by Sara Craven
‘But it would not even be for very long,’ her godmother urged. ‘The Conte tells me that he hopes Paola’s wedding will take place at the earliest opportunity. Marriage, of course, will settle her.’
‘So the Marchese Bartaldi intends,’ Clare said evenly, feeling as if an icy fist had clenched inside her. ‘In the meantime, it will do him no harm to act as her simpatico companion himself. Maybe he could start by giving up his mistress in Siena.’ She sent Violetta a taut smile. ‘I wonder what’s for lunch? I’m starving.’
Over the next few days, Clare applied herself to enjoying her holiday with a kind of dogged determination. There was no further communication from the Villa Minerva, so it seemed that the Marchese had decided to accept his dismissal from her life.
Which is exactly what I want, Clare told herself robustly. And all I have to do now is put the whole sorry business out of my mind.
The weather was glorious, so part of each day was spent by the pool, where she swam and sunbathed, watched indulgently by Violetta, who sat rigorously safe-guarding her complexion with a parasol.
On one occasion they drove to Urbino, so that Clare could see the art treasures in the magnificent Renaissance palace that towered over the city.
Another day they visited Assisi, where Violetta murmured sorrowfully over the damage caused by the earthquake to the two great basilicas of St Francis and Clare, which stood at opposite ends of the town, both of which were being rapidly restored, however, even down to the famous Giotto frescoes which had suffered so disastrously.
‘Was it very frightening?’ Clare asked.
Violetta shuddered. ‘The whole earth seemed to rock, mia cara. But I was so lucky. A few tiles from the roof—some panes of glass—that was all. Elsewhere such hardship and tragedy.’
As they drove back to Cenacchio, Clare found herself looking up at the rugged Appennine hills which provided such a dramatic backdrop to the narrow road they were travelling on. They said wolves still lived on those steep, thickly forested slopes, and she could believe it. There was a wild, almost savage quality about them.
At the same time they looked so majestic—and eternal. As if nothing could move them. Yet the earth was such a fragile place, at the mercy of Nature in all kinds of ways, as the recent quakes had proved so drastically.
And even when the world seemed at peace, as it did today, there were other more personal storms to endure. Disturbed nights, with too vivid dreams, and, by day, a strange, aching emptiness that she could not escape, she thought, shivering.
‘I need to stop in Cenacchio,’ Violetta announced as they reached the small town. ‘My attorney wishes me to sign some papers over the lease of a field. So tedious. Why don’t you look at the shops, and we will meet at the caffe in the square in a half-hour, cara?’
Clare agreed readily to this plan, wandering happily round the narrow cobbled streets, window-shopping at the boutiques, pausing at a small bookshop to buy a local guide book, and, on impulse, a life of St Clare of Assisi.
At the delicatessen, she stared longingly at its mouth-watering displays of cheeses and sausages, and the enormous variety of goodies in jars and bottles.
Before she went home she would treat herself to some really good olive oil, she determined.
The half-hour was up, but there was no sign of Violetta at the caffe. Unperturbed, Clare seated herself at a table under the blue-striped awning, and ordered a cappuccino.
She began to glance through the life of the saint, finding to her amusement that her namesake was the patron of television.
Well, I suppose there has to be one, she thought, as she casually turned the pages.
When a shadow fell across the table, she assumed it was Violetta, and glanced up with a smile, only to find Paola gazing anxiously at her.
‘Signorina—Clare?’ Her face broke into an uncertain smile. ‘I hoped it was you. Are you alone? May I join you?’
‘Of course. I’m just waiting for my godmother.’ Clare returned the smile politely but without any particular enthusiasm.
‘Ah, the Signora Andreati. I was so pleased to meet her. Si amabile. Si elegante.’
‘Yes, she’s all of that,’ Clare agreed, her tone softening, touched by the wistful note in Paola’s voice.
The younger girl sat down beside Clare, and put a hand on her arm. ‘I have so much wanted to see you. I wanted to say how sorry I was for all that Guido made you suffer.’ She shook her head. ‘Che bruto. Did I not tell you?’
‘Yes,’ Clare acknowledged. ‘But I don’t think you should tell me again. Not when you’re talking about the man you’re going to marry.’
‘Niente paura,’ Paola asserted passionately. ‘It will not happen.’ She gave a wary look around her. ‘But I need your help.’
Clare sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Paola. But that wouldn’t be very wise. And you don’t really need help. You just have to say No and mean it.’
‘You do not understand.’ Paola lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘His uncle is with us now, and they will force me to do as they say.’
Which pretty well confirmed what Violetta had told her, Clare thought, not without sympathy.
‘Why not talk to the parish priest?’ she suggested. ‘I’m sure he isn’t allowed to marry people against their will.’
‘He does what Guido tells him,’ Paola said sullenly. ‘As they all do.’
Clare groaned inwardly. I don’t need this, she thought.
She said, ‘Then the Marchese is hardly likely to take any notice of what I say either.’
‘Oh, I do not mean that.’ Paola’s voice was conspiratorial. ‘But if you came to live at the Villa Minerva, you could help me escape.’
‘If memory serves, you tried that already,’ Clare said drily. ‘And if your fidanzato has all this power, he’d soon find you, like he did last time. Besides, where would you go?’ She leaned back in her chair. ‘Paola, the best thing you can do is try and talk Guido out of this marriage. Convince him that it would be a disaster.’
‘Or, there is another way.’ There was a glint of triumph in the other girl’s eyes. ‘I could always marry someone else.’
Clare felt her heart sink into her elegant sandals.
‘You have someone in mind?’ She tried to sound casual.
‘You know I do.’ Paola sounded shocked. ‘It is Fabio, of course.’
‘Naturalamente,’ Clare said in a hollow voice. ‘I didn’t realise he was back in the picture.’
‘He made contact again through Carlotta.’ Paola lowered her voice mysteriously. ‘Guido accused him of wanting only my fortune—said terrible, threatening things to him. For a while, he was frightened, but now he knows he cannot live without me, and he will risk anything.’
I bet, Clare thought stonily, tempted to take Paola by her pretty shoulders and shake her until her teeth rattled.
But that would solve nothing. In fact, it would probably harden Paola’s determination to ruin her life. And Clare hadn’t the slightest doubt that would be the outcome if the silly girl wasn’t stopped.
She could, of course, dump the whole thing on Guido Bartaldi, but he would probably try and put a stop to the affair by locking Paola in a convent, or something equally mediaeval. And that would simply turn her into a martyr, and make her more stubborn than ever.
No, Paola must somehow be made to see Fabio for what he really was. To be disillusioned so deeply that he would never stand a cat in hell’s chance with her again. Nor anyone else of his ilk, she added grimly.
But if Paola eluded Fabio’s frying pan, she should not be despatched to the Marchese’s fire either.
They’re just so wrong for each other, Clare told herself vehemently. It would be a wretched marriage for both of them.
Although there was no reason why she should care what kind of a mess Guido Bartaldi created for himself, she admitted, biting her lip.
No, Paola was her concern here. She might be young and giddy, but she didn’t deserve either of the fates that were bei
ng wished on her.
But, Clare conceded, she needed to learn to grow up, and stand on her own two feet. Become her own rescuer, instead of relying on other people.
I wonder if she’s capable of that? Clare thought, stealing a sideways glance at the lovely face with its full, sulky mouth. So far, she’s spent most of her time being handed round like a parcel, and letting men dictate to her. I wonder if I could show her that there’s more to life than that?
‘Clare—you do not speak.’ Paola’s voice was petulant. ‘What are you thinking?’
Clare smiled at her calmly. ‘I’m just trying to decide what the best plan of action might be.’
‘Then you will help me?’ The younger girl’s face was suddenly transfigured. ‘But how? Guido told me he asked you to take the place of the Signora, but you would not. And it will be hard for us to keep in touch when you are in Cenacchio. I cannot always think of reasons to come here.’
‘Then I’ll just have to come to the Villa Minerva,’ Clare said resignedly.
‘You mean it? You will tell Guido you have changed your mind? Oh, that is wonderful.’
‘Yes,’ Clare said, wincing inwardly. ‘I’ll tell him.’
And, as if she’d conjured him up from some dark place in her soul, she saw him walking across the square towards them, with Violetta chatting vivaciously at his side.
‘Guido,’ Paola carolled. ‘Guess what. Clare says she will be my companion after all. Isn’t that good news?’
Guido halted, his brows lifting as his dark gaze swept from Paola’s triumphant face to Clare’s tense figure.
‘I am overwhelmed,’ he said courteously, after a pause. ‘Particularly as you seemed so adamant at our last meeting. May I know what has brought about this change of heart?’
‘I’ve had time to think things over,’ Clare returned evenly. ‘And I realise there could be mutual advantages in the situation. I planned to spend a few months in Italy, and working locally I can continue to see Signora Andreati in my free time.’
She paused. ‘I presume I shall have free time?’ she added. ‘That you won’t expect me to maintain a round-the-clock watch on Paola?’
He gave her a long, dispassionate look. ‘These are details, signorina. I am sure we can work out an arrangement that will be agreeable to us both.’
‘Oh, not signorina,’ Paola protested. ‘So dull—so antiquato. You must say Clare, as I do. And she must call you Guido.’
‘As I’m going to be the Marchese’s employee, maybe a certain formality should be maintained.’ Clare returned his cool look with compound interest.
‘It shall be exactly as you wish—Miss Marriot. And staying in touch with your godmother should not be a problem either, as I hope very much she will consent to be my guest at the Villa Minerva for a few weeks. While you are—finding your feet, shall we say?’ He turned the charm of his smile on Violetta. ‘Well, signora, will you do us all the honour of accompanying the signorina when she joins my household?’
No way, thought Clare. No one’s ever managed to winkle Violetta out of the Villa Rosa at this time of year. And just as well, because I’m going to need somewhere to retreat to. And Paola might need a temporary refuge too.
But, ‘How very good of you. I should be delighted, Marchese,’ Violetta proclaimed sweetly, offering him a melting look as he bowed over her hand.
‘Naturally I do not wish to interfere with any plans you have made for her entertainment,’ Guido continued. ‘But it would be helpful if Miss Marriot could take up her duties as soon as possible.’
‘That will be no problem,’ Violetta assured him serenely. ‘We are at your disposal, signore. Clare, indeed could join you tomorrow, and I will follow as soon as I have made the necessary arrangements at home.’
Clare found she was sitting with her mouth open, and closed it indignantly.
‘Arrange my life, why don’t you’ she muttered under her breath.
She had the feeling that she was being swept along on some inexorable tide. That things were already out of her control. And it was not a sensation she relished.
She’d allowed her concern for Paola to railroad her into a decision she would certainly regret, she realised with resignation. But it wasn’t irrevocable. She was no longer Guido Bartaldi’s prisoner, and could leave whenever she wanted.
She came out of her less than reassuring reverie to the awareness that he was watching her, a faint smile slanting the corners of his mouth, as if his thoughts were providing him with some kind of private satisfaction.
She lifted her chin in silent challenge, wishing she could read his gaze. He wasn’t wearing sunglasses today, so there was no artificial barrier between them, but it made no real difference. He was still an enigma to her. A puzzle she had no hope of solving.
But maybe that was a good thing, she told herself soberly. Arm’s length, and more, was the safest distance with a man like him. She had already glimpsed what devastation even a fleeting intimacy with him could evoke. Just the memory of his hand—his mouth—on her skin made her tremble inside.
She could not afford any more such moments of weakness.
‘Come, Paola.’ Guido Bartaldi extended his hand. ‘We should return home and prepare to receive our guests.’
The other girl pouted, but she rose readily enough and went to his side, sliding her arm through his with a casual familiarity that seemed to belie her earlier protests about their relationship.
Perhaps I won’t have to do a thing, after all, Clare thought with an odd pang. Maybe all he needs is to court her properly—gently and romantically—and she’ll forget all that other nonsense and fall into his hand like a piece of ripe fruit.
And that would solve a whole lot of problems, she thought, stifling a little sigh, as polite goodbyes were said and the Marchese and his future bride moved away across the square.
So why did she feel no happier at the prospect?
‘You will need clothes,’ Violetta planned, over more cappuccinos.
‘I think we’ve been here before.’ Clare gave her a despairing look. ‘I have a perfectly adequate wardrobe already.’
‘Not for the Villa Minerva,’ Violetta said firmly.
‘For my position there,’ Clare said steadily. ‘You may be a guest, but I’m simply the hired help.’
‘Why do you speak of yourself in such a way? You are going to be the little Paola’s companion. You will be expected to join in her social life, so—you must dress appropriately.’
‘I don’t go around in rags now,’ Clare said with spirit. ‘And you’ve already paid for an evening dress for me. I don’t need anything else.’
Violetta expelled a sigh of pure exasperation. ‘Dio, how can you be so stubborn—and so blind?’ she demanded. ‘Don’t you see what an opportunity this is for you?’
‘It’s just another job, with, hopefully, a decent reference at the end of it,’ Clare said calmly.
‘But in the course of this job you will get to meet many people.’ Violetta made a dramatic gesture that nearly sent her cappuccino flying. ‘It could change your life.’
Clare gave her a level look. ‘The people in question being men?’ she suggested.
‘Well?’ Violetta said defensively. ‘Is it so impossible? You are a beautiful girl. You do not seem to appreciate that.’
‘Perhaps because I know how little it means.’ Clare tried to speak lightly. ‘James used to tell me I was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen. But I couldn’t compete with Ginny Parrish trailing her father’s millions past him.’ Her smile was crooked. ‘I suddenly found I was being lovely all by myself.’
‘So that is what happened.’ There was compassion in Violetta’s bright eyes. ‘You never spoke about it before.’
‘I don’t know why I’m talking about it now,’ Clare said a touch wearily. ‘Unless it’s because I’m watching another merger masquerading as marriage, and it tends to revive unhappy memories.’
‘Cara, not all men are like this—James. One
day you will meet someone who will value you for yourself. Who will not care how much money you have.’
‘I hope so.’ Clare sighed. ‘But I guarantee I won’t be meeting him at the Villa Minerva. Because that isn’t how it works.’ She paused. ‘Maybe we should be getting back. I need to pack my rags,’ she added, deadpan.
‘Oh, you are an impossible girl,’ Violetta told her crossly.
‘You’re quite tricky yourself,’ Clare countered. ‘What on earth made you accept Guido Bartaldi’s invitation? You never go anywhere in the summer.’
Violetta shrugged. ‘He is not an easy man to refuse—as you have discovered, carissima,’ she said airily. ‘And it means we shall not be separated—which is kind of him.’
‘Oh, he’s a regular Good Samaritan,’ Clare agreed with irony. ‘And, of course, you’ll be meeting—people too.’ She gave a swift gurgle of laughter. ‘Who knows? Maybe your life will be the one to change.’
‘Now you are being ridiculous,’ Violetta said with unwonted coolness. ‘You know quite well that I shall never consider another relationship.’
‘So you’ve always said.’ Clare was taken aback. ‘But surely you can’t rule out the possibility.’
‘I can and I will.’ Violetta was looking positively ruffled. ‘And I find I do not care for this foolish conversation.’ She picked up her bag. ‘If you are ready, let us go. And do not forget,’ she threw over her shoulder, ‘you were the first to change her mind.’
Clare followed her meekly to the car, bewildered by this sudden display of asperity.
It must be the Villa Minerva, she thought. The place has some kind of disruptive, discordant influence on everyone. And tomorrow I’ll be there. So what effect will it have on me?
And she found a sudden warning shiver tingling down her spine.
CHAPTER SIX
CLARE woke with a sudden start, and lay for a moment, staring towards the shuttered window, wondering what had disturbed her.
On the last occasion that she’d been startled out of sleep it had, of course, been the doing of Guido Bartaldi.