by Sara Craven
‘Candlesticks’
She pointed at the fireplace. ‘The lovely silver ones that used to stand right there.’
Simon shrugged indifferently. ‘Aunt Celia probably put them away before she left. They’ll turn up.’
She looked sideways at him. ‘You sound miserable again.’
He looked past her. ‘Scotland’s a long way and two weeks can seem like for ever.’
‘They’ll soon pass,’ she said. ‘Then we’ll be together again. And for always this time.’
As her car moved down the drive she turned to wave, but there was no one there and she realised that Simon had gone
back in the house, closing the door behind him.
As if, she thought, he could not bear to see her go. Yet, instead of being pleased, she found suddenly that she was
shivering. And wondered why.
So far, so good, thought Emily as the express train ate up the miles between London and Glasgow.
Getting away from the Manor had been altogether easier than she’d expected. Penny had swallowed her ludicrous story
about meeting Raf in London and beamed at Emily’s blush, even though it was inspired by guilt rather than anticipation of
a blissful marital reunion.
And yet the housekeeper knew that Emily and Raf had never so much as shared a room when he stayed at the Manor.
Unless she thinks he pays me secret visits when the lights are out, Emily thought, grimacing inwardly.
In fact, the only time Raf had ever entered her bedroom at all had been on their wedding night. And that for the briefest
possible time.
Her father had died, quite peacefully, only a week after she’d become engaged. And the wedding had taken place just
over a month later, a quiet register office ceremony with Leonard Henshaw and his wife as the only witnesses.
Afterwards, they had flown to Italy for what was supposed to be their honeymoon.
‘It is the convention,’ Raf said simply when she tried to protest. ‘And anyway, I would like to show you my home.’ He
paused. ‘Is that—agreeable to you’
She swallowed. ‘Won’t it be very hot in Rome at this time of year’
‘There is a pool,’ he said. ‘Do you like to swim’
She had a sudden vision of the pool at High Gables and Simon splashing her, laughing in the sunlight.
She turned away. ‘I used to. Not any more.’ And thought she heard him sigh.
But she had to admit that the house just outside Rome was beautiful, if a little gloomy, with its marble floors and
old-fashioned furniture. It was older even than the Manor and larger too, with a labyrinth of passages and rooms, many of
them with ornamental ceilings and frescoed walls, and most of them in need of attention.
It also required a considerable staff to run it and, to Emily’s embarrassment, they were all lined up waiting to welcome her
in high excitement.
If they only knew, she thought bitterly, that their new Contessa is a total fraud.
And a worried fraud at that, for she seemed to have been assigned the most enormous bedroom, with the largest
canopied bed she’d ever seen, and the maids who unpacked for her were exchanging conspiratorial smiles as they
arranged her prettiest white nightdress across the embroidered coverlet.
Emily felt her throat tighten in fright. In spite of Raf’s assurances, it seemed obvious that the scene was being set for the
ritual deflowering of the latest Di Salis bride.
And her nervousness increased when she discovered that, as well as doors to a dressing room and a large bathroom,
there was also direct access to an adjoining and equally imposing room, which bore all the signs of male occupation. And
realised that, although this door had an ornate lock, there was no key to go with it.
Dinner was served much later than she was accustomed to and, while the food was delicious, she had little appetite for it
and none at all for the wine which accompanied it.
She needed, she thought, to stay very, very sober.
And, even if she wasn’t hungry, to make the meal last as long as possible.
‘You look tired,’ Raf commented, as the cheese course was being cleared.
‘A little,’ she returned cautiously. She was actually dead on her feet but she wasn’t going to admit as much.
‘It has been a long day,’ he said, confirming all her worst fears by adding, ‘I suggest you go to bed.’ He paused. ‘Can
you find your way back to your room’
‘Of course,’ she said too quickly, in case he offered to escort her.
‘If you get lost, call out and eager rescuers will immediately appear.’ He smiled at her. ‘You are an object of fascination
for the entire household, you understand.’
‘Yes,’ she returned tautly. ‘I—gathered that.’
Raf was leaning back in his chair, his lean fingers playing with the stem of his wineglass.
‘You looked very lovely today,mia cara ,’ he said quietly. ‘Your dress was charming.’
‘It—it wasn’t new. I wore it when Daddy took me to Ascot one time.’ She remembered with a pang how joyously she’d
chosen the slender cream silk shift just skimming her knees.
She added stiffly, ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
‘If you had worn it a hundred times, you would have looked no less beautiful.’
The conversation was taking altogether too personal a turn, she decided, and pushed back her chair, pretending to yawn.
‘I think maybe you’re right and I should call it a day.’
He rose too. ‘Then I wish you goodnight.’
She murmured something in reply and went, trying not to hurry too obviously. At least he hadn’t attempted to kiss her,
she thought, as she went up the wide sweep of staircase. Nor was he following her.
But she breathed more easily when she reached her room and, having stumblingly dismissed the maid who was waiting to
assist her, showered and cleaned her teeth in the palatial bathroom, then put on the nightdress that Penny must have
substituted for the satin pyjamas she’d intended to bring and climbed up into that monster of a bed.
It was a very comfortable monster, she discovered, and the linen was scented with rose-water. But she couldn’t relax.
She kept watching the communicating door, asking herself what she would do if it opened, and dreading the moment
when she might be called on to make a decision.
But, just when she’d resolved it was safe enough to put out the lamp and get some sleep, she heard a faint noise and
looked up to see Raf standing there in the open doorway. He was barefoot, his jacket and tie discarded and his shirt
half-unbuttoned, revealing the strong column of his throat and the dark smooth skin of his chest.
For what seemed an eternity they stared at each other. Emily sat transfixed, her heart thudding erratically, her mouth
suddenly dry, aware that one lacy strap had slipped down from her shoulder, but not daring to adjust it. Just waiting for
him to say something—do something.
But when he moved, it was simply to put out a hand and steady himself against the doorframe. For a terrible moment she
thought he was drunk and tensed involuntarily. However, when he spoke his voice was crisp and clear, without slurring.
‘Emilia, my household has—expectations about tonight and its usual significance, which may have caused you concern.
‘I wish to say that you have no need to fear that I will break my word to you. Today’s ceremony changed nothing and
our marriage is still a business arrangement which can—will remain in name only, as you wish. Then, when you are twenty
one, you will be free to live your own life and—find happiness.’
/>
He made her a slight bow, then he was gone, closing the door firmly behind him.
For a long time, Emily recalled, she’d sat quite still, gazing unseeingly into space, aware only of the still-flurried race of her
heart. And when, eventually, she’d reached for the lamp switch, she’d discovered that her hand was shaking
uncontrollably.
Just as it was trembling again now, at this moment, as she picked up the carton of coffee in front of her and drank.
Why am I doing this to myself she asked with a kind of desperation. Remembering all this—stuff. It must be the most
pointless exercise of my entire life. Because it changes nothing. It can’t…
But perhaps it was something she needed to do, if only to convince herself that the stance she was taking was completely
justified. That her relationship with Raf Di Salis had been null and void from the beginning and that it was hypocritical to
pretend otherwise.
Although she could quite see that it would be a blow to Raf’samour-propre to be forced to admit openly that his wife was
not among his numerous conquests.
In fact, he’d been prepared to go to considerable lengths to present a very different picture of their relationship, she
recalled, wincing.
It had been the morning after the wedding and it seemed to Emily that she’d only just managed to drop into a restless
sleep when she had been woken by a hand on her shoulder and opened heavy eyes to see Raf standing beside the bed.
She’d sat up, pushing back her hair, instantly defensive.
‘What do you want’ Her voice was husky.
His mouth tightened. ‘To give you this.’ He held out a small leather box. ‘Open it,’ he directed.
She obeyed and gasped when she saw the beautiful square sapphire enclosed by small diamonds that it contained.
‘An engagement ring’ She frowned in bewilderment. ‘Isn’t it a little late for that’
‘It is a family tradition,’ he said quietly. ‘This ring is given by each Count to his bride on the first day of their honeymoon
as a sign that she has pleased him. I wish you to wear it.’
Her face flamed. ‘No way.’
‘Then I must insist. It will make your situation here much easier if it is thought that we make each other happy. Or that you
make me happy.’ He looked at her mutinous expression and sighed. ‘Emilia, I have spared you the intimacies of marriage
to me. Its formalities, however, you will endure, and this is one of them. Do I make myself clear Now put it on.’
She acceded reluctantly, hoping that it would not fit. But the sapphire slid easily over her knuckle as if it had been made
for her alone.
‘Are there any other degrading medieval customs I should know about’ she asked haughtily.
‘If I think of any, I will tell you.’ He paused. ‘Now go back to sleep.’ He added wryly, ‘You will not be disturbed again.’
And left her.
To her own astonishment, she fell asleep within minutes and it was nearly midday when she awoke next time.
She bathed and dressed hastily, conscious all the time of the unfamiliar weight of the sapphire on her hand and its
distasteful significance. And it took nearly all the courage she possessed to present herself downstairs, knowing she would
be under scrutiny, however discreet.
Raf’s butler, a stately individual called Gaspare, was waiting for her in the hall to conduct her out on to the terrace at the
rear of the house where Raf was seated at a table under an awning.
‘Carissima.’ His voice was warm and filled with laughter as he got to his feet and came to her. Under Gaspare’s indulgent
gaze, he took the hand that wore his ring and kissed it, then bent, brushing her cheek with his lips.
It was the lightest of touches, but she flinched just the same and saw his eyes harden.
‘Another formality,’ he said softly, as he straightened. ‘Accustom yourself.’
And she’d nodded, unable to speak.
And formal was how their relationship had remained in every respect, for which she could only be grateful. True to his
word, Raf had never visited her bedroom again, or attempted to make physical demands on her in any way.
But that had been an easy promise to a girl who was too young and inexperienced to appeal to his sophisticated tastes
anyway, she reminded herself tautly. Someone he’d been saddled with, simply because he owed her dying father.
It occurred to her that, for a supposed honeymoon, there had been very little privacy, although Raf himself seemed
unaware or uncaring of the fact that they were the cynosure of all eyes.
Not that they were together that much, and she was thankful that the house and its gardens were vast enough for her to
be able to make herself scarce most of the time. After all, she had the excuse that she was exploring her new
surroundings.
But there were times when she was obliged to be in his company and she found this a strain, conscious always of his cool
politeness. At mealtimes in particular, because there were servants present, she struggled, trying to respond to his efforts
to engage her in conversation and to smile back at him as if she was really the fulfilled and loving bride of everyone’s
expectations.
Perhaps the most successful times were the days when he took her into Rome with him, showing her all the usual tourist
sights, but also allowing her a glimpse of his own city, the hidden side that the visiting swarms never saw.
But she was relieved when the supposed honeymoon ended and she was able to fly back to Britain. Although even this
had its awkward moment.
Raf had ordered champagne on the flight and, when it came, he raised his glass in a toast to her.
‘I am proud of you,mia cara ,’ he told her quietly. ‘It cannot have been easy for you.’
‘Thank you.’ Emily did not look at him. ‘It wasn’t—that bad—in the end. And your house is wonderful,’ she added
stiltedly. ‘But I’ll be glad to be home again and get back to normal life.’
He was silent for a moment. ‘Do I take it you will be in no hurry to return to Italy’ His tone was mildly curious.
‘Well, that wasn’t part of the deal, was it’ she returned defensively. ‘I thought I’d be living in England.’
‘Of course, if that is what you wish.’ He paused again. ‘Perhaps I was hoping, Emilia, that even if we are not lovers, we
might become—friends. Learn to enjoy being together. What do you think’
‘That it’s not very likely. After all, we come from totally different worlds, and you have a very busy life.’ She stared at the
bubbles rising in her glass as if they fascinated her. ‘You don’t have to be kind. Really. I’ll be fine.’
‘But there will be times when we shall be obliged to meet,’ he said curtly. ‘When I shall need you to act as my hostess. I
did explain this to you.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The formalities again.’ She paused. ‘But you don’t have to worry. I’ll do my best to carry out my duties
to your satisfaction.’
‘Grazie, mia sposa.’ His voice was ironic, almost harsh. ‘Then that is how it shall be.’
And that was how it had been, Emily told herself. At first, Raf’s visits to England had been frequent and his calls on her