His head went up.
‘Everyone?’ he echoed sharply. ‘Who have you been talking to? Who is this “everyone” who seems to know my private business? My staff, I suppose.’
She cursed herself for being clumsy. She should have known this touchy character would resent being discussed behind his back. She tried to mitigate the damage.
‘Don’t blame them. They haven’t been gossiping, just trying to put me in the picture, which I appreciate. They all say how much you love her, what a devoted father you’ve always been.’
‘I’m sure they meant well,’ he said in a cool voice. ‘And so did you. Let us leave it there for the moment.’
‘But if we could only-’
‘I hadn’t realised how late it was. You must be longing for your bed, and I have a heavy day tomorrow. Waiter!’
It was no use. The moment was over. The waiter called them a cab and a few minutes later they were on their way back to the villa. On the journey they talked about nothing in particular, and did it with great determination.
It was only when the cab had gone and the doors of the villa had closed behind them that he said quietly, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I was clumsy-’
‘No, it was my fault,’ he said with a quick disclaiming gesture. ‘There are things it’s hard for me to speak of, or even think of, but I had no right to take it out on you.’
‘Do you want to go on talking now?’ she asked softly.
They were standing in the half-lit hall and his face was in shadow, but she had the sense that he was on the verge of agreeing.
‘Matteo,’ she said, using his name for the first time, ‘can’t you trust me?’
‘Of course,’ he said slowly. ‘I do trust you-you know I do…’
He took her hand and held it in his, as though there he would find something he needed.
‘Holly-’ he murmured, ‘Holly-if only…’
Her heart lifted at what she heard in his voice. He continued to stare down at her hand as his fingers closed slowly over it. She clasped him back, suddenly filled with delighted expectancy.
The eager voice from above made them look sharply up, while their hands slipped away from each other.
‘Poppa!’ Liza stood on the landing, trembling with eagerness. ‘I thought you weren’t coming home.’
She began to stump down the stairs, awkward on her bad leg. Matteo muttered something, rushing up to help her so that she fell into his outstretched arms.
‘What are you doing up at this hour?’ he chided gently. ‘You should be in bed and asleep.’
‘I was watching for you and Holly.’
‘I’m here,’ Holly said, starting to climb the stairs.
‘Oh, good,’ the little girl said.
She was snuggled contentedly in her father’s arms and Holly sent up a silent prayer of gratitude that this had happened now, reinforcing what she had been trying to tell him. Surely he must see how his daughter loved and needed him?
But as Liza buried her face against him, and he held her, he was staring into the distance, and Holly thought she had never seen so much despair in one man’s face.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MATTEO might resist everything Holly was trying to tell him, but she had her first sign that he was listening to her next morning when he knocked on Liza’s door, calling, ‘Are you up yet?’
Liza’s shriek of delight was answer enough. When Holly opened the door to him Liza held out her arms so that he could lift her and set her down in the wheelchair, which he took downstairs himself. After that breakfast was a happy meal, and before he left for work Matteo glanced at Holly with a question in his eyes, almost as if seeking her approval.
Later that day he called her.
‘We might try again,’ he said, ‘and see if we manage better this time.’
Her heart leapt, and it was only then that she understood how dull the world would have been without the prospect of going out with him again.
Instead of sending a driver he collected her himself and drove to a small, discreet restaurant set on a hill, from which they could look across and see Rome in the distance. The view was magical; the faint glitter of the River Tiber, the floodlit dome of St Peter’s floating in the distance.
This time they avoided dangerous subjects, enjoying the meal and talking on the light level of people who had nothing else to think of.
‘Another coffee?’ he asked at last.
‘Yes, please, I…’ She broke off, seeing that she had lost his attention, and looking at the man who’d raised his hand to Matteo. Then alarm seized her.
‘Police!’
‘Not to worry,’ he said reassuringly. ‘That’s Pietro, whom I know well because he used to be my bodyguard. Good, he’s turning away, too tactful to disturb us.’
When the uniformed man had moved off she said, ‘Bodyguard?’
‘A couple of years ago I presided over the trial of a man called Fortese. He was a nasty character who uttered a lot of threats. So I had police protection for a while, but then the trial ended, I gave him thirty years and he’s been locked away ever since.’
‘He threatened to kill you?’ she demanded, aghast.
He gave one of his rare grins. ‘I suppose he thought it was a better bet than a long sentence. Forget it. It happens all the time. We’re a very dramatic people, as you may have noticed. We scream threats, but nothing happens.’
Holly sat sipping coffee, feeling the world change shape around her. Since she had come to Italy everything seemed tinged with danger, of one kind or another, and now here was a new kind. How sedate England seemed by comparison.
The wisest thing would be to go home, but she had no desire to do so. She was living with an intensity she’d never known before, and part of that excitement was the man sitting here, calmly shrugging aside threats against his life.
This was Italy, not merely a land of beautiful landscapes and ancient buildings, but a place where the stiletto still flashed. Here passions were violent, whether hate or love. And the strangest thing of all was that she felt at home. She had been an Italian ever since the night in the garden with Bruno, when she had discovered the joys of
Matteo was watching her. ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.
‘Lots of things, all muddled up,’ she said. ‘That’s how it’s been ever since I came to this country. I’m even beginning to like it. Nothing here is ever quite what it seems.’
‘You most of all,’ he observed.
‘Yes, I suppose that’s true. Even I don’t quite know who I am.’
‘I, too, am confused about you. I didn’t mean to see you again like this tonight. It might have been safer not to.’
‘How do I confuse you?’
‘The day we met-I saw only that you could be useful.’
‘Yes,’ she said, smiling, ‘I realised that.’
‘It’s my way. I see what I want and do what is necessary to get it. It isn’t an amiable trait and I tend to bulldoze my way through life. Being a judge gives me an amount of power that-’ he hesitated ‘-probably isn’t good for any man.’
