by Lucy Gordon
‘That’s a nice picture,’ said a deep voice.
Turning, she saw Vittorio standing close. He had slipped in through the half-open door and come over to her without her realising.
‘It’s my father,’ she said.
‘I know. I recognise him from the picture my father had of him.’
‘You have a picture of my father? Oh, please, let me see it.’
‘I’ll get it.’
He left her room, heading across the corridor to his own.
Impulsively she followed him, and saw him going through a drawer, turning out papers. He handed a photograph to her, and she stared at it in astonishment.
‘Yes, that’s Daddy. And the other man is your father.’
‘You say that as though you’ve seen him before.’
‘The day after we met I went online to look up the Counts of Martelli. I was curious about you.’
‘And you wanted to know if I was who I’d said I was, or whether I’d been telling you a pack of lies?’
He spoke cheerfully, without resentment, but she felt self-conscious enough to say, ‘I didn’t know you so well in those days.’
‘And now you know me better you trust me even less?’ he said, in the same light-hearted voice.
‘It depends on the circumstances. Sometimes I think you’re the biggest fraudster ever. At other times our minds seem to connect so well that...’ She paused.
‘That you don’t believe me to be so bad after all?’
‘You probably knew that already.’
‘Well, whatever you think of me it’s pretty obvious that our fathers got on well. This picture says a lot, don’t you agree? It was taken in Italy. You can see that they were good friends.’
The two men faced the camera, grinning, arms raised exuberantly, clearly rejoicing in each other’s company.
‘They do look happy together,’ she murmured.
‘Yes, they do. There’s no hint there of what was to happen later.’
‘No. I don’t think I ever saw Daddy enjoy himself so much.’
‘Nor me. My father was a serious man, and an honourable one—or so I once thought. I don’t recall ever seeing him bouncing with glee like this.’
In silence they met each other’s eyes. Each knew what the other was thinking, but neither spoke. No words were necessary.
At last she said, ‘Do you have any more pictures of your father?’
He rummaged in the drawer and produced a head shot. It depicted what Vittorio had described—a serious, honourable man, who looked incapable of any shameful action.
Jackie gazed at him, hoping her desperate emotion couldn’t be seen on her face.
You did it, she thought. You ruined my lovely father’s life and got away with it. And your son thinks he can put it right with money because he can’t understand that nothing can ever put it right.
She handed the picture back.
Vittorio put it aside and clasped his hand over hers. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘Don’t be. He did it. Not you.’
‘If only there was something you would let me do—’
‘Stop it. Stop it!’ she said quickly. ‘Don’t talk about it again.’
‘Yes, it’s dangerous ground, isn’t it? Jackie, will we ever be able to risk treading that ground?’
‘I don’t know. Sometimes I think not—but how can we know?’
‘We can’t know,’ he said. ‘We can only hope.’
‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘But for the moment hope will take time.’
She hurried away, escaping to her own room and locking the door. She seized her father’s picture again and looked at it for a long moment.
‘Oh, Daddy,’ she whispered, ‘what shall I do? Please tell me?’
But if his loving eyes were sending her a message she could not understand it.
* * *
The next morning Tania departed to visit friends overnight. Jackie and Vittorio returned to Rome. She had noticed a small empty shop on a corner, and become fascinated by the idea of taking it over.
‘It might be useful as a showcase for people who don’t want to go to a huge store,’ she said.
‘That’s an interesting idea,’ Vittorio replied.
They spent some hours in the shop, which belonged to the man who lived above it. Vittorio made an offer that he accepted and the deal was quickly settled.
He finished the day by taking her into a nearby jeweller’s shop and buying her a diamond necklace.
‘That’s—that’s very generous of you,’ she stammered.
‘You’ve more than earned it. And if anyone asks you, tell them it was a gift from me.’
Thus supporting their pretence of being a couple, she thought. It was a severely calculated act, and there was nothing emotional about the gift, but she had to admit that it was beautiful and looked lovely about her neck.
‘I need to call in to the bank,’ he said. ‘I won’t be long.’
He was back in a moment, with an unusual, slightly mischievous look on his face that puzzled her.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked.
‘It’ll tell you when we get home.’
‘Why do you have to make a mystery of everything?’
‘Because when a man knows he’s doing the right thing he has to make sure nothing can get in the way.’
‘Am I likely to get in the way of the right thing?’
‘Let’s say we don’t always see eye to eye about what the right thing is.’
She longed to press him further, but felt it would be wise to wait until their journey was over.
At last they arrived home and he followed her to her room.
‘Tell me,’ she said, smiling with anticipation.
He produced a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.
‘You’ll find the answer there,’ he said.
Eyes wide, she opened it. In a moment she was overtaken by shock.
‘What—what is this?’
‘It’s your bank statement.’
‘But—how come—?’
The statement clearly indicated receipt of over a million British pounds converted to euros.
‘How does that money come to be there?’ she demanded.
‘I put it there. You’re entitled to it.’
‘But I told you I wouldn’t take it. You have no right to force it on me.’
‘And you have no right to refuse it. It was something I had to do, Jackie.’
‘Why? So that you can feel better about your thief of a father? I told you no! If you could have given it to Daddy that would have been right, but he’s dead and it’s too late. You can’t ease his suffering now and you can’t buy me off.’ She looked at the statement again. ‘When did you do this?’
‘Yesterday. I called the bank and instructed them on the phone.’
‘You dared to—?’
‘I told them to take that money out of my account and transfer it to yours.’
‘But I’ve told you a dozen times not to do anything like that,’ she snapped.
‘Don’t my wishes count for anything?’
‘Not when they make so little sense.
‘No, it doesn’t make any sense to you that I loved my father and can’t forgive what was done to him. If he was alive and could accept the money himself, that would be fine. But he can’t. And now it’s your own feelings that matter to you. And your father’s.’
‘Jackie—’
‘Listen to me, Vittorio, and try to understand. The only thing that would ever make things right would be if you gave back the money not to me but directly to Daddy.’
‘But that’s impossible!’
‘Yes. It�
��s impossible. And that’s why we’ll never agree about this. When you put that money in my account you did something bad and arrogant.’
She came to stand before him, regarding him with a cynical face.
‘What trick did you play to get a copy of my bank statement? Do people obey you in everything?’
He seemed uneasy. ‘Not everything, but they do know me at the bank. I told them that you’re my fiancée.’
‘You told them what?’
‘I said we were going to be married.’
‘And what happens when they find out you were lying?’
‘I wasn’t lying. Marriage would be the best thing for us, and I count on your good sense to make you see it.’
‘Are you out of your mind? We’re the last people in the world who should think of marriage.’
‘On the contrary. We’re the first. From the moment we met we’ve understood each other—’
‘No. It’s seemed like that sometimes, but all you understand is wanting your own way. This isn’t about my father’s suffering—it’s about your father. You want to restore your image of him as a decent and honourable man. And I can’t let you do that because of how guilty it would make me feel to let you buy me off. You don’t understand how I could actually turn down your money. Tell me, Vittorio, has anyone in your whole life actually refused to let you buy them?’
‘No,’ he said, white-faced. ‘People are sensible about money.’
‘But I’m not sensible and hard-hearted. I’m human. I’ve got feelings. What would you know about that?’
‘And what would you know about feelings?’ he raged. ‘The only one you have is hatred.’
‘Just for you.’
‘All this because I asked you to marry me?’
‘But you didn’t ask me. You told me that the decision had been taken—after you’d informed the rest of the world. Well, now you’ll have to tell them that you got it wrong, because I’d sooner die than marry you. I want nothing from you—not your money or this.’
She seized the box containing the diamond necklace.
‘Take it,’ she said.
But he backed away, holding up his hands to ward her off. ‘Jackie, please don’t do this.’
‘I said take it.’
She wrenched open the box, tore out the necklace and hurled it at him. He managed to seize it in time to stop it hitting his face, and tossed it back into the box.
‘We won’t talk about this now,’ he said. ‘Not while you’re in such a state. When you’ve calmed down you’ll see matters more rationally.’
‘Don’t fool yourself. I know what you mean by “rationally”. It means me seeing things from your point of view. Well, that will never happen. I can’t stand the sight of you, I can’t bear to be in the same room as you, and I never want to be with you again, you monstrous bully. Now, get out. I’m leaving.’
He left at once, anxious to get away from the hate-filled atmosphere.
Jackie watched him go and locked the door. At all costs he must not be allowed to return.
Oh, how she hated him. Once she might have loved him, but not any longer. Not now that he’d insulted her with an offer of marriage and money. It might seem crazily illogical, but this man had inflamed her feelings and then tried to take possession of her as a business venture.
Now there was only one thing left that she could do.
She had to get out of here. To get away from him and fast.
She threw her things into her suitcase and checked to be sure she had her passport and purse.
It would be a long walk to Rome, and briefly she considered asking Leo, the chauffeur, to drive her. But she abandoned the idea as risky. She must walk.
Before leaving, she wrote a note to Vittorio.
I’m sure you realise why I have to go. It wasn’t working between us and it never would.
She slipped it under his bedroom door. Then she went to the back staircase, where she could descend unseen. At the bottom she found herself near the back door. She would be able to slip out unnoticed.
She began to walk. Her best hope lay in reaching the main road, where she might get a bus or a taxi the rest of the way. But her walk went on and on with no sign of hope.
The light was fading, and when a hut appeared in the distance ahead of her she could only just make it out. It had started to rain. Just a soft drizzle at first, but it had swiftly become a downpour. She began to run, heading for the hut, hoping to reach it quickly, but she was already soaked when she got there.
Opening the door, she saw that it was shabby. In the poor light she could see little else, but there was at least a bed where she would be able to rest until light broke next morning.
She stripped off her clothes, seizing the small towel she’d brought with her, and drying herself as well as she could. She put on some basic items from her suitcase and lay down.
Gazing into the darkness, she wondered at herself for choosing this way out.
Might she not have stayed in the castello with the man who had once seemed to be winning her heart? Did she really have no chance of winning his?
Maybe she was being cowardly, running away, but what choice did she have? How could she stay with Vittorio knowing she could never win his love when he was so determined not to let her? No, she’d served her purpose. He’d paid the debt, assuaged his guilt, and now he’d surely be relieved to see her gone. Besides, she was glad to get away from him—wasn’t she?
CHAPTER TEN
FOR WHAT FELT like hours Vittorio sat at his desk, trying to concentrate. At last he threw down his pen and faced facts. As so often before, the infuriating woman had wiped everything except herself from his mind.
If they were to have a future together she’d have to learn that he must sometimes think of other things. And the sooner they sorted it out the better.
He went to her bedroom and opened the door.
But she wasn’t there.
Downstairs, he searched room after room without finding her. Tearing his hair, he went to the kitchen to find Gina.
‘Do you know where Jackie is?’ he asked.
‘I saw her go out an hour ago.’
‘Go out? Where?’
‘For a walk, I think. She was carrying a case, but she couldn’t have been going far or she’d have asked Leo to drive her.’
‘Did she leave a message?’
‘No, Signor Conte.’
So now Gina knew he’d been deserted, and suddenly it was unbearable that she should see him at such a moment.
In fury and despair he ran upstairs to his bedroom. There on the floor he found Jackie’s note, and read it with mounting disbelief.
Downstairs he confronted Gina again. ‘Which direction did she go?’
‘In that direction.’ She pointed through the window.
The path she indicated led to the main road and ultimately to Rome. Given the note Jackie had left him, the meaning was obvious.
‘Poor Jackie,’ Gina said. ‘It’s raining so hard now. How terrible for her. Shall I tell Leo to go after her?’
‘No need,’ Vittorio said through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll go myself.’
The rain seemed to get heavier as he headed for the car. What on earth had possessed her to do this?
The only possible answer appalled him.
She was heading for Rome—perhaps the railway station, perhaps the airport. Whichever it was, she was on her way back to England, leaving him with her cruel message and nothing to hope for.
Through the darkness the car’s headlights flooded the road ahead, showing no sign of her. But she must be somewhere near here, he thought frantically. In the time she’d had to walk she couldn’t have got much further than this.
Then he saw the hut, and pull
ed up quickly.
There were no lights on inside, but he had a torch in the car and took it with him.
He opened the door tentatively, unable to see much. ‘Is anybody there?’ he called.
The response was a choking sound. Turning his torch to the far wall, he saw Jackie lying on a bed.
‘Jackie!’
He rushed forward and knelt beside the bed.
‘What the hell are you doing, leaving like this?’ he demanded. ‘Are you mad?’
‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘I had to get away from you.’
‘Because I’m a monstrous bully. That’s what you called me, and you were right. I’m a bully and I’m about to prove it. I’m taking you home with me. Don’t argue. You’re coming with me whether you want to or not—because you’re soaking wet and I’m not leaving you here to get pneumonia. If you refuse then I’ll be forced to carry you.’
‘You think I’m just going to give in to your bullying?’
‘Why not? When we were in that hotel you bullied me to stop me driving home and I gave in, didn’t I?’
She rubbed a hand over her eyes. ‘Then I guess I can’t say no...’ She sighed.
‘Wise woman.’
He helped her to her feet. At once she swayed, making him seize her urgently.
‘I’d better carry you anyway,’ he said.
‘No, I can manage.’
‘Jackie, please—’
‘I said I can manage. Let me go. I don’t need your help.’
He released her, but stayed close, keeping his hands only a few inches away, so that she could cling to him if necessary. She managed to get to the door without needing him, but then let him support her the last few yards.
She had insisted that she didn’t need his help, but as he eased her into the car she had to admit that she wasn’t sorry to be returning to warmth and comfort.
Ten minutes brought them back to the house, where Vittorio parked the car before helping Jackie out.
‘Go up to bed,’ Vittorio said. ‘I’ll send Gina to dry you off and make sure you’re well.’