‘Gossip about you and your other women, by any chance? Well, since you put that subject on the banned list, along with just about everything and everyone else, let me inform you that I have an imagination, Franco. I’ve already worked out that more than half the women there will probably know you as intimately as I do—including Claudia!’
‘Damn it,’ he said again. ‘That is not what I meant!’
‘Well, try speaking in straightforward sentences!’ she launched at him. ‘Because all you’ve done since I came back to Italy is toss out these cryptic messages to me, so how am I supposed to know what you mean? Oh, although I do recall you being very eloquent about my relationship with Bruce!’
‘Don’t bring him back into this,’ Franco growled irritably. ‘I have something I need to tell you, but I’ve been trying hard to hang on until after the funeral. The thing is, I cannot be sure how many other people know, so I would rather not put you in the firing line for a bloody great shock.’
‘Then get it over with and tell me now.’
‘No,’ he muttered.
‘Why?’ she persisted.
‘Because I want to damn well wait!’ He lost his rag so spectacularly he made Lexi blink at him. ‘Santa cielo,’ he rasped, throwing his hands up, ‘can I not be allowed to get through the next twenty-four hours without all this aggravation from you? Why can’t you just trust that I know what I am doing? Is it too much to expect plain and simple support from you for one more day?’
He was talking about Marco. It finally registered with Lexi that he’d been engaging his blocking tactics since she’d arrived here in Italy because the ‘something’ he was keeping from her involved his closest friend. Now the grey pallor was definitely back, she saw, and the strain was dragging on his features, almost painful to see.
‘OK,’ she whispered. ‘I won’t ask again until you’re ready to tell me.’
For some reason her promise did not seem to make him any happier. ‘You can come to the funeral if that’s what you want to do. But I tell you this, Lexi: move one half-inch away from my side and I will do something we both regret—got that?’
Wanting to ask why he had changed his mind, Lexi gauged the sizzling tension emitting from him, pressed her lips together and just nodded her head.
He moved back to the door with the grim stride of a man glad to leave the room. An hour later a car arrived to deliver a selection of outfits suitable to wear at a funeral for Lexi to choose from.
Franco had shut himself away in his study and she did not see him again for the rest of the day. It felt as if she was being punished for standing up to him and spoiling their few days of harmony. By the time they met up again for dinner his father had arrived home, and their meal was a very stressful, sober affair, with the prospect of what was to take place the next day hanging heavily over all three of them.
The two men excused themselves from the table as soon as the meal was over. They disappeared into the study—to talk business, Lexi presumed—and in a lot of ways she was glad they’d left her alone. Franco might be talking to his father again; but throughout dinner his tone had been flat and stilted and Salvatore was either too jet-lagged to bother taking on his son in the mood he was in, or he was as aware as Lexi that Franco was treading a very fine line emotionally.
That night she slept in her own bed. She wasn’t sure why she made the decision to do that, but when Franco made no effort to come and find her she assumed that he was glad she’d given him the space to be on his own.
Not that it lasted. Halfway through the long, empty night she’d spent lying wide awake, worrying about him because he’d become so distant and withdrawn, she gave in to the craving that had been eating away at her since she’d heard his bedroom door close hours ago and got up, sneaked into the darkness of his room, then slid into the bed beside him.
He was awake. It didn’t surprise her.
‘Shh,’ she whispered before he could say anything. ‘You don’t need to talk. I just needed to hold you.’
And he let her. He took her advice and said not a word, but at least he curved an arm around her to draw against him. They stayed like that for what was left of the night, paying silent vigil to the ordeal to come.
CHAPTER TEN
THEY came to mourn Marco in droves. Masses of people packed the church, spilling onto the grounds and onto the street. He was well known and well liked, and the tragedy of his young age and his spectacular death made the mourning of Marco all the more poignant.
Lexi stood quietly beside Franco. His father flanked his other side. Behind them stood the full White Streak team, although in their sober black suits, Lexi had not recognised them until they’d lined up outside the church, waiting in turn to commiserate with Franco over Marco’s loss. Each one of them had cast a curious glance at Lexi before moving respectfully away.
In front of them stood the Clemente family. Marco’s mother and father, his sister Claudia and his many other relatives, all grief-stricken and bereft, but still eager to commiserate with Franco over the loss of his lifelong friend. When they’d arrived inside the church Marco’s mamma had thrown herself against Franco’s chest to sob her heart out. He’d held her close and murmured soothing words to her that had thickened his voice and driven the colour from his face. They’d all asked concernedly how Franco was doing. His stilted dismissal of his own injuries made it clear to Lexi that he found his situation in all of this almost too hard to bear.
She began to appreciate why he had locked himself away from it all. Survivor guilt, she thought, listening to his quiet voice making sombre responses and feeling his tension like a swarm of stinging bees attaching themselves to her flesh. She knew that he did not want people’s sympathy and commiserations, though he had to accept them. And as the ordeal lengthened through the Catholic Mass she could feel the stinging buzz of Franco’s tension increasing, until she worried he might actually turn and make a bolt for it.
What he did do almost snapped the fine thread of her own self-control.
It was Marco’s father who turned to him and gravely invited him to say a few words for their son. Franco must have been expecting it to happen, because he stepped out from their pew and onto the podium with no hint of hesitation—yet she’d felt the fine tremor rip through him a second before he’d moved. He spoke with a quiet, grave fluency about his friendship with Marco, spanning its twenty years with precious memories, causing a fresh wave of aching grief to spread through the gathered assembly. Even Salvatore became overwhelmed.
Had Franco been composing all this while he lay awake last night? Was this the reason he had shut himself away in his study for half the day?
Lexi felt a sinking twist of guilt: she had not appreciated what he must have been struggling with while she’d fought with him yesterday. He had not wanted her to come. He’d wanted to get through the day without the need to worry about her and the curiosity he knew her presence beside him would evoke. He’d tried to block out all reference to Marco since the accident—yet here he stood, having to open up his grief and loss in front of hundreds of people. She hurt for him—hurt so badly she reached out and clung to Salvatore’s hand. She fought back her own rush of tears—for Marco and for Franco.
From the church they moved in sombre procession to Marco’s final resting place, and still the day did not end there. Next they drove to the Clemente estate, with its world-famous vineyards and beautiful cascina.
‘OK?’ she dared to whisper to Franco as the three of them sat in the rear of Salvatore’s Mercedes.
‘Si,’ he responded, but that was all he said.
‘You did well, Francesco,’ Salvatore said huskily. ‘I am proud of you today.’
This time Franco did not make an answer—for what could he say? This was still not over. They had a wake to attend, time to relax a little and socialise; but all he wanted to do was tell Pietro to turn the car around and take them home.
He got through the first hour by choosing to avoid those people who
knew Lexi from their summer together. They were all there—the golden people, as she’d used to call them, most of them friends of his still. People who seemed, thankfully, to want to respect the politics of reverence and politeness by keeping their distance. Though he could see they were curious to see Lexi with him—and perhaps a little uncomfortable too, for none of them had treated her particularly well.
Even Claudia kept away from them, which he found coldly amusing. She must have worked out by now that Lexi would have told him the part she’d played in breaking them up. They ate delicate finger food from platters extended to them by circulating waiters, talked when they needed to, and then, quite suddenly, it all became too much for him. He was standing with Lexi by his side, talking to a lawyer friend, when it happened. From the corner of his eye he saw Claudia making her way towards them, and he knew he could not be pleasant to her—no matter how much today was about putting personal grievances aside. Abruptly excusing them, he grabbed Lexi’s hand and walked her out through the French windows and along the terrace until they’d put the majority of the people at a distance.
He didn’t know why it was happening but he felt so hot, and his heart was pounding. Leaning a shoulder against one the stone pillars that supported the loggia, he let go of Lexi’s hand so he could loosen his tie and drag open a couple of buttons on his shirt, then he breathed in a lungful of humid air.
‘Are you all right?’ Looking up at his face, Lexi felt concern clutch at her stomach because he looked as if he might just pass out.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Just hot and …’
Reaching up, she touched he hand to his pale cheek. ‘You don’t feel hot. You feel quite cool.’
‘Inside hot,’ he enlightened her. ‘How much longer do you think we have to stay?’
He was asking her that question? Lexi lowered her hand and looked out across the garden to where the Clemente vines marched in regimented lines towards the horizon.
Throughout the whole long day he had barely spoken to her. He’d kind of worn her like a side arm, kept tucked in close to him and hidden almost out of sight. If it had not been for the way he’d tightened his grip if she so much as tried to move away from him she would have thought he’d forgotten she was even there. Twice she’d actually got away from him. Once to say a private farewell to Marco before they’d left his flower bedecked graveside, and the other time when they’d first arrived here and she’d made a quick visit to the cloakroom. When she’d turned away from Marco’s grave Franco had been standing just a few yards away waiting for her to go to him. The next time he’d been waiting for her right outside the cloakroom door. Both times he’d said nothing, his expression as impenetrable as the self-control he’d been exerting. He’d just caught her hand and drawn her back to his side, then returned them to the throng.
It was an absolute no-brainer that he’d meant what he’d said about her not straying from his side. It was also a no-brainer that he had no intention of allowing her the chance to talk to anyone on her own.
‘You’re the boss,’ she therefore responded, a trifle satirically. ‘I’m just your mute sidekick.’
He melted her bones with a slow grin. ‘You are the bossy one in this partnership,’ he threw at her lazily. ‘You threw my friends off my boat when you’d had enough of them. You dragged me out of clubs and restaurants without bothering to ask me if I was ready to leave. You even flirted with any man in your vicinity then told me off if I dared to complain.’
Flushing when she realised he was only telling it as it had been back in that golden summer, Lexi grimaced. ‘It’s no wonder your friends didn’t like me much.’
‘That’s a joke.’ He laughed. ‘The guys, at least, were fascinated by you and jealous of me. They used to wish it was them you were dragging away.’
Lexi looked at the stone floor beneath her shoes. ‘I didn’t want them to myself.’
‘I know,’ Franco murmured.
‘And if I was bossy with you, I don’t recall you putting up much resistance.’
‘That is because I didn’t want to resist,’ he told her dryly. ‘I like it that you made all the decisions and trailed me around like your sidekick, bella mia.’
He was just teasing her when he said that, Lexi decided, and responded with a rueful smile. ‘So today you’re getting your own back on me?’
Said lightly as a tease-back, she did not expect all hint of humour to suddenly drain away from him. ‘No, today is about respecting Marco’s death and getting through this without—’ He stopped, swallowed, then made a gesture with one of his hands before deciding roughly, ‘Let’s get out of here.’
Giving her barely a chance to register his meaning, he was grabbing hold of her hand and pulling her further along the terrace, so fast she had a struggle to keep up with him.
‘But where are we going?’ she demanded breathlessly.
‘Around the house to the front. Pietro will take us home.’
‘But we can’t just leave without telling anyone! It would be rude—and what about your father? Franco!’ She sighed when he just kept on going. ‘Will you just stop and listen to me?’
But he didn’t stop and listen. Within minutes they were in the back of his father’s Mercedes and driving away from the Clemente estate, with a bewildered Pietro at the wheel.
‘Pietro will come back for my father,’ he said, before Lexi could repeat the question. ‘We are only half an hour away.’
‘But … you just walked out on Marco’s wake,’ she gasped, because she was still struggling to believe he had done it.
He made no comment, and if Lexi had believed he could block out everything he didn’t want to talk about before this moment, she soon learned during the half-hour drive back to Monfalcone that he could put up a solid brick wall against any argument she attempted to make.
He didn’t speak a single word. He just sat there beside her, pale and still, with a brooding frown strapped to his face. His mood disturbed her—it was disturbing Pietro too, because she kept seeing him taking quick frowning glances at Franco through the rearview mirror as he drove.
The car came to a stop at the front doors and then he was climbing out and coming round to open her door for her, placing a hand on her arm to help her out.
‘OK, this is what’s going to happen.’ He spoke at last as they walked into the house to the sound of Pietro taking off back to the Clemente estate to collect Salvatore. ‘You are going to pack a bag—casual things—while I find Zeta. I will see you back here in fifteen minutes.’
‘But—where am I going now?’ Lexi cried out as he strode off towards the kitchens.
‘We are going away for a few days,’ he said. ‘Fifteen minutes, Lexi, or you come as you are!’
Staring after him, Lexi worried that the day been just too much for him to deal with. Had he flipped again? Was that it? Cursing herself for forgetting that only a week ago Dr Cavelli had been warning her of his concerns about Franco’s mental health, she was seriously considering ringing the hospital to ask the doctor’s advice when Franco came striding back, to find her still standing in the hall, as pale a ghost and as anxious as hell.
He must have known what she was thinking because he pulled to a stop, letting out a sigh. But all he said was, ‘You have decided to come with me as you are?’
It was a challenge and a smoothly delivered threat at the same time. And, strangely, there was something about him—the way he looked and the way he was moving—that told her this was the real Franco, the cool, decisive one who thought on his feet and did not waste time explaining himself. He wasn’t crazy—just determined.
‘If I come with you, you’d better not be losing your mind again, because I won’t like it!’ she launched at him stressfully.
‘I am not crazy,’ he delivered incisively. ‘Are you coming?’
‘Of course I’m coming.’ She made a dash for the stairs.
‘Ten minutes, Lexi,’ he called after her.
‘Damn you, Franco,’ she
snapped right back.
But she still arrived back in the hall within the ten minutes, wearing jeans and sandals, her weekend bag hastily packed, to find that he had changed into similar clothes and was already waiting for her. A set of car keys jangled impatiently in his hand and a bag sat on the floor beside him along with a soft-sided cool bag. The moment Lexi arrived at his side he picked the bags up and walked outside.
She stepped outside and saw his red Ferrari glinting in the sunlight and she knew they were about to indulge in yet another spat.
‘You’re not allowed to drive for another week,’ she said. ‘It’s on the “dos and don’ts” list the hospital sent home with you!’
Simmering in silence at the rebuke, he just tossed her the car keys, removed her bag from her grasp, then strode off to put the bags in the boot.
He had to be really eager to leave here, Lexi thought nervously. Trembling now—she had not expected this response from him—Lexi could only stare as he opened the passenger door and climbed into the car. His quickly changing moods were beginning to get to her, and on top of that she had never, ever, driven a car like this one.
Sucking in a deep breath, she got in behind the wheel.
Next he tossed a pair of sunglasses at her. They wanted to fall off her nose, because the frames were too big, but she didn’t dare say anything because she knew why he had done it. He wanted her to protect her eyes from the flickering sun between the trees when she drove down the lane.
He had to instruct her as to how she moved the seat forward, and even how to start the great beast of a thing. Moving off as if she was driving an army tank, she was surprised to discover the controls were actually quite sweet. As they passed the place where she’d ditched her own car three and a half years ago anyone could have plucked tunes on the tension between them.
‘Now you are back, I’m will have a hedge laid in those gaps,’ he muttered. ‘And the next car I buy you will be a bloody great land cruiser, not some flimsy cute baby sedan.’
She dared to glance at him and saw that he was pale. ‘I didn’t lose the baby because I crashed into a ditch, you know,’ she told him gently.
The Man Who Risked It All Page 15