Married Under the Italian Sun

overwhelmed with delight. If he hadn’t seen the transformation a moment ago, he would have believed every word of it. Now he could only see the strain behind each word and gesture.

He heard the beefy man say, ‘You really made them pay over the odds for this, so let’s make it a good one.’

Then Angel’s tinkling laugh, and the provocative words, ‘Well, a man ought to pay over the odds, and I always give good value.’

Mack gave a lecherous guffaw that made Vittorio want to knock him to the floor.

He wondered what she would say if she knew that he had volunteered to help out today, not to spy on her, but simply to be there if she needed him. She would probably laugh, he thought, exasperated with himself. It drove him wild that his hostility was constantly undermined by a mysterious urge to protect her.

When everyone had been installed in their rooms, there was wine and cakes. Then Angel began to show them around while the photographers inspected the house, seeking angles, setting up lights. Vittorio kept severely away from them.

Then the pictures began: Angel in the garden, flooded with bright sunlight, walking through the roses by the fountain, Angel the expert lemon-grower, indicating the terraces. From a high-up window in the house, Vittorio watched this at a distance.

When they returned they were still discussing lemons, and Mack was saying admiringly, ‘You’ve really become an expert in a short time.’

‘It’s not down to me,’ Angel disclaimed quickly. Seeing Vittorio crossing the hall, she said, ‘This is the real expert. I only know what Vittorio teaches me.’

‘Is that so?’ Mack said, advancing on Vittorio in a friendly spirit. ‘So, you’re the guy that Angel relies on?’

Vittorio gazed at him blankly. ‘Scusi?’

‘Angel says you know all about lemons.’

Mack spoke slowly, but it didn’t seem to help. Vittorio simply stared. After a moment he said in a carefully stupid voice, ‘Me no spikka da English.’

‘Cut that out,’ Angel muttered, half annoyed, half amused. ‘You “spikka da English” perfectly well when it suits you.’

Vittorio reverted to Italian to say, ‘But in the presence of your eminent friends my wits desert me. I am overwhelmed to meet such great people-’

‘Shut up!’ she said, trying to fight back her laughter. ‘Don’t play games with me or I’ll stamp on your foot.’

He grinned. ‘Scusi, signora. Me no spikka da English.’

‘Get lost.’

‘Si, signora.’ He gave her the grin of a conspirator and glided away before she could reply.

‘Angel, honey, can we have you over here?’

Angel sashayed back, giving Mack a wink and twisting her hips in a way that had the photographers begging for more. She felt strong and ready for anything. It made no sense that Vittorio could do this merely by grinning and sharing a joke with her, but then a lot about her response to this man didn’t make sense.

For dinner she changed into a black, figure-hugging evening gown, and descended slowly, stopping to pose every few steps. When Mack gallantly offered her his arm, she caught a look of faint surprise on his face.

‘I forgot, you’ve seen this one before, haven’t you?’

‘I admit I thought you’d have raided the couture establishments in Milan and Rome by now.’

‘At one time I would have done, but these days I’m just a simple country girl.’

‘That’s going to come as a great disappointment to your male admirers.’

‘There, and I thought it was me they loved, and not the trappings.’

Laughing, they went into the dining room, where Angel posed for more pictures as the perfect hostess of a sumptuous feast. Mack sat next to her, mentally taking notes, she was sure. He’d been interviewing her on and off all day, but she knew that the serious business was still to come. For what the magazine was paying, he’d made it clear he would expect more than platitudes.

Somewhere in the background she heard the house phone ring. After a moment, Vittorio came to find her.

‘There’s a man on the phone for you, padrona.’

‘Did you ask his name?’

‘No, padrona,’ he said quietly.

Puzzled, Angel went into the hall and took up the receiver. The called turned out to be Roy, one of Sam’s carers.

‘Sam asked me to call you right now,’ he said. ‘He’s feeling bright and on top of things.’

‘Wonderful!’

Then Sam’s voice, saying, ‘Hello, darling. How’s my girl?’

‘Sam,’ she said eagerly. ‘Oh, it’s wonderful to hear you. I miss you so much.’

‘I miss you too, darling. How do you like Italy?’

He even remembered that she was in Italy. The pleasure of finding his mind so clear made Angel laugh aloud.

‘It’s lovely here,’ she said. ‘But it’ll be even nicer when you’re here too.’

‘When am I coming?’

‘Not long now, darling, we’ll soon be together again.’

Vittorio, carrying things from the kitchen to the dining room, tried not to overhear, but the words seemed to stab him.

Mack was buzzing with eagerness when she returned.

‘Come on, tell. Who’s the man phoning you? A new lover? I thought you’d have been followed by hordes of lustful Italians by now. Can I tell my readers how you like Italian men?’

She gave a teasing laugh. ‘Mack, I promise you, Italian men are just like men the world over.’ She leaned close and whispered, ‘Very, very annoying.’

He chuckled, and the dangerous moment passed, but soon she knew she would have to confront the question of exactly how much she would tell him. How much could she bear to tell him?

Then she thought of the estate, peaceful and beautiful beneath the noonday sun. She thought of the lemons, gently ripening, ready for their moment of splendour when they would rescue the whole estate. She thought of the people who depended on her: Berta, the maids, the gardeners. She thought of Vittorio, bitter and awkward, but working selflessly to save the place he loved.

And she knew what she was going to say.

After dinner Angel took Mack into a small side room, which had once been used as a library, although most of the books had gone.

‘Let’s talk about Joe,’ he said. ‘How did you feel when he told you he’d found someone else?’

Angel managed a shrug. ‘Not really surprised. We’d been drifting apart for some time.’

‘Had you found another man?’

‘No, I never played around, so stop looking hopeful,’ she said with a hint of teasing.

‘Not one lover, hovering in the background?’

‘Not one. Give up.’

He gave a resigned sigh, and she thought she’d won this round, but he was preparing his bombshell.

‘Have you heard anything about Joe and Merry’s wedding?’ he asked with a casual air.

‘No, but our divorce became final last week, so I guess it’ll be soon.’

Mack grinned, reaching into a leather bag he was carrying, and whipping out a bunch of photos that he spread over the table in front of her. They showed a wedding. Joe Clannan grinned fatuously at his young bride, who resembled an overgrown meringue adorned with too much satin, too much lace, and too many diamonds.

‘They married two days ago,’ Mack said, watching her face closely. ‘Didn’t you know?’

‘Why should I know? I don’t think they planned to invite me. Good luck to them.’

‘You can say that, even now you’ve seen what she’s wearing around her neck?’

Angel shrugged, trying to seem light-hearted. She’d been hoping Mack wouldn’t make the connection.

‘Angel, c’mon, this is me, Mack. I did the first ever interview you gave after you married this man eight years ago, and you showed me the necklace he’d just given you. You told me what a pretty speech he made about “his