‘When was this?’
‘Almost a year ago.’
‘Why didn’t she come to me then?’
Because she’d hoped to entice George back, was the truthful answer. But Polly couldn’t bring herself to hurt him more, so she softened it.
‘She was already growing thin from illness. She said she’d contact you when she got well. But she never did. She came to live with me. I nursed her as best I could, but it was hopeless. She made me promise to find you afterwards-to tell you that you have a son.’
‘She’s dead,’ he murmured. ‘Dead-and I wasn’t with her.’
In the face of his pain there was nothing she could say.
‘Why didn’t I know?’ he demanded. ‘How come I didn’t sense it when we were so close?’
Polly was silent, knowing that Freda had never felt close to him.
‘You should have found a way to contact me while she was alive,’ he insisted.
‘I couldn’t. She wouldn’t tell me where to find you. I didn’t even know that you lived in Naples. I found out that and the name of this villa in a letter she wrote me, to be opened when she was dead.’
‘I would have looked after her,’ he said in a daze.
‘She didn’t want you to see her. She hated not being beautiful any more.’
‘Do you think I’d have cared about that?’ he flashed, with a hint of ferocity. ‘I wouldn’t even have seen it. I lo-’
He stopped himself with a sharp breath, like a man pulling back from the brink. His haggard eyes met hers.
‘It’s too late,’ he said, like a man facing the bleak truth for the first time. ‘Too late.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. She reached for him but he flinched away.
‘I want you to go,’ he said.
‘But-’
‘Get out, for pity’s sake!’ he said in agony.
She rose, reaching out for her copy of the picture, but he took it, saying curtly, ‘Leave that.’
At the door she glanced back at him. He was holding both pictures, looking from one to the other as though in this way he might discover a secret. He didn’t notice as she left.
Polly understood his need to be alone. She shared it. The conversation had been even harder than she’d expected. She’d been fooled by Freda’s ‘love-’ em-and-leave-’em’ description of Ruggiero, thinking he might take the news in that spirit.
Instead, his explosion of emotion had astonished her. Suddenly she saw the chasm yawning at her feet. From the first moment everything about Ruggiero had been a surprise-starting with the discovery that her cousin haunted him. She should have been prepared for tonight, but she’d sensed the danger almost too late.
‘You’re saying she was a calculating, cold-hearted bitch?’
He’d spoken as though the mere thought was outrageous, but it was an exact description of Freda. In the great days of her beauty she would have taken it as a compliment.
‘It’s such fun to make them sit up and beg,’ she’d once trilled. ‘You can make a man do anything if you go about it the right way.’
Later, talking about Ruggiero, with his baby in her arms, she’d said, ‘He was the best-know what I mean? Well, no-maybe you don’t.’
‘I certainly don’t have your wide experience for making comparisons,’ Polly had replied, trying to speak lightly.
‘Well, take my word for it. Ruggiero was really something in bed.’ She had given a luxurious gurgle. ‘Every woman should have an Italian lover. There are things about passion that only they understand.’
There had been no affection in her voice. Freda had taken what she wanted from her lover, then dispensed with him. She’d appreciated his technical skills, but she’d never thought of him as a person.
And in that she’d lost out, Polly realised. Clever as she was, Freda hadn’t discovered the things that made Ruggiero truly fascinating: the contrast between the contrived self that he showed to the world and the true self that he hid as though alarmed by it, the mulish stubbornness that collapsed into unexpected moments of self- deprecating humour. He was intriguing because everything about him contradicted everything else. A woman could spend years trying to understand him, enjoying every moment of the challenge, and Freda hadn’t suspected it.
I’ve seen it, Polly thought suddenly. But I didn’t want to. Heaven help me, this is no time to be falling into that trap! I’m just here to do a job.
She’d been clumsy tonight-hinting that his goddess had had feet of clay, which he hadn’t been ready to hear. He’d loved Sapphire, perhaps without fully realising it until that moment. If so, it was a cruel discovery made in the cruellest possible way.
She’d wanted to escape him before-but now she wanted to be with him, consoling him.
She went out into the corridor, pausing outside his door, her hand raised to knock. But then she heard a soft, rhythmic sound coming from inside the room, as though a man was thumping the wall in rage and misery.
She turned away.
Polly spent the rest of the night sitting up by the window, thinking of him, alone in his suffering, because that was how he preferred it. The thought of that appalling bleakness made her shudder, and her heart reached out to him. But she wasn’t the one he wanted.
At last, as dawn began to break, there was a soft knock at her door. He was standing there, a cotton robe over his pyjamas. The anger had gone from his face, leaving only weariness.
‘Come in,’ she said quietly.
But he didn’t move, only looked at her with a kind of desperation.
‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Can’t I help you?’
‘I’m not sure-perhaps I should-’
‘Why don’t you come in and talk about it?’
He looked at her, feeling himself paralysed by indecision. His self-confidence had drained away without warning, and now he hardly knew how to cope.
He’d dismissed Polly from his sight, but even then he’d known that he must follow her. He resented her, almost hated her, but against his will he was drawn after her. Now he stood on her threshold, fighting an impulse to back off, knowing that if he yielded to it a deep need would make him return.
‘Let’s talk,’ she said gently, taking his arm and drawing him inside.
He sat uneasily on the bed.
‘I seem to have a mountain of apologies to make.’
‘Never mind,’ she told him lightly. ‘You’ve had a big shock.’
‘I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.’
‘It’s over. Past. Forget it.’
‘Thank you. Polly, did I imagine that whole mad conversation? Did you tell me that Sapphire was dead and I have a son?’
‘Yes.’
‘And that’s why you’re here? It wasn’t chance that we met?’
‘No, I knew you lived in Naples, and I knew about this villa. I’d have come here first, but there was something in the newspaper about your brother’s wedding. It mentioned your firm, so I went there and found out about the racetrack. Ruggiero, please believe me-I haven’t been spying on you. I stayed here because it gave me a chance to be near you and choose my moment. I wanted to explain before, but you were ill-how could I?’
She made a helpless gesture, and he nodded.
‘OK, I understand that. Although it gives me an awkward feeling to remember the curious looks I’ve seen you giving me.’
‘I was a nurse, studying a patient for signs of trouble.’
‘And maybe you were also remembering things Sapphire said about me and thinking, Him?’
He said the last word with a searing irony that took her breath away.
‘I was curious about little Matthew’s father,’ she said cautiously. ‘This last year I’ve got to love him very much. I can’t wait to show him to you.’
