in a place like this.’ He checked himself abruptly and gave a polite smile.
‘Where can he feel free?’ she asked, her interest growing every moment.
‘When he’s up high among the birds, where the golden eagles fly so close that it feels as though he’s their brother.’
‘Golden eagles?’ she echoed eagerly. ‘Where?’
‘In my home in the mountains. I come here very little. My real home is Montedoro.’
‘Let me see-monte means a mountain, and “oro” is gold. Is that right?’
‘You know Italian?’
‘My mother’s sister married an Italian. When I was a child we visited them every summer.’
‘And you are right. It is “mountain of gold”.’
‘Because of the golden eagles?’
‘Partly. But also because it’s the first place the sun touches at dawn, and the last place it leaves at sunset. It’s the most beautiful place on earth.’
‘It sounds like it,’ Angie said wistfully.
He gave her a curious look. ‘Would you-?’ He broke off with a grunt of embarrassed laughter. ‘That is, I wonder if-?’
‘Yes?’ she encouraged him.
Bernardo drew a deep breath while Angie waited eagerly for what she was sure he was going to say.
‘Hey-Bernardo.’
He came back to himself with a start. Angie had the strangest feeling of waking from a dream. And there was Lorenzo, coming along the path, hailing them. ‘Time to get ready for dinner,’ he called.
As Angie returned to the house with the two of them she was disappointed but not discouraged. Bernardo wanted to show her his home, she was certain of it, and she was every moment growing more eager to learn all about him. The evening lay ahead, and if she couldn’t tempt that invitation out of him, she was losing her touch.
She joined Heather in their room and threw herself onto her bed, putting her hands behind her head, with a sigh of pleasure.
‘C.H. or S.A?’
‘S.A.,’ Angie said happily. ‘Definitely S.A.’
Heather looked alarmed. ‘You be careful!’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Angie said innocently.
‘Oh, yes, you do. I’ve seen you when you’ve set your heart on twisting a man around your little finger. You’ve got all the tried and tested tricks and a few you invented. But Bernardo doesn’t strike me as a man to be fooled with.’
‘He isn’t,’ Angie confirmed. ‘He’s terribly serious and thoughtful.’ She chuckled. ‘That’s why he’s going to be such a challenge.’
‘I give up.’
‘Yes, do, darling. I’m beyond redemption.’
For dinner she wore a dress of blues and greens in the kind of glowing shades that belonged on a peacock. Many blondes couldn’t have got away with it, but Angie looked like a star. She wondered if Bernardo would think so.
She had her answer as she descended the great stairway a little behind Heather, and had the satisfaction of seeing Bernardo look right past the bride, the official guest of honour, to seek out herself. There was even more satisfaction in the subtle change that came over him at the sight of her. He became more alive, every inch of him responding to her as intensely as she was responding to him. She felt a tingle of happy expectancy deep inside as he took her hand and began to take her around his friends and family, introducing her.
Now that she had a chance to study Lorenzo more closely she realised how delightful he was, and she could understand her serious minded friend being bowled over by him. Perhaps he was a touch immature, but his looks and charm were both overwhelming, and no doubt he would soon grow up.
But she couldn’t warm to Renato, who struck her as an unpleasant, cynical man, harsh and overbearing. He was tall and splendidly built, but although there was no doubt about his physical attractions, and he greeted her pleasantly, she disliked him, and she could see that her friend was going to have to fight him some time soon.
There were two long tables, each seating thirty. The Martellis were the great family of the area, and the wedding was the event of the year. Baptista headed one table, with the bride and groom. Renato and Bernardo headed the other. Renato was an accomplished host, but Bernardo gave most of his attention to the lady by his side. Perhaps this was fair, as, being English, she needed to have Sicilian cuisine explained to her.
‘Bean fritters?’ he offered. ‘Or perhaps you would prefer stuffed rice ball fritters, or orange salad?’
‘That’s just one course?’ Angie asked, wide-eyed.
‘Certainly. The next course is the rice and pasta dishes, pasta with cauliflower, sardines-’
‘Yum, yum. Lead me to it.’
Like many petite women Angie could eat like a starved lion without gaining an ounce. This she proceeded to do, to Bernardo’s delight. He watched entranced as she demolished a dish of rabbit in sweet and sour sauce, then pressed her to fried pastries with ricotta cheese, which she accepted with relish.
‘I have never seen a woman eat like you,’ he said admiringly. Then horrified realisation dawned, ‘No, I didn’t mean it like that! I meant-’ He stopped, for Angie was convulsed. Her laughter had a rich, resonant quality that made him smile. He felt his embarrassment evaporate. She understood, and everything was all right. Of course it was.
‘I’m an awkward clod,’ he said. ‘I never know the right thing to say.’
She made a face. ‘Who wants to be saying the right thing all the time? It’s more interesting if people say what they really mean.’
‘Some of the things I say and mean disconcert people,’ he admitted ruefully.
‘I can imagine.’
The meal was ending, the guests were rising from the table and splitting into groups. Bernardo drew her aside, oblivious to his duties to the other guests. Nor was he the only brother being a poor host. Renato had just returned after twice leaving the table to take a phone call. Bernardo saw her looking in his direction.
‘Renato is the Worker of the family and Lorenzo the Charmer,’ he said.
‘And what are you?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said simply.
He took two glasses from a passing waiter, handed one to her and led the way through a small side door. He hadn’t asked if she wanted to draw apart with him, but there had been no need. Angie slipped her hand in his and went gladly.
Away from the dining room the house was quiet. Their feet clicked softly against the floor tiles and the sound echoed in the gloom.
‘Where are you taking me?’ Angie asked.
He looked surprised. ‘Nowhere. I just wanted to be alone with you. Is that all right?’
She smiled, liking his awkward bluntness better than the smooth charm of the men she knew. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s all right.’
He showed her over the vast magnificence of the house, with its great windows that gave onto glorious views no matter which side they faced, its long tapestry hung corridors, and ornate rooms.
‘This is the picture gallery,’ he said, showing her into a long room, hung with portraits. ‘That was Vincente, my father,’ he said, indicating a portrait nearest the door. ‘The one next to him was his father, then his brother, and so on.’
There were too many faces to take in all at once, but Angie’s attention was held by a small picture, almost lost among the others, showing a man dressed in eighteenth-century style, with a sharp, wary face, regarding the world with suspicion.
‘Lodovico Martelli,’ Bernardo told her. ‘About ten generations back.’
‘But it’s you,’ she said in wonder.
‘There’s a slight resemblance,’ he conceded.
‘Slight, nothing. It’s you to the life. You’re a true Martelli.’
