She nearly said, ‘Are you back already?’ but stopped herself in time.
‘What do you want?’
‘Can I come in? There’s something I need to talk about.’
She stood back to let him in, first making sure that her robe was securely fastened. Even so, she felt as though her garments were transparent.
He was still in shirt and trousers, but now the shirt had been torn open at the throat, showing several inches of his chest. It was an attractive chest, she had to admit that, but now she was trying to be cautious. In his arms tonight she’d almost lost her head. There had been a moment in the grass when she would have done anything he wanted, because he could make her want it too.
She was sure he knew it. This was one clever, manipulative man, and she must never let herself forget that.
‘What did you want to talk about?’ she asked demurely.
‘Us,’ he said at once. ‘And what you’re doing to me. I don’t think I can stand it much longer.’
Now she was glad she’d taken the cold shower, for her body had regained its equilibrium and her mind was able to view him rationally.
‘If you can’t stand being with me, it was hardly wise of you to come here,’ she pointed out.
‘I didn’t say that,’ he replied, imitating her tone of reasoned argument. ‘It’s the “so near and yet so far” aspect that’s shredding my nerves. It should be one or the other, and I thought we might discuss it sensibly and come to a rational decision.’
The bland innocence of his face might have fooled anyone less alive to his tricks than Ferne. But by now she was back in command.
‘I quite agree,’ she said seriously. ‘One or the other. And, since I’ll be gone fairly soon, I think it we should opt for the second choice.’
‘Pardon?’
‘It would be wise for you to leave my room.’
He nodded. ‘It would be wise, wouldn’t it? If I were a wise man I’d flee and never look back. But I was never wise.’
‘Then this would be a good time to start.’
He slid an arm around her waist.
‘I know I shouldn’t have come,’ he murmured. ‘But I had to. You were so wonderful tonight. I watched you and knew I had to dance with you-and then I danced with you and knew I had to hold you in my arms and kiss you and love you…’
He drew her close as he spoke in a grip that was gentle and implacable together.
‘That’s going a little too far, surely?’ she asked lightly.
‘But I want to go too far with you. How could I want anything else when you’re so beautiful and you fire me up? I want to go too far and then further-’
‘Hush,’ she said suddenly. ‘I thought I heard a noise in the corridor. Could anyone have seen you?’
‘Not a soul. Don’t worry, I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.’
‘You, a mouse?’ she jeered softly. ‘Who do you think you’re fooling? Dante, I like you a lot, I really do, but I am not some daft little bimbo to be overcome by your charm. Don’t forget, I’ve been seduced by an expert.’
‘Are you suggesting I’m not an expert?’ he asked in outrage.
‘Well, you’re not doing brilliantly right now.’
He gave a sigh and a rueful look, much like a schoolboy caught playing truant. She almost capitulated there and then, but thankfully managed to hold firm.
‘It was worth a try, wasn’t it?’ she teased.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Like hell you don’t! You came in here saying to yourself, “Go on, give it a whirl. She might say yes, she might say no, she might slap my face. Let’s find out”.’
His sheepish expression confirmed her suspicions.
‘Well, I found out, didn’t I?’ he said. ‘But at least I didn’t get my face slapped.’
‘That’s the next stage. Now, depart while we’re still friends.’
‘Friends? Is that really all you-?’
He went. Hastily.
As an attractive woman working in the entertainment business, Ferne had had a fair amount of experience in saying no to over-enthusiastic gentlemen, and she’d discovered that you could tell a lot about a man by how he behaved at the next meeting, assuming there was one. Some behaved well, some badly, some pretended that nothing had happened.
Dante, of course, had to be original, hopping behind her from tree to tree as she walked through the garden, darting out of sight when she turned until she cried, exasperated, ‘Come out, you idiot.’
‘If you’re calling me an idiot, does that mean I’m forgiven?’ he asked, presenting himself hopefully before her.
‘I guess it does.’
From behind him came a shout. ‘Dante, are you coming?’
‘On my way,’ he yelled back. ‘I’m going into town with Carlo and Ruggiero, but I couldn’t go until I knew I was back in favour.’
‘I didn’t say you were back in favour,’ she told him sternly. ‘I said you were forgiven-just.’
‘Yes, of course, there’s a difference. I’ll work on it when I get back. Bye.’
He kissed her cheek and fled, leaving her laughing and wondering what she had to do to get the last word.
But then, she reflected, did she really want the last word? It had a melancholy sound.
She spent an enjoyable day with Hope and the other women, talking about England and fussing over the children. Dante’s behaviour to her that evening was restrained and impeccable. He seemed completely oblivious to her as a woman, which was how she preferred it, she tried to tell herself.
Ferne had said she was never without her camera, and it was true, so when she came across Toni playing with Ruggiero’s baby son she hurried into action and produced some swift, spontaneous shots that had everyone exclaiming with delight.
‘I’ve been thinking what I can do to thank you for your kindness,’ Ferne said to Hope. ‘And now I know. I’m going to take pictures, dozens of them-everybody alone, in couples, with their children, without their children. Then I want you all to gather in the garden so that I can take a big one.’
‘And I’ll always have a memento,’ Hope cried, overjoyed. ‘Oh, yes please.’
Ferne started at once, going around the house, working on her idea until everyone had a solo shot, down to the tiniest child.
To these she added pictures taken secretly, when people had been unaware of being photographed and were therefore more natural. The final result was a triumphant collection that made Hope weep with joy, and give a special dinner in Ferne’s honour.
‘That was a very kind thing you did,’ Dante said as they sipped wine together. ‘Hope’s family is everything to her.’
His praise made her slightly embarrassed.
‘I did it for myself, really. Taking pictures is a kind of compulsion, and when I can’t do it I get restless.’
‘Why do you put yourself down? Who are you hiding from?’
‘Since when were you an expert in psychoanalysis?’ she asked, amused. ‘I’m not hiding.’
‘Some people would say you were hiding behind the camera, getting everyone else into focus but staying safely concealed. I’m just playing with ideas. If you want some good pictures, let me take you into town and show you old Naples, where the historic buildings still exist. You’ll find all the pictures you want.’
She agreed eagerly and they went the next day, driving down into the
At last they collapsed into chairs at a roadside cafe, and revived themselves on cake and coffee.
‘I’m so glad you thought of this,’ she sighed blissfully. ‘It’s been wonderful. This place is almost too picturesque
