Second Marriage

by Helen Brooks

  'You would not find it too…irksome to spare a few minutes to satisfy my appetite?' Her eyes shot to his face now, but the chiselled features revealed nothing but bland enquiry, and the fact that she had put quite a dif­ferent meaning on his words from their face value brought her colour surging again. 'I think maybe Grace would expect that I feed you before delivering you safely to her maternal bosom?'

  He was laughing at her! At the same time as the reali­sation washed over her a bolt of anger consumed her nervousness. How dared he? How dared he laugh at her? He clearly saw her as some small, pathetic mouse he found it amusing to ridicule, and now she was quite sure he had meant his previous words to be taken two ways. He had sensed the flustered disquiet he roused in her and was mocking it.

  Oh… Her teeth clamped together as another thought hit her. He didn't think she fancied him, did he? That she'd been bowled over by his considerable physical at­traction and synthetic wealth and charm? She'd die if he did.

  Her eyes narrowed, and suddenly the words were there, and flowing as coolly and bitingly as ever she could have wished. 'Of course you must eat, Signor Bellini,' she said icily, and he glanced at her again, caught by her tone. 'I was merely anxious that Grace shouldn't prepare a meal for me and then find I had already eaten, that's all. I have months ahead of me with Grace and Donato, so time is immaterial today.'

  And so are you. She hadn't actually said the words but they hung in the air as clearly as if she had voiced them. She knew it and he knew it.

  'How gracious,' he said with a silky smoothness that told her the gauntlet had been acknowledged and ac­cepted. 'Are all English girls so courteous?'

  'Oh, I'm sure you could answer that question better than me,' Claire returned sweetly as she glanced with studied casualness out of the car window. 'You must have known many women, English and otherwise, Signor Bellini.'

  'Must I?'

  'I thought I understood Grace to say your business connections stretch all over Italy and the States?' Claire said with a wide-eyed innocence that didn't fool the man at her side for a moment. 'They must bring you into contact with a great deal of people, surely?'

  'My business connections… Ah, yes.' The deep voice was wry, and she didn't like the touch of amusement colouring the dark accent, or the way the undeniable sexiness of the Italian voice made her quiver deep inside. 'My business connections do prove…tiring at times.'

  'I'm sure they do.' Her voice was a little more tart than she would have liked; she mustn't let him think he was getting to her, so she moderated her tone as she said, 'But then I'm also sure you enjoy your work.'

  'I try, Claire, I do try.'

  I bet. An elusively sensual whiff of aftershave touched her nostrils briefly as though to confirm the thought, tightening her lower stomach in a way she could well have done without. But he wouldn't have to try too hard. Most women would fall into his lap like ripe peaches the moment those velvety dark eyes looked their way, she thought ruefully. But not this woman. Definitely not this woman.

  'Now we have determined what a hard-working man I am, may I ask how…busy you were in England?' he asked in a soft, taunting voice.

  'Me? Oh, a doctors' surgery is always pretty hectic,' she said brightly, deliberately ignoring what he was re­ally asking, 'but interesting, which is the main thing. I really couldn't stand a job where I was bored.' She rat­tled on about the day-to-day routine and many panics for a few minutes, knowing he wasn't in the least inter­ested but hoping to divert further questions, but the mo­ment she paused he seized the opportunity to speak, his voice smoky and cool.

  'And is there someone in England waiting patiently for your return?'

  'A boyfriend, you mean?' she asked carefully.

  'Just so.'

  'No,' she said flatly.

  'No?' She shook her head and the dark eyes brushed her face again for a moment before he said, 'And you are not going to elaborate further on that…enigmatic statement?'

  'Enigmatic?' She forced a laugh that she hoped sounded derisory. 'Hardly.'

  'But, yes. When a beautiful young woman of twenty-four speaks so determinedly—'

  'I wasn't speaking determinedly, just factually, and you know as well as I do that I am not beautiful, Signor Bellini—'

  'Now that I have to take issue with.' He interrupted her angry retort swiftly, and before she could say any­thing more continued, 'And please, no more of the Signor Bellini? It is Romano, as you well know, and if you are going to stay at Casa Pontina for some time it will be more harmonious for everyone if we address each other by the Christian names, sì? It will make our relationship appear more civil when we meet.'

  'When we meet?' This time the naked dismay in her voice was not met with the amusement it had provoked before, and his tone was icy when he said, 'Donato and Grace are my friends, Claire.'

  'I know. I know they are—'

  'And one visits one's friends, sì? Even in England I would have thought this pleasant pastime was still alive and well?'

  'Yes, but—'

  'So there will be occasions when we meet, share a meal and so on,' he continued in a clipped, terse voice. 'With Donato and Grace, of course, that is all I meant. I was not—what is the word?—propositioning you.'

  'I didn't think for a minute you were,' she said, aghast.

  'Good. The air is then clear.' The mercurial change was complete; he had returned to suave, cool playboy again with a swiftness that left her open-mouthed and gasping as the powerful car pulled off the road and through a large flower-bedecked arched opening into a quiet courtyard.

  'However…' he turned to her as he cut the engine, a slightly cruel smile curving the firm, distinctly sensual mouth and doing nothing to soften the power of his harsh bone structure '…I meant what I said. You are a beautiful young woman, Claire, as any male with dis­cernment would tell you. I admire beauty, even if it is the most corruptive force known to man, as much as I abhor its potential treachery.'

  'Its treachery?' she whispered faintly, unnerved by the stony glitter in the black eyes and aware that in a strange way his remark on her appearance was not complimen­tary.

  'But of course.' A veil came down over the handsome face, and she knew he had made a conscious effort to hide all emotion as he smiled again, his eyes revealing nothing more than warm amusement. 'Beauty is a won­derful lure which nature uses to full advantage, sì?

  'The belladonna—deadly nightshade—with its fragile mauve flowers and dainty poisonous berries, for exam­ple, or hemlock's clusters of exquisite white blooms. And then something as enchanting as the flower-like sea anemone, which attracts fish and other animals to their doom, as does the translucent beauty of the Portuguese man-of-war, whose stinging tentacles beneath its shim­mering charm paralyse its prey with deadly accuracy. Nature makes full use of illusion, Claire.'

  But he hadn't really been talking about plants and animals, she thought suddenly. She was sure of it.

  'Yes, I suppose it does.' She stared into the dark cold face as her mind raced. 'But beauty can be wonderful too—something to be marvelled at, to share, something that lifts the soul of man, like a magnificent sunset for example.'

  'But within a short time it has faded and is dead, and one is left with the blackness of the night,' he said qui­etly. 'Nothing lasts. Nothing is what it seems.'

  He was talking about his wife being taken from him so tragically. As realisation dawned she stared at him in consternation, not knowing what to say. Bianca had been breathtakingly, wildly beautiful, and they had only had a few short years together before she had died. He still loved her… 'But memories can be precious things, can't they?' she asked softly. 'The sunset might die but the serenity and peace it gives can still live on.'

  'I have not found that to be the case,' he said, with a dismissive coldness that told her this strange and dis­turbing conversation was at an end. 'Now, shall we?' He indicated the charming honey-coloured building in front of them with a wave of his hand. 'You will find Aldonez has
a variety of dishes to suit all appetites, so do not be perturbed if you are not hungry. I think it would be nice to sit outside, sì? There is a delightful garden at the back of the restaurant.'

  He had left the car as he spoke the last words, walking swiftly round the bonnet and helping her to alight with a naturalness that told her his good manners were normal behaviour. She remembered Donato had had the same inherent courtesy when she had stayed with them for her two-week holiday in the summer, treating the female race as a whole with a gentleness and protective regard that was wonderfully refreshing in this modern age. But whereas she had just thought Grace's husband a gentle­man, somehow with his best friend the whole procedure took on a seductive quality that was more than a little unsettling.

  Romano took her arm as they walked across the cob­bled courtyard and into the quaint and colourful little restaurant, and immediately she was aware that he was known to the plump and burly little proprietor, who gave them a welcome that could only be described as raptur­ous.

  The greetings over, of which Claire didn't understand a word, Aldonez led them through the main room and out onto a covered veranda where several tables had been placed to catch the full benefit of the weak sunlight. It was surprisingly warm, the veranda being something of a sun-trap, and once she was seated Claire looked around her appreciatively.

  The pretty square garden was small, but the lacy pe­rimeter fence was entwined with luxuriant foliage and sweet-smelling flowers. Small shrubs and bushes were scattered between old stone slabs that paved most of the area, with a large magnolia tree in one corner to provide a spot of shade in the summer. 'From March onwards Aldonez packs tables and chairs on every inch of ground,' Romano said with a distant smile as he watched her absorb her surroundings. 'He knows most of the tourists like to eat alfresco.'

  'It's very pretty.' She suddenly felt unbearably shy as she glanced at him over the small table, his startling good looks and arrogant masculinity seemingly en­hanced by the intimacy of sharing a meal. On the short journey from the airport she had barely noticed the scen­ery outside the car, her senses briefly registering the southern earthy charm Naples exuded but most of her conscious thought held by the magnetic pull of the man opposite.

  Crazy. She lowered her eyes to the menu Aldonez had placed in front of her a couple of minutes before. Absolutely crazy to allow her senses to be dominated like that—and wouldn't he just love it if he knew how she was thinking? When all was said and done, even if he did still love his wife, he didn't have to be so arro­gant, did he? So impossible to communicate with, so abrasive?

  'Would you like me to translate?'

  'What?' As she raised her head and met the hard gaze she would have given the world to be able to say she spoke fluent Italian, but she didn't, and, infuriating man that he was, he knew it.

  The fact that she was forced to acknowledge she had been gazing at the squiggles on the card in front of her without even seeing them didn't help either—but that, at least, he didn't know.

  'The menu? Would you like me to translate for you?' he asked again, his voice patient but with the kind of long-suffering tone one might adopt with a difficult child.

  'That won't be necessary, thank you.' She'd rather walk through coals of fire first. 'I only want a green salad and a long, cold drink,' she said evenly. 'If that's pos­sible.'

  'Of course.' He bowed his head slightly, and the movement should have been polite but was definitely sardonic. 'May I suggest a side dish of garlic and butter potatoes with that? It is one of Aldonez's specialities.'

  'Thank you.' She nodded her head and wondered how someone so altogether stunning could have inspired such dislike in her. 'Is there a cloakroom here? I'd like to wash my hands…'

  'Sì, just to the left of the main door. I will show you.'

  Once alone in the small stone cloakroom, that boasted one deep-set porcelain bowl of ancient origin and one very modern lavatory in bright yellow, she gazed into the ornate and rather fine mirror above the wash-basin despairingly. This had all gone wrong somehow, badly wrong, and she had been so excited earlier in the day. Large, soulful brown eyes stared seriously back at her as she nipped at her lower lip anxiously, her pale creamy skin a perfect foil for her dark eyes and chestnut hair.

  Beautiful! She grimaced at her reflection disbelievingly. What an obvious line, and yet it hadn't been like that, not really. But he couldn't have meant it. She shook her head, causing her silky fine hair to flow in a soft wave across her hot face. She wasn't ugly, she knew that, but she was no beauty either—not like Grace. Men had always turned to take a second and third look at Grace, even though her friend was oblivious to their at­tention most of the time.

  Oh, well… She shrugged, dropping her eyes from the mirror and running her wrists under the cold water tap before splashing her face. She was quite happy with who she was, give or take her hot temper and a few other faults she could have done without, so her looks weren't important one way or the other. But she did wish she hadn't got off to quite such a bad start with Donato's friend. She was here to make Grace's life easier and worry-free as her confinement approached, not to enter into a war with her friend's husband's brother-in-law from day one.

  She'd just have to bite her tongue and keep quiet when Romano was about. She raised her head and nod­ded at herself determinedly. She could do that, couldn't she? She should have done it already, not reacted to him like an indignant hedgehog with prickles at the ready. It was kind of him to have come all this way to fetch a virtual stranger, and she hadn't even thanked him prop­erly. It wasn't even as if she had met him before and he was renewing an acquaintance; he had been in America when she had come to Italy in the summer and she had left before he had returned.

  Yes, she had behaved badly. She prepared to go back to the table full of good intentions. He might be arrogant and imperious, and more than a little high-handed, but he must have some good points for Grace to rate him so highly, and it wasn't as if she'd see much of him while she was here anyway. She'd thank him nicely for coming to fetch her, smile sweetly regardless of how maddening she found him, and refuse to rise to any provocation, intended or unintended, from now on.

  He was as far removed from her humble orbit as the man in the moon anyway, and once he'd safely delivered her at Casa Pontina he'd probably barely notice her on the occasions when he came to visit Donato and Grace.

  The last thought should have been comforting, but was instead mildly depressing. Oh, for goodness' sake don't be so pathetic, girl, she told herself irritably, before brushing her hair into gleaming order with hard, stiff strokes that set her scalp tingling, spraying a touch of her favourite perfume on her wrists, and then walking firmly out of the cloakroom, her head high.

  CHAPTER TWO

  'Claire!' Grace waddled out of the front door, her face beaming and her arms outstretched, and Claire had left the car before Romano could reach her door. The two women gave each other as close a hug as Grace's bulk would allow before Claire drew back and looked at her friend with something akin to amazement on her face.

  'You're huge.' It wasn't tactful, but they had always been honest with each other.

  'Tell me about it,' Grace said ruefully. 'I can't watch any of those wildlife programmes on TV lately, the sight of hippos plodding around hits too near home!'

  'Don't be silly.' They were both laughing helplessly now. 'You're still as beautiful as ever, just…'

  'Fat?'

  'Mumsy, which is exactly what you are going to be, isn't it? How are you feeling?' Claire asked softly.

  'Big, tired, achey…and incredibly happy.'

  Grace grinned at her and they hugged again before a cool voice behind Claire said, 'Shall we go into the house? Donato has asked me to make sure you keep your feet up, Grace, until he gets back this evening. You and Claire can gossip all you like once you're sitting down.'

  'See how it is?' Grace grimaced at Claire as she tucked her friend's arm in her own and turned towards the house. 'If it isn't Do
nato or Lorenzo fussing, it's Romano. I'm surrounded by men who think I'm going to break.'

  'That's no bad thing.' As they walked up the huge stone steps that led to the ornate studded front door of Casa Pontina Claire smiled at her friend. 'And now I'm here to add my pennyworth to the nagging.'

  '"Nagging"?' As the three of them entered the mag­nificent hall with its beautifully polished floor and air of timeless graciousness Romano stopped and looked down at the two women. 'What is this "nagging"? This is an English word?'

  'I suppose it is.' Grace smiled up at him, and Claire was struck by how open and relaxed his face was as he returned the smile. The austerity had gone, along with the coldness, and the result was devastating. He certainly hadn't smiled at her like that.

  He really was something else, Claire thought wryly as she watched and listened to Grace explaining the mean­ing of the word. Not that she was affected by him, not at all, she assured herself quickly. But, nevertheless, one certainly didn't get many men like him to the pound. Or many women who could match such wealth and power and good looks…women like Bianca. They must have made a stunning couple.

  Explanations over, the three of them walked into the imposing drawing room where Cecilia, the robust cook, and Anna and Gina, the two little maids, were waiting to greet her, along with a long, low coffee-table groaning with a selection of sandwiches and cakes. 'I thought you might be peckish. It's some time until dinner, although Romano insisted he would take you to lunch,' Grace said happily. 'Was it nice?'

  'Very nice.' Claire didn't elaborate further; she was still mulling over the 'insisted'. Although 'very nice' wasn't really the right description if the truth be known, she thought quietly. When she had returned to the table Aldonez had served their lunch within moments, but such had been her state of unease she could have been eating sawdust for all that the food had registered on her taste-buds.

  Not that Romano had been difficult at all, she admitted silently, in fact he had metamorphosed into what could only be termed the perfect escort: witty, charming, but still with that indefinable coolness that made her feel as though he was playing a game, observing her the whole time. It hadn't made for good digestion on her part and she hadn't been able to finish the meal, light though it had been. She was absolutely starving now, she realised suddenly, and she filled the plate one of the maids had handed her and watched the other two chat.