Married Under the Italian Sun

‘Double what you offered.’

‘Are you out of your mind? Double?’

‘I think it’s worth it for an exclusive.’

‘It had better be an exclusive for that price. And there’s got to be something new that you never talked about before.’

‘It’s a deal, then?’

He groaned. ‘I suppose it’s a deal. But I want it as soon as possible.’

‘Then you’d better get a contract out to me quickly.’

‘You can’t trust my word?’

‘I prefer it in black and white.’

‘OK. I can see you weren’t married to Joe Clannan for nothing.’

Angel laughed. At one time the words might have hurt. Now she was just relieved at having achieved the vital boost to her income.

The contract arrived overnight and she turned it around at once. Two days later, Mack called to say, ‘OK, I’m doing this one myself, and I’ll leave tomorrow, with a camera crew. There’ll be three of us.’

There would just be time to do this before Sam arrived, Angel reflected. In the meantime, they could have the three downstairs rooms that were already prepared.

Angel explained to Berta that their guests would be from a magazine. There was no point in hiding the truth.

Berta merely said, ‘Yes, padrona. I will arrange food and wine.’

But Angel could sense her surprise and disapproval. No doubt she would call Vittorio’s mobile phone as soon as possible. Angel had confirmation of that when he arrived at the house later that day on some trivial piece of business that could have waited. He didn’t mention what he knew, but he looked at her in a way that there was no mistaking.

It hurt after their brief moment of closeness. His expression contained as much sadness as cynicism, saying that he’d been right about her all the time.

She could have said, Look, I need the money to pay all those bills you keep presenting me with. Then given him chapter and verse on just how meagre Joe’s settlement had been.

But her temper flared into life, telling her that pigs would fly before she explained herself to him. After snubbing her for days, who the hell did he think he was to judge her so easily?

‘Don’t let me keep you,’ Angel said coolly, and saw his face harden against her.

She knew her temper boiled over too easily these days. Eight years of keeping it strictly under control had left her glad of the release of anger. As Vittorio walked away there was even a bitter satisfaction in knowing that she had the upper hand.

She repented almost at once.

‘I’m not a nice person,’ she muttered. ‘What’s happening to me?’

But it was too late to call him back, and her mind was becoming filled with darkness and tension again.

‘Not again,’ she whispered. ‘Please, not again. Not until this is over.’

It was hard to resist the thought that this had happened because Vittorio had turned against her, but she told herself not to be absurd. The mere idea that the offer or withdrawal of his friendship could affect her like this was one that she wouldn’t tolerate.

On the afternoon before Mack and the photographers were due to arrive, Vittorio said, ‘Do you want me to meet your friends at the airport?’

‘No, thank you. That isn’t your job. I’ve made arrangements.’

‘Yes, padrona,’ he said politely, and left.

A hired car and chauffeur would be waiting for them at Naples airport. Angel had chosen not to go there herself, because she wanted to spend all the time on her appearance. It took an hour to decide on the dress. The one she finally chose was white and luxuriously simple, with a V-neckline that plunged down between her breasts, suggesting, but not quite revealing.

Her face took even longer. She’d never depended on make-up artists, but she’d learned from them and could now produce the desired effect unaided: just enough darkening around her large eyes to make them even more emphatic, the luscious gleam added to her lips.

Then her hair, shining, tumbling over her shoulders, long enough to flick this way and that in tempting attitudes. She’d wondered if she’d forgotten how to do all these things, but the skills returned to her with disturbing ease.

She was downstairs an hour before they were due, checking and re-checking the bedrooms, the kitchen where Berta was preparing a feast, the dining room where the table was laid with crystal and silver. She declared everything perfect, which made Berta beam.

Vittorio appeared, carrying a heavy silver dish, and it suddenly struck her as odd that he should be here. Odder still was the fact that he was smartly dressed in black trousers and snowy white shirt, with a dark red bow tie. With a sense of outrage, Angel realised what he looked like.

‘Why are you dressed like a waiter?’ she demanded.

‘I suppose that’s what I am,’ he said mildly. ‘I’ve offered to help Berta serve the meal. We want to make the best impression on your friends, padrona.’

That last remark sounded like a calculated insult, she thought. She knew why he’d done this-not to be helpful, but to stay here and make his disapproval obvious. With difficulty, Angel restrained her temper and said calmly, ‘That’s very obliging of you.’

Vittorio nodded like a good servant, set the silver dish down and left the room. But she followed him into the hall, seized his arm and forced him to turn.

‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’ she flashed.

‘Being obliging, padrona.’

‘The hell you are! You fixed this so that you could keep me under your eye. How dare you spy on me?’

His eyes narrowed and she guessed he wasn’t used to being spoken to like that. But it was his own fault for provoking her.

‘Why are you so determined to think the worst of me, padrona?’

‘Don’t call me that! Do you hear? Don’t ever do it again.’

‘But it’s the truth. We are mistress and servant. If I can face it, why can’t you?’

‘The way you say it, it’s a sick joke.’

His eyes raked over her, and she understood the implication. It was a sick joke.

‘How dare you?’ she breathed.

‘What do you want me to say? The other night you rejected Angel. You said she was shallow and stupid and knew nothing except how things seemed on the surface. There was an honest woman talking, a true woman, with a heart. But now? Look at you. You’ve turned into that creature again and invited the world in to see you using my home as a backdrop to your shallowness. And I say that by doing so you desecrate it. There now, are you answered?’

Vittorio was sorry as soon as the words were out of his mouth. The gaze Angel turned on him was stricken, as though he’d struck her a savage blow. He hadn’t meant to. Lashing out defensively, he’d forgotten the vulnerability she strove so hard to conceal, but he could see it now in the dark shadows in her eyes, so like the ones he’d seen before.

‘Look,’ he said hastily, ‘take no notice-’

But before he could finish there was a sound from outside, and a man’s voice called, ‘Angel, where are you?’

Instantly Vittorio saw something come over her. She straightened up, adjusted her shoulders, and took a deep breath. Then, right there in front of him, she turned into someone else. Her eyes grew brighter, her mouth stretched into a calculated, dazzling smile. She was Angel again.

Then she was hurrying towards the front door, arms outstretched to meet the three men descending from the car. The first one, a great bear of a man, enveloped her in a hug, bawling, ‘Angel, my sweet!’

‘Mack, darling!’

Vittorio watched her embrace each of the three men one by one, laughing, teasing them, apparently