He took her arm and led her to the car. ‘Please, Luca. And I shall call you Gemma, si? You know, of course, this is an Italian name? It means jewel.’ The look he gave her scorched Gemma’s normally cool reserve and the steady flow of inconsequential conversation in that beautiful deep voice continued as Luca helped her into the car and stowed her laptop and suitcase on the back seat.
Gemma settled back against the cream leather upholstery and stared out the window as Luca steered the car through the traffic of the inner town. It really was an exquisite place. She imagined it had remained unchanged for decades, centuries even, with its beautiful old opera house, arena, cathedral and palazzos. In fact, all the elements that would make a great promotional campaign for exquisite Italian shoes. She glanced at Luca, slouched low in the driver’s seat. Now, he would be perfect for an ad campaign. She suppressed a sigh.
All her life she’d dreamed of coming to Italy and yet now that she was here, having her first experience of a real Italian town and she was about to change part of it. Somehow it hadn’t worried her in Australia but now she’d seen just how beautiful it was, a niggling doubt prodded her. She wedged herself further down in the seat and stole another quick look at Luca.
He moved through the gears, his large tanned hand strong on the gear stick as the car roared through the streets. He drove incredibly fast, taking sharp corners with ease as the car climbed through the town.
‘That is the Roman arena. The Opera di Montefigore has a season here every summer. In fact it starts this week. Perhaps you will have the opportunity to see this.’ He turned the one-hundred-carat smile on her and she started to relax.
‘Not unless they’re having a performance some time in the next two days,’ said Gemma. Which was a pity. She found herself liking this town with its mellow stone buildings and air of unruffled dignity.
‘So, it is as you said. You are here only a short time.’ He fell into a ruminative silence as he concentrated on the road.
The car swung into a wide corso and Gemma had only just started to admire the row of beautiful homes in open-mouthed wonder when Luca changed gears and turned through the grandest of the entrances, the ornate wrought-iron gates parting as the car edged forward. She turned to stare at him. This was his home? The three-storey building, in dressed, honey-coloured stone and embellished with a wild assortment of statues and coats of arms, was immense. The car purred to a stop in front of the building and she angled her head back to gaze at the roof, lined with urns silhouetted against the brilliant blue of the sky. Gemma gave herself a sharp mental pinch. This was movie-set stuff, more beautiful than anything she’d ever imagined.
Luca was there at her door in an instant and that feminine inner voice that hadn’t shut up since he’d pulled the curtain aside at the hospital last night sighed as he leaned forward to help her out. She could get very used to this.
But she wasn’t here to indulge in daydreams about a man with movie star looks and manners that could melt any woman.
An elderly man threw open the massive entrance doors and hobbled down the stairs towards the car.
‘This is Bruno, the husband of Zia Peppina.’ Luca said as he handed Gemma’s laptop and suitcase to him.
Gemma smiled at the old man then turned to Luca. ‘So this is your aunt and uncle’s house?’
He frowned momentarily then laughed. ‘Peppina, that is Giuseppina, is my housekeeper. She was also my nurse and housekeeper to my mother. She was born in this house. She belongs here. Zia is a term of affection only. Vieni.’
Luca shepherded her up the stone steps and into a large foyer where the temperature was several degrees cooler. The old walls were whitewashed and hung with large modern paintings. To the left a curved staircase, its stone treads worn with centuries of use, led to the next floor. The furnishings gave an impression of simplicity, despite the stylish combination of avant-garde sculpture, modern art, priceless Persian rugs and massive oak antiques. She had only a moment to look around as he led her through a series of interconnected rooms, each as tasteful as the last.
‘What a beautiful house, You must love living here,’ Gemma said, trying not to gape.
‘I’m afraid I don’t spend enough time here. Business interests take me away, and I have two other residences. But it is my home, the home of my heart,’ he said simply as he ushered her through a pair of doors onto the terrace.
Gemma pondered that statement. No man she knew would say such a thing. The home of my heart.
The terrace appeared to be cantilevered out over the valley with nothing to interrupt the sweeping views down the hillside and across a vast plain littered with stone houses and a patchwork of vineyards. Gemma drew in an amazed breath.
‘Please, my uncle the professore has said you must keep your legs up until the swelling goes down.’ Luca was behind her and gently guided her to a luxurious outdoor chair piled deep with soft cushions, and drew up a matching ottoman. Gemma gasped as he reached down and lifted her ankles, the large tanned hands encircling them, and placed them gently on the ottoman. He might be used to touching but she wasn’t. Not overly. Okay, so she wasn’t used to gorgeous Italian men touching her with such deft familiarity. The brush of skin against skin shot an arrow of pleasure through her body.
She could hardly look at him. What was she doing here in this man’s home, sitting with her feet up while he looked down at her, his expression impenetrable? She was in Montefigore for only a few days, long enough to carry out Robert’s orders. Just long enough to wreak havoc on the lives of many of the inhabitants of this beautiful town.
Gemma looked away from the intense scrutiny of those eyes and down the length of the terrace. Large stone urns held clipped orange trees laden with ripe fruit. At the far end a blue and white striped canvas awning stretched from the side of the palazzo across to the parapet to provide shade in the heat of the afternoon. Tables and chairs were scattered casually about. She let out a deeply satisfied sigh and settled back into the armchair.
Luca had moved to the parapet and stood, his back to the view. He was completely at ease and it didn’t take too much effort to imagine him robed in Renaissance clothing, living in this glorious house centuries ago.
The French doors opened and a maid crossed the terrace and placed a tray on the wrought-iron table. Tiny cups of thick, aromatic espresso topped with a perfect crema nestled amongst a selection of pastries.
Luca crossed to the table, handed Gemma a coffee and then sat opposite her, his long legs crossed casually at the ankle. Sunlight highlighted his ebony curls and licked them with a golden glow. He looked born to rule, not only over this venerable old palazzo and goodness knows what other properties his family owned, but also over people. He had the air of a ruler of long ago, tough yet benevolent.
‘And so now we shall talk.’
Gemma glanced up at his words. The unexpected edge in his voice had an undertone that set her nerves jangling.
He waited. Gemma fidgeted. What on earth could he want to talk about? The silence between them stretched. He watched her, all trace of a smile gone, and Gemma felt the alarm take hold. Maybe her instincts back at the hospital car park had been wrong. Yet he sat regarding her with a serious expression that held no menace.
‘No? Then I shall start.’ He stood and walked back to the parapet with the grace of a panther. He placed his palms on the ledge and paused a moment, gazing down over the plain. His straight back and broad shoulders were outlined against the distant landscape. ‘My family has been in this town since thirteen twenty. We are a very old family, you know, mostly brigands and robbers back then, no doubt. Still, we were the strongest and we survived.’
‘Prospered even,’ Gemma murmured, casting an appreciative look back at the house.
Luca turned, his expression bland but his eyes like sharpened steel. ‘Indeed. We prospered, as did the town with us. Our destinies have always been linked, the Andrettis and Montefigore. In fact one might say the Andrettis are Montefigore.’
‘So you can see that we are often called upon in all manner of ways to sort out the affairs of the town. Of course there are also the celebrations, the weddings and christenings.’ He stopped and his face lit with real pleasure. ‘I can’t tell you how many of the children here are my godchildren.
‘But more often than not, when I receive a call it is a cry for help. Someone needs assistance in dealing with the bureaucracy that cripples our country. Perhaps a tourist is stuck in our admittedly backward little hospital and needs help.’ He smiled at Gemma briefly. ‘Or there is some business matter which has gone wrong. Sometimes these things appear trifling to us, do they not? But to the people involved they are enormous. It concerns their lives, their very livelihoods.’
Gemma was so busy trying to reconcile the carefree playboy she’d met this morning with the man standing before her that she realised too late that they’d started to talk about something else altogether different.
‘And so, in matters affecting the town, my town, I have a great interest. I go out of my way, in fact, to ensure that nothing unsavoury happens here, nothing to upset the gentle rhythm of life.’
He walked back and sat in the chair in front of her, leaning forward with his tanned forearms resting on his thighs and his hands loosely clasped.
‘But that is, as the English would say, enough about me.’ He raised piercing blue eyes to Gemma. ‘Now you will tell me why you are here.’
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