Page 4 of Marriage Made In Hate

She pulled her thoughts away. Giuseppe was approaching in his customary stately manner, bestowing upon her the Campari and soda she liked to have as an aperitivo , while Matteo indulged in a well-watered-down martini. Alcohol was not forbidden to him, but it was allowed in very modest amounts only.

He made a face at the overly diluted aperitivo. Then he brightened. ‘My dear, we are to have a visitor tomorrow.’

Bianca’s expression changed. Became one of concern.

‘Won’t it tire you?’ she asked.

She hoped she did not sound too fussing, because she knew Matteo did not like to be fussed over, but all the same she felt anxious for him.

‘I will be fine,’ he replied, with a touch of impatience.

‘I have promised Giuseppe—and my dratted nurse—that I will not stir all day tomorrow until the evening. He is coming for dinner, you see, our visitor, and will stay the night as well.’ His expression brightened again.

‘It is someone I particularly want you to meet,’ he said.

‘Who is it?’ Bianca asked.

She was still not sure about visitors. She had become very protective of Matteo, and she knew that she and his nurse and Giuseppe, and indeed all the staff, conspired to fuss over him without him realising it.

Sometimes he co-operated, sometimes not.

Sometimes it was up to her to persuade him, smilingly, that his wheelchair was not his enemy, and that using it from time to time would enable him to take a turn in the gardens.

In the cooler hours, she pushed him along the paved paths while he told her tales from the past. She drew him out, wanting to hear all she could, thirsty for it like someone who had been in a desert all her life…

A smile was playing about his mouth now, and his eyes were bright, less sunken into his thin face.

‘He is my godson,’ Matteo told her.

‘Oh?’ said Bianca, looking across at him. He seemed to be expecting her to say something more, so she went on. ‘Does he have to come far?’

Matteo shook his head. ‘He lives less than an hour away, though his work keeps him in Rome. And he is often abroad, travelling for business, too.’

‘What does he do?’ Bianca asked, more out of politeness than interest.

‘Finance,’ her uncle replied. He said it carelessly, as though it was of little interest to him. ‘It is very international.’ He waved a hand dismissively.

For a fleeting, unpleasant second, memory pierced her. Luca had worked in international finance. It had brought him to London—and taken him away again.

She pushed the memory aside. Any memories of him were strictly forbidden. Even here in Italy.

Especially here in Italy…

She sought distraction in another question. ‘Is he bringing his wife?’ she asked, merely out of politeness.

‘Oh, he is not married,’ Matteo replied. ‘He is too popular with the ladies for that!’

Bianca caught the indulgent note in his voice, and the note of fondness too.

‘He is very close to me,’ Matteo went on, his voice warm and affectionate.

‘And he would fuss over me as much as you and the whole pack of you do if I were to let him!’ he added with some asperity.

‘In a way…’ his voice softened ‘…he is almost like the son I never had, for my dearest Luisa and I were not blessed with children—’

He broke off, took another sip from his glass, made another face.

Then he brightened again. ‘I look forward to you meeting him,’ he said.

Bianca gave an uncertain smile.

Matteo was continuing. ‘We shall have something of a dinner party tomorrow evening! Giuseppe will see to it all. All you need to do, my dear, is dress for the occasion! How very beautiful you will look!’

Bianca occupied herself with her Campari and soda.

This godson of Matteo’s, who was so popular with the ladies and almost like a son to him…

What would he make of her presence here?

Arriving like this out of nowhere? She gave a mental shake of her head.

It was no concern of hers. Matteo could make the explanations if he felt they were warranted.

She would just go with the flow. If this unknown godson held his godfather in high regard, then surely he would welcome her presence here?

Giuseppe was entering the room again, announcing dinner.

Carefully, trying not to fuss, Bianca offered her arm to help Matteo to his feet. He took it, leaning on her slightly, but she suspected that was more to show affection than for support. Slowly, they made their way into the dining room.

The godson was not mentioned again, and Bianca was glad of it. Tonight she would have Matteo to herself.

Sadness plucked at her. Anticipatory grief, at knowing that this precious time was limited. So cruelly limited. She must make the very most of it, and be what comfort she could while she could…

* * *

Once again Luca was speeding north-east from Rome, heading for the Villa Fiarante to dine with Matteo.

Giuseppe, when he’d interrogated him, had assured him no other guests would be present.

Why that meant he had to wear evening dress, Luca didn’t know.

He knew only that Matteo had stipulated it, so he was complying.

He would stay the night too, and then put in a couple of days catching up with matters at his own home before returning to Rome.

As he pulled up in front of the villa, some time later, the evening had already gathered.

Stars were pricking out in the sky, the air was cooler.

The villa was lit up, and Luca’s mind went back to earlier times, when Matteo and Luisa had been so fond of entertaining.

Then, only a little time before his own parents had been killed, Luisa had succumbed to the heart disease that had taken her so soon. And now Matteo would be following her.

They had never had children—Matteo’s only sorrow, for their marriage had been very happy. Children would have been an added blessing.

But I’ll stand right with you, Matteo! I may not be your son, but I am the next best thing, and I will stand by you till the end. And whatever it is you want, if it is in my power, I shall do it.

Including, right now, having dinner with him this evening.

Giuseppe was already opening the door and he stepped lightly inside, making his usual low-voiced enquiry as to how his godfather was.

‘The signor is in good spirits,’ Giuseppe assured him. ‘And awaiting you with impatience.’

He led the way forward, throwing open a set of double doors. Not to the library, Matteo’s usual haunt, but a room on the other side of the wide hall—the formal saloni.

Luca half smiled to himself. Matteo was doing this evening in style.

He walked through, ready to greet his godfather.

Instead, he stopped dead. Totally and completely dead.

The smile of greeting on his face vanished.

* * *

Bianca was sitting—perching, more accurately—on a silk-upholstered chair.

It was one of a trio set by the ornate carved marble fireplace, which had a tapestry screen in front of it at this time of the year.

She had seen the saloni before, when Giuseppe had shown her around the villa, shortly after her arrival, but she had only glanced inside, taking in a room that was clearly too grand for everyday use.

Landscape paintings hung on the walls, the furniture was all silk upholstered, mirrors were gilded, and occasional tables were inlaid with mother of pearl. The floor was covered with Persian carpets. It was a room for grand entertaining. She and Matteo were lost in it.

He was looking well, though, she thought. Very smart in his dinner jacket. His cheeks were less sunken, his eyes brighter. Clearly the impending visit of his godson was cheering him.

She had only just come down from her room for Maria, the maid she usually dismissed with a courteous smile, had insisted on helping her dress and pinning up her hair carefully. She had helped, too, with the jewellery she had carried into the bedroom, depositing its case on the dressing table.

‘The signor asks that you wear it this evening,’ Maria had said.

And to please Matteo, Bianca had. They were beautiful pieces—a pearl collar, matching pearl bracelets and drop pearl earrings. They went superbly with the dress she was wearing—another horribly expensive number from the upmarket boutique in the nearby town, but one she knew Matteo would like.

Memory had flitted through her head as she’d let Maria slip it over her head.

Unwelcome memory. The dress she wore tonight was a world away from the clothes she’d worn when she had glammed up for Luca.

Then, she’d always gone for glitz, and maxing out her sex appeal.

Luca had liked it—liked it a lot. Making it clear all evening that he could not wait to get her back to his apartment, and strip it all off her—

No! She’d sliced down the guillotine, cut off memories that were as pointless as they were poisoned. She would not think of Luca.

But now, as she sat so elegantly perched on the chair beside Matteo, after the powerful engine note of what was presumably Matteo’s godson’s flash car had been silenced, she heard the low, indistinguishable murmur of voices out in the hall, and the doors to the saloni were thrown open by Giuseppe in grand fashion.

And with the freezing of the blood in her veins Bianca realised, her eyes going to who it was that Giuseppe was ushering in, that memories were not all that remained of Luca.

He had just walked into the room.

Luca.

Matteo’s godson…