They were skirting the city, their progress often slowing to a complete standstill in heavily congested traffic, and although Enzo's luxurious vehicle was air-conditioned the outside noise filtered through the closed window, punctuating their conversation with frequent blasts on the horn by a host of impatient drivers.
'Perhaps governess is the incorrect term,' he declared with thoughtful contemplation. 'Silvana Delrosso is many things. A distant cousin related to Nick by marriage, she is tutor, companion; the one woman constant in Annalisa's life since the death of her mother.'
'I see.' Did she? Silvana could be a martinet or an angel.
'Nick arrives tomorrow. I am sure you will get on well together.'
Heavens, she didn't know whether to be pleased or dismayed at the prospect. 'You should have said you were expecting guests,' she demurred, unsure now if her visit was convenient.
'Nonsense,' the older man reiterated at once, his pleasant features creasing with genuine concern. 'We are overjoyed for you to be here. Our home is large, with many rooms.' He reached out and took hold of her hand, enfolding it within his own. 'You must not think for one minute, one second, that your visit is ill-timed. We adore to have family around us.' His expressive eyes were eloquent in their sincerity. 'And you, sweet Emma, are special. You are the wife of our only grandson.'
She felt a lump rise in her throat, and she swallowed it convulsively. Then she leant forward and brushed her lips against his weathered cheek. 'Thank you.'
CHAPTER TWO
The Martinero villa was large, nestling high against one of the many rolling hills that encompassed Tivoli. Set in spacious grounds and commanding a spectacular view, its neo-classical exterior had become mellowed with age. Scrupulously tended gardens, blooms ablaze with riotous colour abounded within symmetrical borders and sat like semi-precious gems against a green, velvet smooth-lawn. Shrubs were clipped with expert precision to retain a conic shape, and a fountain, complete with statuary and cascading water, graced the circular courtyard.
Emma slid out from the car and stood hesitantly as Enzo crossed round to her side, then together they moved forward and mounted the few steps leading to the main entrance.
Almost at once the solid double doors were flung open and she found herself drawn into a warm, welcoming embrace by Marc's grandmother.
Elegantly slim, Rosa Martinero possessed a sparkling vivacity that belied her age. 'Emma. Let me look at you.'
Held at arm's length for a few seconds, there was little Emma could do but offer a tremulous smile as kindly brown eyes searched her features in caring appraisal.
'I cannot believe you are actually here.' Rosa shook her head slightly and gave Emma an affectionate hug. 'And you are even more thin than when we last saw you.' She lifted a hand and lightly traced Emma's cheek.
'Come inside, my dear. It has been a long flight, hmm? Accustomed as I am to them, they are incredibly wearing. You will want to shower and change.'
The foyer was magnificent. Marble floors, cool painted walls displaying several exquisite works of art, and a central double staircase provided an impressive backdrop for a white three-tiered fountain, above which a sparkling crystal chandelier hung suspended in dazzling splendour.
'I have put you in the eastern wing,' Rosa conveyed as she led the way. upstairs. 'It has a lovely aspect, and I am sure you will be comfortable there.'
'You have a beautiful home,' Emma declared sincerely as she was ushered into a generously proportioned room furnished with gracious rosewood pieces. A large four-poster bed was a focal point, furbished with dusky pink brocade, satin and lace. It was delightfully feminine and bore a slight air of grandeur.
'Thank you, cara.' A twinkle gleamed in the older woman's eyes as she indicated a door to Emma's left. 'The villa may be old, but we have modern plumbing. Each guest room has its own bathroom.' She turned at the sound of a discreet knock on the outer door. 'Ah, here is Carlo with your luggage. Maria will unpack while you bathe, and afterwards you must come down to the sala. Lunch will be served in an hour.'
Alone, Emma extracted toiletries and fresh underwear, then she made her way into the adjoining bathroom. Sheer luxury, she decided as she filled the capacious spa-bath, adding bath oil with a delicate floral fragrance. It would be all too easy to close her eyes and drift into blissful sleep, letting the gently pulsing water soothe her tired body.
Fifteen minutes later she emerged into the bedroom with a towel fastened sarong-wise around her slim curves to discover the contents of her luggage reposing neatly on hangers in the wardrobe and in drawers of the delicately carved rosewood dressing-table.
Of Maria there was no sign, and Emma quickly donned clean underwear, then she selected a pale blue silk dress with a swirling skirt of tiny pleats and slipped it over her head, securing the zip fastener with ease. Sleeveless, it looked cool and fresh and showed her fine-textured skin to advantage. Make-up was kept to a minimum, and after pulling a brush through her hair she stood back, well pleased with her mirrored reflection.
A swift glance at her watch revealed it had been over half an hour since she'd begun her ablutions, and, stifling the sensation she should be retiring rather than dining, she turned and left the room.
It seemed for ever since she'd last slept in a bed, and as for sleep—a few hours of intermittent dozing aboard the plane could scarcely be termed adequate rest.
'Ah, there you are, my dear. I was just coming to fetch you.' Rosa's smile gentled as she slipped a hand through the younger girl's arm. 'I expect you could do with a drink. Enzo is waiting for us in the sala with Annalisa and Silvana.'
Together they descended the curving staircase and moved along a wide hallway whose walls were studded with beautiful tapestries.
Situated on the southern side of the villa, the sala was a large room with high ceilings and several french doors opening out on to a wide, balustraded terrace from which steps led down to a rectangular-shaped swimming pool. From this distance the tiled depths looked infinitely cool and inviting, Emma decided wistfully as she dragged her eyes back to the room. Casually furnished, it bore a light airiness that was enhanced by ceramic urns containing masses of leafy green foliage and indoor flowering plants.
'Emma, allow me to introduce you to my great-niece, Annalisa. And her governess, Silvana Delrosso.'
Dear heaven, the child was exquisite! A Botticelli angel! Emma smiled and gravely took the small hand extended in formal greeting.
'I am very pleased to meet you.'
'Hello, Annalisa.' Her voice held genuine warmth as she met solemn interest reflected in a pair of unblinking hazel eyes. The young girl looked more suitably dressed to model a junior Miss Pears soap commercial than to greet a distant relative all the way from Australia.
Dragging her eyes away, she met the carefully schooled features of the child's tutor and proffered a polite smile.
'Silvana.'
'Signora Martinero.'
Oh dear, she sounded rather austere, Emma decided involuntarily, wondering why Silvana insisted on formality when she looked to be only in her early thirties.
'Oh, please,' she demurred out loud, 'call me Emma.' Her smile widened as she glanced towards Rosa. 'Two Signora Martineros in the same household can only lead to confusion.'
'May I call you Emma, too?' a young voice queried, and Emma was about to agree when Rosa inclined with accustomed gentleness, 'Piccina, I think it must be zia, yes?'
'But you are my zia,' Annalisa declared seriously.
'Cannot it be Zia Rosa, and Zia Emma?' Enzo suggested quizzically, and was the recipient of a solemn unwavering gaze.
'If you say so, Zio.'
Enzo leant forward and lightly touched the young girl's cheek. 'Perhaps we can let your papa decide, hmm?' He straightened and moved towards a lacquered cabinet. 'Now that everyone is here, we shall have some wine.'
Emma accepted a crystal goblet filled with Moselle and sipped it slowly, aware that its effect could be potent combined with jet-lag.
Lunch comprised a beef consommé, followed by a selection of cold meats and varied salads served with crunchy bread rolls, and a compote of fresh fruit for dessert. Emma sipped iced water between each course and joined in the conversation, becoming vaguely fascinated by Annalisa's exceptionally good manners. Behaviour so faultless in such a young child was laudable, but Emma couldn't help feeling it would have been more natural to glimpse a slight lack of restraint, although the reason was self-evident when, at the end of the meal, the young girl folded her napkin carefully and replaced it on to the table before politely requesting to be excused.
'Make ready for your siesta, Annalisa,' Silvana instructed with quiet authority.
'Si, Silvana.'
'Yes,' the governess corrected. 'It is luncheon, Annalisa. During which we speak English, do we not?'
'Yes, Silvana.'
Emma experienced a mixture of mild irritation and barely contained surprise as she hastened to assure gently, 'You mustn't feel obliged to speak English solely for my benefit. My command of Italian is reasonably fluent.' Her eyes softened as she met Annalisa's solemn gaze. 'Do you learn English at school?' she queried with genuine interest. 'You speak it very well.'
'No, Zia Emma. We begin English next year. It is Papa who insists I must speak English and French. To practise, I speak French at breakfast, English at lunch, and Italian at dinner.' The round hazel eyes widened even further. 'Do you speak French?'
For heaven's sake! Annalisa's father and Silvana Delrosso would make a good pair, she decided wryly. 'I am able to comprehend a fairly extensive menu written in French,' she declared with a deprecatory shrug, then added with a smile, 'I shall have to be silent at breakfast, and only offer a Gallic non or oui—hopefully in the right places.'
Annalisa blinked twice, then offered with the utmost politeness. 'I could help you learn, if you would like to.'
Why, in the name of several sacred saints, did the child have to have lessons during the holidays? 'Thank you,' she acknowledged, not daring to glance at Rosa or Enzo. 'It's very kind of you, but I'd prefer to brush up on my Italian than attempt to learn a third language.'
'You may speak with Mrs Martinero tomorrow, Annalisa,' Silvana reproved firmly. 'Please go to your room.'
Emma felt her eyes drawn to the small, dark-blonde-haired figure, watching as the young girl obediently excused herself and walked from the room.
There was something poignantly lonely about the child—never alone. Who, after all, she decided with a hint of cynicism, could be alone in a house filled with servants and doting relatives?
Unconsciously her eyes slid back to the table, and she glimpsed Rosa's eloquent gaze, then it was masked, and afterwards Emma wondered if she'd imagined it.
'Perhaps you'll excuse me?' She removed her napkin and placed it on the rich damask. I'm very tired, and I'd like to rest for a few hours.'
'Of course,' Rosa acceded at once, her kindly expression softening with sympathy. 'You must telephone your parents.' She spared a glance at her watch. 'Just before dinner, I think. Then it will be morning in Australia.'
It was a relief to escape, and when Emma reached her room she closed the door and sank down on to the bed, tired to the point of exhaustion.
Slipping off her shoes, she eased the counterpane to one side, then lay down. The pillow was soft, the mattress seeming to mould itself to her slight weight. Her eyes felt weary, almost gritty with tiredness, and she closed them in a gesture of self-defence.
It would be dark and cold in Sydney, the city's streets slick with winter rain. Quite suddenly she wished she was back there, in her parents' home and in her own bed.
When Emma woke there was light filtering through the drapes, a faint stirring of movement as the silken folds parted beneath the slight breeze wafting in through the open window.
Emma blinked slowly, disorientated by her surroundings for a few scant seconds until memory surfaced. Just how long had she been asleep, for heaven's sake?
A knock at her door was immediately followed by entry into the room by a young woman carrying a tray, and Emma looked at her with dawning dismay. It couldn't be morning, surely?
'Buon giorno, signora.'
A hollow groan left Emma's lips as she struggled into a sitting position and took the tray.
'Zia Emma? May I come in?'
A smile widened Emma's generous mouth as she caught sight of Annalisa standing anxiously just inside the doorway, 'Of course.' The little girl looked perfectly groomed from head to toe, her gleaming hair caught with a ribbon each side of her face.
'Zia Rosa said I could come and tell you that breakfast will be ready in an hour.' Her forehead creased with earnestness at the importance of her mission. 'We thought you would be hungry, so that is why Maria has brought croissants to have with your coffee.'
'Scusi, signora.' Maria poured steaming, aromatic liquid into a cup, then moved quickly from the room.
Croissants and a choice of three fruit conserves. Emma broke one and spread it with plum jam, then took an appreciative sip of coffee. Absolutely delicious.
'Will you have some with me?' She proffered a portion to Annalisa, who looked doubtfully unsure. 'One mouthful won't spoil your appetite.'
'Papa—'
'Isn't here to object,' Emma declared quietly. The more she thought about Annalisa's father, the more she was disinclined to meet him. An austere businessman too immersed in financial pursuits to bother about his daughter wasn't an appealing prospect.
'Papa,' Annalisa persisted hesitantly, moving a step further towards the side of the bed, 'and I often share breakfast together when I am not in school.' Her eyes were incredibly solemn. 'Sometimes,' she paused, as if imparting a secret, lowering her voice until it was scarcely more than a whisper, 'Papa gives Silvana the day off, and we go on a picnic.'
'Really?' Emma tried hard not to smile at such a revelation, for the vision of father and daughter indulging in such frivolity was difficult to comprehend. That sounds like fun.' She broke off the end of a croissant and spread it with strawberry jam, then offered it to the young girl. 'If I eat any more, I won't have room for breakfast.' Pushing the near-empty plate to one side, she sipped what remained of her coffee.
'You will want to shower and dress,' Annalisa stated, taking a few backward steps, and Emma nodded in silent agreement.
'I won't be long.'
As soon as the door closed she pushed the covers aside and slid from the bed. In the adjoining bathroom she reached into the shower recess and turned both crystal knobs, then she quickly slipped out of her dress and stepped beneath the warm spray of water.
Twenty minutes later she was dressed in a pale honey-coloured sleeveless dress with a scooped neckline and slim-fitting skirt. A wide leather belt skimmed the top of her hips, accentuating her small waist, and she slid her feet into low-heeled soft leather sandals before crossing to the dressing-table to tug a brush through her hair in an attempt to restore some kind of order to the curling tresses. Making-up came last, and she patted a light dusting of powder over a thin film of moisturiser, added a touch of clear pink gloss to her lips, then she turned and left the room.
Despite the relatively early hour, the heat of the sun was beginning to make itself felt as it streamed in through the high-sashed windows and open french doors, fingering the marble floors with bright, geometrically patterned light.
Various beautiful antique pieces bore a rich patina from years of loving care, and there were freshly cut flowers arranged in numerous vases at every turn.
Emma's footsteps slowed almost to a halt as she admired the soft-brushed pastels of a misty Monet, and an equally superb Renoir nearby.'
'You are interested in art, signora?'
She turned slightly at the sound of a feminine voice and met Silvana's carefully assembled features.
'From a purely aesthetic viewpoint,' she concurred, wondering why she should sense a faint feeling of antagonism emanating from Annalisa's governess. Surely it had to be the re
sult of her overly sensitive imagination?
'I favour Picasso, or the tortured Van Gogh. So much brilliance and flair.'
It depended whether she meant the former at his conventional or flamboyant best, and Emma merely inclined her head in silent acknowledgement.
'I believe Signora Martinero has instructed breakfast to be served on the terrace.'
Minutes later Emma walked through wide-open french doors leading from the sala and was greeted with hearty enthusiasm by Enzo, followed by a warmly affectionate hug from Rosa.
'You slept well? Ah, let me look at you. Yes, better, much better.' Enzo pulled out a chair and motioned her to take a seat. 'Orange juice?'
He filled a glass and handed it to her, then resumed his position at the head of the table, content to leave the serving of food to Rosa.
Numerous covered platters reposed on a mobile trolley, together with a steaming pot of coffee, and after refusing a variety of tempting hot dishes Emma settled for a small serving of muesli, followed by toast and coffee.
Silvana studiously monitored Annalisa's fare, insisting on a nutritional balance with muesli, soft-boiled egg and toast, together with a glass of milk.
'It is a beautiful day, so warm already,' Rosa intimated with a charming smile. 'After breakfast you might like to use the pool.' Her gaze shifted towards Annalisa, and her eyes softened. 'Perhaps you could entertain Zia Emma this morning. Would you like that?'
'Oh, yes? The young girl's elated agreement made Emma smile. 'If Silvana has nothing planned,' she ventured hesitantly, her expression assuming diffident solemnity.
'Very well, you have my permission.'
Annalisa's eyes shone. 'Thank you.'
'I will be in my room attending to correspondence, if you should need me.' Silvana declared, cautioning her young charge. 'Try not to chatter too much, or bother Mrs Martinero with too many questions.'
'Yes, Silvana,' Annalisa responded meekly, and immediately the governess was safely indoors she finished her milk and sat almost breathlessly still, her hazel eyes round with barely suppressed excitement.
An Awakening Desire Page 2