by Anne Mather
‘And it was,’ commented Grace drily, and Julia gave a rueful grin.
‘Wasn’t it just?’ she agreed eagerly. ‘I saw Matt the minute I walked in.’ She smiled reminiscently. ‘It turned out that it was his cousin who owned the gallery, and he’d only agreed to come along to show some support.’
Grace nodded. ‘So how did you wangle an introduction?’
‘I didn’t.’ Julia looked smug. ‘I introduced myself. I had the ideal opportunity, you see. Signor Massina—he was the guest who gave me the tickets—asked me to offer Carlo—that’s the name of Matt’s cousin—his apologies, and I made sure that when I spoke to him Matt was there.’
‘Ah.’ Grace remembered from their college days how manipulative Julia could be when she chose. ‘And I suppose he was bowled over by your charm and beauty,’ she remarked teasingly. ‘How long did it take you to get him to ask you out?’
‘Oh, a long time.’ Julia dimpled. ‘It must have been twenty-four hours, at least. It might have been sooner if we hadn’t been staying the night with Maria’s sister. As it was, he took my phone number and called the next day.’
Grace arched a silvery brow. ‘He must have been keen.’
‘He was.’ Julia was complacent. ‘We’ve been going out together ever since.’ She put down her coffee and stretched luxuriously. ‘It’s our anniversary next week.’
Grace was surprised. ‘You’ve been going out together for a year?’
‘Six months,’ protested Julia impatiently. ‘You don’t think I’d be so happy if we’d been going out together for a year without any commitment, do you?’
Grace shrugged. ‘People do do it. Marriage isn’t always the first thing on a person’s mind these days.’
‘It is if your name’s di Falco,’ declared Julia grimly, suddenly losing her ready smile. ‘You don’t think that old harridan of a grandmother would agree to her beloved Matteo setting up house with his girlfriend, do you? Believe me, Grace, it wouldn’t happen. She doesn’t want any of her great-grandchildren to have someone else’s name.’
‘Well, I suppose she has a point.’ Grace tried to be objective. ‘But I do know couples who’ve lived together and when the children have come along the father has arranged for them to legally take his name—’
‘I’m telling you, it wouldn’t happen,’ insisted Julia doggedly. ‘Honestly, Grace, you don’t understand the situation here. Well, the situation with the di Falcos, anyway. Apart from any other objections she might have, the old lady is a staunch Roman Catholic. There’s just no way she’d countenance her great-granddaughter’s father living—“in sin”.’
Julia made quotation marks with her fingers around the last two words, and then reached rather clumsily for her coffee. It was obvious that this subject was one with which she wasn’t at all happy, but it was only when she spilled some of her coffee onto her sleeve that Grace actually absorbed what else she had said.
‘Her—great-granddaughter’s father?’ she said somewhat blankly. ‘Is this some hypothetical offspring, or what?’
‘No.’ Julia hunched her shoulders grumpily. ‘I forgot to tell you: Matt’s been married before.’
‘And he has a child?’
‘Well, she’s hardly a child,’ muttered Julia unwillingly. ‘She’s nineteen, I think. I’ve only met her once. She’s at college in Milan.’
Grace was stunned. ‘So he’s married!’
‘No, he’s a widower.’ Julia was growing increasingly irritable. ‘Do you think I’d be wasting my time if he was married to someone else?’
Grace shrugged. That point was moot. She had no wish to remind her friend that she had had a relationship with one of their married tutors in college. But she had the feeling that there was more to this relationship than Julia was telling her. Not least, how his daughter felt about her.
‘Well,’ she said now, trying to be positive, ‘that’s not a problem then. And if you and Matteo—Matt—are in love—’
‘If we are,’ said Julia, putting down her coffee again, and Grace wondered what she’d said to resurrect these doubts. ‘Okay, I know he cares about me. He wouldn’t want to go on seeing me otherwise. But as for us getting married—well, that’s a whole different ball game.’
Grace hesitated. ‘But it is what you want?’
‘Are you kidding?’ Julia blew out a breath. ‘Of course it’s what I want. But that doesn’t mean that Matt—well, it doesn’t mean that he’d be willing to fight his grandmother for the privilege.’
‘And you suspect he might have to?’
‘If this weekend was anything to go by, definitely.’ Julia snorted. ‘I think she made it blatantly clear that I’m not the woman she wants for Matt.’
Grace sighed. ‘Because she didn’t speak any English?’ She shook her head. ‘Isn’t that a tiny bit negative? Perhaps she was trying to find out how committed you are to becoming an Italian yourself.’
‘It wasn’t just the fact that she didn’t speak any English,’ insisted Julia impatiently. ‘For God’s sake, she hardly spoke to me at all. And she made sure that I was given a room about half a mile away from Matt’s apartments. The di Falco villa is huge, you see. I even had a problem finding my way back to the drawing room before dinner.’
‘Even so—’
‘Even so, nothing.’ Julia shook her head. ‘She knew very well that I’d expected to share Matt’s apartments. I don’t know what century she’s living in, but she behaved as if our relationship didn’t mean a thing.’
Grace sighed. ‘You know what old people are like—’
‘I know what she’s like,’ agreed Julia bitterly. ‘She’ll do anything she can to split us up.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Don’t I?’ Julia regarded her with accusing eyes. ‘What if I tell you that I wasn’t the only guest at the villa this weekend?’
‘Well...’
‘It was the first time I’d had the opportunity to visit Matt’s home,’ went on Julia resentfully. ‘I thought it was just going to be a family occasion, but when we arrived all these other people were there.’
‘Well,’ began Grace again, ‘perhaps she thought it would make things easier for you. Did you ask Matteo about it? Perhaps it was his idea.’
‘It wasn’t.’ Julia spoke flatly. ‘He knew nothing about it until we got there. But the real sickener was that the old lady had invited this woman, Caterina Vincenzi. A contessa, no less, and fairly obviously the woman the marchesa would like to see as the next Signora di Falco.’
‘Oh, Julia, did she honestly tell you that?’
‘She didn’t have to.’ Julia’s lips twisted. ‘There must have been more than a dozen guests at dinner yesterday evening and she was the one who was seated beside Matt. I was tucked away at the end of the table with some old uncle. God, he was disgusting! He slobbered all over his food.’
‘Julia!’
‘He did.’ Julia was indignant. But then, when Grace continued to look at her with wide, disbelieving eyes, she gave a shrug. ‘Well, he made plenty of noise,’ she said defensively. ‘You don’t know what it was like, Grace. You weren’t there.’
‘No.’
Grace conceded that point, and as if realising she was becoming far too agitated Julia took a breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered. ‘It’s not your fault that the old witch lives in the past. Anyway—’ Julia’s eyes glittersed ‘—I intend to drag her—kicking and screaming, if necessary—into the present. We’ll see who has the last laugh when I spring my surprise on her.’
Grace stared at her friend. ‘Your surprise?’ she echoed, wondering why she felt such a sense of apprehension suddenly, and Julia flung herself back against the cushions of the sofa.
‘When she finds out I’m having Matt’s baby, of course,’ she declared triumphantly. ‘She won’t be able to dismiss me so offhandedly when she discovers I’m having her precious grandson’s child.’
CHAPTER THREE
THE phone rang as Grace was goin
g out of the apartment.
She was tempted to leave it. She was fairly sure the call wouldn’t be for her, and she’d made arrangements to go to Viareggio that morning. In the last couple of days, she’d become quite familiar with the buses that ran from Portofalco to the other resorts along the coast, and instead of going to the hassle of hiring a car she’d left the driving to someone else.
But the possibility that it could be one of her sisters calling about her mother compelled her to pick up the receiver. ‘Hello,’ she said, not yet used to using the Italian ciao, and then sank down somewhat weakly onto the arm of the sofa when Matteo di Falco’s disturbing voice spoke in her ear.
‘Miss Horton.’ He paused. ‘Grace.’ Her name had an unfamiliar resonance on his tongue. ‘I was hoping I might catch you.’
‘Were you?’
Grace knew she didn’t sound particularly friendly, but since Julia had dropped her bombshell about the baby she had found it even more difficult to think of Matteo di Falco without a feeling of distaste. She didn’t know how he could allow his grandmother to treat Julia so indifferently. But then, he didn’t know that in a few short months she was going to have his child.
‘Yes.’ Clearly, he had no such reservations. ‘I am coming to Portofalco this morning and I wondered if you’d allow me to buy you lunch?’
The gall of the man!
Grace was incensed, her own opinion of his sex reinforced by his behaviour. ‘I’m afraid I have other plans, signore,’ she informed him coldly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a bus to catch.’
She would happily have put the receiver down there and then, but his sardonic, ‘A bus!’ had her fairly trembling with indignation.
‘Yes, a bus,’ she repeated crisply. ‘Or autobus, if you will. It’s a large motor vehicle with a wheel at each corner that delivers its passengers to various points along the coast!’
The breath he sucked in was plainly audible. ‘Yes, I know what an autobus is,’ he declared tautly, and Grace had the uneasy feeling that Julia was unlikely to approve of her insolence. ‘In that case, please do not let me detain you any longer.’
‘I won’t,’ muttered Grace resentfully, but it was under her breath, and by the time she had thought of a suitable rejoinder the line had gone dead.
He’d hung up on her, she realised, slamming down her own receiver with some force, but although she stood there for several more seconds, justifying what she’d said to herself, she couldn’t deny a certain feeling of remorse at her behaviour. After all, as she’d told herself before, Julia’s affairs were nothing to do with her, and she doubted her friend would have defended her with such enthusiasm if their positions had been reversed.
Still, it was too late now to be having second thoughts, and she could only hope that he wouldn’t complain about her ignorance to Julia. It would be hard to explain why she felt so strongly about it. It wasn’t as if she and Julia were that close.
Taking a deep breath, she slipped on her sunglasses, collected the bag and hat she’d bought in Livorno the day before, and left the apartment. She was determined not to let what had happened spoil her day, and she made a special point of smiling at the unctuous old caretaker just to prove to herself that she could be as sociable as anyone else.
The bus to Viareggio was waiting near the ferry terminal and Grace handed over her carta arancio, or orange seven-day pass, to be stamped as she climbed aboard. She’d learned that these bus tickets were sold in advance, and she felt a sense of pride at the speed with which she’d adapted to the arrangements. It was true that many of the people who were already on the bus looked like tourists, but there were locals, too, and she had learned to accept their curiosity about her travelling alone without embarrassment. What was new, after all? she reflected wryly. It was her choice, and she was stuck with it.
But, once again, as the bus set away up the winding road that led out of Portofalco, Grace found her thoughts returning to the conversation she had had with Julia just a couple of nights ago. She still found it hard to accept that her friend had been reckless enough to get herself pregnant in the first place, let alone that she believed it would result in Matteo di Falco’s asking her to marry him. Somehow Grace doubted that anyone could force the man she knew to do anything he didn’t wish to, and she was very much afraid that Julia had placed too much store in the Italians’ love of family.
Of course, she could be wrong. But why then had Julia stated that she intended to wait until there was no chance of her having an abortion before confessing what had happened to the man she loved? If she loved him. Given his Italian heritage, surely he’d never agree to it anyway. It was a gamble, and Grace hoped her friend would not be too devastated if things didn’t work out the way she’d planned.
Yet Grace’s doubts persisted, doubts which had not been dispelled by the phone call she had received this morning. Had Julia known he intended to contact her? Had it been done with her approval and support? Or, as Grace suspected, had it been all Matteo di Falco’s idea? The man was a perfect jerk, she thought irritably. He obviously hadn’t believed that she might turn him down.
She was getting edgy, and that annoyed her even more. She hadn’t come to Italy to get involved in Julia’s love life, and she forced herself to look out of the window and concentrate on the view. They were high above the ocean now, with a fantastic vista of sea and cliffs stretching away into the distance on either side. Closer to, the scent of myrtle and wild thyme drifted in through the open windows. If the bus had air-conditioning, the driver didn’t use it, and Grace decided that she preferred the warm breeze that fanned her face.
Despite its uncertain beginnings, she enjoyed her visit to Viareggio. Unlike Portofalco, it was famous for its beautiful sandy beach, and she walked along the promenade to the pier, before taking refuge from the sun in the palm-shaded Piazza d’Azeglio. Lunch was a spinach and egg-filled pasta to die for, and by the time she boarded the bus back she felt it had been a day well spent.
It wasn’t late when the bus deposited her at the terminal. But it had been a fairly strenuous day, and she was unwillingly aware that she was feeling the effects of doing too much, too soon. She wasn’t used to the heat, or to so much activity, and the next day she intended to take her own advice and do nothing at all.
Deciding she needed a drink before tackling the walk up to the villa, she entered the nearby gelateria and ordered an ice-cream soda. Italian ice cream was so delicious, as she’d discovered the previous day, and served with fresh lemonade it made a really delightful drink.
She took a table in the window instead of sitting outside, glad of the comparative coolness out of the sun. Happily the spreading awning protected the window, and she set her drink down in front of her and sucked greedily at the straw.
And that was when she saw him. He was sitting behind the wheel of a sleek, dark green convertible that was parked across the narrow street, and if it hadn’t been so incredible she’d have said he was staring straight at her.
But he couldn’t be.
Nevertheless, Grace’s eyes went wide with a mixture of confusion and dismay, and she drew back abruptly so that the straw left her mouth. But her lips were still parted, her pink tongue unknowingly provocative as it explored the corners of her mouth. Oh, God, she thought weakly, what was he doing here?
She wished she’d taken any table but this one now. She felt so exposed; so obvious. But the idea of getting up and moving back into the shadows on the off chance that he might have seen her was ludicrous. He didn’t intimidate her. Or, if he did, he must never become aware of it
Dumping her tote bag on the chair beside her, she determinedly clamped both hands about her glass and resumed drinking. The coldness of the drink was invigorating, the chilled condensation on the glass a boon to her moist palms. He’d go away soon, she told herself, deliberately not looking in his direction. He’d said he was coming to Portofalco, and he had. Her seeing him now was just a coincidence. She was tired, that was all. That was
why she felt so threatened by his presence.
But he didn’t go away. She drank as much of the lemonade as she could before glancing in his direction again, but he was still there. She thought of ordering another soda, but it would have looked odd when there was still some left in the glass she had. She had no choice but to leave the ice-cream parlour. She just wished for once that she could fade into the crowd.
She had crossed the street and started up the steep slope of the Via Cortese when she heard the car behind her. She knew it was his car. The engine was purring gently at the moment, but there was still an underlying deep-throated roar that spoke of the power that was presently being controlled. Much like the man himself, thought Grace, with a reluctant twinge of irony. She doubted he’d appreciated being put down by a foreigner.
She wished she could quicken her step, but apart from anything else the incline didn’t encourage reckless gestures like that. Particularly not in her present condition. Besides, however fast she walked, he could always overtake her. So, instead of pretending she hadn’t noticed him, she chose a place that was practically smothered with scarlet bougainvillaea, and leaned back against the wall to wait for him.
At least she’d surprised him, she thought as he brought the powerful car to a halt a few yards down from where she was standing. But that didn’t prevent an instinctive tightening in her stomach when he opened his door and got out, or suppress the quiver of apprehension she felt as he climbed the hill towards her.
It annoyed her that she should feel any kind of reaction towards him. He was just another man, after all, and she was usually perfectly capable of dealing with them. But, despite the harshness of his dark features, he was undeniably sexy, and, although his black jeans and matching tee shirt were quite ordinary, on his lean, muscled body they acquired a sensual appeal.