When she saw him eating she fetched her own soup and sat down facing him over the low table. After the soup came something hot and filling that she’d microwaved straight from the freezer. It wasn’t exactly cuisine, but he ate as though he was too tired to know what he was doing.
Just as he finished eating the telephone in the kitchen rang. It was Baptista, sounding concerned.
‘Do you know if Bernardo got home safely?’ she asked. ‘He would insist on leaving just when the weather was closing in.’
‘He’s here,’ Angie said. ‘He arrived an hour ago.’
‘An hour? But he left this morning.’
‘He had to do the last part on foot.’
‘Then he is lucky to be alive. There was no talking him out of it. I’ll stop worrying now. I know he’s safe with you. Goodbye, my dear. May this year be a happy one for you.’
‘Goodbye Baptista. And-thank you.’
She was smiling to herself as she replaced the receiver and returned to Bernardo. He was lying full length on the sofa, dead to the world. Quietly she removed the dishes and draped a blanket over him.
She went to bed but left the door open between the bedroom and the main room. In the thick blackness she couldn’t see him, but she could just make out the sound of his breathing. She lay listening until she fell asleep.
She awoke with a start. The dark was still impenetrable but she could hear the sound of someone stumbling around, muttering. Quickly she slipped out of bed and made her way towards the noises. She was about to put on a light when an arm came out of nowhere, curling about her neck, and the next moment she was holding most of Bernardo’s weight, slumped against her. Instinctively she closed her arms about him.
‘What are you doing in my house?’ he muttered. ‘Oh, lord, my head!’
‘Probably all that brandy,’ she said softly.
‘I never drink brandy.’
‘You did last night. You needed it.’
‘I need my bed. I can’t find the bedroom.’
‘Come with me,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll take you.’
Inch by inch she moved back towards the bedroom. He came with her unresisting, only half awake, seeming now to accept her presence as normal. She supported him as far as her bed, then let him fall gently on it, and drew her thick duvet over him. He was deeply asleep in a moment.
The duvet was huge, to match the bed, and there was room for her to slip beneath it without touching him. She longed to put her arms about him, but she didn’t dare yield to the temptation. They had a long way to go yet.
But her heart sang because she knew he had come back for her.
She was awoken by the feel of an unaccustomed weight on her breast. Opening her eyes she saw that it was Bernardo’s head, which had found its place by instinct. He was holding her tightly with one arm thrown over her as though he found in her something that he needed.
She realised that he was no longer wearing the robe. He’d had it on when he came to bed, so she guessed his movements must have dislodged it.
Very, very gently she dared to touch his hair, and felt it springy against her fingers. At once she snatched her hand away, fearful of waking him. But the next moment she reached out again, relishing the pleasure of touching him.
She had missed him so much. It had been bad enough during the long weeks in England but since she’d returned to Sicily, living within a stone’s throw of him, the ache of longing had been worse.
On the surface things were going well. Despite his warnings she’d been a big success with her patients. There were still some prejudices to overcome but they weren’t fools. They knew they stood to benefit from her up-to-date equipment and even more up-to-date attitude, and they had given her a chance. Even Bernardo had been forced to accord her respect.
Plus there was the satisfaction of knowing that she’d surprised him. She’d challenged him, laughed at him, turned all his expectations on their heads. He no longer knew how to cope with her, and serve him right!
But in the essentials nothing had changed. Behind the civility, even the occasional smile, they were almost as far apart as ever. And there was the added torment of seeing him every day, wondering about his thoughts and feelings.
For she could overcome his doubts about her commitment, but the true barrier was something more elusive. If he had been merely too proud to take money from a woman, that she could have understood. But his revulsion at her wealth came from a darkness deep inside the man that she couldn’t confront because he wouldn’t let her.
So now she would make the most of the few precious minutes when he was hers, for she didn’t know how long they would last. His skin felt so good beneath her hands, and his head so right nestling against her. He stirred and burrowed more closely, and she risked tangling her fingers in his hair.
She felt the first movement of his lips against the swell of one breast and drew a long breath. She must stop this now, quickly, before he awoke. But-just one more moment-and one more-
The sound of his voice reached her so faintly that she had to strain to listen. He’d murmured something-her name? After holding her breath for a long time she realised that the moment had passed, and she would never know.
This was how it should have been. This was the life they should have had, being together, loving in peace, facing their problems as a team instead of being driven apart by shadows that couldn’t be fought.
She set her chin. There must be no talking like that. Anything could be fought, and she was here to fight it. He was hers and she wouldn’t let him go.
He whispered something again and she felt the heat of his breath against her skin.
‘Yes, my dear,’ she murmured, enveloping him in strong, protective arms. ‘We’re going to win, do you hear? Whatever I have to do, we’re going to win.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
AT LAST Bernardo slackened his grip and she could ease herself carefully from under him. He didn’t awake, and she managed to slip from the bed and pull on a light robe before going into the kitchen.
The light startled her. In the bedroom the wooden shutters were drawn across the windows, blocking out the light. Now she realised that they had both slept very late and it was nearly ten o’clock in the morning. Luckily it was Sunday, Ginetta’s day off, and they wouldn’t be disturbed. She was smiling as she began to make the coffee.
The soft rustle of her movements as she left the bed was enough to awaken Bernardo. At first he lay very still, baffled by the unfamiliar surroundings. This was neither his room nor his bed. Nor did he feel very much like himself. The man he knew himself to be had gone to sleep in the snow and darkness a thousand years ago. He didn’t know how he’d been transported to this place so that he awoke bathed in warmth and well-being. He only knew that he wanted to stay here forever.
As more of his surroundings came into focus he became aware that the far side of the bed was warm and sweet-smelling. There was a dent, too, in the other pillow. Inspecting it more closely he found a single hair. It was blonde, fluffy and intensely feminine.
Then it all came back to him, the driving need to return to this place to watch over her, the journey that had turned into a nightmare, and the presence that had materialised out of the darkness to take him home. She’d tended him, fed him, then left him asleep on her sofa. He remembered that bit very clearly now.
What he couldn’t recall was how he’d come to be sleeping in her bed.
Naked.
Or what he’d done once he was there.
He tried frantically to kick start his memory, but it was hard when it was so entwined with his longings. In his dreams he’d made love with her so often that it was impossible now to be sure whether the pictures in his mind were memories or imagination.
He sat up, shaking his head. The movement caused the robe to slide right off the bed. He made a grab for it, missed, and was about to lean out for it when the sound of Angie’s footsteps made him hastily retreat under the
