Wife By Arrangement

you?’

The room was empty. He shrugged and went quickly downstairs. She would be on the terrace, probably talking with his mother. Or perhaps she was at the estate. Why had he gone first to their bedroom? He grinned, knowing full well why.

‘Sara, where is my wife?’

The maid paused as she crossed the hall. She looked worried.

‘I don’t know, signore. Signor Lorenzo called yesterday, and after that she left in a great hurry.’

‘Did she say where she was going?’

‘No, signore. Only that she would be back today, or perhaps tomorrow.’

‘Where is my mother?’

‘Lying down in her room.’

He opened Baptista’s door quietly, but she was sound asleep. He would have to bear his soul in patience. But the question went round and round in his head. What could Lorenzo have said to make Heather leave so quickly?

Renato went to his study and tried to settle to work. For an hour he managed more or less well. At least, he thought he was managing well. Then he put the phone down on a long conversation and realised that he couldn’t remember a word of it. After that he gave up and called Lorenzo in London.

Lorenzo wasn’t staying at the Ritz this time but at a newly opened luxury hotel that the firm was hoping to supply. As soon as the phone was answered Renato said, ‘Lorenzo Martelli’s room, please.’

‘I’m sorry sir, but Mr Martelli checked out a few hours ago.’

Renato sat up straight. ‘This morning? I understood he was there for a week.’

‘So did we, sir. But after Mrs Martelli arrived yesterday they decided to leave early.’

‘Mrs-Martelli? Do you mean the young English lady?’

‘That’s right. Mrs Heather Martelli. They checked out of their room this morning.’

The blow over the heart almost winded him. He didn’t know how he managed to replace the phone. All the nerves seemed to have died in his hands, and his body was cold with shock.

He ought to have seen this coming. He’d always known that Lorenzo still lingered in her heart, but he’d charged ahead, arranging things as he wanted, as he always did, only to see them disintegrate in his hands.

Suddenly he couldn’t breathe. It was like being caught in an avalanche with snow swirling around you from the back, the sides, the top-no way of stopping it-and then it froze solid about you.

He wanted to howl and fight his way out, but he was trapped, unable to move because he didn’t know which move was the right one. He only knew that he wanted to turn time back to before this nightmare started. And he couldn’t.

His wife had betrayed him with his brother. Thinking he would be away for another week, she’d hurried back to England to be with Lorenzo.

No, it was impossible. If it came out it would break Baptista’s heart, and Heather would never do that to her. Renato tried to tell himself that she would never do it to him, but somehow the words wouldn’t come.

It was impossible because of the kind of person she was, honest, decent, incapable of deceit. But only recently she’d said to him, ‘What do you and I know of each other? In bed, everything. Outside, nothing.’

He was brought out of his reverie by the sound of a car drawing up outside. Moving like an automaton, he went out, and was in time to see the taxi door open and his brother emerge, looking dishevelled. Lorenzo, the dandy who would agonise over the perfect tie, was unshaven and his clothes looked rumpled.

He met Renato’s eyes, made a helpless gesture, indicating that he couldn’t face talking now, and went into the house.

‘I need a shower,’ he declared, and passed on up the stairs.

Renato made a gesture for Heather to join him in his study. As she walked past him he could hear his heart hammering. His whole life hung on the next few moments, what he would ask and what she would answer.

‘What are you doing back so early?’ she asked.

‘Never mind that. Where in damnation have you been?’

Riled by his tone, she retorted crisply, ‘I’ve been to London.’

‘Without telling anyone where you were going, or why.’

‘There were very good reasons for that.’

‘I’ll bet there were.’

Something in his voice made her look at him sharply. ‘Be careful, Renato. I’m tired and I’m out of patience. If you’ve got something to say, say it.’

‘Very well. Did you spend last night in his room?’

Heather stared at him in amazement. ‘What-?’

‘Answer me, damn you! Did you spend last night in Lorenzo’s room?’

Her eyes flashed with temper. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘What are you accusing me of?’

‘It’s plain enough, isn’t it? You always clung onto your image of him, no matter what he did. You’re a fool, and I was a fool to marry you.’

‘Well, nobody forced you to,’ she cried. ‘You were the one who insisted on this marriage.’

‘Yes, and I’m well repaid for it. I thought you were the most wonderful woman in the world. I thought all beauty and honour lived in you-the one true and honest woman in a world of greedy deceivers. I knew you didn’t love me when we married but we had time and I let myself believe-but the minute my back was turned you go to him-to his room, to his bed.’

‘Renato-’

‘Did you sleep in his bed?’

‘Yes,’ she yelled.

It was only now that he knew how desperately he’d longed to hear her deny it. It was undeniable, but surely she would find a way to make the terrible truth untrue. There was a roaring in his ears. It was like suffering the agonies of death, except that he stayed alive and died again and again.

Renato was a Sicilian. In this society a faithless wife could cause a blood feud that could last a century. But the only thought in his mind was to implore her to take back her words, let it be as it was before, let him believe in her again. Because if she was a deceiver then nothing in the world was worth anything.

‘Do you know what you’ve just said?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘No, don’t answer.’ He held up an arm as if to ward her off. ‘Perhaps it was time you said it. Or perhaps I should have listened long ago, when you tried to tell me there was no hope for me. But I’m not good at hearing what it doesn’t suit me to hear, as you’ve often mentioned.’

‘Renato-what are you saying?’

He gave a bark of mirthless laughter. ‘I’m saying I give in. You’ve won-you and that boy who’s wound himself around your heart so tightly that I can’t find a way in. If you want him you can have him. I’ll make it easy for you.’

‘You mean-you’d free me to marry Lorenzo?’

‘What else can I do?’

‘What about Mamma?’

‘She’ll be all right if she sees that I’m perfectly happy about it.’

‘And are you-perfectly happy?’

He didn’t answer her in words but the truth was there in his eyes. He was dying inside.

‘You survived something like this,’ he said quietly. ‘Maybe you can teach me how.’

‘But-happy?’

‘That isn’t your concern any more. We could have been happy. Or at least I thought we could. I loved you, and I thought in time I could win your love. I hadn’t reckoned on your heart being so stubborn and awkward. Why do you think I used my mother as an intermediary? Because I knew it was too soon for you to have got over him. If I’d approached you myself, talking of love, it would only have driven you off further.’

‘But you knew-I mean there were things between us even then-’

‘Yes, desire, not love. Sometimes I felt you wanted me, but with your body, not your heart. That wasn’t mine, and if only you knew how much I wanted it, to have you look at me as I’d seen you look at him. I tried to keep it