Patrick gave her a dark, smouldering look, but in front of her uncle had to accept the answer.
She spent the rest of the day imagining what it would have been like to go with him, see the opalescent mists rise as the vaporetto sped over the water, and the sun came through, to stare up at the cemetery island of San Michele, the white walls, behind which were white Carrara marble monuments, the tall, dark flames of cypresses burning against the blue sky, the angels, flowers, and photographs of the dead on the graves. The whole island had a melancholy tranquillity, which she loved.
She knew, by now, that Patrick’s passion for such places matched her own. They had found out so much about each other from their hours of talking about painting, sculpture, music, perhaps even more from the silences that fell now and then when both of them sat watching the light on the falling spray of water from the fountain, the dark shadows of the fig tree shifting on the gravel, the sound of pigeons cooing on a warm afternoon.
She went for a walk along the riva for an hour that afternoon, and when she got back the front door was opened by Susan-Jane.
‘I didn’t know you were coming today!’ Antonia said, delightedly hugging her.
‘I was missing Alex; don’t tell him!’ Susan-Jane grinned at her. ‘You’re looking very well, I’m pleased to see. How’s Cy? Is he back?’
Self-consciously, Antonia shook her head. ‘Did Rae Dunhill come with you?’
‘She’s upstairs, unpacking,’ said Susan-Jane. ‘I’d better go and help. Could you make us all a long, cool drink?’
Antonia went to mix drinks, listening to the others upstairs, unpacking, filling the little pink house with laughter, perfume and the sound of talking. Wardrobe doors clicked open, hangers rattled, drawers slammed shut, voices called from room to room, and downstairs Antonia listened edgily.
‘I have to be in Florence next Tuesday,’ said Rae Dunhill.
‘But you’ll stay until then?’ asked Alex.
‘If you can put up with me that long!’
The Holtners laughed. ‘Of course we can! We wouldn’t have invited you if we hadn’t wanted you! And you and Patrick will have plenty of time to talk and get your plans settled.’
Rae laughed softly, huskily. ‘Oh, I can’t wait to see him again! We work together so well; he was always able to make my ideas visual; and that’s not something I could say about any other artist I’ve ever worked with. I hope he’s back to normal now. He was an absolute pet to work with until Laura Grainger broke off their engagement.’
Antonia wished she knew what Laura Grainger had really been like. Patrick rarely mentioned her name. Everyone said she looked like Laura Grainger, but Rae had said Laura was beautiful, and Antonia knew that she wasn’t. She was too thin, had no figure and no sex appeal, and, for the last two years, she hadn’t wanted to have any.
‘Laura can’t possibly have found anyone better than Patrick,’ Rae said upstairs. ‘I hope you’re right, Alex, and he’s his old self again!’
‘I’m not sure what his old self was like,’ Alex said drily.
‘He was a lamb,’ Rae said. ‘I was always able to manage Patrick, get him to do what I wanted.’
Antonia didn’t believe a word of it.
Susan-Jane sounded surprised, too. ‘He doesn’t seem the biddable type. In fact I’d have said he was quite a difficult guy.’
‘He never used to be!’ said Rae. ‘Patrick wasn’t one of your male chauvinists; he wasn’t the type to throw his weight around or expect to be boss in a relationship with a woman.’
‘Are you sure you’re talking about the Patrick Ogilvie we know?’ Susan-Jane said laughingly.
‘I don’t suppose you know him very well yet,’ Rae said complacently. ‘Patrick likes strong women. Laura Grainger was one, you know—very tough, very ambitious. And Patrick was absolutely crazy about her.’
Antonia felt a painful clutch at her heart, and her eyes opened in shocked self-realisation. She was sick with jealousy, couldn’t bear to think of Patrick being ‘crazy’ over someone else.
‘I’d heard she was gorgeous to look at, and very clever,’ said Susan-Jane with open curiosity. ‘I wonder why she dumped Patrick and married someone else. What had the other guy got that Patrick hadn’t?’
‘I rather gathered he was a farmer somewhere remote in England, still living in the Dark Ages as far as relations with women were concerned. I’d have hated him. Patrick and I always worked well together because he let me make all the decisions!’ Rae Dunhill laughed, yet under her amusement was quite serious.
Susan-Jane said drily, ‘You wouldn’t like working with Alex, then—he wouldn’t let you make his decisions for him!’
‘Sorry, Rae, but she’s right!’ Alex said, sounding even drier. ‘I’ll cook a meal for Susan-Jane if she’s tired, look after her if she’s ill, and when we have to make plans together we discuss them and come to some mutual agreement, but I won’t let her make all the decisions, any more than I’d expect her to let me make them. We share everything fifty-fifty.’
At that moment Antonia heard Patrick arriving back. He walked into the kitchen and she felt her heart beating so fast that she was afraid he might actually hear it. Suntanned, slim, in well-washed blue jeans and a white T-shirt, his brown hair bleached to a gleaming bronze, he took her breath away; she couldn’t bear the idea of him with Rae. She looked at him with jealousy and pain, and Patrick stared back at her, his brows pulling together.
‘Don’t look so delighted to see me, will you?’
‘Rae and Susan-Jane have arrived,’ Antonia said flatly.
His face changed. ‘They have?’ He turned, listening to the sound of voices upstairs, and smiled. ‘I thought they were coming on Monday!’
‘They managed to get an earlier flight.’ Antonia watched the sunlight gleam on his brown skin, the line of jaw and mouth, the strong throat rising out of the T-shirt, which clung like a second
