she found herself fascinated by the running of the estate.
She wondered what Renato thought of her flight, or the way she’d taken possession of the place he had wanted to own, according to Lorenzo. Doubtless he would soon come storming to visit her. She was ready for him, unafraid.
But when days passed with no sign of him she knew a sense of anticlimax. Then she grew irked at his offhand way of treating her. Something had been left unresolved between them and it had to be sorted. Why couldn’t he see that?
It was obvious now that she’d always known he would kiss her. From the moment he walked into Gossways everything he’d said or done had been the actions of a man who would kiss her one day. Her reactions had been clouded by her honest belief that she’d been in love with another man. But behind the curtain of that belief she’d felt like a woman who expected-wanted-to be kissed.
They had almost come to grief the day on the boat, and by the time of the ball her mistake had been staring her in the face. After the aborted wedding she’d retreated into herself, wanting nothing to do with him. But when he’d taken her into his arms by the fountain she’d come to life again so urgently that it had alarmed her. She’d fled because she needed time to think, but now she had to meet him again, and see how he looked when he saw her.
But he didn’t appear. Lorenzo seemed almost permanently abroad now, but one day Baptista remarked casually that Renato too was away. She was feeling rather lonely with neither of her sons there, but wasn’t it delightful that the two of them could enjoy some time alone together? In a colourless voice Heather agreed that it was.
Bernardo came to ask if there was anything he could do for her. He looked ill and wretched, so Heather took pity on him, invited him to dinner and spent the time talking about Angie, who’d written twice. He said little, but she sensed that he was alive to every mention of Angie’s name. She knew that feeling of being haunted. Something of her sympathy must have shown in her manner, for by the end of the evening they were excellent friends.
It would have been tempting to drift forever in this pleasant no-man’s-land, but she forced herself to telephone Gossways. As she’d feared, her place on the training programme had gone for ever. She could return as a sales assistant, but two grades lower than when she’d left. Renato had made no call on her behalf.
So that was that.
It was another week before she saw Renato’s car winding its way up the narrow main street of Ellona one afternoon, just as the sun was setting. About time too, she thought as she descended the stone steps outside the villa. She tried to arrange her face to suggest the right combination of welcome and reserve.
But it wasn’t Renato.
‘Hello,’ Lorenzo called cheerily, bounding out and waving as though nothing was wrong between them. ‘I came to see how you were.’
It took a moment to pull herself together and seem normal. How could it be Lorenzo when it should have been Renato? How dared he come here when his brother didn’t?
‘Fine,’ she said, smiling. ‘I like it here.’
‘All on your own?’
‘There are worse things than being alone. Come inside.’
He bounded up the steps, an attractive figure in his light brown trousers and blue short-sleeved shirt, open at the throat. He was smiling and seemed not to have a care in the world. That should have hurt. But it didn’t. Those feelings already seemed long in the past.
‘I brought you a housewarming present,’ he said, flourishing an elegantly wrapped parcel. It turned out to be an alabaster head in the style of a Greek goddess. It was about ten inches tall, delicately made and charming.
‘It’s a reproduction of a piece in a museum,’ Lorenzo explained. ‘I chose it because she looks like you. Actually, I’ll confess, I bought it for you weeks ago. After what happened-I wasn’t sure how to give it to you. But as a housewarming gift-’ He gave a deprecating shrug. He was full of charm.
‘I love it,’ she said. ‘And I know just the right place for it.’
She led him out to the rose garden, where there was a little alcove that she’d thought was rather bare. To her delight it harmonised perfectly.
‘Lovely,’ Lorenzo agreed. ‘Do you like this spot, then? I know it’s always been a favorite place of Mamma’s.’
Perhaps he didn’t know the story of Fede, the rose grower. Heather wondered if Baptista would mind if she hinted at it, but Lorenzo’s next words killed the impulse. ‘Don’t you find the house rather gloomy? I always did.’
‘Gloomy? Not at all. It’s cool and peaceful. I love it.’
‘We always had to spend a few weeks here in the summer. I just remember longing to get away.’
So much for her dream of living here with him. A fantasy, born of ignorance, like so many of her thoughts of Lorenzo, she realised. If they had known each other longer she would have seen her infatuation for what it was.
They had wine on the terrace overlooking the garden. Lorenzo was looking mischievous. ‘I heard about the row,’ he said.
‘Row?’ she asked cautiously.
‘Come on, everyone knows what happened. Mamma tried to arrange a match between you and Renato and you just roared with laughter. I wish I’d been there to see that. My brother, who spends most of his time dodging traps by determined women, actually getting the cold shoulder.’
‘It wasn’t like that at all,’ Heather said firmly. ‘Renato and I both felt that it wasn’t a good idea.’ How dull and prim the words sounded against the explosive reality. But it was best that way. Whatever she might feel about Renato she wasn’t going to offer him up for Lorenzo’s amusement.
‘I’m sure
‘Which I’m giving back as soon as the paperwork’s sorted.’
‘Plus you turned him down. Who do you think was the last woman who did that?’
Me, Heather thought, remembering how she’d told Renato to jump in the river on the first evening.
‘Refused him before he’d even asked,’ Lorenzo went on with a grin. ‘I’ll bet that got under his skin. He’s been in a foul temper ever since he got back from America. Careful! You nearly spilled your drink.’
He was back, she thought. And he hadn’t called her.
Well, why should he?
Because he had no right to leave her on hot coals.
Hell would freeze over before she asked when he’d returned.
‘Let’s drop this subject,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to marry Renato.’
‘I wouldn’t care to take a wager on that. You laughed at him. He can’t just ignore that.’
‘What are you saying? That he’ll try to win me over to save his pride?’
‘I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s not used to having to win a woman over. Usually they’re only too willing.’
She didn’t answer and he gave a rueful half-smile. ‘We could have made it, you know-if he hadn’t interfered.’
‘We’ll never know,’ she told him. ‘It’s in the past. Over.’
But he laid down his wineglass on the stone balustrade and reached out to draw her into his arms. Heather had half expected it, and she allowed it to happen because there was something she wanted to know. She even kissed him back. Not out of love. Or passion. Curiosity.
Once she’d loved him so much. The sweetness of his kisses had transported her to heaven. Or so she’d thought. But heaven had turned out to be a rather narrow cul-de-sac. A kiss should open up infinite vistas of joy and passion, even when it was gentle, hovering on the verge of passion, but uncommitted, so that you yearned for…
She sighed and freed herself. It had been a useful experiment and she’d learned what she wanted to know. Lorenzo was basically a pleasant young man, but he still had some growing up to do. It had been like kissing cardboard.
Then she turned her head and saw Renato, regarding them sardonically.
‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise the two of you would be occupied.’
‘Then you should have done,’ Lorenzo said cheekily.
