Married Under the Italian Sun

She hadn’t known he was there. It was as though he’d materialised by a miracle. Before anyone could speak, he had picked up two heavy bags and strode out of the front door to place them beside the van. He came back, seized two more and strode out with them. The message was unmistakable: go!

Such was the intimidating power of his presence that everyone obeyed him, almost slinking out, as though awed by his authority. Angel followed them out to say more polite farewells, and felt Vittorio’s hand under her elbow.

As the door of the van slammed and the crew leaned out of windows, waving, calling, Vittorio murmured in her ear, ‘Don’t give in now. Just a few more moments, and they’ll be gone.’

So he understood. She’d thought he was enraged by their presence, to the point of throwing them out. But now she knew he’d done it for her. The hand under her elbow grew firmer, steadying her, offering strength.

The engine started, the van turned, and then it was moving away from them. It was mercifully over.

‘All right?’ Vittorio asked quietly.

‘I am now.’

He turned her gently and led her back into the house, his arm about her waist. He didn’t move it until she was sitting on the sofa, and then he took her hands in his.

‘Why do you do this to yourself?’ he demanded. ‘Why did you tell him all that?’

‘You heard?’

‘Yes, I was listening. Perhaps it was wrong of me, but now I understand many things about you, so I can’t be sorry I did it. But you didn’t have to tell him.’

‘I did,’ she said, turning her hands slightly so that she could clasp his in return. ‘You don’t know-you don’t know-’

‘No, I don’t know anything about you, do I? I keep thinking I do, but there’s always another mystery. Don’t keep things to yourself.’

She tried to pull herself together. ‘I’m all right-honestly, I’m all right.’

‘That is a lie,’ he said simply. ‘You’re breaking apart. You need to talk to a friend. If not me then-someone else.’

‘If not you then nobody,’ she said huskily. ‘Funny isn’t it-that you should be the best friend I have?’

‘Yes, it’s funny,’ Vittorio agreed gravely. ‘But I suppose it’s true.’ Suddenly he said, almost violently, ‘For pity’s sake, don’t suffer alone. If I’m your friend then let me be a friend. Let me help you. Tell me what to do.’

‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘It’s in my head-a kind of darkness. It isn’t here all the time-but sometimes-the doctor said it would go, and I keep thinking it has, but then…’

‘Is it because you lost your baby?’

‘Yes, that’s when it started. I fell down into a dark pit. Sometimes I think I see a way out, but it always comes back.’

Vittorio let out a long breath and silently called himself a fool. Then he did the only thing possible and put his arms around her, holding her tightly against him.

‘Go on,’ he said. ‘I want to hear the rest.’

‘The rest?’

‘The bits you didn’t tell Mack.’

‘Joe got fed up with me always being depressed,’ Angel said at last. ‘He said I was no fun any more.’ Vittorio swore with soft violence.

‘How much fun was a grieving woman supposed to be?’

‘He never thought of me as grieving. He hadn’t wanted a child and he couldn’t understand me being any different. Being fun was my job. He liked to see me teasing other men just enough to get them worked up, but always going home with him.’ She gave a self-mocking laugh. ‘I got quite good at that.’

‘Yes, I remember,’ Vittorio said wryly.

‘I’m sorry. You just made me mad, and I thought you were just one of them.’

He didn’t have to ask what ‘one of them’ meant.

‘In the end he got fed up with me being unhappy and started looking around. It was inevitable that he should find another woman. I didn’t care. I was glad to get out of that marriage, even if it meant accepting a mean settlement.’

‘Yes, you don’t have to tell me that he’s a cheapskate. What he did to me, he did to you.’

‘I got this place and a lump sum, which seemed plenty at the time, but I had no idea of the things I’d have to pay for. I had to make some money to carry us through until harvest, so I extorted a huge fee out of Mack. But in return-’

‘In return you had to bare your soul,’ he said softly. ‘And I judged you. Forgive me.’

‘It’s all right. I’ll be better now that this is over. In some ways I’m even glad. I’ve never talked about it before. There was nobody to tell.’

‘I wish you’d told me.’

‘What, the man who thought I was a wicked witch put on earth to torment him?’ Angel said with a jerky little laugh.

‘That seems a long time ago. I’m not sure it ever happened.’

‘Maybe it didn’t,’ she agreed.

A feeling of sweetness and contentment was stealing over her. It was something to do with the gentleness of his voice and his touch. At this moment she felt no desire, only a longing to stay here, resting against him, for ever.

As though he’d sensed her thoughts, Vittorio said, ‘Promise me something.’

‘What?’

‘That you won’t bear things alone any more. That you will come to me, as a friend, and tell me what you suffer.’

‘I promise,’ she said softly. ‘If I need help, I’ll come to you. I seem to have been taking your help ever since I came here. What would I have done if you hadn’t stayed?’

‘I would always have stayed. You tried to get rid of me, remember?’

‘Yes, I didn’t understand that you’re part of this place. It still belongs to you more than me…’

‘Don’t say that,’ he said harshly, getting to his feet.

‘Why not, if I’ve come to see that it’s true-?’

‘I said stop it!’ he shouted. ‘Are you really so stupid that-’

He checked himself with a sharp breath. Then he stalked out through the French windows into the garden, leaving Angel calling herself every name she could think of.

By now Angel was familiar with Vittorio’s way of retreating whenever they had a moment of closeness, as though scenting danger. So she reckoned she knew what to think when, next morning, Berta met her with the news that he’d called to say that he’d be away a few days, ‘exploring new markets for the estate produce’.

He might have spoken to her directly, but he’d sent the message through Berta. So he was avoiding her. And perhaps he was wise. The mood that was growing between them-a combination of emotion and half-admitted desire, spiced with a hostility that still sometimes flared up-left Angel not knowing what to think. It was sweet, intense and fast becoming the most thrilling experience of her life, but her heart was as wary as his.

For a woman of twenty-eight she knew strangely little of love. Once she’d thought herself in love with Gavin, but when she’d seen his true colours she’d dumped him without hesitation and shed few tears.

She’d been fond of Joe for a while, until his behaviour disgusted her. He’d been a selfish lover, demanding extravagant appreciation in return for the least possible effort. The result had been to send her heart and body to sleep. Angel couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt anything like desire, and had come to believe that it was something she would never know.

But Vittorio had startled her awake. She was alive again, both in her heart and body, alive in ways she had never known before. He was in her thoughts when he was present, and even more when he was not. If he was there, she loved to contemplate him, so much so that she had to check herself for fear he would suspect. Even so, her eyes and her thoughts would sneak back, uncontrollably, to the source of their delight.

But mingled with the pleasure was dismay.

It would have to be him, she told herself, exasperated. Of all the men that I wouldn’t choose-why him? He