Accidentally Expecting!

by Lucy Gordon

  ‘These are Francesco, Ruggiero and Primo,’ Toni explained. ‘Don’t try to sort them out just now. We’ll do the introductions later.’

  ‘Ferne has had a misfortune and will be staying with us until it’s sorted out,’ Hope said. ‘Now, I’m longing to get home.’

  There were two cars. Hope, Toni and Ferne rode in the first, driven by Francesco, while the other two brothers took Dante and the luggage in the second.

  All the way home Hope looked eagerly out of the window, until at last she seized Ferne’s arm and said, ‘Look. That’s the Villa Rinucci.’

  Ferne followed her gaze up to the top of a hill, on which was perched a large villa facing out over Naples and the sea. She was entranced by the place; it was bathed in golden sun, and looked as though it contained both beauty and safety.

  As they grew nearer she saw that the house was larger than she’d realised at first. Trees surrounded it, but the villa was on slightly higher ground, so that it seemed to be growing out of the trees. A plump woman, followed by two buxom young girls, came out to watch the cars arriving, all waving eagerly.

  ‘That’s Elena, my housekeeper,’ Hope told Ferne. ‘The two girls are her nieces who are working here for a couple of weeks, because there will be so many of us-and plenty of children, I’m glad to say. I called Elena while we were still on the train, to tell her you were coming and would need a room.’

  The next moment they stopped, the door was pulled open and Ferne was being shown up the steps onto the wide terrace that surrounded the house, and then inside.

  ‘Why don’t you go up to your room at once?’ Hope asked. ‘Come down when you’re ready and meet these villains I call my sons.’

  ‘These villains’ were smiling with pleasure at seeing their parents again and Ferne slipped away, understanding that they would want to be free of her for a while.

  Her room was luxurious, with its own bathroom and a wide, comfortable-looking bed. Going to the window, she found she was at the front of the house, with a stunning view over the Bay of Naples. It was at its best just now, the water glittering in the morning sun, stretching away to the horizon, seeming to offer an infinity of pleasure and unknown delight.

  Quickly she showered and changed into a dress of pale blue, cut on simple lines but fashionable. At least she would be able to hold her head up in elegant Italy.

  She heard laughter from below, and looked out of the window to where the Rinucci family were seated around a rustic wooden table under the trees, talking and laughing in a gentle manner that made a sudden warmth come over her heart.

  Her own family life had been happy but sparse. She was an only child, born to parents who were themselves only-children. One set of grandparents had died early, the other had emigrated to Australia.

  Now her father was dead and her mother had gone to live with her own parents in Australia. Ferne could have gone too, but had chosen to stay in London to pursue a promising career. So there was only herself to blame that she was lonely, that there had been nobody to lend a sympathetic ear when the crash had come with Sandor Jayley.

  There had been friends, of course, nights out with the girls that she’d genuinely enjoyed. But they were career women like herself, less inclined to sympathise than congratulate her on the coup she’d pulled off. She’d always returned to an empty flat, the silence and the memories.

  But something told her that the Villa Rinucci was never truly empty, and she was assailed by delight as she gazed down at the little gathering.

  Hope looked up and waved, signalling for her to join them, and Ferne hurried eagerly down the stairs and out onto the terrace. As she approached the table the young men stood up with an old-fashioned courtesy that she found charming, and Dante stepped forward to take her hand and lead her forward. Hope rose and kissed her.

  ‘This is the lady who joined us on the train and who will be staying with us for a while,’ she said.

  She began to introduce the young men-first Primo, stepson from her first marriage, then Ruggiero, one of her sons by Toni. Both men were tall and dark. Primo’s face was slightly heavier, while Ruggiero’s features had a mobility that reminded her slightly of his cousin, Dante.

  Francesco had a brooding quality, as though his mind carried some burden. Like the other two, he greeted her warmly, but then said, ‘I’d better go now, Mamma. I want to get home before Celia.’

  ‘Doesn’t she ever get suspicious about how often that happens?’ Hope asked.

  ‘Always, and she tells me to stop, but-’ He gave a resigned shrug. ‘I do it anyway.’ To Ferne he added, ‘My wife is blind, and she gets very cross if she thinks I’m fussing over her, but I can’t help it.’

  ‘Go on home,’ Hope told him. ‘Just be sure you’re at the party tomorrow.’

  He embraced her fondly and departed. Almost at once another car appeared and disgorged two young women. One was dark, and so gracefully beautiful that even her pregnancy-bump couldn’t detract from her elegance. The other was fair, pretty in a way that was sensible rather than exotic, and was accompanied by an eager toddler.

  ‘This is my wife, Olympia,’ Primo said, drawing the pregnant woman forward to meet Ferne.

  ‘And this is my wife, Polly,’ Ruggiero said, indicating the fair young woman.

  At this distance she could see that Polly too was pregnant, possibly about five months. Her husband’s attitude to her seemed protective, and again Ferne was pervaded by the feeling of contentment that she’d had earlier. Just being here, among people so happy to be together, was enough to create it.

  It was soon time for lunch. Hope led the way indoors to inspect the meal Elena was preparing, taste things and give her opinion. In this she was joined not only by her daughters-in-law but her sons, who savoured the dishes and offered advice freely-sometimes too freely, as their mother informed them.

  ‘So it’s true what they say about Italian men,’ Ferne observed, amused.

  ‘What do they say about us?’ Dante murmured in her ear. ‘I’m longing to know.’

  ‘Why, that you’re all fantastic cooks, of course. What did you think I meant?’

  He gave a disillusioned sigh. ‘Nothing, nothing. Yes, we’re all interested in cooking. Not like Englishmen, who eat sausage and mash on every occasion.’ Suddenly he looked closely at her face. ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Why are you looking troubled?’

  ‘I just suddenly thought-perhaps I should telephone the consulate. They might have some news by now.’

  ‘This afternoon I’ll drive you into Naples and we’ll visit the consulate here. They can get onto the Milan consulate. Now, let’s forget boring reality and concentrate on the important things-enjoying ourselves.’

  ‘Yes, let’s,’ she said happily.

  Dante was as good as his word, borrowing Toni’s car after lunch and driving her down the hill through the streets of the old town until they reached their destination near the coast.

  There the news was bleak. Neither her passport nor her credit cards had been recovered.

  ‘Considering how quickly they were reported, it looks as though someone made off with them,’ Dante observed. ‘But hopefully they won’t be any use to them.’

  ‘We can arrange a temporary passport,’ the young woman at the desk said. ‘But it will take a few days. There’s a kiosk over there for the photograph.’

  ‘No need, I’ll take it,’ Dante said. Eyeing Ferne’s bag, he added, ‘If you’ll lend me your camera.’

  She handed it to him. ‘What made you so sure I had it?’

  ‘You told me you always had it. And the woman who was smart enough to record her lover’s infidelity wouldn’t miss a trick like this.’

  She showed him how to work it, and they spent a few minutes out in the sun while she turned this way and that at his command.

  ‘Pull your blouse down this side,’ he said. ‘You’ve got pretty shoulders; let’s see them. Good. Now, shake your head so that your hair fluffs up.’

  ‘This is no
good for passport pictures,’ she objected.

  He grinned. ‘Who said anything about passport pictures? Maybe I have a wicked purpose of my own.’

  Back inside, they switched the camera to ‘view’ and showed the results to the woman at the desk, who regarded them with saintly patience.

  ‘None of these are suitable. I think you should use the kiosk,’ she suggested.

  ‘We could have done that to start with,’ Ferne pointed out.

  ‘But then my wicked purpose wouldn’t have been fulfilled,’ Dante said unanswerably. ‘Come on; go into that kiosk and take some shots that make you look dreary and virtuous.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that I’m not dreary and virtuous?’

  ‘Which part of that question do you want me to answer?’

  ‘Let’s just get on with it,’ she said hastily.

  When the formalities were complete, Dante took her to a café by the beach and they relaxed over coffee.

  ‘If you think the villa’s a madhouse now,’ he said, ‘wait until tomorrow when the rest of the family get here.’

  ‘There’s quite a lot of them, isn’t there? Six, I think Hope said.’

  ‘That’s right, although they don’t all live around here. Luke and Minnie will be coming from Rome. Justin and Evie from England, with Mark, Justin’s son, and their baby twins.’

  A terrible thought struck Ferne. ‘Where will they be staying?’

  ‘At the villa, of course.’

  ‘And you’re there too, so whose room have I been given? Someone will end up sleeping on the sofa because of me, and I can’t have that. I’ve got to go.’

  ‘And stay where-in a hotel? With no money or paperwork?’

  ‘Well, if you could lend me some money I’ll pay it back…’

  Dante shook his head firmly. ‘Sorry, no. To tell the hotel that you’re a trustworthy person, when actually I don’t know if you are, would be most improper. And we must always behave with propriety, mustn’t we?’

  Despite her agitation, she couldn’t help laughing.

  ‘You,’ she said in a slow, deliberate voice, ‘wouldn’t recognise propriety if it came up and whacked you on the nose-which I am strongly tempted to do right now.’

  ‘Curses!’ he said theatrically. ‘She’s seen through me. All right, I’ll admit my true motive. I plan to keep you here, a prisoner, subject to my will. Cash would help you to escape, which doesn’t suit my evil purpose.’

  ‘I wonder if I can guess your evil purpose,’ she said dryly.

  ‘Well, I’m not exactly subtle, am I? But do I need to be? You’re in my power.’

  ‘In your dreams!’ she chuckled.

  ‘In those too,’ he said with a yearning look.

  ‘No, I didn’t mean-Oh, you know what I meant.’

  ‘Well, a man can dream, can’t he?’ he asked, eyeing her significantly.

  ‘He can dream all he likes, as long as he doesn’t confuse dreams with reality,’ she said, also significantly. ‘And you didn’t answer my question. Whose room have I been given?’

  He didn’t reply, but his mouth twisted.

  ‘Oh no, please, don’t tell me…?’

  ‘If you feel that way, we could always share it,’ he suggested.

  ‘Will you just stop, please?’

  ‘All right, all right, don’t eat me. You can’t blame a man for trying.’

  ‘I can. I do.’

  ‘You wouldn’t if you could sit where I’m sitting, looking at you.’

  She gave up. How could you talk sense to a man who had that wicked glint in his eyes?

  But it could be fun finding out.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘I F YOU’RE going to reject me, I’ll just have to console myself with those pictures of you that I took,’ Dante remarked.

  ‘I deleted them,’ she said at once.

  ‘Like hell you did! If you didn’t delete the evidence of your lover misbehaving, you aren’t going to wipe out the pics of you looking like every man’s dream of sexy.’

  ‘Will you stop talking to me like that?’

  ‘Why should I?’

  What could she say? Because it gives me a fizz of excitement that I’m not ready for yet.

  He was a clever man, she reckoned; he made it clear beyond doubt that he was sexually attracted to her, yet with such a light touch that she could relax in his company, free from pressure. She didn’t doubt that he would jump into her bed in an instant, if she gave him the barest hint. But without that hint he would sit here talking nonsense, biding his time.

  She wondered how many other women had been beguiled into his arms, and what had happened to them when it was over. She suspected that Dante would always be the one to say goodbye, treating love easily, never lingering too long. But there was more to him than that; instinct, too deep to be analysed, told her so.

  His tone changed, becoming what he would have called ‘prosaic’.

  ‘While I think of it-’ he reached into his wallet and handed her a wad of notes ‘-you can’t walk around without any money.’

  ‘But you just said you wouldn’t-’

  ‘We’re back in the real world. You must have something. Here.’

  Staggered, she looked at the amount. ‘So much? No, Dante, please-I can’t take this.’ Accepting some of the notes, she tried to thrust the rest back at him.

  ‘You don’t know what you may need,’ he said firmly, pushing her hand away. ‘But what you will definitely need is your independence, and with that you’ll have it. Put it away safely.’ He sounded like a school master.

  ‘But what about keeping me in your power?’ she asked, tucking it into her bag. ‘Making me independent isn’t going to help your evil purpose.’

  ‘True,’ he mused. ‘On the other hand, nothing gained by force is really satisfying. It’s better when she knocks on his door and says she can’t live any longer without his wild embraces. Much more fun.’

  ‘And do you think I’m going to do that?’

  He seemed to consider this. ‘No, I think you’ll go to the stake before you yield an inch. But, as I said before, a man can dream.’

  They regarded each other in perfect, humorous understanding.

  Afterwards they drove back to the villa slowly, where supper was just being prepared.

  ‘Some people only turn up just before a meal,’ Francesco jeered, giving Dante a friendly thump on the shoulder.

  He’d gone home and returned with his wife, Celia, whom he now drew forward.

  Ferne would hardly have guessed that Celia was blind. She was bright and vivacious with a way of turning her head, clearly aware of what was happening around her. They fell easily into conversation, sitting on the terrace and chatting about their work. Celia’s career was making the world accessible to the blind.

  ‘I’m working on a scheme to make theatres more friendly,’ she said. ‘It involves an ear-piece with a description of the action. Francesco and I were in London a couple of months ago, going to lots of shows so that I could get some ideas, and we went to a performance where everyone was going crazy over the star, Sandor Jayley. They said he looked incredibly sexy in a little Roman tunic.

  ‘But Francesco wouldn’t tell me that, and I had to find out afterwards when apparently there were some deliciously scandalous pictures of Sandor in the papers. Why, what’s the matter?’

  Dante had drawn a sharp breath. The sight of his appalled face made Ferne burst out laughing.

  ‘Have I said something wrong?’ Celia begged.

  ‘No, not at all,’ Ferne choked. ‘It’s just that…’

  Briefly she told the story and Celia covered her mouth in horror.

  ‘Oh no! What have I done? I never meant-Please, please-’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Ferne hurried to say. ‘I saw the funny side of it ages ago. Oh heavens!’ She went off into gales of laughter again, then calmed down and tried to reassure Celia that she wasn’t in a state of collapse. It took a while, but at last she managed it.
>
  When she looked up Dante was observing her with a strange smile and a look in his eyes that might have been admiration. From inside the house they heard Hope’s voice.

  ‘Ferne, dear, are you there? I need your help.’

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ Ferne said, hurrying away.

  Celia listened as Ferne’s footsteps faded, then turned to Dante.

  ‘She’s gorgeous,’ she said. ‘You’re a lucky man.’

  ‘What makes you think she’s mine?’

  ‘Francesco says you can’t take your eyes off her.’

  ‘And with reason. She’s worth looking at.’

  ‘I think her face is gentle and kind, like her voice, when she went to so much trouble to reassure me. She sounds lovely.’

  ‘She is lovely,’ Dante murmured.

  ‘Is she really all right about that man-the one they call “sexy legs”?’

  ‘Would you mind not saying that?’ Dante said in a strained voice.

  ‘You’ve really got it bad, haven’t you?’

  ‘I decline to answer,’ he said after a moment. ‘Shall we go in to supper?’

  That evening was one of the most pleasant Ferne had ever spent. As the sun faded, lights came on in the garden and at last everyone drifted away from the table to drink their wine under the trees.

  ‘I think your family has found the secret of happy marriage,’ Ferne murmured. ‘They all look like courting couples-even Hope and Toni, after all these years.’

  Dante nodded. ‘Hope says that’s all down to Toni, the sweetest-natured man in the world. He’s always been very kind to me. I’m glad he has happiness now, even if it’s in the sunset rather than the sunrise.’

  ‘I wonder if that could be better.’

  ‘I doubt it. Who can ever tell what their own sunset is going to be?’

  ‘Perhaps wondering about it is one of the pleasures of life?’ she suggested.

  He gave a little shrug. ‘Perhaps. Let’s go where we can watch the Naples sunset.’

  Totally content, she let him lead her to a place where they could stand beneath the trees and watch the miracle that was happening over the bay. For a dazzling moment the light was deep red, seeming to set the sea on fire, and they watched it in awed silence.