I liked them all. You know I did. And I'm sorry if you think I acted stupidly. I just wanted to do something to show my thanks.'

  'Yes. Well—' Ben's temper gradually subsided. 'I suppose I did rather over-react, didn't I?' He ran a some­what weary hand through his hair, and massaged the muscles at the back of his neck. 'What can I say? I guess I'm tired. It has been a long, hot day, and I could surely do with a shower.'

  Cass straightened in her seat. 'Then—let's stop at the lake,' she suggested tentatively. 'We could—go for a swim. As this is a day for reminiscences, why don't you remind yourself of one more?'

  'Don't be crazy!' Ben's voice was grim once more. 'It's far too late to go swimming. Even if I wanted to do so, which I don't.'

  Cass sighed. 'It was only a suggestion.'

  'A stupid one!'

  'If you say so.' She shrugged. 'It was you who said you were hot and needed a shower, not me.'

  'Oh, grow up, Cass, will you?' Ben expelled an im­patient breath. 'Who in their right mind is going to go swimming in a lake at this time of night, just because they're feeling hot?'

  'It's not late.'

  'Forget it!'

  Cass bent her head. 'Lovers might.'

  'We're not lovers,' he retorted savagely.

  'We could be,' she ventured, her voice barely audible, but he heard her, and with a violent movement he swung the car off the road and brought it to a shuddering stand­still.

  'I should have let Roger choke you, do you know that?' he snarled, his face in the light from the dash almost demoniacal in his fury. 'What the hell do you mean by making a remark like that? What in hell are you trying to do to me? My mother warned me that you were trouble, but fool that I was, I insisted on helping you anyway.' He took a deep breath. 'Well—it's over, Cass. You can pack your bags and leave in the morning. Find yourself another protector! I've had it as far as you're concerned.'

  Cass was trembling after this outburst. Had she been wrong? she wondered dazedly. Had his grandmother been wrong? Did Ben know that he wasn't Guido Scorcese's son, or didn't he? The way he was looking at her now, she wasn't prepared to gamble.

  Without making any response, she fumbled and found the handle of the door, pushing it open and scrambling out before he could stop her. Through the trees she could see the glimmer of something that looked like water, and as she stumbled away from the car she realised what it was. Inadvertently, Ben had stopped the car only yards from the lake where the children had been swimming earlier in the day. And whether he liked it or not, she decided, she was going to dip her toes in the water. He needed time to cool off, and she was going to give it to him. After the tongue-lashing she had just endured, she deserved a moment's respite to recover.

  'Cass! Cass, where the hell do you think you're go­ing?'

  As she made off between the trees, she heard Ben open his door and call her name. But he didn't sound any the less furious, so she didn't bother to answer. She was still hurt and angry herself over what he had said to her, and the idea that tomorrow she might be on her way back to England filled her with dismay. It couldn't be true. The wild excitement she had felt when his grandmother had relayed her story couldn't just sputter and die like a spent candle. If Ben didn't know, she had to tell him. She couldn't face the thought of living her life now without the man she loved.

  The still waters of the lake confronted her, edged with reeds, and silvery in the light of the rising moon. It was a beautiful spot, the trees dark and protective, the grass lush and green beneath her feet. Even in the dark it held no terrors for her, locked as she was in the troubled prison of her thoughts. What was she going to do? What could she do? she fretted. Did she really have the right to break a confidence? Did she really know that Ben shared her feelings?

  For all her avowed sense of bravado, she started vi­olently when she heard a footfall behind her on the grass. Glancing over her shoulder, her face showed up stark and white in the moonlight, and the man who had stalked her to the lakeside admitted his defeat.

  'It's me,' he muttered harshly, stepping closer to her, so that she could feel the heated draught of his breath against her sensitised skin. He shook his head as she relaxed, and turned to look at the water. 'So—you found the lake, after all. I should have known better than to argue with you. Y
ou usually get your own way.'

  'Do I?' Cass's voice was husky. 'Do I, Ben?' She paused. 'Does that mean you're going to come swim­ming with me, after all?'

  Ben's breathing was uneven as he turned to look at her again. 'You're not going swimming in there,' he said flatly.

  'Why not?'

  'Because you're not.'

  'That's not an answer,' she declared, kicking off her sandals. 'Hmm, doesn't the grass feel good between your toes?'

  'Cass.' His control was slipping; she could sense it. But whether it was slipping into passion, or simply into anger, she didn't dare to speculate.

  Stepping to the edge of the grass, where a thin wedge of shingle was lapped by gentle waves, she dipped her toe. 'Oh, it's cold!' she exclaimed, skipping back on to the grass again. 'But so soft,' she added. 'I bet it feels like silk against your skin.'

  'You're not going to find out,' retorted Ben grimly, grabbing for her arm, but she managed to evade him.

  'You can't stop me,' she taunted, her fingers going to the bootlace straps of her dress and sliding them off her shoulders. 'Come on, don't be a spoilsport! Wouldn't you like to take off those tight, uncomfortable— clothes?'

  The word she had almost used was implicit in the sentence, and Ben swore; rather colourfully, Cass felt. 'This isn't going to make me change my mind,' he told her balefully. 'All you're doing is just reinforcing the opinion I had already formed of you. Now, are you ready to go back?'

  Cass's fingers stilled, all the reckless excitement going out of her actions. Pushing the straps back up on to her shoulders, she tried instead to regulate her breathing. What was it she had read once: if you can control your breathing, you can control yourself? Something like that, anyway, she acknowledged dully. One of those silly lit­tle bits of information you clung to at times like these.

  'Shall we go?'

  Ben's voice was almost that of a stranger, and she looked at him in the pale light, wondering if he really despised her as much as he seemed to. This had been going to be such a marvellous evening, she sniffed, de­spising herself for once more giving way to tears. Was it only giving away the bangle that had caused every­thing to go so wrong?