A Tainted Beauty

by Sharon Kendrick

  So they’d come back to Ciro’s apartment and Lily had tried telling herself that surely it couldn’t be that difficult to maintain their fiction of a relationship—especially as her husband had gone straight back to work instead of taking a planned sabbatical. She was here in Naples, surrounded by beauty and culture and—even if her marriage was a disaster—this was an opportunity she’d never have again. She was determined to put a brave face on it. To keep smiling, no matter what. To keep praying that maybe her husband’s anger might fade away and that he might let her close enough to love him…

  But her prayers went unanswered. The only time he let her close was when he was having sex with her—and she liked that far too much to tell him not to do it, no matter how much her battered pride urged her to push him away.

  She turned to face him now as the silver moonlight cast indigo shadows on his sculpted features and the sight of him in his dark evening clothes still had the power to make her quiver with lust. ‘Of course I enjoyed the evening,’ she said. ‘The opera was magnificent.’

  ‘I know it was.’ There was a pause as he drifted his gaze over her. ‘Everyone was commenting on how beautiful you looked.’

  She looked up into his dark eyes. ‘And what did you say?’

  Ciro reached out to frame her cheek with the palm of his hand, feeling the familiar thunder of his pulse. ‘Oh, I agreed with them. Because nobody has ever denied your beauty, Lily,’ he said softly. ‘Least of all me.’

  ‘Ciro—’

  But he silenced her breathless whisper with his lips, acknowledging the sweet power of sex to blot out his misgivings, as he pulled her into his arms. Because sometimes when she looked at him with those big blue eyes she made him want to melt. She made him feel almost… vulnerable—just as he’d done when he’d made his wedding vows in that music-filled and fragrant church. When he’d felt as if he was poised on the brink of something momentous—only to discover that he was marrying a woman he didn’t really know. Who had taken his half-formed dreams and smashed them beneath her perfect little feet until they lay shattered and unrecognisable.

  Ciro had been angry with Lily for her deception, yes, he had. But once his anger had died away, he had been almost grateful to her. Because it had felt wonderfully familiar to lose himself in the old, familiar coldness—to feel that iciness encase his heart once more. It had put him back in the emotional driving seat, where nothing or no one could touch him. Or hurt him.

  In the darkness of the Neapolitan night, he slipped his hand inside the bodice of her dress and heard the rush of her breath as his fingers encountered the silken feel of her bare skin. ‘Bed, I think,’ he said unsteadily and led her unresisting inside, where he proceeded to strip off her clothes with ruthless efficiency.

  His skin was hot against hers and by the time he entered her, she pulled him to her with a fierce hunger, as if she couldn’t get enough of him. Her lips sought his and she moaned as he crushed his mouth onto hers, moving inside her body in a way which soon had her shuddering helplessly in his arms. Afterwards she clung to him, her hands clasped behind his neck—only loosening their grip when sleep crept over her and she lolled against the bank of pillows. Deliberately, Ciro rolled over to the other side of the bed—as far from the soft temptation of her body as it was possible to be. He had been doing this more often of late—rationing the time she spent in his arms and telling himself that he needed to get used to solitude again. Because soon his beautiful, duplicitous bride would be heading back to England and he would be left alone.

  He slept restlessly, with dreams which left him feeling spooked, and when he awoke, it was to find Lily gone—just like in the dream. For a moment he lay there, staring up at the streaks of sunlight which were dancing across the ceiling—and a terrible sense of darkness invaded his soul.

  He showered and dressed, then walked out onto the terrace to find her sitting drinking coffee—her eyes concealed behind her large sunglasses as she automatically bent to pour him a cup. She was wearing a pale, silken robe which had been part of her trousseau and it was easy to see that she was naked underneath.

  ‘So what are you planning to do today?’ he asked, a flicker of desire shimmering over him as he began knotting his tie.

  From behind the concealment of her shades, Lily watched him. His black hair glittered with tiny drops of water and his skin was still glowing from the shower. He radiated energy and vitality from every pore and, even though he looked cool and businesslike in his lightweight suit, her instinctive feeling was one of pure lust.

  Guilt, too. She mustn’t forget her ever-present sense of guilt, must she? She remembered the way she’d been last night, in his arms. The way she’d moaned his name out loud as she climaxed—the way she always did. It was all too easy to close her mind to her nagging uncertainties when he was deep inside her like that. She’d just lain right back and enjoyed every second of his love-making and afterwards she had… had…

  ‘Blushing, Lily?’ he murmured as he gave his tie one final tug and reached down for his coffee. ‘My, my—it’s a long time since I’ve seen you blush.’

  She heard the censure in his voice and bristled. ‘Perhaps you think only women with intact hymens should be permitted to blush?’

  ‘Isn’t that a little crude?’ he murmured.

  ‘Which you never are, of course?’

  His black eyes glittered. ‘You didn’t seem to be complaining about my crudity last night.’

  ‘I doubt whether you’ve ever had any complaints in that particular department, Ciro.’

  Feeling another jerk of desire, he walked over to the edge of the terrace, as if he just wanted to get a better look at the bay. It was a view he’d grown up with and yet which now seemed subtly altered—as everything familiar in his life had been altered.

  Had he thought that this charade of a marriage would be easy? That he would pleasure himself with Lily for six, short months and that each time he did he would find himself growing a little more distant from her? Yes, he had. Of course he had. Because that was what he had wanted to happen and Ciro was a man who always made things happen.

  He had expected his anger to remain constant, while his passion declined—the way it always did when a relationship with a woman was on the wane. The only trouble was that it hadn’t worked out like that. A welcome immunity towards her simply hadn’t happened and he was no closer to feeling indifferent towards her. In bed and out, he wanted her now as much as he’d always wanted her.

  It perplexed him. It was driving him crazy. He told himself over and over that she was a liar who had been prepared to lie in order to secure her future. That she would never understand what made a traditionally Neapolitan man like himself tick. But none of his convictions seemed to last beyond a minute and that confused the hell out of him. What did she have that made him instantly want to lose himself in her—as if she alone possessed the balm which could soothe his troubled spirit? Had she cast some kind of spell on him, the moment she’d entered his life?

  ‘Ciro?’

  ‘What?’ he growled, turning back to face her, letting his eyes drift over the spill of her hair, which was cascading all the way down her back and wondering whether he should postpone his first meeting and take her back to bed.

  ‘You asked what I was planning to do today.’

  ‘Did I?’

  She gave a tight smile but secretly she was rather relieved by his air of distraction, knowing he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. ‘I thought I’d go and see your mother.’

  This piece of information wiped all the confused thoughts from his head and had him frowning as he looked at her. ‘Why would you want to do that?’

  ‘Because she’s your mother. And I’m your wife.’

  ‘But you’re not really my wife, are you, Lily? We both know that.’

  ‘I may not be your wife in the true sense of the word—but your mother doesn’t know that, does she? And if you want to maintain this fiction of a marriage, then visiting her
seems the right thing to do. Anyway, I’d like to go and see her. I can’t keep spending every day exploring churches and listening to Italian lessons on my headset while you go out and make yet another fortune.’

  She saw his eyes narrow and knew he was still bemused by her insistence on learning a language which wasn’t going to be of any use to her in the future. She’d argued with him over this—saying that no new language would ever be wasted. He seemed to think that now she had access to his bank account, she’d want to spend all her days spending it. But Lily hadn’t done that—something which she knew perplexed him. She had fallen in love with Naples, and pride made her want to make herself understood while she was living there. For a few brief months, she wanted to feel part of this warm, southern paradise.

  Ciro mulled over this latest surprising development. ‘My mother isn’t a great socialiser,’ he said repressively. ‘I doubt whether she’ll agree to see you.’

  ‘She already has.’

  ‘Scusi?’ He stared at her in disbelief.

  ‘I rang her yesterday and said I’d like to go round and she’s invited me for coffee.’

  Ciro felt the slow build of anger though he couldn’t quite pinpoint the cause of it. Because she hadn’t checked with him first? Or because he felt uncomfortable about her seeing a woman with whom he’d always had a difficult relationship? ‘You went behind my back and phoned my mother and arranged to meet her?’

  ‘Yes, Ciro—if that’s how you want to look at it, I did. I committed the heinous crime of trying to be polite—something which is obviously beyond your comprehension.’

  ‘There’s no need to be insolent.’

  ‘Why, have you taken out a monopoly on insolence?’ she challenged.

  Their eyes met in a silent tussle of wills and for one brief moment Ciro almost smiled. But any humour was dissolved by what she’d just told him. Why was she starting up a pointless relationship with his mother?

  ‘Is there nothing I can say which will change your mind?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing. Short of you getting hold of some chains and imprisoning me in the apartment, I’m going round there for coffee this morning.’

  ‘Then so be it.’ He picked up his briefcase and his mouth hardened. ‘But she can be a difficult woman. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  His words still ringing in her ears, she got ready for her meeting with her mother-in-law, changing her outfit three times and ending up feeling hot and flustered. A taxi took her to Leonora D’Angelo’s large apartment and when she was shown into the dimly lit salon she felt big and clumsy compared to the bird-like frame of Ciro’s mother.

  Lily perched on the edge of a velvet chair and accepted a tiny cup of coffee and a wave of sadness washed over her. How long had it been since she’d sat and drunk coffee with her own mother like this? She wondered what advice she would have given her about Ciro, and realised how much she still missed her.

  Despite her advanced years, Leonora D’Angelo remained a handsome woman, with dark eyes so reminiscent of her son and a bone structure which emphasised her angular jaw. She wore a plain grey dress and a twisted gold necklace and on her bony fingers glittered an impressive array of diamonds. She leaned back in her chair and gave Lily a cool smile.

  ‘So. The younger Signora D’Angelo is looking a little pale. You are settling well into Naples, I hope?’

  Lily managed to produce a smile, wondering what her mother-in-law would say if she came out and told it how it really was. I’m just about managing to tolerate living with a man who despises me, even though the feeling isn’t exactly mutual. Because learning to unlove someone isn’t as easy as you might think. ‘It’s a beautiful city,’ she said politely.

  Leonora nodded. ‘I think so—though, to many, Naples is an enigma. A place of light and dark. Where sometimes you turn a corner and never quite know what you’ll find.’ She gave a thin smile. ‘Perhaps a little like my son.’

  Lily’s heart began to pound as she wondered if Leonora was going to talk about Ciro—because would she be able to sustain the lie of their marriage to a woman who knew him better than anyone? ‘Really?’ she said, because she couldn’t think what else to say.

  ‘I am pleased that Ciro has decided to settle down at last. It has certainly been a long time coming. Sometimes I wonder why that should have been, but there again…’ There was a pause as Leonora’s voice tailed off and she narrowed her fading dark eyes. ‘Does he talk much about his childhood?’

  Lily shook her head. ‘Not really.’

  ‘He hasn’t told you that he was unhappy?’

  At this, Lily felt a little helpless. It wasn’t really her place to disclose things he’d said to her in confidence. Disclosures which could be potentially very hurtful to his mother. The things Ciro had said were half-admissions which didn’t make up a complete picture—like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle with the edges missing. She’d managed to discover that he was often left to fend for himself—and that, despite the army of servants, he’d been a lonely little boy. And how could she possibly turn around to Leonora D’Angelo and tell her that he had also hinted about his mother’s love-life and that he heartily disapproved of it?

  ‘Ciro is a very private man,’ Lily said, hoping that would be an end to it, but it seemed that was not to be the case because Signora D’Angelo put her untouched coffee down on a highly polished table.

  ‘I was very depressed after I gave birth to him, you know.’ Leonora’s cultured voice gave an unexpected crack.

  ‘No,’ said Lily quietly. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘There was no understanding of the condition back then, of course—and people certainly never spoke of it, because depression has always carried its own kind of stigma. It was expected that a woman should just carry on and it would all work out. And I tried to make that happen, I really did—but my mood was too dark to be lifted.’ There was a pause. ‘Did you know that his father left me?’

  Uncomfortably, Lily nodded. ‘He did mention that.’

  Leonora shrugged as if it didn’t matter and Lily thought that she almost carried it off—but not quite. And suddenly she got a frightening image of herself in some lonely future, shrugging her shoulders and explaining that her Neapolitan marriage hadn’t worked out, with a voice like Leonora’s—which wasn’t quite steady.

  ‘The marriage was not what he thought it would be. He had married a vivacious socialite,’ said Leonora. ‘Not a woman who could hardly be bothered to get out of bed in the morning. It was highly unusual for a man to leave his wife and child in those days and after he’d gone, I was… afraid. Yes, afraid. Frightened of being on my own. Of having sole charge of a boy as strong and as wilful as Ciro with no father figure to look up to. And ashamed of having been rejected. I wanted a man for my son—and, yes, I admit, I wanted a man for me.’

  ‘Signora D’Angelo,’ interrupted Lily quickly. ‘You don’t have to tell me all this.’

  ‘Oh, but I do,’ said the older woman, her voice a little bitter now. ‘Because maybe you might be able to explain to Ciro why I did what I did. To make him listen in a way that he refuses to do with me.’

  Lily bit her lip. If she told the truth—that Ciro wouldn’t dream of listening to a word she said—then wouldn’t that just worry her mother-in-law even more? She gave a weak smile. ‘I can try.’

  Leonora clasped her fingers together in her lap and her diamonds glittered. ‘Things were different for women then—especially here. Naples has always been one of the most traditional and male-centred of cities. It was frowned on to be a deserted wife—especially as everyone else I knew had a husband at home. Maybe I was desperate and don’t they always say that desperation shows?’ She gave a wry kind of laugh. ‘Maybe that was why I never married again, although I used to date men, of course. I used to bring them back here—’

  ‘Signora D’Angelo—’

  ‘Sometimes just for drinks, or for coffee. Sometimes—not always—just to talk. I was lonely, Lily. Very lonely.’

/>   Lily nodded as she saw the stark pain in Leonora’s eyes. ‘Yes, I can imagine,’ she said quietly.

  ‘But Ciro was fierce, even then. He hated it. He hated the men. He wanted his mamma to live like a nun and I wanted to live like… well, like a woman.’ Leonora swallowed. ‘It made us grow apart. It drove a wedge between us and that is something I bitterly regret. And nothing I have said or done since has softened his stance towards me because he has refused ever to discuss it.’

  Lily felt a terrible sadness overwhelm her because she could see the problem from Leonora’s point of view, as well as from Ciro’s. She could imagine the little boy wanting to protect his mother from the men he resented—too young to realise that she needed something other than the love of her child to sustain her. Leonora had wanted to find a man whom Ciro could look up to but had never managed it—and it must have seemed to him like a constant stream of strangers entering his home. Barriers had sprung up between mother and son and time had only made them more impenetrable.

  Suddenly, it made it more understandable why Ciro had reacted so badly to the discovery that she wasn’t a virgin. Had emotion overcome reason, to make him believe that his supposedly innocent wife would one day take up with other men, as his own mother had done? Or had he simply decided that her lack of innocence equalled a predatory nature? He was a man who saw things in black or white—even women. Especially women. Madonna or Whore. Lots of men thought that way, didn’t they? And it wasn’t difficult to see which category he had placed her in.

  ‘Won’t you talk to him, Lily?’ said Leonora suddenly. ‘Won’t you try to explain to him what it was like for me?’

  Lily heard the faint tremor in her mother-in-law’s voice and saw what lay beneath the sophisticated veneer: a frightened woman who was afraid of growing old and dying without the forgiveness of her only child.