Wife By Arrangement
‘Bernardo, meet Heather, my bride-to-be.’
She introduced Angie to Lorenzo. But when he tried to present Bernardo his brother waved him away with a grin. ‘We’ve already introduced ourselves,’ he said, ‘while you two were—er—saying hello.’
This caused general laughter. Bernardo took charge of the trolley and they made their way to the car, where he invited Angie to sit in the front with him.
‘They won’t want to be disturbed,’ he said, smiling.
So many sensations were converging on Heather that she had only a confused impression of the most brilliant colours she had ever seen, the bluest sky, the sweetest air. Bernardo swung the car around the outskirts of Palermo and down the coast, and soon the Residenza Martelli came into sight.
Heather sat up to watch it eagerly. Lorenzo had told her about his home, how it was built on an incline, overlooking the sea, but no words had conveyed its beauty. It rose before them, tier upon tier, balcony on balcony, each one a sea of blooms. Geraniums, jasmine, white and red oleanders, clematis and bougainvillaea danced together in a dizzying riot of colour that was always in perfect harmony.
Then they were on a winding road that twisted and turned, bringing the villa nearer until at last they swung into a courtyard. A flight of broad steps led up to a wide, arched entrance, with a door that was being opened from the inside. Through it came a small, elderly woman, making her way slowly with the aid of a walking stick. She took her place on the top step.
‘That’s my mother,’ Lorenzo said, taking Heather’s hand to lead her up the stairs.
Baptista looked imperious, despite her evident frailty and the fact that she barely came up to Lorenzo’s shoulder. She was in her early sixties, but illness had aged her and she looked older. Beneath her shining white hair her face was sharp, and her brilliant blue eyes missed nothing. But Heather saw the warmth in those eyes, and when the thin arms went around her she felt the unexpected strength in the old woman’s embrace.
‘Welcome, my dear,’ Baptista said. ‘Welcome to the family.’
She was beaming, her expression full of kindness. She greeted Angie equally warmly. ‘When you have seen your room, then we can take a little refreshment together.’
Although the house bore the modest title of Residenza, it might more aptly have been called a palace. It was built in medieval style, of beautiful yellow stone, with long tile and mosaic corridors. The rooms were lined sometimes with marble, sometimes with tapestries. Everywhere Heather saw wealth, beauty, elegance, and an inbred assumption of authority.
She and Angie were sharing a huge room. It bore two large four-poster beds hung with white net curtains which matched those at the tall windows leading onto the broad terrace, facing inland. Beneath it was the huge garden, and beyond that the land stretched away until it rose into dark, misty mountains on the horizon. Everywhere the colours had a vividness Heather had never seen before. After the pastel shades of England their sheer depth and brightness overwhelmed her.
A maid helped them unpack, then showed them out onto the terrace that went all around the house, and led them to the front, where Baptista was seated at a small rustic table, looking out over the bay. Bernardo and Lorenzo were there, and immediately drew out chairs, and when they were seated filled their glasses with Marsala. A larger table nearby was laden with Sicilian cheesecake, zabaglione, coffee ice with whipped cream, candied fruit ring, and several other things that they were too dazed to take in.
‘I wasn’t sure of your preferences, so I ordered a variety,’ Baptista murmured.
The food and wine were delicious. Overhead a flowered awning sheltered them from the bright sun, and a soft breeze was springing up. Heather wondered how she had ever lived before coming to this perfect place. Lorenzo kept catching her eye and smiling, and his smile was irresistible, making her return it.
‘That’s enough,’ Baptista said imperiously, tapping his hand. ‘You’ll have plenty of time to play the fool, my son. Go away now, and let me get to know your bride.’
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN Lorenzo had vanished, and Bernardo was showing Angie the garden, Baptista refilled Heather’s glass. ‘Renato told me how your prompt action saved his life,’ she said. ‘You and I have been friends from that moment.’
‘You’re very kind,’ Heather said, ‘but didn’t he also tell you that it was my fault he was ever in danger?’
‘I think he was largely to blame. He made you angry with his high-handedness. I’ve spoken to him very severely.’
Heather concealed a smile. The idea of the domineering Renato being alarmed by anything his frail mother might say was charming, but unconvincing.
‘You are going to be very important to this family,’ Baptista continued. ‘More important than perhaps you can imagine. Lorenzo says you have no family of your own.’
‘I was an only child. My mother died when I was six. My father couldn’t cope without her.’ Heather paused. She seldom talked about this because it seemed a betrayal of the sweet-natured, confused little man who’d longed only to follow his wife. But suddenly she wanted to confide in Baptista. ‘He drank rather more than he ought,’ she said. ‘In the end he couldn’t keep a job.’
‘And so you looked after him,’ Baptista said gently.
‘We sort of looked after each other. He was kind and I loved him. When I was sixteen he caught pneumonia and just faded away. The last thing he said to me was, “Sorry, love.”’
She’d sobbed over her father’s grave, unable to voice the real pain: the knowledge that she hadn’t been enough for him. The practical difficulties had followed—lack of money, the abandonment of her dream of college, seizing the first job she could find. She explained in as few words as possible, and had the feeling that Baptista understood.
They talked for an hour, and each moment Heather felt herself grow closer to this regal but kindly woman. When Lorenzo poked his head out through the net curtains with a questioning look on his face, both women welcomed him with a smile. Laughing, he joined them, bringing fresh cakes.
From inside the house they heard Renato’s voice, and suddenly he appeared through the long white curtains. When she’d seen him and Lorenzo off at the airport in England he’d looked pale, his arm in a sling. Now he moved freely and his look of vibrant health had returned.
She felt a slight shock. She had forgotten his massiveness, the heavy muscles of his neck, his air of being about to charge. Here in his native land, amid the fierce sun and the bright colours, that effect was reinforced.
Renato went first to his mother, greeting her with a mixture of affection and respect that caught Heather’s attention. Then he turned to her.
‘Welcome to my sister,’ he said, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder and kissing her cheek. She had a moment’s intense awareness of his spicy male scent. Then he moved away and greeted Lorenzo with a mock punch to the chin. Lorenzo returned the compliment and for a moment the two brothers engaged in a light-hearted tussle, as lively as young stallions, their voices rich with laughter. It ended with them thumping each other on the back in a way that suggested their mutual affection.
Baptista met Heather’s eye, inviting her to share her pride and pleasure in her magnificent sons. Heather nodded, thinking that one day it would be her turn. At least, she hoped so.
At last Renato seated himself opposite her, smiling self-consciously. He was dressed informally, in fawn trousers and a short-sleeved shirt. Against the white material his skin, tanned to dark brown, showed up sharply. His black hair was tousled, and grew more so when he ran his hand through it after brushing the damp from his forehead. Heather had the feeling that everything else had grown pale. Just by being there, leaning back, half sprawled in his chair, he made everything revolve around him.
The light was fading. Someone asked where Bernardo and Angie were, and Lorenzo went to find them, amid good-natured laughter. Heather recalled Angie’s laughing words on the plane, and hoped her friend hadn’t been carried away by her impulsive romantic tendencies.
When it was time to get ready for dinner Heather went to her room and Angie appeared a moment later, her eyes shining. ‘Have a nice time?’ Heather asked.
‘Lovely, thank you,’ Angie said with suspicious innocence.
Just as they finished dressing there was a knock on the door and Baptista swept regally in, carrying a black box.
‘Perfect,’ she said, smiling at the wedding dress which Heather had set up on a stand near the window. ‘And this will go with it.’ She opened the box, revealing a tiara made of flawless pearls. ‘Legend says that it once adorned the head of Queen Marie Antoinette,’ she said. ‘Later it passed to the Martelli family, and for generations it has been given to a bride for her wedding veil.’
‘But—it’s kind of you—but this is too much for me. What about when Renato marries? Won’t he expect—?’
‘That is no matter,’ Baptista observed imperiously. ‘If he’s so stupid and stubborn about marriage he has only himself to blame. Come, try it on.’
The tiara was perfect when set on Heather’s luxuriant fair hair, but best of all was the way Baptista accepted her. She thanked her but was relieved when Baptista offered to keep the jewels in her safe until the wedding.
Seeing the glories of the Residenza, Heather was glad she’d splashed out on some expensive clothes—or, at least, they would have been expensive if she hadn’t bought them at Gossways, heavily discounted. She was popular, and friends on many floors had slashed prices to the bone for her.
As a result she was able to appear in the medieval dining room in an off-the-shoulder pale yellow silk that followed the contours of her body without being obviously seductive. For sheer splendour she was outdone by Angie, a sizzling peacock in blues and greens that seemed almost to flame. But Lorenzo had eyes only for her, and Renato too seemed struck by the sight of her.
Baptista took her by the hand and led her forward, saying, ‘Here is our guest of honour,’ to be introduced to some local dignitaries. Then she was seated at the head of the table, between Lorenzo and Baptista, becoming uneasily aware that everyone was deferring to her, like a queen.
It was delightful but it made her nervous to have every dish presented for her approval. The meal was practically a banquet, and Baptista explained that the kitchen was practising for the wedding reception. The finest Sicilian cuisine was on offer. To start with, a choice of stuffed baked tomatoes, orange salad, stuffed rice ball fritters, bean fritters. Then the rice and pasta dishes, Sicilian rice, rice with artichokes, pasta with sardines, pasta with cauliflower, and the main dishes still to come.
By the time they reached the braised lamb, stuffed beef roll, and rabbit in sweet and sour sauce Heather was running out of appetite. But she knew that to say so would cause offence to those who had laboured to bring forth this feast in her honour, so she ploughed on valiantly.
‘Perhaps you would rather have no more,’ Baptista suggested gently, seeming to understand.
‘But I must try those sweet dishes,’ Heather said. ‘They look so delicious.’
Watermelon jelly, fried pastries with ricotta cheese and candied fruit, pistachio cakes, nougat—she took a mouthful of each, and was rewarded by the looks of approval from every direction.
But the reward that touched her heart the most was when Baptista whispered, ‘Well done, my daughter.’
She couldn’t help being struck by the three brothers. All elegantly dressed in dinner jackets, they made an impressive sight: Lorenzo, the tallest, the most handsome; Bernardo, lean and dark with a gravity that made his rare smiles breathtaking—and Renato, dour, forceful, with his air of giving no quarter and asking none. He would be a difficult man to get to know, she thought, despite his evident intention of making her welcome.
Twice during the meal Renato was summoned from the table to take a phone call. In the gathering that followed Angie murmured, ‘Bernardo says that Renato is the worker of the family and Lorenzo the charmer.’
‘And what is Bernardo?’ Heather wanted to know.
Angie’s eyes twinkled. ‘Tell you later.’
As the guests began to leave Lorenzo took her hand, whispering, ‘Come with me,’ and drawing her out of the room.
Hand in hand they ran up the stairs and along a corridor, until he reached a pair of oak double doors. He flung them open, revealing a large austerely beautiful room, hung with tapestries. ‘There are going to be three uncles sleeping in this room,’ he said. ‘But after that—oh, come here!’
He pulled her into his arms and in the tenderness of his kiss she forgot everything else. It felt so good to be here, knowing that she’d come home.
‘Excuse me,’ came a voice from behind them. They jumped apart and saw Renato in the doorway, grinning. ‘Sorry to disturb you,’ he said. ‘How do you like your apartment?’
‘Our what?’
‘This set of rooms is almost self-contained,’ Lorenzo explained. ‘It would be just perfect for us.’
‘You mean—live here, instead of having a home of our own?’ Heather asked, dismayed.
‘But this will be a home of our own.’
‘No, it won’t. We’ll be right next to your brother.’
‘A terrible fate,’ Renato agreed.
‘It’s nothing personal—’ she started to say.
‘Oh, I think it is,’ he said, meeting her eyes.
‘If we’re here, Lorenzo will be at your beck and call. I dare say that’s how you prefer it—’
‘But will you have time to arrange a house before you marry in just over a week?’ Renato asked reasonably. ‘Of course Lorenzo could have chosen something already, but I thought you’d prefer to do that yourself. Why do you assume the worst of me?’
‘Instinct,’ she said, not mincing matters.
He grinned, unashamed. ‘You wrong me.’
‘No, I don’t.’ But she couldn’t help smiling back at him. He was a devil, but he could be a disastrously engaging devil.
‘You can start househunting later,’ Renato assured her. ‘Meanwhile, these rooms will be comfortable.’
It all sounded so reasonable, but her warning signals were flashing. Renato liked to keep people where he wanted them, and sounding reasonable was just another way of doing it. His teasing look showed that he followed her thought processes perfectly.
‘Just for a little while, then,’ she said at last. ‘As soon as we return from honeymoon—’
‘Not quite that soon,’ Renato said. ‘Lorenzo has a trip scheduled for New York—’
‘Oh, really—’ she began, up in arms again.
‘And I naturally assumed that you’d want to go with him.’
Her weapons clattered uselessly to the floor. She would die for a trip to New York.
‘That only leaves your honeymoon,’ Renato said.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve arranged that too!’
‘I thought you might borrow my boat for a couple of weeks’ cruising. The crew will do the work; all you need do is enjoy yourself.’
‘It’s a beautiful boat, darling,’ Lorenzo broke in eagerly. ‘A sloop, with air-conditioning and—’
‘And the two of you have settled it. Suppose I don’t like sailing? Suppose I get seasick?’
‘Do you?’ Renato enquired.
‘I don’t know. I’ve never been on a boat.’
‘Then the sooner you do, the better. Tomorrow Lorenzo has to go to Stockholm, to catch up on his delayed schedule. I shall take you out on the boat and you can let me know your decision.’
Heather had half expected Angie to come with them on the boat trip, but she was spending the day with Bernardo. ‘He’s going to show me his home village in the mountains.’
‘You only met him yesterday,’ Heather protested.
‘I know.’ Angie’s chuckle was full of delight.
‘You be careful.’
But Angie glowed with the self-confidence of a young woman who’d always been able to win any man she chose. She laughed merrily, and a moment later Heather heard her singing in the shower.
There was no mistaking the Santa Maria, a beautiful single-masted boat, over a hundred feet long, dominating everything in the little harbour of Mondello. Renato parked the car and handed her out. ‘What do you think of her?’ he asked in a voice full of love and pride.
‘She’s lovely,’ Heather admitted.
He leapt lightly down onto the deck and reached up to settle both hands about her waist. The next moment she was swinging through the air to land beside him. ‘All right?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she said breathlessly. The sudden movement had taken her by surprise.
He introduced the crew, who were lined up to greet her.
‘This is Alfonso, my captain, Gianni and Carlo, the crew. And this,’ he added, indicating a little man, ‘is Fredo the cook. He can manage anything from the fastest snacks to cordon bleu.’
The sun was bright and warm, a strong breeze whisked across the water, and soon they were edging out of the harbour into the wide sea beyond. After a few minutes Heather became used to the movement, and even began to find it pleasant.
‘Well?’ Renato asked, watching her face. ‘Do you want to go back, throw yourself overboard, throw me overboard—?’
‘That last one sounds nice,’ she said, laughing.
He shared her laughter, showing strong white teeth against his tanned skin. After the tense, argumentative man she’d met in England, this was a transformation. His clothes, too, were different. The elegant formality of last night was replaced by blue shorts and a white short-sleeved shirt, that was unbuttoned all the way. He looked powerful, glowing with life, intensely masculine.
‘Let me show you your kingdom,’ Renato said, taking her hand.
Below, it was like a little palace. In the galley Fredo, surrounded by the most modern equipment, was furiously at work on a feast. Along the narrow corridor was the master bedroom, complete with luxurious private bathroom. Everywhere was panelled with gleaming honey-coloured birchwood. At the centre was a huge double bed, the perfect place for lovers on their wedding night.
‘This is yours for today,’ Renato told her. ‘Why not change into a swimsuit?’
‘I don’t even own one.’
He pulled open a wardrobe to display a series of swimsuits on hangers. Heather stared. There must have been about ten, in all colours, styles, and varying degrees of daringness.
‘But how come you—?’ She checked as she saw the wicked humour in his eyes. ‘I’m not even going to ask.’
‘You don’t really need to, do you?’ he asked.
His sexuality was so frank, his appetites so shameless that she didn’t know where to look. She began to rifle through some pastel-coloured costumes, but Renato’s big hand came out of nowhere and stilled hers.
‘Not those,’ he said. ‘This one.’
He held up a bikini but she instinctively shook her head. ‘No, I can’t—’
‘Why not? It’s very modest.’
That was true. As bikinis went it was unfashionably modest. The lower part would cover most of her behind, and the upper part would enclose her breasts satisfactorily. But Heather had always seen herself as a once-piece person.
‘And I can’t wear cerise,’ she argued. ‘I’m too fair.’
‘There’s no law to stop you wearing reds. Risk it.’
‘Right, I will.’
When he’d gone she changed, realising that in this place the dramatic colour seemed natural. She found a matching scarf in the wardrobe and tied it around her head, letting her hair fall free behind it. To cover her semi-nakedness she slipped on a robe of white lacy silk.
Back on deck she found Renato in the stern section, with a table that bore snacks and tall glasses. Above him a striped awning offered shelter from the sun. He handed her gallantly to her seat, and served her. The chilled wine was delicious; the little almond cakes were superb. Heather began to feel that she could easily get used to this.
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