She tried to pull herself together, but suddenly she couldn’t stop. She’d thought she’d exorcised the wild mood that had possessed her earlier, but now it was back, worse than ever. Sobs of laughter rose up in her, one after the other, each one bigger than the last, until they weren’t laughter any more, and all the tears she’d been suppressing forced their way out.
‘That’s enough,’ Renato said, laying a hand on her shoulder. Then he paused because he could feel the shuddering of her body, and knew that it had changed. ‘You’re not crying after all this time, surely?’
She tried to say, ‘No, of course not,’ but the words came out huskily, and then she couldn’t manage words at all. She’d controlled herself so fiercely that now she had no control left. She was mortified at Renato seeing her like this but she couldn’t do anything about it.
‘Heather-’ he said quietly.
‘No-it’s nothing-I’m all right, I just need to-’
‘You just need to cry it out,’ he said. ‘Heather-Heather, listen-’ He sat beside her on the fountain and laid light hands on her shoulders and gave her a little shake. ‘Stop trying to be so damned strong all the time.’
‘I’ve got to be strong,’ she said. ‘I’m among sharks.’
‘Not really. I’m the only shark, and I’m not biting tonight. Just for once, let’s forget that you hate me.’
‘I don’t-know how.’
‘Well, that’s honest,’ he said, gathering her into his arms. ‘Hate me, then, but let’s call a truce.’
She couldn’t reply. Anguish had taken hold of her completely. She’d told herself that it didn’t hurt, but it did. All the happiness she’d dared to enjoy now turned on her, transformed to grief and bitterness. It swamped her, engulfed her, and there was no help or comfort in the world, except, mysteriously, for her enemy, whose arms enfolded her.
He held her tightly, murmuring words of kindness that her ears hardly heard, although her heart discerned them, and eased a little. It made no sense, but there was something about his voice that warmed her and made everything seem not quite so bad. He drew away to look at her, brushing back the hair from her face with gentle fingers.
‘I didn’t think you could ever cry,’ he said huskily. ‘You were so good at shutting us all out of your feelings-or maybe just me-’
Her tears still flowed, but his soft caresses against her features were making the jagged edges of the world recede and the misery soften.
‘Nothing is worth your tears,’ he murmured. He laid his lips against her wet cheeks, then her eyes. ‘Don’t cry-
She grew completely still, listening to his soft words and letting her body relax against him. With one hand he stroked her hair while his lips wandered over her face. She thought perhaps she shouldn’t do this, but the thought was far away, muffled by the warm sweetness that was taking possession of her. She knew that at any moment his lips would find her mouth, and the breath came faster in her throat as she waited for it to happen.
When it did his touch was so light that she had to reach up to him to be sure, slipping an arm about his neck, cupping his head with her hand. It was only a few hours since they’d quarrelled, and soon they would probably quarrel again, but now all the world was upside down, and it seemed natural to let him hold her close while his lips continued the work of consolation.
‘Renato…’ she whispered, not knowing if she were protesting or simply asking a question.
‘Hush! Why should we always be fighting?’
She didn’t want to fight a man who could hold her so tenderly. She still didn’t trust him, but somehow that didn’t matter so much now. What did matter was the slow movement of his mouth across hers, and the sense of sweet contentment that pervaded her.
Her mouth was caressing him back, seeking new sensations. She wanted more of him. He was dangerous, but since coming to this country she’d discovered that she responded to the thrill of danger. She put up her hand and laid it against his hair, thick and springy against her palm. Then his cheek. He needed a shave. That was Renato, not smooth and appealing, but all rough edges and sharp angles. You had to take him as you found him. He couldn’t be trusted, but sometimes he could be wonderful.
He slackened his hold, but kept his arms in place, resting his lips against her hair. He was trembling as much as she.
‘You said once-I could always ask you for a brother’s help,’ she reminded him huskily.
‘I remember. But neither of us knew this day would come.’
Hadn’t they? she thought wildly. Hadn’t they?
‘Keep your word now,’ she whispered. ‘Help me as a brother. Help me find my place back in England so that I can go home and forget I ever came to Sicily.’
‘Will you forget us so easily?’
He would have held her but she disengaged herself and backed away, trying to put a safe distance between them. But how far was safe?
‘Don’t ask me that, Renato. You know I can’t answer. Just help me go home. That’s all I want.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
IT WAS Baptista’s idea that Heather should visit Bella Rosaria. ‘It’s time you were looking over your property,’ she said. ‘But come to see me often.’
The suggestion appealed to Heather. She could never regard the estate as hers, but while matters were being sorted out it would be the ideal place to stay.
She took a car from the garage and drove out of Palermo, taking the winding road that led up to the village of Ellona, and the pink stone villa that dominated it. It was mid-morning and as she climbed she saw how the fresh, vivid light sharpened the contours of the land, which was freshly harvested and brown after the long, fierce summer. She realised that already she was thinking like a Sicilian. Baptista had been right. She loved this place and didn’t want to leave it.
Baptista must have telephoned ahead, because when Heather reached the villa she found they were ready for her. Jocasta, the housekeeper, had prepared the best room in readiness for the new mistress. It was dark and old- fashioned, with crimson tiles on the floor and furniture made of wood that was almost black. But everything was luxurious, and the huge bed was the most comfortable she’d ever known.
She met her steward, Luigi, a small, fierce man, brown as a berry, who might have been any age from fifty to eighty, and who offered to show her over her property. He spoke in a mixture of Sicilian and English. Heather responded in the same do-it-yourself dialect, and they understood each other perfectly.
The villa had its own stables with three horses. Heather had learned to ride while visiting Angie, and now she set out for a ride over the countryside, accompanied by Luigi. Everywhere the land was changing, reflecting the passing of summer and the start of the wet season. Luigi explained that it had been a good harvest this year. She would do well. He didn’t seem to notice that she was sunk in embarrassment.
For her first evening Jocasta had ordered what she called ‘a simple meal’, which turned out to be aubergine salad, followed by squid and macaroni stew, followed by liver with wine sauce. The ride had left her with a good appetite and she had no difficulty doing justice to all these dishes, plus the caramelised oranges. She had the satisfaction of knowing that she’d delighted Jocasta’s husband Gino, who did the cooking and was hovering just outside the door. The whole was washed down with half a bottle of a light rose called Donnafugata, after which she went to bed and slept like a baby.
A strange, dream-like calm seemed to descend on her. The sense of being in limbo was stronger than ever, but now it was a pleasant limbo where she had nothing to do but discover the extent of her new found power. The strained nerves that had betrayed her to Renato in the garden were recovering from their collapse, growing stronger every day.
Some long rides did her good, and her spirits began to be normal again. She made several visits to the Residenza, always choosing a time when Renato was unlikely to be there. To her relief Baptista didn’t raise the dangerous subject again. They would talk and discuss Bella Rosaria as though it really was hers. Baptista was full of wise suggestions which Heather duly passed on to Luigi. She was determined to do no more, but little by little
