Wife By Arrangement

by Lucy Gordon

  ‘One thing I wasn’t right about,’ he grated. ‘You and Lorenzo must find somewhere else to live.’

  ‘But you said-’

  ‘I’ve changed my mind. You can’t live here.’

  No need to ask why. She’d been wrong about the fiend. It wasn’t on his shoulder, but in his heart. It looked out from his eyes and told her that he was on hot coals. Just as she was.

  She became aware that he was breathing harshly. She tried to tell herself that it was merely the exertion of dancing, but the truth was there between them. If they had been alone he would have kissed her. And then he would have kissed her again, long, hard and passionately. And she would have kissed him back in the way they’d both foreseen on that long ago day when he’d come to her counter and the air had been jagged between them from the first moment.

  It was all wrong. She loved Lorenzo dearly, so how could she be on fire at the thought of laying her lips against Renato’s and feeling his arms about her? How could it be his body she ached to feel pressed against hers, his hands on her skin with the purposeful yet sensitive touch she’d felt once before? It had haunted her every moment since. She could admit that now.

  It would have been easier if she’d stayed hostile to him, but their moment of sympathy on the beach had destroyed that. She’d discovered that she could like him, even be sad for him. That was even more dangerous than her body’s wayward reaction.

  ‘I shouldn’t dance with you,’ she blurted out in sudden dread.

  ‘I know,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I meant-I have so many duty dances to do. I shouldn’t waste one with miu frati.’

  But the words were a mistake. They recalled the picnic when he’d spoken to her with a quiet intensity she suddenly didn’t want to remember.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘You must return to your duty, and I must return to my “harem”. They suit me. They cause me no problems.’

  ‘I’m sure nobody could cause you a problem that you couldn’t solve, Renato.’

  ‘Once I thought so too. The dance is ending. Goodnight-until I lead you to the altar to marry my brother.’

  She turned away to meet one of the many Martelli relations who mustn’t be overlooked. After him there was another, and so her whole evening was taken up, and she didn’t have to look at Renato, or wonder who he was dancing with.

  The world was shrouded in mist. Through it she was vaguely aware of strong arms carrying her down steps, laying her on a bed, hands moving over her bikini, stripping it from her body. She felt the slight breeze on her naked flesh, a towel dabbing her dry, her breasts, her thighs-

  And then, piercing the mist, the man’s face, his eyes defenceless, appalled at his own thoughts.

  Suddenly it all vanished, and Heather found she was sitting up in bed, shuddering, her body alive with unwanted sensation. ‘No,’ she gasped. ‘No!’

  ‘What is it?’ Angie asked, scrambling out of her own bed and hurrying to her. ‘Heather, what’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing-just a dream-’

  Just a dream in which the memory she’d fiercely suppressed had forced its way into view. She hadn’t dared remember how she’d lain naked in Renato’s arms, or how he’d looked at her. But part of her would never forget.

  ‘I’m going for a walk,’ she said.

  ‘Shall I come with you?’

  ‘No, thank you. I-I need to be alone.’

  Throwing a light robe over her nightdress, she slipped out onto the terrace. The house was quiet and dark, and here in the cool night air she might soothe the fever that consumed her. It was two in the morning. Her wedding day. And she had been wrenched awake by a dream of another man.

  In her heart she’d always known Renato was dangerous. But it would pass once she was married. In Lorenzo’s arms, in his bed, she would forget everything else. She must!

  She looked over the terrace rail to the one below and what she saw filled her with relief. ‘Lorenzo,’ she called in a whisper. ‘I’m coming down.’

  She returned through her room and slipped out, along the corridor, down the stairs. He was waiting for her in the hall, his arms open to receive her as she flung herself against him.

  ‘What is it, darling? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. I just wanted to say how much I love you-love you-love you-’

  ‘There’s no need to sound so upset about it.’

  ‘I’m not upset. Everything’s perfect. But I had to tell you that I love you.’

  ‘And I love you, so everything’s all right.’

  He kissed her. Heather gave herself up to that kiss, trying to find in it everything she wanted. But no kiss could give that. They were both too full of tension. Things would be different when they were on the boat, drifting beneath the moonlight.

  She jumped at a sudden sound from the darkness. ‘What was that?’

  ‘Only Renato. That’s his study. He’s actually in there, working.’

  ‘Could he have heard us?’

  ‘Probably. What does it matter? Forget him. Why, darling, you’re trembling.’ Lorenzo’s arms went around her. ‘Let me take you upstairs. Just a few more hours, and we’ll belong to each other for ever.’

  The wedding dress was made of silk-satin, designed in a subtly medieval style, with the skirt falling in heavy folds from her waist, and the slight fullness coming from the huge amount of material that had been used. At the back it stretched out into a long train embellished around the hem with French lace. The sleeves were plain to the elbows, then flared into more lace. The veil stretched almost down to the floor, held in place by the pearl tiara. The effect of it with the dress was elegant and breathtaking.

  The sensation of becoming a new person, that had come upon her gradually since she’d been here, was stronger now. Her day on the boat had bleached her light brown hair to gold; her lightly tanned skin made the whites of her eyes glow with brilliant effect. For the first time in her life she was not merely pretty but beautiful, even glamorous.

  The heat of Sicily had done this to her, as it had also warmed her body, awakening her to physical sensations that had lain dormant in the mists of England. It was the heat of the furnace, and some northerners wilted in it. But Heather had flowered.

  As bridesmaid, Angie wore a simple cream silk that brought out the glow of her skin and her dark eyes, full of pleasurable anticipation. Heather smiled at her.

  ‘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.’ Bernardo was the best man.

  There was a knock on the door, and Renato called. ‘Everyone has gone to the cathedral. Bernardo and Lorenzo left several minutes ago. I’m waiting for you downstairs.’

  Angie presented Heather with her bouquet of white roses. ‘You look fantastic. Lorenzo will keel over when he sees you.’

  Heather smiled. In the bright sunlight her troubling fancies had faded. She loved Lorenzo and he loved her. That was all that mattered.

  They made a slow procession along the corridor, then a slight turn so that Heather was looking down the broad staircase. Every servant in the house seemed to be gathered there to see her entrance, all beaming up at her with approval. And there was Renato, gazing up as the bride began her stately descent. His face bore a rigid look, as though he was holding his breath. Then he stepped forward, extending his hand. She placed her own hand in it, and he steadied her down the last few steps, while the servants applauded.

  The limousine was waiting. Heather climbed carefully into the back and sat while Angie settled her dress and veil perfectly about her, then got in beside her. Renato joined them, and they were ready to go.

  At first she looked out of the window at the scenery as they glided slowly down towards Palermo, trying to take in that this was really happening to her. Renato was silent, and she thought he too must be preoccupied, but when she turned to him she found his gaze fixed on her. In his eyes was the same stunned look she’d seen earlier
.

  They had reached the outskirts of Palermo and the car was making its way through the streets until at last the great cathedral was in sight. Both cars were drawing to a halt, the doors were opening.

  She stood in the bright sunlight while Angie straightened her dress, then fell into place behind her. There was a little crowd nearby. They stopped to look at the wedding party. Some of them applauded, and Heather heard the whisper, ‘Grazziusu.’ Beautiful.

  Renato looked at her.

  ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Quite ready.’

  ‘No doubts?’

  ‘Why do you ask that?’ she cried.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said abruptly. ‘Let’s go.’

  She took the arm he offered, and they walked across the piazza and into the cathedral together.

  After the brilliance outside the dim light was like darkness, but then her eyes focused on the magnificent interior full of guests, all turning to watch her arrive. Beyond them she could see the choir, and the archbishop waiting by the altar to marry her to Lorenzo.

  High overhead the organ pealed out. She took a deep breath, her hand tightened unconsciously on Renato’s arm, and she prepared for the first step.

  ‘Wait,’ Renato said softly.

  Then she saw Bernardo hurrying down the aisle towards them. He looked worried. ‘Not yet,’ he said in a low, urgent voice. ‘Lorenzo isn’t here.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Renato demanded. ‘You arrived together, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but then he slipped away. He said he needed to have a word with someone, and he’d be back in a moment but when I went to look for him, nobody knew where he was, and-’

  ‘And what?’ Renato asked harshly, for Bernardo seemed unwilling to continue.

  ‘I spoke to a woman outside. She’d seen a young man get into a taxi. From the description-but it might have been anyone, of course-’

  ‘Of course it might,’ Renato broke in. ‘A storm in a teacup. Lorenzo will return in a minute.’

  But behind the apparent conviction Heather heard the uneasy note in his voice, and she saw that Bernardo couldn’t meet her eye.

  Even so, it wasn’t real. She felt as though she were floating in a place where there was no sensation, and from where she could look down on a woman in a bridal gown, staring disaster in the face. It was somebody else.

  ‘What has happened? Where is Lorenzo?’

  Nobody had seen Baptista approach down the aisle. Now she was there, a tiny, commanding figure, clinging to Enrico’s arm, looking from one to the other. ‘Where is Lorenzo?’ she repeated.

  For a ghastly moment nobody knew how to answer her. Then there was a small commotion outside, and a boy of about sixteen hurried in and came to a nervous halt at the sight of the group. He gulped, thrust a sheet of paper into the bridal bouquet, and ran for his life.

  She was floating again, watching the bride carefully remove the paper and hand the beautiful flowers to the bridesmaid. There wasn’t even an envelope, just something in pencil on a sheet. It was scrawled, as though it had been written in a hurry, or great agitation, or both.

  Dearest, darling Heather,

  Please forgive me. I wouldn’t have done it like this if there had been any other way, but Renato was so set on this marriage that I haven’t known whether I was coming or going.

  I do love you-I think. And maybe if things had happened naturally between us we would have married anyway, in time. We had a lovely romance, didn’t we? If only it could have stayed that way. But Renato descended on us in London. It suited him for us to marry, and you know the rest.

  And then he was injured and you saved him. You looked so marvellous to me that night that marriage didn’t seem so bad any more. And suddenly everything was arranged and I was practically an old married man before I’d had time to enjoy being young.

  I came back from Stockholm early to talk to you, explain why we ought to postpone everything for a while, but Renato made me ‘see reason’ (his words).

  So I suppose when I set out this morning I really meant to go through with it. But when I was sitting in the cathedral I suddenly knew I couldn’t.

  Try to forgive me. I still think you’re wonderful.

  Lorenzo.

  The silence seemed to be singing in Heather’s ears, but it was a strange kind of silence that sounded almost like laughing. The whole world was laughing. Slowly she lowered the sheet of paper, staring into space.

  Lorenzo wasn’t coming. He’d never loved her very much, never truly wanted to marry her at all. Renato had wanted their marriage, ‘because it suited him.’ For his own convenience he’d moved them around like puppets, pulling strings here, bending the truth a little there. No wonder he’d welcomed her so enthusiastically.

  Behind her she heard Renato’s furious Sicilian curse, ‘Malediri!’ and understood that he’d read the letter over her shoulder. As if drawn by a magnet she turned to look at him and saw his eyes full of shock. It had drained the colour from beneath his tan, so that he looked almost the same as in the ambulance, the night he’d nearly died.

  He met her gaze. For once he wasn’t in command. He looked as she felt, like someone who’d received a savage blow in the stomach. Later Heather was to remember that, but now it made little impact. She still had the sense of floating above everything.

  Curious relatives had started to drift up the aisle to get a better look. More and more of them came as the news whispered through the congregation that something had gone horribly, excitingly wrong.

  ‘What does he say?’ Angie whispered.

  Receiving no answer, she took the page from Heather’s nerveless fingers. Bernardo too contrived to read it, then raised his head to meet Renato’s eyes, his own angry and astonished. ‘I’ll find him, bring him back-’

  ‘No!’ Heather said violently. Her head cleared and she looked round at them. ‘Do you think I’d marry him now?’

  ‘Heather, he doesn’t really mean it,’ Bernardo pleaded.

  ‘I mean it. Do you think I’m so desperate for a wedding ring that I’ll marry a man at gunpoint? How dare you!’

  He nodded. ‘Forgive me! It was a foolish thing to say.’

  Her strength was coming back. Inwardly she was screaming, and some time very soon there would be bitter tears. But right now she seemed to be made of pure pride, and it would sustain her until she was alone. If only she could run away now, and hide from the crowd who’d witnessed her humiliation. But she wouldn’t run. She wouldn’t hide. She would face them with her head up.

  ‘Right,’ she said calmly. ‘That’s that, then. We’d better go home.’ She looked Renato in the eye. ‘You brought me. You can take me back.’

  There was a look of pure admiration in his eyes, if she hadn’t been too angry to see it. But her anger faded as she looked at Baptista, who had been standing there in silence. The old woman looked wretchedly ill and frail.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mamma. This is terrible for you too.’

  Baptista managed a tired smile. ‘Try to forgive my son, if you can. He means well, but he always did what was easiest. I spoiled and indulged him, and this is the result.’

  ‘None of this is your fault,’ Heather said emphatically. She looked directly at Renato, but didn’t underline the look with words.

  ‘You’re very kind, my dear,’ Baptista said faintly. ‘Very kind-’ she swayed and her eyes closed.

  ‘Mamma!’ Renato said sharply, and put his arms out just in time.

  ‘Lay her down,’ Angie said, turning in a moment from a bridesmaid into a doctor. She knelt beside Baptista, felt her heart, frowning.

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

  ‘I’m not sure. It may not be too serious, but she needs to get to the hospital.’

  Renato raised his mother in his arms. ‘Mamma,’ he said urgently. ‘Mamma! Miu Diu!’ Still carrying her, he strode to the door. ‘The hospital is close. We’ll go straight there.’

&nbs
p; ‘Leave the guests to us,’ Enrico said. ‘We’ll take them home, see they’re fed, and get rid of them.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Bernardo said fervently, following his brother.

  ‘What do we do?’ Angie asked Heather.

  ‘We follow,’ Heather said firmly. ‘I love her too.’

  Outside they commandeered one of the wedding cars and directed the driver. They reached the hospital to find Bernardo and Renato in the corridor, pacing about.

  ‘Is there any news?’ Heather asked, not looking at Renato. She wanted to pretend that he didn’t exist. Her mind was so full of misery and turmoil that it was only by concentrating on Baptista that she could keep from screaming.

  ‘Not yet, but I’m sure she’ll be all right,’ Bernardo said. ‘She’s had giddy spells before, and always recovered.’

  ‘But each one brings her closer to the end,’ Renato said wretchedly. ‘Her heart could give out at any time; we’ve always known that.’

  ‘I think you’re being too gloomy,’ Angie said firmly. ‘It didn’t look like a heart attack to me. Just a faint. And I am a doctor, don’t forget.’

  Bernardo threw her a grateful look, and Heather didn’t miss the way he squeezed Angie’s hand, or the reassuring smiles they exchanged. How right they seemed together: as perfect for each other as she had once thought she and Lorenzo-

  A shuddering gasp broke from her, and for a moment her eyes filled with tears. Through the blur she could see the magnificence of her dress swirling around her. At this moment she should be kneeling before the altar at Lorenzo’s side, while the priest intoned the words that made them each other’s for ever. Instead it had all been a mockery. And the man who’d schemed and manipulated to bring this disaster down on all their heads was Renato.

  Heather had never hated any human being before in her life, but at this moment the taste of hatred was bitter in her mouth. She looked up to find Renato watching her, and knew that he’d read her thoughts. She wanted to hurl bitter accusations at his head, but the sight of his ravaged face stopped her. Angrily she brushed the tears away from her eyes. His mother was ill. She wouldn’t curse him, but neither would she let him see her weeping, or showing any sign of weakness.