Husband By Necessity

by Lucy Gordon

  ‘I know. I’ve never seen anything so enchanting.’

  ‘Angie-’ He moved his lips towards hers, and she waited, her heart beating.

  The scream of the doorbell broke the spell.

  ‘Damn!’ Bernardo said violently, jerking backwards. ‘Who can it be now?’

  It was Dr Fortuno, eager to talk to Angie. He was full of gratitude for her help, overflowing with explanations for his absence-his practice was spread so wide-he couldn’t be in two places at once, etc. etc.

  He was an elderly man who looked tired from a long day, and even more tired from a long life and a demanding job. Angie swiftly formed the impression that he was a decent, well-meaning doctor in a basic way, but the advances of medical science had left him far behind.

  Bernardo concealed his impatience, treated him courteously, plied him with coffee, wine, cakes, and listened with Angie while the old man said everything three times. By the time Dr Fortuno made his way out of the front door, still talking, two hours had passed.

  With the door safely closed, Bernardo muttered, ‘Malediri!’

  ‘Is that a Sicilian curse?’ Angie asked with a rueful little smile.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It certainly is. And now it’s time for me to drive you home.’ He looked at her.

  ‘Yes, I suppose you should,’ Angie agreed doubtfully.

  ‘It’s late-they’ll be wondering-’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If he hadn’t called-’ she said slowly.

  Their eyes met, and they both knew he wasn’t going to let her go without kissing her.

  ‘Bernardo…’ she whispered, and the next moment she was in his arms, her lips on his, in the kiss she’d dreamed of every moment since their first one that afternoon.

  His lips were as warmly possessive as she’d known they would be, and as thrilling. The kiss was like the man himself, ardent, blunt, sincere. All the pent-up frustration of the evening was there in her, and she could feel the same in him. It was like meeting him all over again, but more sweetly, more intensely, and for ever.

  ‘Angie,’ he murmured, ‘amor mia…’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, feverishly caressing his lips with her own. ‘Oh, yes…’

  She heard the click as his bedroom door opened, and she moved easily with him until they were inside. The rush of passion that possessed her was driving thought away, turning her into a single flame of desire. They had been made for each other, they’d both known that from the first, and it seemed only a short step to this moment when he drew her down on the bed.

  His arms tightened, drawing her fiercely against him. Her lips parted readily to the insistence of his probing tongue and the next moment she felt him, the tip of his tongue flickering provocatively against the sensitive inside of her mouth. Through those movements she was vibrantly aware of every part of him and of herself.

  Her whole body was his. It had already belonged to him even before he’d tried to claim it. Excitement was gathering strength within her, propelling her forward to the beauty that awaited, that she was eager for. As his mouth made a burning trail down her neck she arched against him, inviting his deeper exploration, thrilling to the feel of his hands beginning to rove more intimately over her.

  And then, at the most beautiful moment, coming out of nowhere, shaking her with alarm, came the thought, This is more than I want.

  One part of her ached with longing to lie with him and give herself up to her feelings, both physical and emotional. She wanted him, yearned for him. But afterwards? Did she want that? If she made love with this serious man it would no longer be a light-hearted holiday romance, for there was nothing light-hearted about Bernardo. Whatever he did he would do with passionate intensity, meaning everything with his whole soul. But that was too much.

  Reluctantly she put up a hand, fending him off. ‘Bernardo, no-please-’

  She had a glimpse of the fierce light in his eyes, then he shuddered and released her. He turned away fast and held onto the brass end of the bed, breathing hard. When he looked around his eyes were calmer, but his expression was still distraught.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said in a shaking voice. ‘It mustn’t be like this. I can’t treat you like a-you are more to me than that, more than anything. Forgive me.’ He pulled himself together. ‘It’s late. I must get you home.’

  Neither of them spoke as he drove carefully down the mountain, and Angie was glad of the silence. It gave her shattered nerves a chance to calm down, and it also gave her time to ponder the meaning of Bernardo’s words. He’d backed off, just as she had, but for the opposite reason. By refusing to make love with her he’d mysteriously taken their relationship into the realms of love and commitment, where she had feared to tread. And with every part of her she found she was glad.

  He came with her as far as the downstairs hall, and kissed her cheek as chastely as a boy with his first love. ‘Good night,’ he said, turning to go.

  ‘Aren’t you sleeping here tonight?’

  He smiled ruefully. ‘I dare not. I can’t trust myself to sleep under the same roof with you. When this wedding is over, we-’

  ‘Yes,’ she said wistfully. ‘We will.’

  ‘Until then-goodnight, my love.’

  The last day before the wedding. A shopping trip with Heather and Baptista, who insisted on buying them both gifts. She had seen a dress she thought would suit Heather, and wanted her to have it before the honeymoon.

  ‘I know you’ll be sailing most of the time,’ she said, ‘but when you put into port and go dancing, you will look beautiful in this. My Lorenzo is so lucky.’

  While Heather was in the fitting room Baptista gave Angie a conspiratorial smile. ‘I’m so grateful to you,’ she said. ‘These last few days Bernardo has looked happier than at any time since I’ve known him. Perhaps we’ll soon have another wedding.’

  ‘Oh-well-’

  ‘Forgive me,’ Baptista said quickly. ‘That was clumsy. I would never try to rush you into marriage with Bernardo. He’s a strange man, in many ways, not like the other men, but I’m sure you’ve realised that for yourself.’

  ‘Very much so.’ Angie hesitated, ‘I know how he comes to be living as your son-’

  ‘To me, he is my son. I would gladly love him as I do the other two, for Vincente’s sake. It is Bernardo himself who will not allow it. Sadly, he can never regard me as any kind of mother. I think he feels it would be a betrayal of his real mother. There is a Sicilian saying “A man’s mother is his soul. If he loses her, he will never find her again.”

  ‘Sicily is still a very male-dominated society, almost nineteenth-century in many ways. So it may surprise you to know that our men take this saying seriously. Bernardo takes it very seriously indeed. I think-and I’m guessing, because he doesn’t confide in me-that he feels he betrayed his mother’s memory by coming to us after her death.

  ‘This may be why he’s never allowed himself to be part of the family, although we would have welcomed him. I gave him his father’s name, but-’ she smiled sadly ‘I know he never uses it. He could have had a third of his father’s fortune. Lorenzo and Renato agreed that this was just.

  ‘But Bernardo refused. He accepted the property in Montedoro, because my husband had clearly intended it for him. But the rest, the vineyards, the orchards, the canning factories-none of this will he touch, not even the vineyards near Montedoro itself. He administers them, but only for a salary. He has wealthy brothers, but he insists on remaining a relatively poor man, for I don’t think the rents on the property up there bring in very much.’

  ‘But why?’ Angie asked, frowning. ‘I understand about his loyalty to his mother, but that’s hardly-I mean-’

  ‘It can only be part of the explanation,’ Baptista agreed. ‘There must be something else, but we’re not close enough for me to ask. Inside him, there’s something dark and dangerous, something that holds him back from too much human contact. He can be a generous man, but also a hard and unforgiving one. To the woman he lov
ed he would show a face that nobody else would be allowed to see, but even for her he wouldn’t be easy to love. I know only that he is driven by furies, and-and one fury in particular.’

  ‘And that is?’

  Baptista sighed. ‘It’s not my place to speak. I can only guess at his deepest secret, and I may be wrong. When he trusts you with it, you will know he truly loves you.’

  Heather emerged from the fitting room in the dress which was as gorgeous on her as Baptista had predicted. In the bustle of preparing to leave, and receiving the diamond brooch Baptista insisted on giving to Angie, the subject was allowed to drop.

  That night Heather awoke in the early hours and saw Angie sitting by the window.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘No, there’s nothing wrong,’ Angie assured her. ‘I’m just enjoying a little laugh against myself.’

  Heather got out of bed, pulled on a robe and came to sit beside her. ‘It’s Bernardo, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Angie said softly. ‘It’s Bernardo.’

  Heather gave her a hug. ‘Why were you laughing at yourself?’

  ‘Because I thought I had love taped. I was the one who danced into romance and danced out again when it suited me. It was a game: flirtations, all played with men who were playing the same game, and no hearts broken on either side. Or at least,’ she added with rueful honesty, ‘not on my side, at any rate.

  ‘I thought Bernardo was going to be just another holiday love. I sized him up, decided he’d be a pleasant pastime for a few days, and took him on. Oh, boy, did I make a mistake!’ She gave a shaky laugh. ‘I’m not going to dance out of this one.’

  ‘Do you want to?’

  ‘No,’ Angie said, half laughing, half tearful. ‘I love him so much it hurts. I think about him all the time. He fills my heart.’

  ‘But you’ve only known him a few days.’

  ‘I know. That’s what makes it silliest of all. Just a few days was enough-or a few minutes. I think I knew as soon as we met in the airport. He was the one. He was the reason none of the others ever became too serious. They weren’t him. I was waiting for him all the time, and now I’ve found him, I couldn’t face life without him.’

  ‘But surely you won’t have to. I think he’s just as overwhelmed as you. Hasn’t he told you?’

  ‘He doesn’t use many words,’ Angie said, but her eyes told the rest.

  ‘I’m really happy for you. Are you happy?’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes, so happy. If only he’d say something to make it definite!’ Angie laughed wildly and buried her face in her hands. ‘Isn’t it a big joke? I kept them all dangling and it was only fun. But now someone’s keeping me dangling and it isn’t fun any more. Angie’s met her match.’ She raised her head. Her mouth was curved in a blissful smile. ‘But it’s a lovely match.’

  Suddenly she was shaken by a fierce joy that had in it a touch of inexplicable anguish. She crossed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes, racked by the strength of her feelings. ‘Oh, Heather,’ she whispered, ‘it’s such a lovely, lovely match.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  T HE wedding day was bright and glorious. A stream of cars departed from the Residenza, taking the multitude of guests to Palermo Cathedral, and finally, Lorenzo the groom and Bernardo his best man. Only Renato remained, to give the bride away.

  The bride was beautiful and the bridesmaid too. Angie’s gown was a cream silk of deceptive simplicity. Against it her skin glowed warmly, and her deep blue eyes sparkled. Heather saw that sparkle and read it correctly.

  ‘I believe some Sicilian wedding customs are the same as those in England,’ she teased. ‘Like the one about the bridesmaid and the best man.’

  Angie had barely seen Bernardo since they’d parted the night before last. He’d appeared at the Residenza yesterday, but spent his time with his brothers in last-minute preparations, before the three of them had gone out for a stag supper.

  The women had an early night, but Angie wandered out onto the terrace in the early hours and saw them arriving home. She hoped Bernardo would look up and see her, and when he didn’t she began to understand how intolerable the day had been without him. There were so many hours until she would see him in the cathedral.

  Now the hours had narrowed down to a few minutes, and already her heart was beating in anticipation.

  Slowly they walked downstairs to where the car was waiting. Heather and Angie climbed into the back and when Renato had joined them they were ready to go. Angie spent the short journey admiring Heather. That was how a bride ought to look, she thought: beautiful and glorious, glowing with happiness on her way to marry the man she adored. And he would be there at the altar waiting for her, gazing back down the aisle, watching his bride approach.

  Bernardo would also be there today, at the groom’s side. But he wouldn’t be watching the bride. Angie knew that. He would have eyes only for herself. He might even give her one of the quiet, grave smiles that made her heart turn over. She would smile back, just a little, and the onlookers would see them and exchange knowing looks, for it was well known that one wedding sowed the seeds for another.

  Then she wondered at herself. For it had been no part of her plan to leave her successful career in her own country, and come to live here for good. Yet it was either that or leave Bernardo, and her heart cried out at the thought. Only a few days ago she’d called him her match and, whatever it cost her, there was no turning back now.

  She thought of her other romances, short-lived bursts of thrilling emotion, from which she’d escaped before danger threatened. But danger had threatened from the first moment of their meeting, and she hadn’t even tried to escape.

  When the car stopped Heather stood while Angie adjusted her dress and veil to perfection, before walking into the Cathedral on Renato’s arm, Angie a few steps behind them. The dim light inside made her blink a little after bright sunshine. The organ pealed out in triumph as they prepared to start the journey down the aisle.

  But something was wrong. Bernardo was hurrying towards them, frowning, saying that Lorenzo had vanished. Angie could hardly take in the monstrous words. This couldn’t be happening. Any moment now Lorenzo would appear to claim his bride.

  But he didn’t appear. Instead, a teenage boy hurried in, thrust a paper into Heather’s bridal bouquet, and ran.

  Angie watched as Heather opened the paper and read what Lorenzo had written. She saw her friend’s cheeks turn deadly pale, and she moved to where she could read it over her shoulder. Stripped to its essentials the letter said that he had never really wanted this marriage, but Renato had pushed him into it. They were terrible words for a bride to read on her wedding day.

  Bernardo too had contrived to read it, and when Angie looked into his face she saw something that alarmed her. For a brief moment this wasn’t a civilised man, but a primitive force, a Sicilian, facing a situation that called for blood.

  Baptista had joined them and was listening, pale and distraught. As it dawned on her that her son had abandoned his bride she covered her eyes with her hand and swayed. Renato caught her just in time.

  ‘Lie her down,’ Angie said quickly, tossing her bouquet aside and becoming all doctor. She knelt beside the old woman and felt her heart, frowning.

  ‘Is it a heart attack?’ Renato asked tensely, kneeling on the other side.

  ‘I don’t think so, but she needs to get to the hospital.’

  His response was to lift his mother in his arms and stride to the door, followed by Bernardo. ‘The hospital is close. We’ll go straight there.’

  He raced out to the first of the waiting cars. Angie and Heather took the next one. By the time they reached the hospital Baptista had already been whisked away and the brothers were pacing the corridor.

  Beneath Bernardo’s calm she could sense the tension, and she remembered his ambivalent relationship with Baptista, how affection and resentment seemed to be mixed in his feelings for her. She could g
uess how that must be torturing him now, and she squeezed his hand, trying to reassure him.

  Heather looked down at her bridal glory which now seemed like a sick joke. She was pale but very calm as she asked Bernardo to call the Residenza and get Baptista’s maid to bring some day clothes for them. In half an hour the maid arrived and they were able to change.

  The two men were allowed in to see Baptista. Then Heather was summoned in, leaving Angie to walk the corridor restlessly, until her friend emerged, looking more desperate than ever.

  ‘What is it?’ Angie asked, alarmed.

  ‘I just hoped to get out of here, but Baptista wants me to stay. I had to promise her, she’s so ill. But how do I live in the same house with Renato without telling him how much I hate him?’

  Renato, Angie noticed. Not Lorenzo.

  Suddenly she wanted Bernardo’s arms around her more than anything in the world.

  The Residenza was like a ghost house. The guests had gone, the day was over, and everywhere was in darkness.

  Heather had slipped away to be alone, and Angie took refuge in the garden. Until now Baptista’s illness and the need to support her friend had kept her calm and controlled, but now she was more blazingly angry than she’d ever been in her life. She wanted to cry, she wanted to rage against the silver moon that hung so indifferently in the sky. She walked stormily up and down the flagstone paths, bitter against the whole Martelli family.

  ‘Angie-’ Bernardo’s voice said from the shadows.

  She flung him a look and continued pacing.

  ‘I know what you must feel-how badly you must think of us.’

  ‘You can’t imagine what I’m thinking,’ she said fiercely. ‘If I had Lorenzo here I’d-I’d-how could he do it? How could he expose her to that? Did you see her face?’

  ‘Yes, and I’m ashamed for my brother. Don’t think I excuse him.’

  ‘You couldn’t, could you? Nobody could excuse that cheap, cowardly-’

  ‘But I think Renato has also been to blame for pushing the marriage too hard.’