by Lucy Gordon
‘Which rooms?’
‘The ones at the end. That big one and two smaller ones. She’s putting beds in them all.’
‘Beds? Downstairs?’
‘She’s having them brought down from upstairs, and the rooms are being spring-cleaned.’
‘But what does she say about it?’
‘Just that she has some friends coming. She has her own ways of doing things. She’s the padrona. I can’t make her tell me if she doesn’t want to. Perhaps she’ll tell you.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of asking.’
‘Perhaps she’s bringing her glamorous friends. They’ll have an orgy and it’ll be in all the glossy magazines.’
‘You should be ashamed of yourself, a respectable woman, talking like that,’ Vittorio said severely. ‘What do you know about orgies?’
‘Only what I’ve read,’ Berta sighed regretfully. ‘But I know they drink a lot at them, so perhaps I should ask her about getting in some more wine.’
‘You’ll do no such thing. Anyway, it wouldn’t be in all the glossy magazines. It would only be in one, an exclusive, and they’d pay for it. That’s how it’s done in her world. Sell it for the highest price. Just let her try that here. Just let her try it!’
‘You couldn’t stop her,’ Berta said gently.
He grimaced. ‘That’s true. And it’s time I went to look for her. Whatever she’s up to, I can’t leave her wandering around in a place she doesn’t know. Come on, Luca.’
Together they went out into the darkness.
He wondered if he’d taken leave of his senses. This morning he’d attacked the young oaf in the shop for daring to refer to her reputation. But an hour later she’d been with him, shamelessly flaunting herself, a tease, leading a man on, deserving everything she got.
That was what the world would say, and that cynical, easy judgement would have been his own if he hadn’t felt her collapse and seen the light fade and die in her eyes. He knew that he had to find out what was hurting her inside, and until he did he wouldn’t know what to think of her.
Yes, he’d taken leave of his senses.
With no idea which direction to take, the man followed the dog, who seemed sure of himself. After half an hour walking, aided by moonlight, he thought he heard noises from the trees just ahead.
‘Hey!’ he called again. ‘Where are you?’
For answer, he received a squeak, and the next moment Toni came scampering towards him. Vittorio fondled him with relief.
‘So where is she?’ he asked. ‘Go on. I’ll follow.’
He had to move fast before Toni vanished into the shadows, but, by following the grunts, Vittorio finally located Angel, sitting on the ground beneath a tree, her arms crossed over her body, rocking back and forth.
‘What are you doing out here?’ he asked, dropping to his knees beside her.
Her only answer was a little gasp. Looking closely in the gloom, Vittorio saw that her eyes were closed.
‘Come on,’ he said, taking hold of her.
‘Go away,’ she whispered.
‘I’m not going to go away and leave you here,’ he said. ‘It’s not safe for you to be out alone. What’s happened to you? Earlier today you were ready to tell the world to go to hell, especially me.’
‘It’s all an act,’ she said wanly. ‘I can’t make it last.’
‘Angel-’
‘Don’t!’ she said harshly. ‘Don’t call me Angel. She doesn’t exist.’
‘I thought that’s who you were.’
‘No, it’s who I pretended to be for eight years. My name is Angela, and that’s who I am. At least-I think I am-I don’t know-I’ve been Angel for so long…’
She fell silent, except for the harsh sound of her breathing, and Vittorio slipped his arms about her.
‘Come back to the house,’ he said gently. ‘It’s getting cold.’
But she didn’t seem to know that he was there.
‘I hate Angel,’ she said, still in the same gasping whisper. ‘She’s shallow and stupid and she knows nothing except how things look, and the right thing to say and wear, and what jewellery costs the most, and-’
‘Hey, steady, steady,’ he said, drawing her closer. ‘Why are you suddenly talking like this? Is it because of that nonsense in the magazine? How can you let it worry you?’
‘Because it drags me back,’ she said in despair. ‘I thought I could get free, but I can’t. There’s no way out because it changes you into someone else-someone you don’t want to be.’
He held her, feeling her trembling in his arms, cursing his own helplessness. He couldn’t cope with this. The woman that he knew infuriated him, kept him awake at night wondering, made him want to yell his frustration to the heavens. But when she collapsed into this vulnerable creature it devastated him, and all he wanted was to see her restored. It made no sense at all, and that scared him.
‘You’ve got to stop this,’ he urged. ‘It isn’t you.’
‘What is me? Do you know?’ Angel had a small flash of anger. ‘You’re another one who thinks he knows what I’m really like. To blazes with you. To blazes with all of them!’
‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘Fight me. Tell me I’m a pain in the neck. You know that’s what you really think.’
‘Yes,’ she said shakily.
‘And that’s what I’ve been ever since you came?’
‘That’s true.’
‘And I’m going to go on being just that.’
‘Stop it,’ she said, thumping him lightly. ‘I can’t take this. I just need to go and-and-’
‘What you need to do is hit me properly, which is what you’ve been longing to do from the start. It’s easy. Go on.’
She did as he said, thumping his shoulder harder and then harder as he urged her on.
‘You can do better than that. Remind yourself how much you hate me.’
‘No, it’s you who hates me,’ she said, laughing and crying together. ‘Because I’m a spoilt, rich bitch who took your home. You surely remember?’
‘I’m not sure I do,’ Vittorio said wryly. ‘Are you a spoilt bitch?’
‘Didn’t I prove it today?’
‘Oh, that,’ he said, casting his mind back to an incident that felt like a hundred years ago. ‘Is that what you were trying to prove? You don’t do it very well. I don’t think being a vamp comes naturally to you.’
‘Oh, hell! I’m sorry, it’s just that you-no, it’s not your fault. It’s me-Angel-one of us. She really is selfish and horrible. You read what Gavin said.’
‘Don’t tell me this is about that oaf?’
‘Not him-everything. Gavin, and Joe, and Sam and-everything.’
‘Who’s Sam?’ he asked, not sure he’d heard her properly.
But Angel was weeping again as the dark waves chased through her mind, and Vittorio gave up talking, just held her tight.
At last he drew away from her, and looked at her face in the faint light from the moon.
‘You’re a mess,’ he said gently. ‘Come on, I’m taking you home.’
She choked slightly. ‘Not yet. I don’t want-’
‘I said I’m taking you home,’ he said firmly. ‘Don’t argue.’
She let him draw her to her feet and slip his arm about her waist. They walked in silence until the house was in sight, and she said, in a more normal voice, ‘I’m all right now. I don’t want anyone knowing about-anything.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, releasing her. ‘I won’t say a word. You can trust me.’
She nodded. ‘I know I can.’
They entered the house separately. Angel talked normally to Berta, almost as if her black mood had passed, but Vittorio watched, wondering. After a while, he went out to his battered old car, where he sat for a while, looking up at the window of her room, the room that had once been his own, but which now seemed strange and mysterious to him because she was there.
But no light appeared, and at last he drove away.
Standing at her window in the darkness, Angel watched Vittorio’s headlights gradually fading. Then she went to bed, fell asleep at once, and lay undisturbed all night. When she awoke in the morning, the sun was shining and she felt well and strong again.
CHAPTER FIVE
I T WAS several days before Angel saw him again. She was used to him dropping in during the evening, ostensibly for a friendly chat with Berta, but always having a word with her before he left. Gradually she’d come to look forward to these chats, which took the form of more or less friendly bickering, with an exciting edge.
But suddenly Vittorio vanished. She told herself he was just busy, but once, after a trip to Amalfi, she returned to find some estimates of necessary expenditure on her desk. Berta explained that he’d left them there while she was out.
It might have been an accident, but Angel had noticed him as she had driven past him, and could have sworn that he’d seen her. Which meant he’d come to the house when he had known she wasn’t there.
Taking the papers, she went out to find him, where he was working in the lemon orchard.
‘Do we really need to replace so much of the cliff railing?’ she asked. ‘You dealt with the place where I fell.’
‘Yes, and since then I’ve had a much closer look at the rest. It’s old, and money needs to be spent on it. I’d been planning it next year, but it’s worse than I thought, and the work needs to be done before winter. With your permission, I’ll put it in hand.’
‘Yes, please do that,’ Angel sighed.
She would have liked to stay and chat, perhaps even to tell him how his kindness had helped to chase away her demons. But his manner was that of a man impatient to get back to work, and it was as though the word padrona was raised like a barrier between them.
Angel understood. He was telling her that they were still mistress and servant, and the events of the other day must be forgotten. He would not presume on them, but-equally important-neither must she.
With a sigh, she turned away. When she looked back a few moments later, Vittorio was absorbed in his work, his head bent. She might not have existed.
As she returned to the house a decision was forming in her head. The thoughts had been hovering for a while as the bills mounted up remorselessly. When the fertiliser had been paid for, a machine would break down and either had to be repaired or bought new. Now she could no longer avoid facing the truth.
After hesitating a little longer, Angel picked up the phone and dialled a London number. It was the direct line to the editor of GlamChick.
‘Mack?’ she said brightly when he came on the line. ‘I’ll bet you never thought you’d hear from me.’
‘My pet, I knew you’d call. You never could resist a good deal, and I offered you a great deal.’
‘Oh, you think so? You want to invade my home and pay me peanuts?’
‘Invade your home, nothing! We’ll do a really high-class photo shoot, showing you in beautiful Italian surroundings, dressed to kill. You talk about your new life, how happy you are, how Joe Clannan can go soak his head because you’ve found something much better. It’ll be a couple of days’ work and you’ll pocket a nice fat fee.’
‘Not quite fat enough, I’m afraid,’ she said, trying to sound casual, although her heart was thumping. The next few minutes would be crucial.
‘Oho, you want more! OK, I’ll play-up to a point. How much more?’
‘Double what you offered.’
‘Are you out of your mind? Double?’
‘I think it’s worth it for an exclusive.’
‘It had better be an exclusive for that price. And there’s got to be something new that you never talked about before.’
‘It’s a deal, then?’
He groaned. ‘I suppose it’s a deal. But I want it as soon as possible.’
‘Then you’d better get a contract out to me quickly.’
‘You can’t trust my word?’
‘I prefer it in black and white.’
‘OK. I can see you weren’t married to Joe Clannan for nothing.’
Angel laughed. At one time the words might have hurt. Now she was just relieved at having achieved the vital boost to her income.
The contract arrived overnight and she turned it around at once. Two days later, Mack called to say, ‘OK, I’m doing this one myself, and I’ll leave tomorrow, with a camera crew. There’ll be three of us.’
There would just be time to do this before Sam arrived, Angel reflected. In the meantime, they could have the three downstairs rooms that were already prepared.
Angel explained to Berta that their guests would be from a magazine. There was no point in hiding the truth.
Berta merely said, ‘Yes, padrona. I will arrange food and wine.’
But Angel could sense her surprise and disapproval. No doubt she would call Vittorio’s mobile phone as soon as possible. Angel had confirmation of that when he arrived at the house later that day on some trivial piece of business that could have waited. He didn’t mention what he knew, but he looked at her in a way that there was no mistaking.
It hurt after their brief moment of closeness. His expression contained as much sadness as cynicism, saying that he’d been right about her all the time.
She could have said, Look, I need the money to pay all those bills you keep presenting me with. Then given him chapter and verse on just how meagre Joe’s settlement had been.
But her temper flared into life, telling her that pigs would fly before she explained herself to him. After snubbing her for days, who the hell did he think he was to judge her so easily?
‘Don’t let me keep you,’ Angel said coolly, and saw his face harden against her.
She knew her temper boiled over too easily these days. Eight years of keeping it strictly under control had left her glad of the release of anger. As Vittorio walked away there was even a bitter satisfaction in knowing that she had the upper hand.
She repented almost at once.
‘I’m not a nice person,’ she muttered. ‘What’s happening to me?’
But it was too late to call him back, and her mind was becoming filled with darkness and tension again.
‘Not again,’ she whispered. ‘Please, not again. Not until this is over.’
It was hard to resist the thought that this had happened because Vittorio had turned against her, but she told herself not to be absurd. The mere idea that the offer or withdrawal of his friendship could affect her like this was one that she wouldn’t tolerate.
On the afternoon before Mack and the photographers were due to arrive, Vittorio said, ‘Do you want me to meet your friends at the airport?’
‘No, thank you. That isn’t your job. I’ve made arrangements.’
‘Yes, padrona,’ he said politely, and left.
A hired car and chauffeur would be waiting for them at Naples airport. Angel had chosen not to go there herself, because she wanted to spend all the time on her appearance. It took an hour to decide on the dress. The one she finally chose was white and luxuriously simple, with a V-neckline that plunged down between her breasts, suggesting, but not quite revealing.
Her face took even longer. She’d never depended on make-up artists, but she’d learned from them and could now produce the desired effect unaided: just enough darkening around her large eyes to make them even more emphatic, the luscious gleam added to her lips.
Then her hair, shining, tumbling over her shoulders, long enough to flick this way and that in tempting attitudes. She’d wondered if she’d forgotten how to do all these things, but the skills returned to her with disturbing ease.
She was downstairs an hour before they were due, checking and re-checking the bedrooms, the kitchen where Berta was preparing a feast, the dining room where the table was laid with crystal and silver. She declared everything perfect, which made Berta beam.
Vittorio appeared, carrying a heavy silver dish, and it suddenly struck her as odd that he should be here. Odder still was the fact that he was
smartly dressed in black trousers and snowy white shirt, with a dark red bow tie. With a sense of outrage, Angel realised what he looked like.
‘Why are you dressed like a waiter?’ she demanded.
‘I suppose that’s what I am,’ he said mildly. ‘I’ve offered to help Berta serve the meal. We want to make the best impression on your friends, padrona.’
That last remark sounded like a calculated insult, she thought. She knew why he’d done this-not to be helpful, but to stay here and make his disapproval obvious. With difficulty, Angel restrained her temper and said calmly, ‘That’s very obliging of you.’
Vittorio nodded like a good servant, set the silver dish down and left the room. But she followed him into the hall, seized his arm and forced him to turn.
‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’ she flashed.
‘Being obliging, padrona.’
‘The hell you are! You fixed this so that you could keep me under your eye. How dare you spy on me?’
His eyes narrowed and she guessed he wasn’t used to being spoken to like that. But it was his own fault for provoking her.
‘Why are you so determined to think the worst of me, padrona?’
‘Don’t call me that! Do you hear? Don’t ever do it again.’
‘But it’s the truth. We are mistress and servant. If I can face it, why can’t you?’
‘The way you say it, it’s a sick joke.’
His eyes raked over her, and she understood the implication. It was a sick joke.
‘How dare you?’ she breathed.
‘What do you want me to say? The other night you rejected Angel. You said she was shallow and stupid and knew nothing except how things seemed on the surface. There was an honest woman talking, a true woman, with a heart. But now? Look at you. You’ve turned into that creature again and invited the world in to see you using my home as a backdrop to your shallowness. And I say that by doing so you desecrate it. There now, are you answered?’
Vittorio was sorry as soon as the words were out of his mouth. The gaze Angel turned on him was stricken, as though he’d struck her a savage blow. He hadn’t meant to. Lashing out defensively, he’d forgotten the vulnerability she strove so hard to conceal, but he could see it now in the dark shadows in her eyes, so like the ones he’d seen before.