by Annie Seaton
“It certainly is a beautiful morning,” Tom said. Despite agreeing with her, his voice was clipped, and she sensed he was still cross with her. They stood together for a moment watching the boats whiz across the bay before he turned toward the road without speaking again.
“I love the island already.” Brianna followed Tom out through the gate. “Everyone is so friendly. I chatted to at least half a dozen people as I waited,” she said with a smile. “Well, I talked to them anyway. I didn’t understand a word they said, but they were all very friendly.” She held up her guidebook. “I’m learning phrases.”
Tom walked along beside her quietly as they climbed the hill to the main part of the small town, and she tried to keep a conversation going. That was, if one-sided prattle with monosyllabic replies could be called conversation. If he was cross with her, he could go to hell and she would cope. No one was going to spoil the day she found out about her mother. Something would happen. Trust in the universe.
“How is your aunt?”
“Well.” He surprised her with not only an answer, but it was accompanied with a smile. “Aunt Carmen is a smaller version of my mother, but just as vivacious.”
“I love that word,” Brianna said. “Do you know the Italian for it?”
Tom glanced across at her, but she couldn’t read his expression in the shadows of the shaded street.
“Very close to the English. Vivace.”
“Vivace.” The word rolled off her tongue, and she tried to stop her Scottish burr. “I’m picking up the language.” When he didn’t reply, she glanced back at him. “Even though she is vivace, is everything else okay? You looked like the weight of the world was on your shoulders as you came in the gate. Or is it because you are still cross with me?” She needed to clear the air before they got to the lawyer’s office. After all, they were playing the role of an engaged couple in love.
He stopped and answered her with a sort of humph.
“And no, I’m not psychoanalyzing you,” she said. “You have to get over that. I’ve been good at picking up people’s feelings since I was a child, and all my friends used to spill their souls to me. That’s one of the reasons I went into psychology.”
She grabbed his arm and pulled him closer to her.
“I’m not cross at you,” he said.
“Well now, if you’re not cross with me, at least be up-front with me. I can tell there is something bugging you. Have you changed your mind about coming with me? Are you worried about me taking advantage of you? Are you scared you’re going to appear in my book?” She stared up at him. “But for goodness’ sake talk to me. Get it over with and then I can sort something else out.”
God, how on earth would she really cope without any knowledge of Italian? She’d had enough trouble with the secretary on the phone. She’d rushed to get here and she hadn’t even thought to buy a phrase book, and her trusty guidebook only had the most basic phrases in it. Then she saw the funny side of it and giggled…at least she could say hello and good-bye and “where’s the toilet?”
“No, I made a commitment to you,” Tom said and she smothered a smile. They were a fine pair. She couldn’t speak Italian and his language was so formal.
“I’m coming with you, and no, I’m not worried that you will take advantage of me.” He started walking up the hill and looked back at her over his shoulder. “And I hadn’t even given any thought to appearing in your book. I’m certainly not interesting enough to appear in a psychology book.”
But his formal language might come in very handy in the lawyer’s office, she thought.
“I’m thinking about how we’ll handle it. I’m sorry if I don’t indulge in mindless chatter just for the sake of having a conversation.”
The comment wiped away the grin that had been pulling at her mouth, and turned it into a cough.
Mindless chatter, indeed. Well, she could play intellectual, no-conversation games, too.
If only she didn’t find him so damned attractive it would be a lot easier. Every time he stood close to her, she got a whiff of his citrusy aftershave, and a sharp insistent tug of desire shot through her.
“Aunt Carmen had prepared a room for me and wants me to move in, but her place is no bigger than a shoe box. She had to move some furniture to pull out the bed for me last night.” He laughed and rubbed his back. “My feet hung over the end of the bed all night. As soon as we see your lawyer, I have to get back to the marina. My aunt is leaving for the mainland. I’d like you to come too, as she wants to meet my fiancée.”
Brianna stopped and Tom turned around and looked at her with exasperation.
“Jeez, you told somebody we were engaged?” she said. “It would be best if we keep it as quiet as possible.”
“Yes, but it’s a two-way street. It suits me well to have a fiancée too.”
Relief coursed through Brianna. If he needed her as much as she needed him, there was a better chance of it all working out. She walked around in front of him and stood on her tiptoes. Ever since he’d come through the gate, she’d been watching his mouth when he spoke. Now she gave in to the impulsive urge that had been tugging at her and reached up and kissed him.
“Happy engagement.”
Ignoring the warmth that filled her as she touched his lips, she pulled back and smiled at him before taking his hand. “Come on then, we’ll get my legal stuff over and sorted and then we’ll ask around in town and see if we can find you somewhere to live on the way back to your aunt’s.” She squeezed his hand. “I was so worried you’d changed your mind about coming with me.”
“I don’t go back on my word. You can trust me.”
Brianna wiped her forearm across her forehead. When they stepped into the town square from the cool shade of the buildings in the backstreets, the midmorning sun was beating down. She reached up with one finger and wiped a line of perspiration from Tom’s top lip.
“I thought an Aussie boy would be used to the heat.”
“I live in the highlands. Cold winters and temperate summers.”
She reached into her bag and then dabbed at her face with a tissue. “We’re a fine pair. You know what they say about mad dogs and Englishmen. Make it a Scotswoman!”
“Which way?” Tom asked. Old brick buildings lined the footpath around the edge of the square.
Brianna swallowed nervously and looked around. “Umm… I’m not quite sure.” She pointed across the square. “Maybe that way?”
Tom looked back at her with a quizzical smile. “What’s the address?”
“I don’t actually know.”
He turned with his hands on his hips. “You don’t know? You’ve traveled across the world and you don’t know where you’re going?”
Despite his body language indicating otherwise, his voice was patient and it really annoyed her. “Of course I do. I know the name of the firm. It’s Antoniolli and Bruni. I just don’t have the address.”
“Wasn’t it on the letter they sent you?”
“Yes, Mr. Twenty Questions. It was…but I…ah…I haven’t got it with me.” Irritation burned in her stomach when Tom looked at her, disbelief written all over his face.
“Well, we’ll have to go back and get it.” He grabbed her shoulders and turned her back toward her hotel, and looked at her with those sexy lips set in a straight line when she didn’t start walking.
“Hurry up or we’ll be late,” he said patiently.
“No, we won’t. I don’t have an appointment either, remember.” Sarcasm laced her voice while she tried to forget about how his lips had felt on hers. “And I suppose you’re never late for anything, are you? I’d take bets on that.”
“Look, do you want me to help you with this or not? I can quite easily spend my time finding an apartment. I’m happy to help, but I can’t unless we actually get there.”
“I’m sorry. Look, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just you are so bloody perfect. I know where to go, we simply have to ask someone where it is because I…lost the
letter.” Her face heated when the realization dawned on his face.
“Lost it? Where?”
“It’s in Sydney. It’s a long story.” She looked around and noticed a small store across the street. “It’s not a problem. I’ll sort it out.”
Leaving him standing on the footpath, Brianna stepped into the grocery store and smiled at the short, stout woman behind the counter. Garlands of flowers hung in profusion along each side of the counter, and strands of garlic bulbs were threaded along the front of the counter. Jars of plump olives in all sorts of different-colored marinades tempted her. A huge tub full of the biggest avocados she had ever seen stood by the counter. For a moment she stood and inhaled the mixture of aromas, and then Tom’s shadow filled the doorway and she scurried over to the counter.
“Ah…er…excuse me…er…scusi.” She was determined to show him she could do this without his help. The woman smiled at her. “Er…I need to find…Mr. Antoniollo…and er…Signore Bruni?
The woman tilted her head to the side “Quale?”
“Ah…Signore Antoniolli…the lawyer?”
The woman shrugged her shoulders and lifted both hands, palms turned upward in that expressive Mediterranean way. Tom stepped up behind her and placed his hand gently on her bare shoulder. Her skin burned under his hand as the nerve endings fired. He spoke in rapid Italian to the little lady, and Brianna looked at him in confusion when he said avocado.
What the hell was he doing?
She stepped away from his hand. The woman laughed and replied “Ah…avocatto.”
She stepped around the counter and took Tom by the hand, leading him across to the door before she pointed up the hill and appeared to give him directions with much waving of her free arm.
“Grazie.” Tom reached into his pocket and slipped some money into the woman’s hand before turning to Brianna.
“Come on, Signores Antoniolli and Bruni are up the hill and around the corner.” His eyes crinkled at the edges. “And, Brianna, we may even be early for your non-appointment. They don’t open until eleven o’clock.”
The foyer of the law firm was a tiny room closed in with dark timber lining. A secretary sat at a small desk typing on an old-fashioned typewriter. Her fingers clattered on the keys and the bell rang when she pressed the carriage return with a flourish as she reached the end of a line. Brianna was fascinated to think that in this day and age they would have an old manual typewriter. And the old telephone handset on the desk was an old-fashioned one, with the numbers in a circular dial on the front.
Tom placed his hand on her back and the warmth shooting up her spine took her thoughts away from typewriters and telephones.
“Would you like me to handle this?” he asked.
She didn’t need the warmth of his hand through the thin material of her spaghetti-strap shirt. Her shoulder was still tingling from when he placed his hand on her bare skin in the shop where she thought he’d had too much sun and was buying avocados. She’d soon realized what was happening. Avocatto meant lawyer.
Vivace and avocatto. She was picking up the language quickly. At this rate, she’d be fluent by the end of the week and wouldn’t need Tom to translate.
“Thank you.” She didn’t want to appear rude. After all, he was helping her, and she would certainly find this much more difficult if she hadn’t had the good fortune to meet him on the plane. Maybe he wasn’t such a stuffed shirt after all. There was something to be said for being organized and planning ahead. He’d made her morning a lot easier. If it wasn’t for him, she’d still be wandering around trying to find the blasted law firm. Reaching up, she took his hand and squeezed it gently.
His fingers gripped hers and those sexy, crinkly lines appeared around his eyes.
“My pleasure. We’ll get you organized in no time.”
She laughed softly before she replied. “Don’t hold your breath. My family has been trying to do that for thirty years.” She tilted her head to the side. “They don’t call me Brianna. They call me lightning.”
Before he could reply, the office door opened and a small man with white hair and a deeply lined face reached out and grabbed Tom’s hand and shook it vigorously.
“Signore Ballantyne, benvenuto…benvenuto.” He peered over the top of his little round glasses at Brianna and smiled at her. “Signora Ballantyne?”
He nodded his head and he kept smiling as he pumped Tom’s hand. Tom began to speak, and the old lawyer raised his hand and stopped him.
“Un momento.”
He turned to the secretary and pointed to the telephone. “Signore Caranto,” he said before ushering them ahead of him into his office.
A small lamp on the side of the desk shone onto the huge timber desk and provided the only light in the dim office. The heavy dark drapes were drawn, blocking out the morning sunshine. Brianna wrinkled her nose. The smell of mold was overpowering, and she blinked her eyes trying to ignore the claustrophobia that crept over her. The elderly lawyer ushered them to seats in front of the desk, and Tom waited until she was seated before taking the chair beside her.
Tom and the lawyer chatted for some minutes, and Brianna gave up trying to follow the gist of the fast-paced conversation, but it all seemed very social. There was a tap on the door and the secretary appeared with a tray of coffee. All was quiet as she poured coffee for them.
Tom glanced across at her and when she returned his gaze, Brianna caught sight of another elderly man who must have followed the secretary into the room. He sat silently across the room in a chair in the dark corner. She nudged Tom and a look of surprise crossed his face as he also realized there was a fourth person in the room
Probably Mr….no, start thinking Italian, she corrected herself.
Probably Signore Bruni.
Signore Antoniolli paid no attention to the other lawyer and did not introduce him. He stood and crossed the room to a huge wooden filing cabinet and pulled out a sheaf of paper tied with string before launching into a lengthy conversation with Tom.
Tom participated in the discussion, intense concentration etched on his face. He seemed to be doing a lot of frowning, and the smile crinkles she loved looking at were replaced by deep lines on his forehead. Occasionally, he put up his hand to pause Signore Antoniolli, pointed to Brianna, and asked a question of the lawyer.
She looked from one to the other and then placed her hand on Tom’s arm. She wanted to know what was being said. Tom shook his head and the elderly lawyer frowned at her. A flash of white caught her eye and she looked across to the corner as the other lawyer wiped a tear from his eye. Absorbed in watching the old man wipe his eyes, she jumped when Tom reached out and placed his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him.
He leaned down and placed his lips against hers before she could move. “What the f—” she whispered against his lips.
“Just follow my lead,” he murmured into her mouth.
“Kissing men, crying lawyers. This is bizarre,” she muttered and Tom frowned at her.
She sat straight in her chair and flicked her braid over her shoulder. She concentrated and tried to follow the conversation. Signore Antoniolli directed a comment to the man in the corner, and he gave a cry of distress and jumped out of his chair, launching himself at her. He leaned over and hugged her tightly from behind, his papery skin rubbing against her cheek before he stood and wiped his eyes once again.
“Più tardi,” he said as he walked to the door and left, shutting it behind him.
Brianna turned to Tom, absolutely bewildered. “What the hell was that all about? Translate, please.”
“Later.”
“No, now,” she said in a furious whisper. “Tell me now.”
Tom looked at her patiently. “It means later. Più tardi means later.”
“Oh,” she replied sheepishly. “Thank you.”
The conversation continued around her and the lawyer slid some papers over for her to sign. She choked back a laugh when he passed her a fountain pen and
gestured to the inkwell. She looked up at Tom and he nodded.
“It’s an acceptance of the deeds to the house and the conditions of the inheritance. You dip the nib in the ink,” Tom said when she looked blankly at the old-fashioned pen.
“I know.” She clenched her jaw. “What am I signing? Shouldn’t I know first? Do I have to do it right now?”
“It’s an acceptance of the deeds of your mother’s house. It’s called la Casa Bianca…the White House. The conditions are straightforward, but you need to sign them today.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “You’ve just made it by the skin of your teeth, Brianna. If you’d been one day later, the time for you to claim your inheritance would have run out and you would have had a huge legal battle on your hands.”
“Oh,” she said in a small voice. Tears filled her eyes and her chest tightened as emotion welled through her. Her hands shook as she dipped the pen in the inkwell.
My mother. My real mother. Rosa’s house.
She fought to stop her chin from quivering as she signed the paper with shaking hands. She’d had no idea it could be sorted so quickly. The lawyer smiled hugely when she pushed the papers across the desk to him. He went to a cupboard and pulled out a heavy brass key and handed it to Tom. Brianna’s throat tightened and she swallowed. Her chest was heavy, and this stuffy room was closing in on her.
I have to get outside.
“Congratulazioni.” Signore Antoniolli shook Tom’s hand and then hers, before he ushered them through the door. “Fino a domani.”
Brianna quickly walked out and Tom followed. The midday sunshine was bright and she covered her eyes, blinking back tears.
“Are you all right?”
“No,” she said taking deep gulps of the welcome fresh air. “I’m starting to realize this is all true. It was an adventure when I got that letter and now”—she reached across and took the old key from Tom—“I am holding the key to my mother’s house.”
She burst into tears, unable to hold the emotion back any longer.
…
Tom looked down at Brianna as she sobbed and grasped the large key to her chest. He stepped over and put his arms around her and patted her awkwardly on the back. The loose hair that constantly unwound from her braid tickled his nose, and the softness of her breasts pressed into his chest. He had been privy to Brianna’s emotions since she had first squeezed past him on the plane. She was open and honest, and didn’t seem to hold back no matter how she was feeling.