‘I know. Her name’s Baptista, and if I’m worried about anything, it’s how she’s going to view me.’
‘But you showed me the letter she wrote you. It was lovely.’
‘It’s just that someone who can put her own feelings aside to do what she saw as her duty-well, you’d never really know what she was thinking, would you?’
‘It’s what Lorenzo thinks about you that counts,’ Angie said staunchly. ‘Hey, isn’t that Sicily, down there?’
From here they could see the triangular island: close to Italy, yet apart from it, separated only by a narrow strip of water, the Straits of Messina, yet with its own distinct identity.
‘A Sicilian,’ Lorenzo had told her, ‘is always a Sicilian first and an Italian afterwards. Sometimes he is barely an Italian at all. So many races meet in us that we think of ourselves as a race apart, doing things our own way.’
She was searching for him as soon as she and Angie left Customs. And there he was, with another man. He waved eagerly to her and broke into a run. Heather hastened towards him, while Angie brought up the rear, smiling, pushing the baggage trolley, and eyeing the second man with pleasurable speculation.
Lorenzo hugged his bride, kissing her between words. ‘It’s been such-a long-time, my darling.’
‘Yes-yes,’ she said kissing him back.
It was marvellous how certain she was now that she was here. Within a few minutes of landing in Sicily Heather knew she had come home. Everything about this place felt perfect, even before she’d discovered the details. And that could only mean that she was doing the right thing in marrying Lorenzo.
‘This is my brother, Bernardo,’ Lorenzo said at last, indicating the man with him.
‘Half-brother,’ murmured the man.
‘Bernardo, meet Heather, my bride-to-be.’
She introduced Angie to Lorenzo. But when he tried to present Bernardo his brother waved him away with a grin. ‘We’ve already introduced ourselves,’ he said, ‘while you two were-er-saying hello.’
This caused general laughter. Bernardo took charge of the trolley and they made their way to the car, where he invited Angie to sit in the front with him.
‘They won’t want to be disturbed,’ he said, smiling.
So many sensations were converging on Heather that she had only a confused impression of the most brilliant colours she had ever seen, the bluest sky, the sweetest air. Bernardo swung the car around the outskirts of Palermo and down the coast, and soon the Residenza Martelli came into sight.
Heather sat up to watch it eagerly. Lorenzo had told her about his home, how it was built on an incline, overlooking the sea, but no words had conveyed its beauty. It rose before them, tier upon tier, balcony on balcony, each one a sea of blooms. Geraniums, jasmine, white and red oleanders, clematis and bougainvillaea danced together in a dizzying riot of colour that was always in perfect harmony.
Then they were on a winding road that twisted and turned, bringing the villa nearer until at last they swung into a courtyard. A flight of broad steps led up to a wide, arched entrance, with a door that was being opened from the inside. Through it came a small, elderly woman, making her way slowly with the aid of a walking stick. She took her place on the top step.
‘That’s my mother,’ Lorenzo said, taking Heather’s hand to lead her up the stairs.
Baptista looked imperious, despite her evident frailty and the fact that she barely came up to Lorenzo’s shoulder. She was in her early sixties, but illness had aged her and she looked older. Beneath her shining white hair her face was sharp, and her brilliant blue eyes missed nothing. But Heather saw the warmth in those eyes, and when the thin arms went around her she felt the unexpected strength in the old woman’s embrace.
‘Welcome, my dear,’ Baptista said. ‘Welcome to the family.’
She was beaming, her expression full of kindness. She greeted Angie equally warmly. ‘When you have seen your room, then we can take a little refreshment together.’
Although the house bore the modest title of Residenza, it might more aptly have been called a palace. It was built in medieval style, of beautiful yellow stone, with long tile and mosaic corridors. The rooms were lined sometimes with marble, sometimes with tapestries. Everywhere Heather saw wealth, beauty, elegance, and an inbred assumption of authority.
She and Angie were sharing a huge room. It bore two large four-poster beds hung with white net curtains which matched those at the tall windows leading onto the broad terrace, facing inland. Beneath it was the huge garden, and beyond that the land stretched away until it rose into dark, misty mountains on the horizon. Everywhere the colours had a vividness Heather had never seen before. After the pastel shades of England their sheer depth and brightness overwhelmed her.
A maid helped them unpack, then showed them out onto the terrace that went all around the house, and led them to the front, where Baptista was seated at a small rustic table, looking out over the bay. Bernardo and Lorenzo were there, and immediately drew out chairs, and when they were seated filled their glasses with Marsala. A larger table nearby was laden with Sicilian cheesecake, zabaglione, coffee ice with whipped cream, candied fruit ring, and several other things that they were too dazed to take in.
‘I wasn’t sure of your preferences, so I ordered a variety,’ Baptista murmured.
The food and wine were delicious. Overhead a flowered awning sheltered them from the bright sun, and a soft breeze was springing up. Heather wondered how she had ever lived before coming to this perfect place. Lorenzo kept catching her eye and smiling, and his smile was irresistible, making her return it.
‘That’s enough,’ Baptista said imperiously, tapping his hand. ‘You’ll have plenty of time to play the fool, my son. Go away now, and let me get to know your bride.’
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN Lorenzo had vanished, and Bernardo was showing Angie the garden, Baptista refilled Heather’s glass. ‘Renato told me how your prompt action saved his life,’ she said. ‘You and I have been friends from that moment.’
‘You’re very kind,’ Heather said, ‘but didn’t he also tell you that it was my fault he was ever in danger?’
‘I think he was largely to blame. He made you angry with his high-handedness. I’ve spoken to him very severely.’
Heather concealed a smile. The idea of the domineering Renato being alarmed by anything his frail mother might say was charming, but unconvincing.
‘You are going to be very important to this family,’ Baptista continued. ‘More important than perhaps you can imagine. Lorenzo says you have no family of your own.’
‘I was an only child. My mother died when I was six. My father couldn’t cope without her.’ Heather paused. She seldom talked about this because it seemed a betrayal of the sweet-natured, confused little man who’d longed only to follow his wife. But suddenly she wanted to confide in Baptista. ‘He drank rather more than he ought,’ she said. ‘In the end he couldn’t keep a job.’
‘And so you looked after him,’ Baptista said gently.
‘We sort of looked after each other. He was kind and I loved him. When I was sixteen he caught pneumonia and just faded away. The last thing he said to me was, “Sorry, love.”’
She’d sobbed over her father’s grave, unable to voice the real pain: the knowledge that she hadn’t been enough for him. The practical difficulties had followed-lack of money, the abandonment of her dream of college, seizing the first job she could find. She explained in as few words as possible, and had the feeling that Baptista understood.
They talked for an hour, and each moment Heather felt herself grow closer to this regal but kindly woman. When Lorenzo poked his head out through the net curtains with a questioning look on his face, both women welcomed him with a smile. Laughing, he joined them, bringing fresh cakes.
From inside the house they heard Renato’s voice, and suddenly he appeared through the long white curtains. When she’d seen him and Lorenzo off at the airport in England he’d looked pale, his arm in a sling. Now he moved freely and his look of vibrant health had returned.
She felt a slight shock. She had forgotten his massiveness, the heavy muscles of his neck, his air of being about to charge. Here in his native land, amid the fierce sun and the bright colours, that effect was reinforced.
Renato went first to his mother, greeting her with a mixture of affection and respect that caught Heather’s
