A Husband's Vendetta

by Sara Wood

  ‘Just remember your position,’ Luc warned. ‘You are my wife. You will not dine alone with a man.’

  ‘And you?’ she said sweetly, although her eyes betrayed her anger. ‘Is it conventional for you, a married man, to dine with a woman who is not your wife?’

  ‘I’m eating alone,’ he said, much to her surprise.

  It was ridiculous, she thought later, flinging caution to the wind and opting for a proper restaurant meal. A married couple, both dining in solitary state somewhere in a town big enough to walk around in fifteen minutes! Apart from the hilly bits, she amended.

  Her brief amusement soon vanished. Stabbing a king prawn with her fork, she reflected that this couldn’t go on. People would talk about their odd marriage and the talk would get back to Gemma and her friends. She’d have to make more of an effort to play the part, hard though that would be.

  She did a lot of thinking that evening. It seemed ironic that she had—apparently—all she wanted. She was living on Capri, with a job, and therefore would soon have money in her pocket. Gemma was happy and she and Luc were together.

  The one drawback was that their relationship was a sham. And she didn’t know how long she could keep it up before it broke her heart for the second time in her life. She shuddered, remembering what had happened before.

  The trauma of Gemma’s birth had triggered her depression, but she’d been emotionally and physically weakened by the state of her marriage.

  A coldness numbed her body. She never wanted to feel so helpless and suicidal again. If she was to get through this unscathed, then she’d have to put a barrier between herself and Luc. If she didn’t, she could be facing years of illness. There must be no more loving. No wishing. When they weren’t in the public eye, she’d treat him like a distant cousin with bubonic plague.

  Her eyes closed with the pain of facing the truth: that she and Luc had never had a chance. He’d known that but she’d refused to admit it. But now she must, for her own survival.

  Luc appeared late for breakfast, snatching a cup of coffee just as she and Gemma were leaving. Ellen didn’t even look at him, and she felt proud of that small but significant achievement.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said to them both. ‘Overslept. I’ll walk you to the office, Ellen.’

  ‘Right.’

  Tired from lack of sleep—another night spent tossing and turning—she allowed herself a cursory glance. He didn’t look refreshed at all. Even the snappy pale grey linen suit and pale pink shirt couldn’t conceal his weariness, and he was particularly monosyllabic when they accompanied Gemma to school. Still, Gemma did enough talking for everyone, and much to Ellen’s relief she ran off happily to her classmates.

  For the short time while they waved goodbye, Luc draped his arm around Ellen. Remaining stiff beneath its welcome weight, she allowed its presence there, knowing it was just for show. It was therefore no surprise to her that as soon as they’d walked around the corner he removed his hand and maintained a careful distance thereafter.

  Following a path lined with fragrant jasmine and oleander, they passed an old man playing a clapping game with a toddler on a seat. Luc smiled and stopped to talk to them, his hand caressing the child as he spoke. Ellen remained cool and aloof, trying not to be charmed by the sight, but her heart turned over at Luc’s soft smile.

  It seemed that fate was working against her. When they moved on, their quick strides brought them close on the heels of a grey-haired maid who was pushing a buggy and singing softly to her charge. Luc greeted her enthusiastically and she turned in delight, kissing him on both cheeks and clearly extolling the virtues of the infant.

  Of course Luc had to crouch down on his haunches and amuse the child. Of course he had to look infuriatingly tender and murmur in his wretchedly liquid voice!

  Ellen walked on, pretending to admire the view of the aquamarine sea. Luc caught her up after a moment and rested a hand on her arm in brief apology. He didn’t notice how rigid she was, or that her muscles had contracted at his touch.

  ‘Wife of my gardener,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘She works for a friend of mine, Lucia de Vecchi.’

  ‘Sweet child,’ she said in a low voice.

  He smiled. ‘An angel.’

  She made no comment. This gentle, affectionate Luc was slowly eating into her heart. She wished he’d be hard and brutal, so she could hate him. It was difficult to keep her emotions in check when he showed such a genuine capacity for human love.

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ he said suddenly.

  ‘Thinking of my job. Bit nervous,’ she muttered.

  ‘His bark’s worse than his bite.’

  ‘I’d rather he didn’t do either!’ she said, conjuring up a small smile.

  ‘I think— I hope—you’ll enjoy the experience.’

  Luc waved to a friend. As they entered the busy street which led to the piazza, it seemed that he was constantly greeted, slapped on the back and kissed. It was, she thought crossly, something of a King’s progress.

  People liked him. He liked them. And never was he more appealing than when he stopped by a puffing middle-aged woman struggling up the incline to the piazza and courteously offered her his arm.

  He and the woman even paused to admire a pair of exorbitantly expensive shoes in the window of a stylish boutique. Luc was encouraging the woman to buy them, even though they had skyscraper heels.

  Ellen was about to remonstrate with him, and point out that the woman’s feet were bad enough without sticking her on top of scarlet stilts, when she saw how flattered and excited the woman looked.

  Bright and bubbling, instead of slumped and frowning, the middle-aged lady wagged her finger at him playfully and started back up the hill as if turbo-charged. Ellen realised that Luc’s flattery had raised the spirits of the life-weary woman, who had long ago stopped seeing herself as glamorous or frivolous.

  Silenced by the warmth and depth of his charm, Ellen waited while Luc chatted to a group of porters. She studied him carefully while he talked animatedly, asking after their children. He was a mystery, she thought, with an enormous capacity for loving and an equally frightening ability to hate.

  ‘Is there anyone here you don’t know?’ Ellen asked with a sigh when they finally entered the square.

  He stopped and held her firmly, forcing her to look him in the eyes. ‘Only you.’

  Behind him the clock on the bell tower rang out its tinny chimes. The newsagent sang as he tidied his papers and brought his bounding dog under control. There was a cacophony of chatter and the sound of mobiles ringing all around but he continued to gaze at her intently.

  And she felt a deep sense of isolation amid the friendliness and warmth surrounding her. She wanted to belong to his world. To be part of him. To be welcomed and liked, greeted, kissed. Capri was small and intimate and essentially Italian, and she knew she would never be accepted if she froze Luc out. And yet she must.

  Another loss, she thought sadly. She would be an outsider here.

  ‘I’ll be late,’ she said primly. ‘The Dynamo will shout at me.’

  ‘I think he probably will,’ Luc agreed with an amused smile, and guided her to the funicular railway which would take them down the steep hill.

  ‘I can’t think of a nicer way to get to work,’ she ruminated, as it set off down the almost vertical track. ‘Walking along a flower-edged path without a car in sight, then whooshing down to the harbour.’

  ‘You like Capri?’

  ‘Tremendously.’

  He pressed her hand. When she looked at him in surprise, he smiled. ‘It’s a big step, changing your country of residence. I’d be concerned if you hated it here and were only staying for Gemma’s sake.’

  The unmoving sea shone as if it had been polished. In the distance, a hydrofoil approached from Sorrento under a cornflower-blue sky. Huge magenta trusses of bougainvillaea spilled over ancient Saracen walls and far below fast, expensive yachts bobbed, waiting for their owners to step in and sail off
to elegant resorts.

  Ellen drew in a contented breath. She had more than most people ever dreamed of. ‘Thanks for making it easy for me. I’ll try not to make waves.’

  He gave a short laugh. ‘I’m drowning already!’ he joked.

  ‘As if!’

  Happily she allowed herself to be jostled with the rest of the commuters, who were all attempting to get off at the same time. Ellen hardly noticed.

  This was lovely. If she couldn’t be Luc’s lover, then they could be friends. His attitude delighted her, and she walked arm in arm with him along the quayside in high spirits, while he pointed out local characters and points of interest along the way.

  ‘That’s your dynamo’s office,’ he said, pointing ahead. ‘Eighteenth century. Rather fine.’

  Ellen hurried towards it with him, feeling excited and nervous as they walked beneath the rose-covered arch. The building had been carefully restored, with high airy rooms, and cool arches and tinkling fountains in the central courtyard. Huge palm and banana trees soared from deep flowerbeds foaming with bright geraniums, and smartly dressed men and women bustled back and forth, acknowledging Luc with smiles and handshakes.

  ‘It’s stunning! Terribly lavish!’ she whispered, worried that he’d leant on this dynamo to give her a job. She’d feel horribly obliged to be perfection itself. Why hadn’t she found something for herself? Then, if she was sacked, she wouldn’t feel so ashamed…

  ‘In here.’

  Luc opened a door and showed her into a room with a commanding view of the harbour. ‘Fabulous!’ she cried in awe. ‘This desk is antique, isn’t it?’ Luc nodded, clearly amused by her delight as she toured the large office, running her hands over the raw silk sofa and feeling the satin finish on a huge rosewood chest. ‘Oil paintings, silks, lavish drinks cabinet—this man knows how to live!’ she whispered.

  ‘He certainly does.’

  ‘When will he be here?’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘Oh. Am I to wait for him?’

  He gave her an odd look. ‘He’ll make his presence known.’

  She nodded and cautiously settled herself in a damask-covered chair, trying to look demure and calm. Trying to be calm. Luc wandered around, flipping papers here, reading a letter there.

  ‘Luc! You can’t do that! Supposing he comes in?’ she hissed in horror.

  He smiled and threw a switch on the answer-machine, listening to the first message and making notes.

  ‘I don’t believe what you’re doing! What on earth…?’ She saw his raised eyebrow, his confident air, the… Oh, why, she thought, grinding her teeth, hadn’t she noticed the name on the darn desk? ‘You trickster! This is your office!’ she wailed.

  ‘Very good,’ he murmured. ‘Now open the post or I’ll start shouting.’

  She did nothing of the sort. ‘You’re the Dynamo!’ she groaned faintly.

  He held out a letter-opener. ‘Correct. I’m switched on. What about you? Get opening.’

  Almost without realising, she started to slit the envelopes he handed over, her mind not fully in gear. ‘I—I had no idea you were so…’

  ‘Rich?’ he supplied, slipping off his jacket and draping it around the back of a leather chair.

  ‘Successful,’ she corrected.

  ‘You remember I sent money to my mother every week?’

  She nodded, her fingers deftly busy as they extracted his correspondence, smoothed it out and laid it in a neat pile.

  It had been a problem. They hadn’t had enough to feed themselves and yet he’d insisted on sending money home.

  ‘I remember,’ she said fervently.

  ‘She saved it, every penny. When Gemma and I left England for Naples, she bankrolled me. With that, and the sale of the truck I had, I bought shares in a small boat and took tourists on trips along the coast. Gradually I built up this business.’ He hesitated. ‘Before we continue, I think you should know that I’ve bought your father out.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s been my ambition ever since he sacked me,’ he said, his eyes as hard as anthracite. She shivered. ‘That was the reason I had to fly to England at short notice. He was ripe for the plucking.’

  She frowned. ‘You mean…he was in trouble?’

  ‘He overreached himself. Donatello handled all the negotiations. It wasn’t till the last moment that your father knew I was involved and by then it was too late.’

  ‘I see.’ Ellen didn’t know how she felt about this. Perhaps…compassion for her proud father. ‘Is…is he all right?’ she asked tentatively, surprised by the sudden rush of concern. She cared for him, she realised, really cared! ‘Poor darling, he was so proud of his achievements. Losing the business must have been a bitter blow.’

  ‘It was. I rang your mother shortly after. It seems he was like a lost child. And she sounded as if she was enjoying her new role, selling the mansion and buying a new house, telling him what, where and how they were going to live.’

  ‘I must ring,’ she said, suddenly fired with the desire to heal the old wounds.

  ‘Big of you.’

  ‘They wanted the best for me,’ she told him gently.

  ‘And I wasn’t.’

  ‘No! I mean… I meant that they only saw things from their point of view, not mine.’

  ‘People always think of themselves. Few are generous enough to sacrifice their own needs for others,’ he said quietly.

  He meant her. One day, she promised herself, she’d tell him what had happened. Very soon.

  ‘My parents—all right, my father,’ she amended, ‘was right in a way. We should have waited, Luc. We shouldn’t have let them push us into marriage when we had no money and no knowledge of one another.’

  Luc smiled. ‘Ironic that he’d been a lorry driver and was determined his daughter shouldn’t marry one!’

  ‘But his rejection drove your ambition,’ Ellen pointed out. ‘You were determined to show him that we hadn’t made a mistake.’

  ‘I wanted the best for my family. I think I worked too hard, didn’t I, Ellen?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Heaven help me, you were as proud as Father!’ she replied with a wry smile. ‘You felt you had so much to prove. And you did,’ she said, with a wave of her hand around the room.

  He’d taken risks which had terrified her, remortgaging their tiny house when her father had sacked him so that he could purchase a truck and go into the haulage business himself.

  ‘But I’m easing up.’ He was by the door now, closing it and checking a large wall calendar there. ‘I’m downshifting so that I can spend more time with Gemma.’

  ‘I’m relieved to hear it. She needs you.’ She eyed him helplessly. ‘You know I can’t work here,’ she said with great reluctance. The office and its surroundings were wonderful. Pity about the employer. She loved him too much to spend the whole day with him—and to keep that love a secret for long.

  He leaned against the wall and folded his arms in a gesture of intransigence. ‘It’s here, or nowhere at all.’

  ‘Don’t spoil it,’ she said sadly. ‘We were getting on so well—’

  ‘So let’s continue to do so.’

  ‘No! Luc, we absolutely can’t work together—’

  ‘Why?’

  That softly spoken query absolutely stumped her. She could hardly say because she’d be unable to stand the sexual tension day after day.

  ‘Never mind that! You tell me why I have to work here!’ she demanded irritably.

  The black bars of his brows drew together. Swiftly, decisively, he came over and took a letter and the opener from her hand.

  ‘Because,’ he replied, ‘I am not having any other man spending several hours a day with you.’

  Dry-mouthed, she wilted at the glow in his dark, smouldering eyes. ‘W-why not?’ she stammered stupidly.

  ‘You don’t need to ask that,’ he said quietly. ‘You know the answer. Make me a coffee, please.’

  She swept the empty envelopes into the b
in. Of course she did. He didn’t trust her with anyone. Gloomily she checked the small espresso machine for water and switched it on, placing cups beneath the twin spouts. He thought she’d flirt with any available males. And that remark he’d made earlier about taking her clothes off was plainly a reference to her lack of inhibitions about making money.

  ‘Don’t you have a secretary to do this?’ she muttered.

  ‘Normally I do it myself. But since you’re here—’

  ‘Do you have a secretary?’ she persisted, thinking of notepads and sitting on knees and blondes in tight skirts.

  ‘Sure.’ He smiled and flicked on his intercom. ‘Toni? Si, per favore.’

  Toni, she thought. Definitely a blonde. Long legs, big bosoms. She sucked her stomach in and tried to look fantastic.

  ‘Ciao, Luc!’

  Blond. Long legs… No bosoms. Male! Ellen grinned. ‘Hello!’ she said happily. ‘I’m Ellen.’

  ‘Maccari,’ Luc supplied.

  She slanted him a look. He was marking his territory again. ‘I might be working here if I like it,’ she told the beaming Toni, putting Luc in his place.

  ‘Shall I show you around?’

  ‘Please!’ she said eagerly. She needed time away from Luc to think things over.

  ‘Don’t be long,’ Luc warned, settling down at his desk and looking genuinely preoccupied. ‘I have errands for you.’

  She grinned. Errands! He did mean to give her dogs-body jobs! Perhaps, she mused, they could be civilised about this. If he treated her as courteously as he treated friends and staff, then they’d get on brilliantly.

  The cheerful Toni introduced her to every office and everyone in the building. She liked him a lot and pumped him for all she was worth, discovering that the dynamo was also a paragon, and, judging by Toni’s unstinting admiration, was in danger of being placed on a pedestal for all to worship!

  There was one snag. Miss Ski Slope turned out to be Luc’s transport manager—her real name being Lucia de Vecchi. Chatting to Lucia, envying her ready smile and welcoming manner, Ellen decided then and there that she would work with Luc.