Husband By Necessity

Glass in hand, he began showing her his home. Despite its beauty it was an austere place, with the bare minimum of dark, heavy oak furniture. The floors were covered with smooth flagstones with the occasional rag rug. The walls were plain stone or brick. There were some pictures, but they weren’t the valuable old masters of the Residenza. One was a photograph, an aerial view of Montedoro itself, touched by the sun and standing proud against the valley far below. One was a childish watercolour, showing the streets of the little town, and a man in the dark clothes Bernardo himself was wearing.

‘Yes, that’s meant to be me,’ he said, smiling as he saw her gaze. ‘It was done by the children of the local convent school after I paid for them to go have a day out.’

Looking more closely, Angie saw the word Grazie along the bottom of the picture. ‘It’s charming,’ she said. ‘Do you often give them treats?’

He shrugged. ‘A party at Christmas, a trip to the theatre. It’s a tiny school. It costs me next to nothing.’

Stella appeared from the kitchen, anxious to speak to him, and while he turned away Angie continued looking around. One door stood ajar, and through the three-inch crack she could just see the end of a bed. After struggling with her better self for a moment she ventured to push it a little further open.

The room was dominated by a large brass bedstead. The walls were stone, the floor made of red flagstones, with one rug beside the bed. There was one cane chair and one pine table on which Bernardo kept his few possessions. It might have been a monk’s cell, except for the old-fashioned picture of a woman by the bed. Angie had seen the portrait of Bernardo’s ancestor, but now she saw his mother, and realised how both of them were subtly blended in him.

It was an intriguing face. The woman had been beautiful with a heavy sensual mouth that hovered on the edge of a smile. But there was something about the eyes, an ironic watchfulness, a refusal to compromise, that spoilt her for Angie. But she was being unfair, she reflected. This woman had been trapped in a situation that left her much to endure. She had coped, but Angie, a woman from a totally different culture, guessed it had twisted her nature out of true, and some of her tensions had been passed on to her son.

The mystery about Bernardo deepened.

She was too cautious to linger, and slipped out quickly before he returned.

In one room the medieval atmosphere had been banished by a modern computer, a desk and filing cabinets.

‘This is where I do my paperwork,’ he said with a grimace. ‘Thank goodness for technology, so that I can do as little as possible.’

On the far side were huge windows reflecting the blue of the sky, both slightly ajar. Angie strode over and threw them open to take a deep breath, and found herself looking straight down the long drop into the valley. She gasped and turned away, her head spinning.

In a flash Bernardo was beside her, his arms about her waist, holding her steady. ‘I should have warned you that that window opens straight onto the drop,’ he said.

‘I’m all right. I haven’t much head for heights—it just took me by surprise. Phew!’

‘Come away from the window,’ he said, drawing her into the room. ‘That’s better.’

His clasp about her waist was light, but even so, she could sense the steely power of the man, and it thrilled her. Her heart was beating in anticipation. They were so close that she could feel the heat of his body and inhale his spicy, male aroma. And surely he must sense her own reaction to him. Even a man so lacking in polish must know that he delighted her. Some things could be neither faked nor hidden.

The next moment she met his eyes and saw in them everything she wanted. But he released her nonetheless, setting a careful distance between them and saying in a voice that wasn’t quite steady,

‘Stella will have lunch ready by now. We mustn’t keep her excellent food waiting.’

The table was laid in a simple room next to the kitchen with red flagstones, white walls, and a pair of French windows that opened onto the cloisters. Through these a gentle breeze blew, and they had a view straight out onto the fountain.

‘It’s magic,’ she breathed, as they sat down to eat.

‘It is at this time of year. In winter, very few people would find it magic. At this height the cold can be dreadful. Sometimes I look out of my window and all I can see is snow and mist, cutting the valley off. It’s like floating above the clouds.’

‘But then you can go down and live at the Residenza?’

‘I could. But I don’t.’

‘But isn’t it equally your home?’

‘No,’ he said briefly. He glanced up and said, ‘I’m sure you’ve heard the story.’

‘Some of it,’ she admitted. ‘How could I help knowing when you’re so prickly about it?’

‘Am I?’

‘At the airport, Lorenzo introduced you as his brother, and you hurried to say, “Half-brother”. It was like you wanted everyone to know you were different.’

‘Not really. I just don’t like to sail under false colours.’

‘But isn’t that the same thing in different words?’ she asked gently.

After a moment he said, ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

‘Why won’t you let yourself be one of the family?’

‘Because I’m not,’ he said simply. ‘I never can be. I was born a part of another family, my mother and my father. My name was Bernardo Tornese. To the people here it still is.’

‘Only to them?’

He hesitated. ‘Legally I am Martelli. Baptista changed my name when I was still a child, unable to prevent it.’

‘But she must have meant to be kind, giving you your father’s name.’

‘I know, and I honour her for it, as I honour her for all her kindness. It can’t have been easy for her to take me in and live with the constant reminder of her husband’s infidelity.

‘She’s been good to me in other ways, too. My father bought this house and several other properties in the village, presumably meaning them to pass to my mother, and then to me. But when he died they were still in his name, and they became Baptista’s. She said they were mine by right, signed them over to me, and administered them until I was of age.’

‘What a magnificent woman!’

‘Yes. Her sense of duty towards me has never failed.’

‘But was it only duty? Perhaps she was fond of you as well?’

He frown. ‘How could she be? Think how she must have hated my mother!’

‘Has she ever behaved as though she did?’

‘Never. She has treated me like her own sons, but I’ve always wondered what lay beneath it.’

Angie was about to say something conventionally polite about Baptista’s motives when she remembered her impression of yesterday, that beneath the charming surface the old woman had a steely will.

‘How did you come to meet her?’ she asked.

‘She turned up here a few days after my parents’ death, and said she’d come to take me to my father’s home. I didn’t want to go, but I had no choice. As soon as I could, I ran away.’

‘And came back here,’ Angie said at once, and was rewarded by his smile at her understanding.

‘Yes, I came back here, where I felt I belonged. Of course I was fetched back, but I escaped again. This time I hid out in the mountains, and when they found me I had a fever. By the time I was well again, I knew it was useless to run away. Many women, in Baptista’s position would have left me to my fate, and I suppose I was an ungrateful wretch—’

‘But you were a child and you’d just lost your parents,’ Angie said sympathetically. ‘No wonder you weren’t thinking straight.’

‘Yes. If it had happened a little later, I think I could have appreciated her generosity more. As it was, I saw only an attempt to wipe my mother out of the record. That’s why I cling to her name. Inside myself I am still Bernardo Tornese.’

Since he’d opened up so far Angie ventured to ask, ‘What were you going to tell me about Ellona, as we drove up?’

‘The villa you saw there is part of the estate of Bella Rosaria which belongs to Baptista. That was where she took me after I recovered from the fever. I used to awaken in the night and hear her weeping for my father’s death.’

His face was troubled and Angie held her breath, feeling something happen here that was beautiful and mysterious. But before she could speak he forced a smile and said, ‘Why are we talking about sad things? Let us take our wine outside.’

The shadows were beginning to lengthen and it was deliciously cool by the fountain. Smiling, she watched their reflections. But then something made her look up, and what she saw in Bernardo’s eyes caused the breath to catch in her throat.

Slowly he took her hand in his and held it for a moment, touching it almost reverently. He said nothing, and in the silence Angie could hear her heart hammering. He wasn’t even kissing her, just holding her hand as hesitantly as a boy, yet she could feel herself responding so intensely that she was almost scared.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Always before she’d been in control. Suddenly she wasn’t in control of anything, especially her own feelings. She felt like someone who’d set out to take a pleasant day trip and found themselves clinging onto a runaway train. In another moment he really would kiss her, and she wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.

The soft shrill of his mobile phone shattered the moment. Bernardo took a long breath and answered it reluctantly. ‘Yes?’ he said, sounding ragged.

Angie watched a change come over his face as he listened. Finally he said, ‘We’ll be right there.’ He shut off the phone and said, ‘That was Renato. There’s been an accident on the boat. Heather nearly drowned. He asks that you go to her at once.’

‘Of course.’

On the way down the mountain he explained tersely, ‘She and Renato went out on the Jet Ski, and she fell off. When he turned back to look for her she’d gone under. It sounds like a nasty moment. Luckily he found her fairly quickly. He called me from the boat. They should reach the port about the same time we do.’

At last the port of Mondello came into view. The Santa Maria was just tying up. Angie jumped from the car while it was still moving and took Renato’s outstretched hand onto the boat.

She found Heather sleeping in the big bedroom. To Angie’s relief her colour was good and she was breathing normally. She woke at Angie’s touch and gave her a sleepy smile.

‘Trust you to get in the wars,’ Angie said. ‘Renato sent for me.’

Heather eyed her wickedly, ‘I hope you weren’t interrupted at too difficult a moment.’

‘There’ll be others,’ Angie said, conscious that she was colouring. ‘I want you to spend tomorrow in bed. We’ll leave as soon as you’re better.’

Renato drove them home, Angie travelling in the same car as Heather, and Bernardo following on behind. She tried to give her friend all her attention, but inwardly she was thinking of Montedoro, another world, where eagles soared and spirits were free.

CHAPTER THREE

BERNARDO remained at the Residenza next day, but they had little time alone. Angie felt duty-bound to stay close to Heather, who slept most of the time under the influence of a sedative. Also, she found herself caught up in a family crisis.

‘Renato called Lorenzo,’ Bernardo told her. ‘But he’d checked out of his hotel in Stockholm this morning.’

‘But—I don’t understand. He was supposed to stay until tomorrow.’

‘I know. But he’s gone, and nobody knows where.’

‘He’s not playing fast and loose, is he?’ Angie demanded suspiciously.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Having a final fling before the wedding. I’ve heard about continental men.’

‘I’ll be—!’ Bernardo exclaimed, nettled. ‘That’s not only unjust, it’s bigoted, prejudiced—and I don’t know what. It’s practically racist. In fact, it is racist.’

‘Well, Italians do have rather a reputation.’ Angie said illogically.

‘Does that mean Lorenzo lives up to it? Do all Englishmen act the same way?’

‘Well, no. But I don’t know Lorenzo well enough to say what he is like. And, as his brother, you probably do.’

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. ‘Yes, I’m sorry.’

‘No, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.’

He looked at her with a little smile that made her heart turn over. ‘I think we just had our first quarrel.’

‘So we did.’

They exchanged rueful glances and he opened his arms, pulling her into a hug.

Our first quarrel, she thought. Before our first kiss. And if I didn’t want that kiss so badly I wouldn’t be on edge now.

With the house in a bustle there was no chance of developing the hug into something interesting. Footsteps in the corridor made them pull apart hastily. The next moment Renato entered, looking exasperated.

‘The mystery is solved,’ he said. ‘Lorenzo has just called to say he’s on his way home. Apparently he decided this morning to skip all his appointments and come back.’ His voice grated with displeasure on the last words.

‘He couldn’t bear to stay away from Heather,’ Angie sighed. ‘That’s sweet.’

‘It’s not sweet,’ Renato snapped. ‘He had work to do, work he was already behind with.’

‘He’s getting married in a few days—’ Angie protested.

‘Is he at the airport now?’ Bernardo put in quickly before an argument could start.

‘No, he was calling from Rome, where he had to make a connection. He’ll be here in about three hours.’

‘Fine,’ Angie said crisply. ‘I’ll tell Heather.’

She favoured him with a glare before walking out smartly, closely followed by Bernardo.

‘I pity Heather,’ she said crossly. ‘I really do. Fancy having Renato as a brother-in-law.’

‘Perhaps she loves Lorenzo enough not to mind being related to Renato,’ Bernardo observed. ‘They say love can do that to people.’

It flashed across her mind that he might not be talking about Heather and Lorenzo. For he himself was related to Renato, and if—

Don’t be absurd! This is a holiday romance. He hasn’t even kissed you yet!

Lorenzo’s return changed things, but not in the way she’d expected. He arrived that afternoon, looking harassed, and it didn’t seem to Angie that this was a man who’d tossed everything aside to be with his beloved. Instead he hurried to find Renato and the two of them spent the rest of the day closeted in the study, from behind whose door Angie could hear agitated voices.

Perhaps Lorenzo was berating his brother for not taking better care of Heather. She certainly hoped so. She wondered when she would have another chance to be alone with Bernardo.

It came the next day. Lorenzo, looking pale and tense, was swept off by Renato to work at the company’s head office in Palermo, while Baptista claimed Heather’s company.

‘Naturally, we’d be glad if you joined us,’ she said with a smile, ‘but I expect you and Bernardo have made other plans.’

‘Well—’

‘Of course you have. And when the wedding is over I hope you won’t feel you have to hurry back to England. Perhaps you could stay another week?’

‘Thank you, I’d like that,’ Angie said, feeling the sun come out inside her.

This time it was her choice to go to Montedoro. Bernardo offered to show her the island, but she wanted to return to his eagle kingdom, where he was most completely himself.

When they were part of the way up the mountain he turned the car onto the grass and they got out and walked under the trees. From here Sicily was spread out before them in all its glory. Above them birds sang, the trees were in full beauty and the sky was an unbelievable blue. Angie stopped to breathe in the sweet air. The next moment she felt his hand tighten on hers, and she was in his arms.

The feel of his lips locked onto hers sent happiness streaming through her. She kissed him back, fervently, eagerly, inviting him to kiss her more deeply. She felt his clasp grow more confident. He’d understand her at once, and they could bypass the first tentative questions that strangers needed to ask, for they had never been strangers. They’d known each other from the first moment in the airport, and this sweet blazing kiss had been inevitable then.

His lips were just as she had known they would be, firm and decisive, and her own responded frankly, no holding back. To have pretended reserve would have been a kind of dishonesty, when in truth her heart was reaching out to him.

Just now they asked little of each other, an eager embrace and lips seeking lips, exchanging warmth. She caught a glimpse of his face and he was almost smiling, like a man who’d discovered longed-for treasure and found it all he’d dreamed. There was a hint of surprise as well and it touched her heart. It was as though joy was so unfamiliar to him that he hardly dared to claim it as his own.

He trailed the fingers of one hand slowly down her cheek, almost as though he couldn’t believe she was really there. His words confirmed it.

‘You won’t vanish, will you? I’ve thought of this since the moment we met, and now—’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she said happily.

‘Except with me?’

‘Except with you.’

‘Kiss me—kiss me—’ His lips were on hers again before she had the chance to speak. Suddenly she was aware of everything in the world about her. The sun had never been so warm, the air so sweet, life so worth living.

Bernardo drew back a little. He was shaking. ‘We must go on to Montedoro,’ he said unsteadily. ‘I don’t trust myself to be alone with you.’ He kissed her briefly one more time. ‘Let’s go.’

Reluctantly she placed her hand in his and followed him to the car. She was moving in a happy dream, and it lasted all the way up the mountain.

Montedoro was in its full summer prosperity, bursting with tourists. To make the chaos worse, it was market day, and fifty stalls were crammed into the tiny piazza at the highest point of the little town. Every stall keeper greeted him with a cry of, ‘E, Signor Bernardo,’ and inclined their head courteously to Angie. Sometimes he merely waved and passed on. Sometimes he stopped to talk, always introducing her, and she became aware that she was being watched curiously on all sides.

They stopped for tea at a tiny convent where the Superior, Mother Francesca, welcomed him as a benefactor and a small, elderly nun made him swear not to leave until he’d tried her new batch of cakes. He solemnly promised, and Angie found herself eating the most delicious almond cakes she’d ever tasted.

Again she could feel the curious eyes on all sides and a frisson went up her spine. It was almost as though Bernardo was showing her to ‘his people’ for a purpose. But that was nonsense. This was a brief flirtation. Nothing more.

But her inner questions were like wisps of smoke. What was happening was out of her control.

While she was just trying to decide on another cake she heard someone knocking on the front door. The sound was faint, muffled by the thick stone walls, but she could just make out that the door was opened, for the knocking ceased, to be replaced by shouting, and the sound of a child crying. Then there were footsteps in the corridor. Mother Francesca hurried out and returned a moment later, looking troubled.

‘A little girl has been knocked down in the street and Dr Fortuno is away,’ she said. ‘So they’ve brought her to Sister Ignatia, our infirmary nurse.’

Bernardo glanced quickly at Angie who immediately said, ‘I’m a doctor. Can I help?’

‘I’d be so grateful,’ the nun replied. ‘We’re worried in case the child has some broken bones.’

The convent infirmary was a small room, with a bed, equipped for little more than first aid. On the bed was lying a little girl of about eight, crying bitterly. With her was an old woman dressed in black. She had a lined, nut brown face and white hair, covered by a black headscarf. Sister Ignatia spoke to her in Sicilian, indicating Angie, and immediately the old woman was up in arms, standing between them and letting forth a stream of Sicilian whose meaning was only too clear.

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