The Echoes of Love

by Hannah Fielding

  ‘Yes. Was it you or Antonio?’ He cut straight to the point.

  ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Paolo.’

  If he was unsure before, Paolo now knew the truth. Just by looking at her he could tell that she knew exactly what had happened, and a fierce mixture of all the anger, disappointment and guilt that he’d been feeling towards her surged through him. He stood in front of her, his hands behind his back, struggling to keep his composure.

  ‘What you did was unforgivable, Allegra. An act of pure malice that I would never have thought you capable of! Now I know better, and I cannot forgive you for that.’

  The young woman watched him through her thick, black lashes for a moment, seemingly unfazed by his outburst, but didn’t answer.

  Paolo glowered at her and gritted his teeth. ‘The dress, Allegra – Venetia’s dress! You got Antonio to set his hound on it, didn’t you? Thought you’d try and scare off your “rival”, no?’

  ‘Fine, the dress, Paolo! Yes, I might have asked Zio Antonio to help me make you see sense. It just isn’t fair that you spend so much time with that woman. What can she give you that I can’t?’ She pouted and shifted sulkily in her chair.

  Paolo blinked, incredulous. ‘So you thought breaking into the cottage and getting Rufus to savage her clothes was the solution? What if she had been there? She would have been terrified!’

  ‘So what? Perhaps being a little scared would have made her reconsider her stay here and she would have run off back to Venice, where she belongs.’

  He paused, trying to rein in his temper and his voice was dangerously low. ‘She belongs here with me, Allegra, and I cannot give you what you want from me. You’ll just have to accept this is the way things are.’

  The raven-haired girl suddenly jumped out of her chair and rounded on him, her eyes now wild.

  ‘I will never accept that Englishwoman as long as I breathe!’

  His brow furrowed. ‘Dio mio! Stop acting like a child, Allegra.’

  ‘I’m not a child. I’m a woman and the sooner you see that, the better,’ she hissed acidly. ‘This Englishwoman cannot give you the kind of love you need. She doesn’t know you – I do!’

  Paolo’s eyes frosted and his stare was unwavering. ‘This is the first time I have found real love with a woman and I mean to marry Venetia.’

  Stunned, the young woman took a step back from him. He could see in her eyes the realisation that she was finally defeated.

  ‘Yes, Allegra, it’s true. I have never met a woman that I cared about enough to replace my wife. Now I have. And I will not have you jeopardise that through your misguided, adolescent feelings for me. I care about you, but not in the way you want. I’ve never given you any cause to think that I have.’ His voice softened a little. ‘I’m sorry, cara.’

  She gazed blankly back at him and seemed to gather her wits before her features contorted with frustrated rage. ‘Then she will know what it is like to yearn for a man and never have him! I have learned things that will teach her the meaning of despair,’ she spat, her hands clenched at her sides while her breathing came thick and fast.

  Paolo blanched, but ice-blue anger flashed in his eyes. ‘Leave her alone. I mean it, Allegra. If anything happens to Venetia, I’ll hold you personally responsible and you will never see me again.’ His voice was low and restrained but with an under-current of something more menacing.

  Allegra stared at him, fear and longing sparking in her dark eyes. Paolo knew at that moment that he still held a power over her. She took a step forward, desperation now in her gaze, but for him she had passed the point of no return.

  Paolo turned and faced the tall picture window, flicking his Zippo lighter open. He dragged on his cigarette then blew out the flame, his eyes empty, scanning the vista of cliffs, forests and the rolling Tyrrhenian Sea stretching away from the house.

  ‘As it is, I want you gone from Miraggio. You leave me no choice. I am buying a small house for you in Porto Ercole, where you should be comfortable. If you agree to take up your studies again and make something of yourself, you will also receive a regular allowance from me, enough to see you through to a career of your choice.’

  Allegra scoffed. ‘Studies? I know all I need to know! I have plans of my own,’ she whispered, the proud emotion trembling in her voice. Paolo turned and saw the dark rebellion in her face. Resigned, he waved a hand vaguely in the air.

  ‘As you like, Allegra – the offer will always be there.’

  Allegra turned on her heels and stalked towards the door. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she muttered, ‘You can keep your Englishwoman, I don’t need you any more, Paolo.’

  He looked at her, a mixture of sadness and relief washing through him, but he said nothing. They exchanged one last look and she was gone.

  Paolo sighed. Perhaps Allegra would cool down, change her ways, and they could re-establish some kind of relationship. He was still fond of her and wanted to see her rise above the wretched misery of her childhood and learn how to be happy. The house he had spotted in Porto Ercole would provide a good life for her and for her uncle. She would still be close enough for him to visit from time to time, but also far enough to be out of Venetia’s way and not cause any trouble.

  He looked out into the sky as it clouded over and narrowed his eyes, turning his lighter over in his fingers.

  ‘So many complications,’ he murmured.

  Chapter 10

  Venetia and Paolo left early the next morning for Pisa to catch a plane to Alghero in Northern Sardinia. The sun was brass-bright and high when they got off the plane at Alghero’s Fertilia Airport, and Venetia was glad that she could peel down to her loose cotton sleeveless blouse and mini-skirt. The island, with its distant serrated mountain peaks, seemed to shine with borrowed gold in the sharp glare, like stairs leading into a huge blue-domed basilica of sky overhead. Venetia was dazzled by the vibrating landscape. She inhaled deeply the intoxicating rich, dry odours of summer herbs, and was suddenly overcome by one of those wild surges of happiness that had eluded her since those far-off years when she had basked in Judd’s love. She shivered a little despite the heat and slipped her hand into Paolo’s as they crossed the tarmac.

  On arrival at the car hire company in the airport, Paolo picked up a Ferrari 550, the same model as the one he had left behind at Galileo Galilei, Pisa.

  Venetia arched an enquiring eyebrow as he held the door open for her. ‘Same car, why is that?’

  ‘I’m a man of habit,’ he replied, his eyes gleaming as she slid past him closely and into the front seat. ‘If you know something works, why go looking elsewhere?’

  How very logical and disciplined, she thought, as he closed the door and came round to the driver’s side. He started the engine and let a Ford Mustang pull out slowly in front of them on its way to the exit. How odd to see an American car, she thought absentmindedly. As he turned on to the main road towards Sassari, Paolo glanced at her with a questioning look.

  ‘Happy, cara?’

  ‘Oh yes, Paolo,’ she whispered, and beamed at him. She was happy, she realised. She hadn’t felt like this for so long. He grinned back at her, squeezing her knee, and Venetia watched him so relaxed behind the wheel, the sleeves of his crisp, white shirt rolled up to reveal his muscular, tanned forearms.

  At first she had only seen in Paolo a human being weighed down with problems, and her heart had gone out to him; true, along with the sympathy, she had felt a certain amount of curiosity, and then of course there had always been the undeniable chemistry between them and the uncanny, singular impression that she had known him all her life.

  Still, on top of all these visceral attractions, the more she got to know Paolo, the more Venetia respected him, although from time to time he gave the impression of being overwhelmed by melancholy in a way that made her wonder if there were still unanswered questions about this ma
n beside her. He seemed to have so many intriguing layers to him, not least his courageous acceptance of the amnesia and his philosophical matter-of-fact approach in dealing with it. She admired him for that. She was also surprised at the simple way he had clarified the ambiguous situation between him and Allegra, the manner in which he’d spoken about his dead wife, and how he had justified his notorious reputation.

  But, as ever, her mind was invaded by creeping doubts. Had he manipulated her into thinking his explanations were all acceptable and natural? Could she trust him? Was it possible he could deliberately blind himself to Allegra’s seductive behaviour just because of the difference in their ages? Perhaps Venetia was being naive in believing him just because she knew her emotional involvement with Paolo was already too far gone.

  One thing was for sure, Paolo had now been more forth-coming than she herself had been about her own past. Venetia had told him nothing of her involvement with Judd or the tragic loss of her baby. He knew before they had made love that she was not a virgin; still, he had tactfully made sure she really wanted to give herself to him before taking entire possession of her body, and then had asked no questions. And now, as Venetia sat quietly next to him, her hands in her lap, looking at his strong profile etched in sharp outline against the open window, she felt a pang of guilt. It wasn’t right that she should know so much about him, and yet Paolo be kept in the dark concerning a part of her life that had left her so deeply scarred, and had shaped a substantial portion of her psyche.

  They rolled along in silence, almost overpowered by the weight of nature around them – for now, to either side, the majesty of this mountainous island began to impress itself: on one side towering black humps racing far into the sea, while on the other the near slopes of the macchia rose up, small hills so thickly covered with aromatic scrub that the high-ridged hilltops looked smooth and furry like convulsed green baize against the blue sky.

  ‘The air smells delicious,’ Venetia noted as wafts of sweet fragrance floated through the window from the many odorous plants that carpeted the countryside.

  ‘Apparently, more than two thousand, five hundred species of wild flowering shrubs grow on the Isle of Sardinia. In ancient times, oarsmen of boats knew this island from a distance because of the perfume that drifted far out over the sea.’

  Venetia smiled fondly at Paolo’s love of encyclopaedic pronouncements. Thinking about the stunning gardens at Miraggio, she wondered at his obvious love of horticulture and how at odds this was with the tough physicality of the man himself.

  ‘I’ve never asked you about your rose garden.’ Something that Ernestina had said came back to her. ‘Why do you never let anyone else tend it?’

  ‘Ever since I woke up in that hospital bed, battered, with no memory, I’ve regarded myself as an abomination, an abhorrent creature.’

  ‘Oh no, but Paolo…’

  He lifted his hand and smiled ruefully. ‘Let me explain, cara… I value my peace and my privacy now, to be left alone with my thoughts. The rose garden is my sanctuary. And there I can indulge the fanciful side of my mind perhaps. You know that fairytale, “Beauty and the Beast”? Well, like the Beast I guarded my roses jealously, maybe in the hope that one day a beautiful and kind-hearted lady would enter my garden, close her eyes to my defects and release me from my pain.’ He glanced at her, reaching across with one hand and stroking Venetia’s cheek with the back of his fingers, a tender gesture that she was beginning to recognise. ‘You are my rose now, my beautiful and compassionate Venetia. The Beast feels a man again – I just hope I’ll be worthy of your love.’

  ‘Paolo, you’re the most worthy man I’ve ever met,’ she whispered and they needed no words in the silence that fell between them for a moment. Venetia gazed out of the window at the epic landscape with its evergreen hills and dwindling trees that seemed so timeless in its beauty.

  ‘It’s amazing countryside, so wild and yet so vibrant in colour and in texture… and so varied,’ she breathed.

  ‘Legend has it that after God created all the dry land and seas, he created rocks, which he then casually cast into the sea and trod upon. From his footprint sprung an island, a little continent unto itself containing every conceivable type of landscape. Then, to make it perfect, he took all the best of what he had already created elsewhere and dispersed it across the surface of what is today called Sardinia.’

  She laughed out loud, delighted at the picture. ‘Have I ever told you that you’re a tremendous raconteur, Paolo? How do you remember all these legends?’

  Paolo grinned and shrugged. ‘My memory is not clogged up with useless material, and I make sure I store in it only things that interest me, that are pleasant and that I like.’

  ‘That’s remarkably philosophical.’ She studied his profile. ‘I was only thinking a moment ago how I admire the way you deal with your loss of memory.’

  ‘What else am I to do, cara? Of course, every breath I draw can be a reminder of the loss I’ve suffered, but time has a way of robbing the grim satisfaction from making one’s life miserable. It has a way of obliterating pain, and you get used to what life has dealt you and learn to accept and make the most of it… Not so?’ Paolo slanted her a look.

  That was his overture, his gentle invitation for Venetia to open up to him. She tried to avert her eyes, hoping to avoid answering him and get off the subject he had skilfully manoeuvred them on to.

  ‘You still don’t trust me, cara?’

  ‘It has nothing to do with trust.’ Venetia’s tone was clipped, her expression harried.

  Paolo said nothing for a while and then his eyes darkened.

  ‘This man Judd, you still love him?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she was quick to answer. Paolo was silent again and Venetia glanced at him. She let out a long breath. The time had clearly come; she could no longer avoid telling him everything.

  ‘I was very young,’ she began in a low voice. ‘He was my first love and my parents didn’t approve of our relationship. Even though I was forbidden to see him, we continued to meet and I got pregnant. He was away when I found out. I wrote to him and told him I was going to have his child, but he never answered and I never heard from him again. Such an ordinary story,’ she ended ruefully.

  Paolo raised his eyebrows, but made no comment, his gaze fastened intently on the road in front of him. Venetia couldn’t tell what he was thinking and her eyes clouded with uncertainty.

  ‘I don’t love him any more, if that’s what you’re wondering,’ she said, her voice breaking with anguish.

  He seemed not to have heard her. A muscle pulled in the side of his jaw and his mouth was set in such a grim line that for one quivering moment she thought he might change his mind about her. ‘So you have a child, Venetia?’

  ‘No… no! I had a bad fall at the beginning of my pregnancy, which resulted in my losing the baby.’

  Numerous emotions seemed to cross his face and he blinked slowly.

  ‘You’ve had your share of loss, cara. Perhaps that’s why you seem to be so attuned to mine. I have always felt we are kindred spirits and now I know why: we’ve both been touched by tragedy, but we’re survivors. And happily we have found each other.’

  ‘I thought I’d never love again, that I’d never trust a man enough to…’

  ‘To give yourself with the passion you showed me yesterday?’ Though he was still watching the road, Paolo’s voice was low and husky.

  Venetia nodded, her body flooding suddenly with yearning, a longing for the feel of him at the centre of her being, for possessing and being possessed by this man whom she had known only a couple of months. Desire bloomed wildly inside her.

  She could feel Paolo sense her change of mood, and could almost taste the same need in him to seize this moment, as the atmosphere charged instantly between them. Without even glancing in the mirror, he quickly pulled over to the side of the road and tur
ned off the engine.

  ‘I want you, amore mio – now,’ he murmured, leaning across, his eyes devouring her. He drew in a sharp breath and lifted her hand to his lips, pressing fervent little kisses across her palm, making Venetia shiver, robbing her of every thought. Then before she could catch her breath, Paolo was out of the car and holding her door open.

  ‘We’ll stop here for a while.’

  It sounded more like a command than a suggestion, but she didn’t care which it was.

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured. Oh yes, she couldn’t wait! Her mouth went dry. She wanted him now, to kiss him, caress him, love him… to make him feel as precious to her as he had shown she was to him.

  His eyes were scorching as, holding her hand, he gently but firmly pulled her along next to him, up the rocky path from the roadside.

  How quiet everything was. No forest murmur here, no longer any trees to move in those slight breezes that fanned the two shores; only sometimes the silent glint of a bird skimming the low branches, or curving up suddenly like a feather kicked on the hot air. Hand in hand, they climbed one of the low hills, and though steep and tiring, the climb was a joy: a sense of great freedom among such wind-washed luxuriance in the warm spring sun, and one of anticipation as the ache low in Venetia’s abdomen increased by the second.

  Finally they reached the hilltop where the moss-green ground was soft and even, with nothing around them but emptiness and the great sky, blue and wide. At last Paolo, more alive than ever, drew her into his arms and with expert deftness released himself of his clothes as Venetia stood before him, mesmerised.

  She ran her tongue over her dry bottom lip and Paolo’s gaze flicked over her scantily clad figure. His eyes gleamed, filled with desire.

  ‘Dio mio, I want you now… right here.’

  Paolo’s hands went to her hair and he tugged at it so that her head tilted back, exposing her smooth neck to his mouth. Breathing fast against her skin, he lifted her mini-skirt and hooking his thumbs in her panties, peeled them off and swept her up to him. He ran his palms over the quivering curves of her hips and parted her thighs to let his long, deft fingers trace the infinitely more sensitive and intimate place below the soft chestnut triangle of curls. Venetia let herself drift into the sensuality of his closeness and his touch. She could hear herself moaning and then whimpering his name as she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and her arms about his neck, clinging to him, desperately wanting to feel him inside her; but he did not enter her, instead brushing the velvet tip of his male hardness lightly against the moist softness of her femininity.