She watched him as he finished bandaging her hand. Part of her was praying he would leave straight away. Every other fragment of her body desperately wanted him to stay.
‘I’d feel happier if you got it looked at the moment you finish work today.’
‘Always the thoughtful employer.’ Meg sighed. ‘It’s going to be some homecoming for me, sporting this.’ She raised her bandaged hand, because anything was easier than having to look Gianni in the face. He leaned forward, trying to catch her eye.
‘How about some strong, sweet tea for the shock?’
His dark eyes were dancing. Meg felt her heart begin to melt, and had to look away. Once he had filled the kettle and switched it on, he picked up her penknife again.
‘A blunt blade is dangerous,’ he repeated, picking up the pocket steel she had been in too much of a hurry to use. Working quickly he whetted the knife across each side of the file until it was razor sharp.
‘That’s very impressive,’ she acknowledged. ‘Although I hope you realise I could have done it myself.’
‘But you didn’t, did you?’ Gianni cross-examined her with one of his unanswerable looks. ‘And that’s how accidents happen.’
Meg put a hand to her forehead. She had wanted to get on with the work and so hadn’t bothered with breakfast, although hunger wasn’t the reason why she was feeling light-headed. She was trying so hard to be adult about the situation, yet Gianni was still patronising her. It was impossible to stomach.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘I’ll be great the minute I know you’re safely on your way, Gianni.’
‘I’m not going anywhere until you’ve had something to eat.’
Gianni swung around the kitchen counter and opened the fridge. He didn’t intend leaving her before he had the answers to a few questions, either. From the way she did her best to resist the temptation to look at him, he knew their shared memories were as fresh in her mind as they were in his. Gianni was accustomed to women falling at his feet, not avoiding his eyes. He was beginning to get the faint suspicion she might have been using him to fill in the gaps in her work schedule. That was an affront to his machismo. He ought to turn his back on her for ever. Somehow he simply couldn’t. He told himself it was nothing more than the sight of this blood-stained and bedraggled little bambola, her eyes as big as saucers in her white face. It didn’t work.
This is impossible, Meg thought. Gianni was looking at her as if trying to decide which part to devour first. She glanced away, wondering if he was doing it to spite her or whether his face had a naturally insatiable cast.
‘You’ll have to go, Gianni. The Napa Valley is a long way away.’
‘I know, but they won’t dare start the meeting without me.’
Her mouth gave a wry twist. He reacted like lightning.
‘What is it?’
‘This cut is aching a bit, that’s all. It’s in such an awkward place, right on the ball of my thumb.’
‘Then perhaps you’ll take more care next time.’ He grunted, flipping open the first-aid box again to find her a couple of paracetamols. Returning to her side with a glass of water and the tablets, he glanced away quickly when she trained a look on him.
‘Yes. Of course. Thanks for everything, Gianni.’ She took the tablets from him, feeling his palm warm and smooth beneath her fingertips. ‘It’s the first time I’ve ever cut myself like this.’
He turned his back on her and made himself busy in her tiny kitchen. While he carved a slice of focaccia with laser-like accuracy, Meg took the paracetamols and drank the water. Moving around the room as though he had done similar things a hundred times, Gianni flipped the bread onto a plate for her, and added some flakes of ham.
‘Eat that. You’ll need to keep your strength up. You’re getting much too thin,’ he observed unasked.
Meg took a fork from the table drawer. As Gianni’s hand dived in to pull out some cutlery for himself they might have touched if she had not been so quick to withdraw.
‘You’re staying for breakfast?’ The words leapt out before Meg realised they could be open to misinterpretation.
‘I can’t resist this Castelfino ham,’ he said with real relish, before his eyes became pinpoints of accusation again. ‘Besides, I want to make sure you’re going to eat what I’ve given you, rather than feeding it straight into your Bokashi bin.’
He took a seat on the wide, low sill of the kitchen window. Silhouetted against the glass, he looked every inch the man of her dreams. Meg looked away quickly. She couldn’t afford to be distracted. Gianni was as determined to get his own way as she was, and this sudden concern of his was all part of the softening-up process. Demanding that he get out of her home would only provoke a showdown. Meg felt too morally weak to risk that. So instead she kept the conversation light and insubstantial.
‘It will be a relief to get back home to England after all this rich food and easy living,’ she joked.
Gianni’s brow contracted and his jaw tightened.
‘Only the English can turn the good things of life into a disadvantage,’ he said in an offhand fashion, watching the scarlet claws of autumnal ivy tap against the window-pane. Time stretched between them, elastic yet brittle. Either one could snap the silence and end everything. Meg waited, listening to her heartbeat but deliberately shutting out what it was trying to tell her.
‘Stay…’
When Gianni spoke that single word out loud, it was almost too much to bear.
‘I can’t…I can’t!’ Dropping her fork, she scrubbed her hand back and forth across her eyes, distracted. ‘I don’t want to be your mistress any more, Gianni! I’m so used to being in control—I wouldn’t be capable of standing by and watching you marry another woman! That would mean giving up all claim to you!’
‘So that’s what all this is about!’ Chuckling, Gianni went to her side and tried to slip his arm around her shoulders. ‘Don’t be silly—’
‘For the last time, stop patronising me!’ she blazed.
Realising he had miscalculated, he reined back.
‘I came to the Villa Castelfino to work for you—how can I be expected to do a proper job when I’m distracted by being your mistress? I’m torn between two universes, Gianni! Do you really expect me to be satisfied with life on the extreme edge of your orbit? One day soon you’ll have the inner circle of your own little family, and I’ll be out in the cold. I’ll be nothing more than an occasionally useful bystander! That may be your idea of a fulfilled and happy life, but it’s not mine! I don’t have to be a bit-player in the family Bellini. From now on, my own family will be the only thing I’m interested in!’
‘Your parents’ firm is going from strength to strength. As I said, they don’t need you now,’ he said with feeling.
‘Of course they do. How else will they manage while Dad’s in hospital?’
He glowered. ‘I’ll have my people send someone in to cover for them both. I want you. Stay here. With me.’
‘I can’t. I must go home. I can’t stay here!’
He snorted with derision. ‘Back to Mama and Papa? When you’ve tasted life with me? After this, home life will be nothing but a burden, tesoro. Your parents have moved on—why can’t you? The restrictions of your old life back in England will drive you insane. You won’t be able to take quick shopping trips into Florence whenever you feel like it. You won’t be your own boss any more. How is that going to feel, when you’ve thrown away freedom with me?’
The freedom to have my heart broken every time I see you with your new wife? Meg raged inwardly. Concentrating all her pain into her next words, she tried not to dwell on how true they would be.
‘You’ve got absolutely no idea what my life is going to be like once I walk away from here, Gianni.’
‘I can guess what life beyond the walls of my estate will be like for you. I feel supremely qualified to judge everything against the life you might have had here. It will never satisfy you. You’ve had introductions to a
ll the top landowners in the world, and they’ve had a chance to see your work. You’ll never have such an impressive network of contacts again!’
Meg’s face burned, but she wasn’t about to back down. ‘I’ll have something far more important back in England. A real home, and a family that loves and supports me. I can’t say the same for this place.’
Gianni’s voice was emotionless as he crossed to the door. ‘Don’t blame me if things aren’t quite as exciting with your parents as you remember. You left when you were the driving force behind Imsey’s Plant Centre. The business has carried on without you, and has kept on getting better.’
Meg had been trying everything to take her mind off her broken heart. Gianni managed to distract her completely with those few words.
‘How do you know? Have your “people” been keeping you informed?’ She became a seething mass of indignation. It was made worse by Gianni’s outward calm, especially when she saw in his eyes that he was struggling with inner tensions, too.
‘In a manner of speaking.’ His words were full of meaning. ‘How could you think I was like other men, not paying attention when you read to me from your parents’ letters, or told me about their phone calls? I heard everything you were telling me. Stop looking back. Start concentrating on the future. Walk away from me now, and you will lose everything. When you arrive back home, believe me, you will find you’ve become a mermaid in an English village duck pond.’
Meg could hardly believe what she was hearing. Of all the arrogant, high-handed attitudes to take, Gianni’s was the most outrageous. Anything less than life as his mistress was clearly second best to him. As far as he was concerned, only he could make something of her. To suggest she might manage to have a life outside his charmed circle was beyond his comprehension. Raising her chin to mirror his own determination, she smiled.
‘Then I’ll just have to carve myself out a bigger duck pond, won’t I?’
Without a word, Gianni turned on his heel and walked straight out of her life.
Chapter Nine
MEG stood and watched him go. Only one thing stopped her throwing herself at his feet, begging him not to leave. Pride, pure and simple. Pressing both hands against her face she squeezed her eyes tight shut, willing herself not to scream Gianni’s name out loud. He was the only man she would ever love. She couldn’t tell him, because he couldn’t love her.
She heard his Ferrari roar off down the drive in a squeal of wheels and a scatter of grit. Rushing to the open front door, she was met by a smokescreen of dust. It covered his tracks, but Meg couldn’t have seen him anyway. Her eyes were too full of tears. Slamming the cottage door, she ran upstairs and threw herself face down on her lonely single bed. Telling herself a clean break would be the best way was so easy. Experiencing the actual agony of losing him was hell.
She cried until the shadows lengthened. Only the pressing need to pack and escape got her through the next few hours. All the time her hand throbbed against the bandage Gianni had tied. How ironic that the last memento she would have of him was a tight binding. Wild ideas about never taking it off swam in and out of Meg’s mind as she tried to cling onto Gianni’s memory. All she had was this dressing to remind her. The cut on her thumb might not even carry a scar.
Unlike her heart.
Meg travelled back to England in a daze. She got off the bus outside the local pub and completed the last few hundred yards of her journey on foot. It was time to clear her head and get a grip. She needed to work out some coping strategies—for losing Gianni, and for telling her parents she had thrown away the best job she was ever likely to get. Walking up the lane towards home, she decided work would have to come to her rescue, yet again. She smiled for the first time in days. It was a weak, watery expression, but it was progress. She began to look forward to her mum making a fuss of her. After they had shared a nice pot of tea and some comfort food, Meg would retreat to the greenhouses and immerse herself in the million and one odd jobs that must have piled up since she left.
The once-potholed country lane leading to her old home was now a smooth, well-made road. Meg was too full of her own thoughts to notice. It was only when she rounded the final bend she realised Gianni had been right. Things certainly had moved on since she left.
The shock stopped her dead in her tracks. Her hands fell open with surprise and dropped all her luggage on the tarmac with a crash. Imsey’s Plant Centre had a whole new entrance and car park where the old sheds had been. A bright yellow mechanical digger was working behind the greenhouses Meg had been so sad to leave. It was burrowing across a field that had once belonged to their neighbour—but no longer. With growing disbelief Meg took in the message printed on a smart board beside the nursery entrance. It apologised to customers for any inconvenience caused during phase one of the nursery’s expansion scheme.
Gianni’s words came back to haunt her when she reached the plant centre’s entrance. Not only was there now a gate, it was locked.
She was shut out of her own home.
Pulling out her mobile, Meg rang her home number. To her horror, a complete stranger answered.
‘What’s happened? Where’s Mrs Imsey?’ Terrified, Meg was already hurling her cases over the gate and starting to scramble over.
The voice went stiff with authority.
‘I’m afraid Mrs Imsey is unavailable at the moment. May I help you?”
To Meg’s intense relief, her mother suddenly appeared in the bungalow doorway and waved. Dropping her phone, Meg ran up the drive, but it was a very different woman who rushed towards her in greeting.
For one thing, Mrs Imsey was wearing a dress. And she only threw a single arm around her daughter to begin with, as she was busy signing off a mobile call herself. It was on a PDA that looked almost as impressive as Gianni’s.
‘Megan! There’s lovely!’ Engulfing her daughter in a proper hug, she almost squeezed the life out of Meg—until the unmistakeable strains of Percy Grainger danced from Mrs Imsey’s mobile.
‘Sorry, lovey, it’s the design studio. Can you fend for yourself for a bit? There are some ready meals and chips in the freezer—’ Mrs Imsey said, before starting to speak into her phone again.
Meg had no option but to stand and wait until her mother’s call was over. She might be in the middle of her parents’ drive, but she was all at sea. Except during family celebrations she had never seen her mother wear anything but overalls and wellington boots. Not only was Mrs Imsey now dressed in wool jersey and court shoes, she was using a mobile phone. And one that chirruped ‘Country Gardens’, too…
Meg knew she should have been glad, but the mention of junk food made her suspicious. Her mother would have considered it unthinkable a few months ago. She was torn between delight and unease. There was no need to wonder what had happened since she had been away. Gianni’s words echoed through her mind like a passing bell. Her parents really had moved on. It was Meg who was living in the past now.
‘I’ll go down to the greenhouses and find Dad,’ she mouthed to her mother. Initially, he had been more reluctant than his wife to take Meg’s improvements on board. Now Meg couldn’t wait to see him again. He would be her anchor in the middle of all these changes.
Her mother waved a frantic finger then covered the mouthpiece on her phone before pointing at the house.
‘Your dad’s in the office, installing some new software on his laptop. If you want anything special from the supermarket, he’s going to be updating the grocery order later, but you’d better be quick!’
Meg gaped. When she’d lived at home, her father had only emerged from his beloved greenhouses at mealtimes and dusk—sometimes not even then. She had tried to get him to use the elderly office computer a hundred times.
Meg suddenly felt an awfully long way behind the times. Looking at all the hustle and bustle going on around her once sleepy little home, she wondered if her parents had missed her.
Meg moved her things back into her old bedroom, but Gianni was right. I
t was no longer home to her. Life with him had made her a nomad, unable to retrace her steps. Although the clothes she had left behind in her wardrobe hung loosely on her now, she had grown. Her return felt like trying to fit a Boston Ivy into a three-inch pot. She wanted to escape, but didn’t know how. Her parents no longer needed her. She was free to go, but now she was the one holding back. She had a Gianni-shaped hole in her life. Nothing, not even her family and friends, could fill that.
In desperation, she threw herself back into work at the nursery. Learning all the new systems and meeting all the extra members of staff was a refuge. It wasn’t enough. She needed Gianni to keep her centred. Without him, her life had no balance. Despite her desperation, she was proud. Scouring the trade press to see if he would advertise the position of International Coordinator of Horticulture felt too desperate. So she resorted to inventing a new job for herself. Capitalising on her success at Chelsea earlier in the year, she designed and fitted out a trailer, specifically for transporting their plants to national flower shows. It was nothing more than frantic displacement activity. Concentrating on Imsey’s Plant Centre stopped her agonising over the future she had lost…until something began working its way into her consciousness. She had started to feel decidedly strange. Her breasts became tender, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had seen a period. That was hardly surprising, when her mind was so full of Gianni—but it was worrying.
She no longer lived each day to the full. All she did was exist. Getting up before dawn and working all day, she did nothing more than go through the motions. She opened up the business each morning, and closed it down last thing at night. When her parents persuaded her that she must have some time off, she spent it in her room. There she wrote up the notes she had made while working on the Castelfino estate. At least, that was what she intended to do. Instead, she sat at the writing desk her parents had bought her for her sixteenth birthday and stared out of the window. She had looked out over these fields and hedgerows all her life. Until today she had always been able to find something new and interesting about the view. The sight of redwings arriving to feast on hawthorn berries usually worked as a reminder to start making her Christmas lists. Today she stared at the cackling flock without seeing anything. Her mind was far away, on the other side of the Alps. Snow would be falling on those mountains, but they could look forward to spring. Meg couldn’t. From now on she would be in suspended animation. It was for ever winter in her heart. She had sacrificed everything, and for what?
The Count of Castelfino Page 13