The Forced Marriage

by Craven, Sara

  Apart from Ninetta. She thought it, but did not say it. Then Marco was kissing her, and she stopped thinking, offering herself totally the yearning demand of his mouth. Aware of nothing but the warmth and strength of him against her.

  At last he almost tore his lips from hers. ‘I must go,’ he muttered huskily. ‘I have to change my clothes.’

  Left alone, Flora could hear the steady beat of the helicopter’s approach. Coming, she thought, with a stab of anguish, to take him away. And it was ridiculous to feel so bereft—so scared—when he would be back so soon.

  It must be the story about his parents which was weighing so heavily on her, she thought with a shiver.

  When he emerged from his dressing room he looked almost alien in the formal dark suit. Flora looked across the room and saw a stranger.

  Her smile was so forced it hurt. ‘Please—take care.’ Or take me with you.

  ‘My heart’s sweetness.’ He looked back at her with passionate understanding. He took half a step towards her, then deliberately checked. ‘I shall come back. And then I must talk to you.’ He paused. ‘Because there are things to be said. Issues, alas, that can no longer be avoided.’

  He’s going to tell me it’s over, Flora thought, with a lurch of the heart. That all good things must end. That it’s time we returned to our separate worlds and got on with our lives.

  With a courage she had not known she possessed, she lifted her chin, went on smiling. ‘I’ll be here,’ she said. ‘Waiting.’

  She went out on to the balcony and watched the helicopter take off and whirl away over the trees. Stood, a hand shading her eyes, until it vanished, and the throb of the engine could be heard no longer.

  Her hands tightened on the balustrade as she fought the tears, harsh and bitter in her throat.

  Only a couple of days, she reminded herself as she turned and trailed desolately back into the room. She could surely survive that.

  But her real dread was the nights that she would spend alone in that enormous bed, without his arms around her in the darkness, or his voice drowsily murmuring her name as they woke to sunlight dappling through the window shutters.

  And all those other endless nights to come, when she returned to England…

  She pressed a clenched fist fiercely against her trembling mouth.

  She’d known the score from the first, yet she’d allowed herself to be seduced by the atmosphere at the castello. To drift into a dream world where she and Marco stayed together always. Which was crazy.

  It felt so right for her, she thought, but that did not guarantee that he necessarily shared her view. He was looking for entertainment, not commitment. Besides, he was a wealthy man. When the time came he would be sharing his life with a girl from his own social milieu.

  As for herself—well, she was back in the real world now, and she was not going to allow herself to fall to pieces.

  And if there was heartbreak ahead, maybe it was no more than she deserved for what she’d done to Chris.

  She’d betrayed him totally, and yet, she realised guiltily, this was the first time she’d even spared him a thought. He seemed to belong to some distant, unreal part of her life. But he was flesh and blood, would be hurting because of her, and he deserved to have his pain acknowledged.

  I was unfair to him from the start, she thought sadly. And particularly when I said I’d marry him. But we’d been seeing each other regularly for months and it seemed the next, logical progression. And—somehow— I persuaded myself that I loved him enough for marriage.

  Because I didn’t know what love could be—not then.

  I should have known it couldn’t work—after that one disastrous night. I should have stopped it there and then.

  She’d been trying for weeks to parry Chris’s growing insistence on making love to her. Finally she’d simply run out of excuses.

  She couldn’t even explain her own reluctance. After all, she wasn’t a child, and it had been a natural stage in her relationship with the man she planned to marry. A man, moreover, who was good-looking, undeniably virile, and eager for her.

  Yet the fact that she’d still been able to resist the increasing ardour of Chris’s kisses should have been warning enough that all was not well.

  She’d felt paralysed with awkwardness from the moment she’d arrived at Chris’s flat and found the scene set with candles, flowers and music playing softly. There had even been a bottle of champagne chilling on ice.

  Like something from Chapter Two of The Seducer’s Handbook, she’d thought, wanting at first to laugh, and then, very badly, to run away.

  And that had been the only real desire she’d experienced. She’d felt only numb as Chris had undressed her almost gloatingly. He hadn’t been selfish. She knew that now. He had done his best to arouse her, holding his own excitement and need in check.

  And she’d held him, eyes closed, and whispered, ‘Yes,’ when he’d asked if she was all right.

  But it hadn’t been true. Because everything about it had been wrong. And the pain of his first attempt to enter her had made her cry out as her muscles locked in shocked rejection.

  She’d pushed him away almost violently, her frozen body slicked with sweat. ‘No—I can’t—please…’

  He’d been kind at first, understanding. Had even comforted her. But it had soon become evident that he was determined to try again.

  And each time her mind had gone into recoil as her body closed against him.

  And eventually he’d become impatient, then really angry, and finally sullenly accepting.

  ‘You have a real problem, Flora,’ he’d flung at her over his shoulder as he reached for his clothes. ‘I suggest you get yourself sorted, and soon. Maybe you should see a doctor—or a therapist.’

  And she’d buried her shamed, unhappy face in the pillow and thought that perhaps he was right.

  Until Marco had looked at her—touched her hand—kissed her. Made her burn for him. Established his possession of her long before the physical joining of their bodies. Transformed her surrender into glory.

  When Chris had come back from his holiday in the Bahamas, she’d expected him to exert increasing pressure on her to go to bed with him, and had steeled herself to agree, telling herself it could never be that bad again. But their time apart seemed to have engendered a more philosophical attitude in him, and he’d made no more attempts to force the issue.

  Perhaps he’d thought that patience would eventually bring him his reward. Or maybe he’d simply been waiting for her to tell him that the medical treatment she hadn’t even sought had been successful.

  She had been telling herself that once they were married and settled they would have all the time in the world to work out their sexual relationship. That compatibility was not necessarily instant.

  That Chris would make a good husband—the best—and sex was not the whole of a marriage.

  Every excuse under the sun.

  And I—almost—made myself believe them, she thought. I could have gone through with it. Only Hes wasn’t fooled for a minute. And, of course, Marco, who looked into my eyes and saw that I was completely unawakened.

  Well, no one would think that now, she told herself with a wry smile at the mirror as she walked to the door, on her way downstairs to her first solitary dinner.

  As she’d feared, time hung heavy on her hands without him.

  He telephoned, of course. Hurried calls during the day between meetings that were not going well. And longer, more personal conversations late into the evening, which sent her to bed burning and restless.

  He does it deliberately, she thought, twining her arms round his pillow and pulling it close. He would have to be punished on his return, and she knew exactly how. And she drifted off to sleep at last, smiling like a cat.

  He’d been gone for three days when he finally called to say he would be home the following evening.

  At last, her heart sang, but aloud she said sedately, ‘Has the problem with the tests be
en sorted?’

  He sighed. ‘Alas, no. There is a serious flaw in the product, as I have suspected for some time, and we may have to start again from the beginning. I am authorising a new research programme, with a new director,’ he added with a touch of grimness. ‘Dr Farese believed he could take advantage of my absence and push the new drug through by cutting down the testing process. He knows differently now.’

  Flora was silent for a moment. Then she said with slight constraint, ‘Has all this happened because you’ve been spending too much time with me?’

  ‘A little, perhaps.’ His tone was rueful. ‘But I do not regret one moment of it, Flora mia. However, it means that I must devote more time to Altimazza from now on.’

  Her hand tightened round the receiver. ‘Yes—yes, of course.’

  ‘But enough of that.’ He paused. ‘Have you missed me?’

  She knew that now, of all times, she ought to play it cool—make some flip, teasing remark. Instead she heard herself say yearningly, ‘Oh, so much.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m going to tell Marta to have everything you most like for dinner—pasta with truffles, and that veal thing. Unless you’d prefer the chicken…?’

  He was laughing. ‘Choose what you will, bellissima mia. I am hungry only for you.’

  She said with sudden shyness, ‘And I for you, Marco.’

  ‘Then imagine that I am with you, cara.’ His voice sank huskily, intimately. ‘That I am holding you naked—touching you as you like to be touched. You remember, hmm?’

  ‘Marco!’ She felt the fierce charge of desire deep within her. The swift scalding heat between her thighs. Her voice pleaded with him unsteadily. ‘You’re not being fair.’

  ‘No,’ he conceded softly. ‘Perhaps not. But when I come back, my sweet one, there will be complete honesty between us—whatever the cost.’

  She could hear the note of sadness in his voice and flinched from it, knowing what it must mean. He was warning her that their brief, rapturous idyll was drawing to an end.

  She took a deep breath. She said quietly, ‘I—I can’t wait to see you.’

  ‘It will not be long now,’ he told her. ‘But I must go. They are waiting for me.’

  She returned his murmured, ‘Arriverderci,’ and put down the telephone, standing for a moment, staring into space, realising she was going to need every scrap of emotional courage she possessed to get her through the next few days.

  She heard a brief sound, and turned to see Ninetta standing in the doorway, watching her. She gasped. ‘Oh—you startled me.’

  ‘Scusi, signorina.’

  The apology was meek enough, but Flora was certain that she’d detected a smirk in the dark eyes before they were deferentially lowered.

  She said coolly, ‘Did you want something, Ninetta?’

  ‘I came to see if you needed me, signorina.’ The girl came further into the room. ‘You look pale. Have you had bad news?’

  ‘On the contrary.’ Flora met the sly glance head-on, her chin lifted. ‘The signore is coming back tomorrow. I am going to arrange a special dinner for him and I have to decide what to wear.’

  Which wouldn’t be easy, she acknowledged with an inward sigh. Travelling light had its disadvantages, and Marco had already seen everything she’d brought with her.

  ‘Maybe it is an occasion for a new dress, signorina. Rocello has some good shops.’

  It was about the first helpful remark Ninetta had ever made, and Flora sent her a surprised glance.

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed slowly. ‘Perhaps it is.’

  She might as well go out in style, she thought, with all flags flying. And she could use the time, as well, to buy some going-home presents—although apart from Hester and Melanie she couldn’t think of many people who would welcome one from her.

  She paused. ‘Is there a morning bus into the town?’

  For a moment Ninetta looked genuinely shocked. ‘A car and driver will be provided for you, signorina. I shall arrange it at once. The signore would wish it,’ she added, pre-empting any further objections that Flora might have.

  I only wish, Flora thought when she was alone again, that I liked her better.

  ‘I understand that you wish to go into town,’ Alfredo said as he served her breakfast next morning. ‘If you had consulted me, signorina, I would have escorted you myself. As it is, young Roberto will be driving you.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine.’ Flora placated him, aware that his normally smooth feathers were ruffled. ‘You must have far better things to do than wait while I shop.’

  ‘Nothing I could not have postponed.’ He was frowning slightly. ‘The signore placed you in my charge, after all.’

  ‘Well, Roberto will be a perfectly adequate stand-in.’ She smiled at him. ‘And I’ll only be gone an hour or so.’ She paused. ‘Have I come across Roberto before?’

  ‘I think not, signorina. He usually works in the grounds, but he drives the cars on occasion. He is the brother of Ninetta, who waits on you.’

  Then I only hope he’s more civil, Flora thought as she finished her meal.

  Roberto seemed to be a rather stolid young man, with a limited command of English, so the journey into town was completed mostly in silence. However, the views from the winding coast road were sufficiently spectacular to compensate for any lack of conversation.

  Rocello was not a large town, but its central square, overlooked by a fine Gothic church, was an imposing one.

  Flora arranged to meet the taciturn Roberto by the church in two hours, which would give her time to make her purchases and, hopefully, do a little sightseeing too.

  Ninetta had been right about the shops, she soon discovered. There were some delectable boutiques hidden away among the winding side streets, and she soon found a dress she liked—one of her favourite slip styles, with narrow straps and a fluid drift of a skirt, in white, with a stylised flower in crystal beads on the bodice.

  A few doors away she came upon a local silversmith, and bought a pair of pretty earrings for Mel, and an elegant chain with twisted links for Hes.

  In a small gallery near the square there was a small framed painting of the castello, and, after some heart-searching, she decided to buy it. In the days ahead it might help convince her that this had not been all a fantastic dream, she thought wryly.

  It was going to be a very hot day, and Flora was quite glad to seek shelter in the shadowy interior of the church, which was famous for its frescoes painted, it was said, by a pupil of Giotto.

  But, even so, she still had some time to while away before her appointment with Roberto. She stationed herself under the striped awning of one of the pavement cafés opposite the church, so that she could spot him as soon as he arrived.

  She ordered a cappuccino and sat nibbling some of the little almond biscuits that came with it, idly watching the tourists, who were milling around with their cameras.

  ‘Signorina Graham. I thought there could not be two women with that glorious shade of hair.’

  Flora looked up in surprise to find Tonio Baressi smiling down at her.

  ‘Oh,’ she said slowly. ‘Good morning.’

  He drew out the chair opposite with a flourish. ‘May I join you?’

  ‘You seem to have done so already, signore.’ Flora stole a surreptitious glance at her watch, hoping that Roberto might be early.

  If Tonio noticed the tart note in her voice he gave no sign, merely signalling imperiously to the waiter.

  ‘So Marco has gone to Milan and left you to your own devices,’ he said, when his espresso arrived. He clicked his tongue. ‘But how unchivalrous.’

  ‘He has work to do,’ Flora said shortly. My first time in Rocello, she thought, and I have to run into him.

  He laughed. ‘Whereas you are strictly for his leisure moments, eh? He is very fortunate to have found a woman so understanding of his—other obligations.’

  Flora made a business of collecting together her packages. ‘You must excuse me,’ she said bright
ly. ‘I’d like to have a look inside the church before my driver comes.’

  ‘But surely I saw you coming out of the church a short while ago? You must find those frescoes particularly fascinating.’ He was still smiling, but his eyes had narrowed. ‘Or did Marco warn you to shun my company?’

  ‘Of course not. How ridiculous.’ She bit her lip in vexation, and a certain unease. How long had he been watching her, she wondered, and why?

  ‘I am relieved to hear it. Please—have another cappuccino. I insist.’

  She thanked him with a forced smile and sat back, trying to look relaxed, while scanning the passing crowd for Roberto.

  ‘I hope you have enjoyed your stay at San Silvestro,’ Tonio went on after a pause. ‘It is unfortunate that all good things must end, no?’

  She gave him a composed look. ‘Actually, I still have some holiday left.’

  ‘Yes, but it is hardly the same for you now that Marco has remembered his responsibilities to Altimazza. He can hardly be expected to commute to Milan on a daily basis. And the castello can be a lonely place.’

  Her smile was taut. ‘Please don’t concern yourself about me, Signor Baressi. It really isn’t necessary.’

  ‘Call me Tonio, I beg. I assure you that I only wish to be your friend.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She reached for her bag and extracted enough money to pay for her own coffee. ‘That’s kind of you, but now I must be going.’

  He said, almost idly, ‘If you are expecting Roberto, he has gone back to San Silvestro. I told him I would bring you back to the castello myself.’

  Flora’s lips parted in a gasp of sheer outrage. ‘Then you had no right to do any such thing,’ she exclaimed heatedly. ‘And I prefer to make my own way back. I’ll find a taxi…’

  His grin was unrepentant. ‘You fear I shall make advances to you?’ He shook his head. ‘I shall not. I offer friendship only. Something you may welcome before long,’ he added softly. ‘So let us have no more nonsense about taxis. It will be my pleasure to drive you.’

  Flora lifted her chin. She said crisply, ‘In that case I’d like to leave straight away. Roberto is going to find himself in real trouble with Alfredo for deserting me like this. He could even be sacked.’