to have fun with, nothing more. The gleam of danger was still far off on the horizon, but she knew it was there, throwing its harsh light over everything in anticipation. The only answer was to look away.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked after a while.
‘Anywhere away from here.’
Safely out of Rome, he turned south and hugged the coast for about a hundred miles. There they found another beach, quiet, simple and delightfully unglamorous. The town was the same, a good place for strolling and buying toothpaste before retreating to their modest hotel and the room they shared.
‘Thank goodness Sandor wasn’t able to organise our accommodation this time,’ Dante chuckled as they lay together in a cosy embrace late that night. ‘It wasn’t an accident that we were put miles apart.’
‘Yes, I kind of worked that out. Low cunning.’
‘Fatal mistake. I’m the master of low cunning. Someone should have warned him.’
‘You’re also an old-fashioned male chauvinist, now I come to think of it.’
‘It took you long enough to find that out. When did you see the light?’
‘You said that if I’d welcomed Sandor into my room you’d have come in and thumped him.’
‘Good ’n’ hard.’
‘But who gave you the right to veto my lovers? What about my right to make my own choice?’
‘My darling, you have an absolute right to choose any man you want.’
‘Good.’
‘As long as the one you choose is me.’
‘And you think I’m going to put up with that nineteenth-century attitude?’
In the darkness she heard him give the rich chuckle of the triumphant male.
‘Yes, because I’m not going to give you any option. Now, come here and let me make the matter plain to you.’
So she did. And he did. And after that they slept in perfect harmony.
Ferne had known from the first evening that there was more to Dante than met the eye. How many men discussed
Hope had mentioned that he had three academic degrees, and from odd remarks he dropped in their conversations she realised that this was no idle boast. His brain was agile and well-informed, and she could easily guess his horror at the thought of losing his high-powered skills.
Since she’d learned the truth about the threat to Dante’s life, she’d come to see him as two men-one always standing behind the other, a permanent warning. When he was at his funniest, she was most conscious of the other man, silently threatening in the shadows, never allowing Dante to forget that he was there.
Sometimes it broke her heart that he must face his nemesis alone, and she longed to take him in her arms, not in the light-hearted passion that they usually shared, but with tender comfort. Then she remembered that he had chosen his isolation, however bitter it might be, and he wanted no comfort. Without her help, without anyone’s help, he was complete and whole.
One evening he was unusually quiet, but he seemed absorbed in a book, so she’d put it down to that. Later that night she woke suddenly to find him sitting by the window, his head buried in his hands. He was completely still and silent, in such contrast to his normal liveliness that she knew a twinge of alarm.
Slipping out of bed, she went to kneel beside him.
‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, fine.’ But he seemed to speak with an effort.
‘You don’t look well.’
‘Just a bit of a headache.’
‘Have you had it all evening? You haven’t said much.’
‘It’ll go away. Just give it time.’
‘Have you taken anything?’
‘Yes.’
‘And it doesn’t work?’
‘It will, in time.’
‘Come back to bed. A sleep may do you good.’
‘Later. Leave me now. I don’t want to talk.’
‘I’m only worried for you.’
‘Will you drop the subject please?’
Dante’s tone was light, but Ferne saw in his eyes something that reminded her of that other time. There was a steely anger, and a determination not to yield, no matter what the cost to himself or anyone else. Hastily she backed off, remembering Toni’s words that to persist would be to endanger Dante, not help him.
She returned to bed, pulling the covers over her head so that she could huddle down and be alone with her thoughts. She lay awake for a long time, telling herself that this must be just an ordinary headache, the kind everyone had.
It seemed that she was right, because the next day he was his normal self. Perhaps it was only her imagination that the ‘other’ Dante had been there, hostile, rejecting.
One evening they bumped into Mario, an old friend from Dante’s college days. The two men plunged into academic conversation, occasionally remembering their manners, apologising and drawing her in. She laughed, not at all offended, fascinated by this new angle on Dante.
When he went to fetch more drinks, Mario said, ‘We all thought he’d be head of the college by now.’
‘Is he really that clever?’ Ferne asked.
‘He could think and write rings around anyone else. I know they offered him a professorship, but he wanted to go off travelling.’
Next day she claimed tiredness, urging Dante to spend some time with Mario. He said she was the nicest, most understanding woman he’d ever known-which made her feel guilty, because she had an ulterior motive.
When she was safely alone she opened her laptop, accessed the Internet and looked up all she could find about his ailment. She had already done this once, on the day before they’d left Naples, but now she had a driving need to know far more.
A sudden bleeding into the space between the brain and an area of the lining that surrounds it; a weak blood vessel that suddenly ruptures.
Sometimes there are warning symptoms, such as headache, facial pain and double vision. This can happen minutes or weeks before the main rupture.
She read everything that she could find, forcing herself to understand every detail. The picture that kept returning to her mind was Dante going back into the burning building to rescue the dog, knowing that it might cost him his life.
When you lived with the possibility of death every moment, how much would you actually fear it? Welcome it?
There were three files that she needed to read again. Quickly she downloaded them, put them in a folder, titled it ‘ZZZ’, then shut everything down quickly. Finally she called Hope. Describing the headache, she said, ‘I was worried at first, but he’s been fine ever since, so maybe it was normal. He seems full of beans.’
‘Thank you,’ Hope said fervently. ‘I can’t tell you what it means to us to know you’re with him.’
‘I’ve got to go now. I can see him returning with his friend. I’ll call again soon.’
Looking out of the window, she hailed the two men, who waved back and pointed up the street to a restaurant.
‘Coming,’ she called down.
It took a moment to slip the printed file into her drawer, then she was ready to leave.
The three of them spent a convivial evening, but at the end Mario seemed to forget Dante and become more interested in looking at Ferne’s plunging neckline. After which, Dante said he needed an early night and swept her off to bed.
Mario departed next morning, but he left a legacy in Dante’s mind. Stretched out on the beach, Ferne was startled to look up and find him doing a crossword puzzle in Latin.
‘It’s not difficult if you’re Italian,’ he demurred when she expressed her admiration. ‘The two languages are so
