Husband By Necessity

CHAPTER THREE

BERNARDO remained at the Residenza next day, but they had little time alone. Angie felt duty-bound to stay close to Heather, who slept most of the time under the influence of a sedative. Also, she found herself caught up in a family crisis.

‘Renato called Lorenzo,’ Bernardo told her. ‘But he’d checked out of his hotel in Stockholm this morning.’

‘But-I don’t understand. He was supposed to stay until tomorrow.’

‘I know. But he’s gone, and nobody knows where.’

‘He’s not playing fast and loose, is he?’ Angie demanded suspiciously.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Having a final fling before the wedding. I’ve heard about continental men.’

‘I’ll be-!’ Bernardo exclaimed, nettled. ‘That’s not only unjust, it’s bigoted, prejudiced-and I don’t know what. It’s practically racist. In fact, it is racist.’

‘Well, Italians do have rather a reputation.’ Angie said illogically.

‘Does that mean Lorenzo lives up to it? Do all Englishmen act the same way?’

‘Well, no. But I don’t know Lorenzo well enough to say what he is like. And, as his brother, you probably do.’

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. ‘Yes, I’m sorry.’

‘No, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.’

He looked at her with a little smile that made her heart turn over. ‘I think we just had our first quarrel.’

‘So we did.’

They exchanged rueful glances and he opened his arms, pulling her into a hug.

Our first quarrel, she thought. Before our first kiss. And if I didn’t want that kiss so badly I wouldn’t be on edge now.

With the house in a bustle there was no chance of developing the hug into something interesting. Footsteps in the corridor made them pull apart hastily. The next moment Renato entered, looking exasperated.

‘The mystery is solved,’ he said. ‘Lorenzo has just called to say he’s on his way home. Apparently he decided this morning to skip all his appointments and come back.’ His voice grated with displeasure on the last words.

‘He couldn’t bear to stay away from Heather,’ Angie sighed. ‘That’s sweet.’

‘It’s not sweet,’ Renato snapped. ‘He had work to do, work he was already behind with.’

‘He’s getting married in a few days-’ Angie protested.

‘Is he at the airport now?’ Bernardo put in quickly before an argument could start.

‘No, he was calling from Rome, where he had to make a connection. He’ll be here in about three hours.’

‘Fine,’ Angie said crisply. ‘I’ll tell Heather.’

She favoured him with a glare before walking out smartly, closely followed by Bernardo.

‘I pity Heather,’ she said crossly. ‘I really do. Fancy having Renato as a brother-in-law.’

‘Perhaps she loves Lorenzo enough not to mind being related to Renato,’ Bernardo observed. ‘They say love can do that to people.’

It flashed across her mind that he might not be talking about Heather and Lorenzo. For he himself was related to Renato, and if-

Don’t be absurd! This is a holiday romance. He hasn’t even kissed you yet!

Lorenzo’s return changed things, but not in the way she’d expected. He arrived that afternoon, looking harassed, and it didn’t seem to Angie that this was a man who’d tossed everything aside to be with his beloved. Instead he hurried to find Renato and the two of them spent the rest of the day closeted in the study, from behind whose door Angie could hear agitated voices.

Perhaps Lorenzo was berating his brother for not taking better care of Heather. She certainly hoped so. She wondered when she would have another chance to be alone with Bernardo.

It came the next day. Lorenzo, looking pale and tense, was swept off by Renato to work at the company’s head office in Palermo, while Baptista claimed Heather’s company.

‘Naturally, we’d be glad if you joined us,’ she said with a smile, ‘but I expect you and Bernardo have made other plans.’

‘Well-’

‘Of course you have. And when the wedding is over I hope you won’t feel you have to hurry back to England. Perhaps you could stay another week?’

‘Thank you, I’d like that,’ Angie said, feeling the sun come out inside her.

This time it was her choice to go to Montedoro. Bernardo offered to show her the island, but she wanted to return to his eagle kingdom, where he was most completely himself.

When they were part of the way up the mountain he turned the car onto the grass and they got out and walked under the trees. From here Sicily was spread out before them in all its glory. Above them birds sang, the trees were in full beauty and the sky was an unbelievable blue. Angie stopped to breathe in the sweet air. The next moment she felt his hand tighten on hers, and she was in his arms.

The feel of his lips locked onto hers sent happiness streaming through her. She kissed him back, fervently, eagerly, inviting him to kiss her more deeply. She felt his clasp grow more confident. He’d understand her at once, and they could bypass the first tentative questions that strangers needed to ask, for they had never been strangers. They’d known each other from the first moment in the airport, and this sweet blazing kiss had been inevitable then.

His lips were just as she had known they would be, firm and decisive, and her own responded frankly, no holding back. To have pretended reserve would have been a kind of dishonesty, when in truth her heart was reaching out to him.

Just now they asked little of each other, an eager embrace and lips seeking lips, exchanging warmth. She caught a glimpse of his face and he was almost smiling, like a man who’d discovered longed-for treasure and found it all he’d dreamed. There was a hint of surprise as well and it touched her heart. It was as though joy was so unfamiliar to him that he hardly dared to claim it as his own.

He trailed the fingers of one hand slowly down her cheek, almost as though he couldn’t believe she was really there. His words confirmed it.

‘You won’t vanish, will you? I’ve thought of this since the moment we met, and now-’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she said happily.

‘Except with me?’

‘Except with you.’

‘Kiss me-kiss me-’ His lips were on hers again before she had the chance to speak. Suddenly she was aware of everything in the world about her. The sun had never been so warm, the air so sweet, life so worth living.

Bernardo drew back a little. He was shaking. ‘We must go on to Montedoro,’ he said unsteadily. ‘I don’t trust myself to be alone with you.’ He kissed her briefly one more time. ‘Let’s go.’

Reluctantly she placed her hand in his and followed him to the car. She was moving in a happy dream, and it lasted all the way up the mountain.

Montedoro was in its full summer prosperity, bursting with tourists. To make the chaos worse, it was market day, and fifty stalls were crammed into the tiny piazza at the highest point of the little town. Every stall keeper greeted him with a cry of, ‘E, Signor Bernardo,’ and inclined their head courteously to Angie. Sometimes he merely waved and passed on. Sometimes he stopped to talk, always introducing her, and she became aware that she was being watched curiously on all sides.

They stopped for tea at a tiny convent where the Superior, Mother Francesca, welcomed him as a benefactor and a small, elderly nun made him swear not to leave until he’d tried her new batch of cakes. He solemnly promised, and Angie found herself eating the most delicious almond cakes she’d ever tasted.

Again she could feel the curious eyes on all sides and a frisson went up her spine. It was almost as though Bernardo was showing her to ‘his people’ for a purpose. But that was nonsense. This was a brief flirtation. Nothing more.

But her inner questions were like wisps of smoke. What was happening was out of her control.

While she was just trying to decide on another cake she heard someone knocking on the front door. The sound was faint, muffled by the thick stone walls, but she could just make out that the door was opened, for the knocking ceased, to be replaced by shouting, and the sound of a child crying. Then there were footsteps in the corridor. Mother Francesca hurried out and returned a moment later, looking troubled.

‘A little girl has been knocked down in the street and Dr Fortuno is away,’ she said. ‘So they’ve brought her to Sister Ignatia, our infirmary nurse.’

Bernardo glanced quickly at Angie who immediately said, ‘I’m a doctor. Can I help?’

‘I’d be so grateful,’ the nun replied. ‘We’re worried in case the child has some broken bones.’

The convent infirmary was a small room, with a bed, equipped for little more than first aid. On the bed was lying a little girl of about eight, crying bitterly. With her was an old woman dressed in black. She had a lined, nut brown face and white hair, covered by a black headscarf. Sister Ignatia spoke to her in Sicilian, indicating Angie, and immediately the old woman was up in arms, standing between them and letting forth a stream of Sicilian whose meaning was only too clear.

Sister Ignatia silenced her, explaining that Angie was a doctor, which at first the woman flatly refused to believe. This was a young woman. How could she be a doctor? Even without knowing the words Angie was able to follow this without trouble.

But it seemed there was another problem. The old woman refused to be placated, pointing at Angie’s trousers with an expression of outrage.

‘I’m sorry,’ Bernardo said, embarrassed. ‘This is a very old fashioned place, and especially the older generation-’

‘You mean my trousers bother her?’ Angie asked.

‘At one time-the only women who wore them-’ Bernardo broke off in embarrassment.

‘Were “bad” women,’ Angie finished for him. ‘It’s all right. I understand.’

Bernardo tried to speak to the grandmother. Her attitude immediately became deferential and it was clear to Angie that he was the local ‘great man’. But there was a point beyond which deference did not go, even for him, and she remained obdurate.

‘It’s no use,’ Angie told him. ‘You’re the wrong person.’ She turned to the Reverend Mother. ‘If you vouch for my good character, surely this lady will accept your word?’

The Superior nodded and immediately broke into rapid speech. The old woman’s face began to relax and she glanced at Angie uncertainly. But still she didn’t yield, until the little girl gave a loud cry and sobbed more bitterly than ever.

‘That’s it, I’m going to work,’ Angie said firmly. She stepped forward, and to her relief the grandmother didn’t try to hinder her.

She began examining the patient who, to her relief, wasn’t seriously injured. There were some nasty cuts and bruises but nothing was broken. With Sister Ignatia’s help she cleaned the child up, and bathed and dressed her cuts.

Then, mindful of professional etiquette, she said, ‘You should let Dr Fortuno see her when he returns. He may want to send her for X-rays, but I don’t think so. If he wants to talk to me I’ll be glad to discuss what I’ve done.’

She finished with a smile at the little girl, who smiled back, evidently having decided that this was a good person. The grandmother watched them both closely. So did the nuns. So did Bernardo.

When they left he became quiet, walking with his fingers entwined with hers but saying nothing. Sometimes he would look at her with a curious little smile.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘You look different all the time. There are so many of you.’

‘No, there’s only one of me. Truly.’

‘Then you have a thousand faces. I no longer seem to know what to say to you.’

‘What do you want to say?’

He raised her hand and brushed his lips over it.

‘Now I really believe you’re a doctor,’ he said as they strolled on. ‘The way you took charge, dealt with that awkward woman-you were right, of course. She wouldn’t have taken a man’s word for your good character-even mine-because she thought-well-’ he shrugged self-consciously ‘-but she had to take the Reverend Mother’s word for it.’

Noting the unconscious arrogance of that ‘even mine’, Angie thought that he was more of a Martelli than he wanted to admit, but she only said, ‘I can’t believe that she got so worked up just because of how I was dressed.’

‘It’s only twelve years since a Sicilian woman published an autobiographical novel about a girl who became the town outcast because she wanted to wear trousers,’ Bernardo told her. ‘It was a best-seller in these parts.

‘And my mother used to tell me of a woman she’d known who had no chance of marriage because she’d “had a man”. Eventually I found out what “had a man” meant. She’d been seen drinking coffee with him at an outside table of a café.’

‘And that was all it took?’ Angie demanded, aghast.

‘That was all it took. It isn’t an easy society for a woman, especially one from a strange culture-’

‘Did she come from a strange culture?’

‘Who?’ he asked, sounding startled.

‘This woman who had coffee with a man.’

‘I don’t know where she came from,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Stella will be waiting for us with a meal.’

Stella had laid herself out to please, with flowers on the table and food served on the best china. The Montedoro grapevine had ensured that she already knew of the day’s dramatic events, and she treated Angie with a new touch of deference, anxiously awaiting her verdict on every dish.

‘Thank goodness,’ Bernardo said when Stella had finally left them to their coffee. ‘I’ve wanted to be alone with you all day, but there was always somebody else, and now the day has gone.’

‘Not all of it,’ she said. She was standing by a window that looked out over the valley. The darkness was descending, gradually concealing everything except some lights that flickered far below. This was a magic place, she thought happily, and the most perfect magic was to be with Bernardo.

He came to join her. ‘I’m glad you’ve seen my home like this,’ he said. ‘This is when it’s at its most beautiful.’

‘I know. I’ve never seen anything so enchanting.’

‘Angie-’ He moved his lips towards hers, and she waited, her heart beating.

The scream of the doorbell broke the spell.

‘Damn!’ Bernardo said violently, jerking backwards. ‘Who can it be now?’

It was Dr Fortuno, eager to talk to Angie. He was full of gratitude for her help, overflowing with explanations for his absence-his practice was spread so wide-he couldn’t be in two places at once, etc. etc.

He was an elderly man who looked tired from a long day, and even more tired from a long life and a demanding job. Angie swiftly formed the impression that he was a decent, well-meaning doctor in a basic way, but the advances of medical science had left him far behind.

Bernardo concealed his impatience, treated him courteously, plied him with coffee, wine, cakes, and listened with Angie while the old man said everything three times. By the time Dr Fortuno made his way out of the front door, still talking, two hours had passed.

With the door safely closed, Bernardo muttered, ‘Malediri!’

‘Is that a Sicilian curse?’ Angie asked with a rueful little smile.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It certainly is. And now it’s time for me to drive you home.’ He looked at her.

‘Yes, I suppose you should,’ Angie agreed doubtfully.

‘It’s late-they’ll be wondering-’

‘Yes.’

‘If he hadn’t called-’ she said slowly.

Their eyes met, and they both knew he wasn’t going to let her go without kissing her.

‘Bernardo…’ she whispered, and the next moment she was in his arms, her lips on his, in the kiss she’d dreamed of every moment since their first one that afternoon.

His lips were as warmly possessive as she’d known they would be, and as thrilling. The kiss was like the man himself, ardent, blunt, sincere. All the pent-up frustration of the evening was there in her, and she could feel the same in him. It was like meeting him all over again, but more sweetly, more intensely, and for ever.

‘Angie,’ he murmured, ‘amor mia…’

‘Yes,’ she said, feverishly caressing his lips with her own. ‘Oh, yes…’

She heard the click as his bedroom door opened, and she moved easily with him until they were inside. The rush of passion that possessed her was driving thought away, turning her into a single flame of desire. They had been made for each other, they’d both known that from the first, and it seemed only a short step to this moment when he drew her down on the bed.

His arms tightened, drawing her fiercely against him. Her lips parted readily to the insistence of his probing tongue and the next moment she felt him, the tip of his tongue flickering provocatively against the sensitive inside of her mouth. Through those movements she was vibrantly aware of every part of him and of herself.

Her whole body was his. It had already belonged to him even before he’d tried to claim it. Excitement was gathering strength within her, propelling her forward to the beauty that awaited, that she was eager for. As his mouth made a burning trail down her neck she arched against him, inviting his deeper exploration, thrilling to the feel of his hands beginning to rove more intimately over her.

And then, at the most beautiful moment, coming out of nowhere, shaking her with alarm, came the thought, This is more than I want.

One part of her ached with longing to lie with him and give herself up to her feelings, both physical and emotional. She wanted him, yearned for him. But afterwards? Did she want that? If she made love with this serious man it would no longer be a light-hearted holiday romance, for there was nothing light-hearted about Bernardo. Whatever he did he would do with passionate intensity, meaning everything with his whole soul. But that was too much.

Reluctantly she put up a hand, fending him off. ‘Bernardo, no-please-’

She had a glimpse of the fierce light in his eyes, then he shuddered and released her. He turned away fast and held onto the brass end of the bed, breathing hard. When he looked around his eyes were calmer, but his expression was still distraught.

‘You’re right,’ he said in a shaking voice. ‘It mustn’t be like this. I can’t treat you like a-you are more to me than that, more than anything. Forgive me.’ He pulled himself together. ‘It’s late. I must get you home.’

Neither of them spoke as he drove carefully down the mountain, and Angie was glad of the silence. It gave her shattered nerves a chance to calm down, and it also gave her time to ponder the meaning of Bernardo’s words. He’d backed off, just as she had, but for the opposite reason. By refusing to make love with her he’d mysteriously taken their relationship into the realms of love and commitment, where she had feared to tread. And with every part of her she found she was glad.

He came with her as far as the downstairs hall, and kissed her cheek as chastely as a boy with his first love. ‘Good night,’ he said, turning to go.

‘Aren’t you sleeping here tonight?’

He smiled ruefully. ‘I dare not. I can’t trust myself to sleep under the same roof with you. When this wedding is over, we-’

‘Yes,’ she said wistfully. ‘We will.’

‘Until then-goodnight, my love.’

The last day before the wedding. A shopping trip with Heather and Baptista, who insisted on buying them both gifts. She had seen a dress she thought would suit Heather, and wanted her to have it before the honeymoon.

‘I know you’ll be sailing most of the time,’ she said, ‘but when you put into port and go dancing, you will look beautiful in this. My Lorenzo is so lucky.’

While Heather was in the fitting room Baptista gave Angie a conspiratorial smile. ‘I’m so grateful to you,’ she said. ‘These last few days Bernardo has looked happier than at any time since I’ve known him. Perhaps we’ll soon have another wedding.’

‘Oh-well-’

‘Forgive me,’ Baptista said quickly. ‘That was clumsy. I would never try to rush you into marriage with Bernardo. He’s a strange man, in many ways, not like the other men, but I’m sure you’ve realised that for yourself.’

‘Very much so.’ Angie hesitated, ‘I know how he comes to be living as your son-’

‘To me, he is my son. I would gladly love him as I do the other two, for Vincente’s sake. It is Bernardo himself who will not allow it. Sadly, he can never regard me as any kind of mother. I think he feels it would be a betrayal of his real mother. There is a Sicilian saying “A man’s mother is his soul. If he loses her, he will never find her again.”

‘Sicily is still a very male-dominated society, almost nineteenth-century in many ways. So it may surprise you to know that our men take this saying seriously. Bernardo takes it very seriously indeed. I think-and I’m guessing, because he doesn’t confide in me-that he feels he betrayed his mother’s memory by coming to us after her death.

‘This may be why he’s never allowed himself to be part of the family, although we would have welcomed him. I gave him his father’s name, but-’ she smiled sadly ‘I know he never uses it. He could have had a third of his father’s fortune. Lorenzo and Renato agreed that this was just.

‘But Bernardo refused. He accepted the property in Montedoro, because my husband had clearly intended it for him. But the rest, the vineyards, the orchards, the canning factories-none of this will he touch, not even the vineyards near Montedoro itself. He administers them, but only for a salary. He has wealthy brothers, but he insists on remaining a relatively poor man, for I don’t think the rents on the property up there bring in very much.’

‘But why?’ Angie asked, frowning. ‘I understand about his loyalty to his mother, but that’s hardly-I mean-’

‘It can only be part of the explanation,’ Baptista agreed. ‘There must be something else, but we’re not close enough for me to ask. Inside him, there’s something dark and dangerous, something that holds him back from too much human contact. He can be a generous man, but also a hard and unforgiving one. To the woman he loved he would show a face that nobody else would be allowed to see, but even for her he wouldn’t be easy to love. I know only that he is driven by furies, and-and one fury in particular.’

‘And that is?’

Baptista sighed. ‘It’s not my place to speak. I can only guess at his deepest secret, and I may be wrong. When he trusts you with it, you will know he truly loves you.’

Heather emerged from the fitting room in the dress which was as gorgeous on her as Baptista had predicted. In the bustle of preparing to leave, and receiving the diamond brooch Baptista insisted on giving to Angie, the subject was allowed to drop.

That night Heather awoke in the early hours and saw Angie sitting by the window.

‘What is it?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘No, there’s nothing wrong,’ Angie assured her. ‘I’m just enjoying a little laugh against myself.’

Heather got out of bed, pulled on a robe and came to sit beside her. ‘It’s Bernardo, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Angie said softly. ‘It’s Bernardo.’

Heather gave her a hug. ‘Why were you laughing at yourself?’

‘Because I thought I had love taped. I was the one who danced into romance and danced out again when it suited me. It was a game: flirtations, all played with men who were playing the same game, and no hearts broken on either side. Or at least,’ she added with rueful honesty, ‘not on my side, at any rate.

‘I thought Bernardo was going to be just another holiday love. I sized him up, decided he’d be a pleasant pastime for a few days, and took him on. Oh, boy, did I make a mistake!’ She gave a shaky laugh. ‘I’m not going to dance out of this one.’

‘Do you want to?’

‘No,’ Angie said, half laughing, half tearful. ‘I love him so much it hurts. I think about him all the time. He fills my heart.’

‘But you’ve only known him a few days.’

‘I know. That’s what makes it silliest of all. Just a few days was enough-or a few minutes. I think I knew as soon as we met in the airport. He was the one. He was the reason none of the others ever became too serious. They weren’t him. I was waiting for him all the time, and now I’ve found him, I couldn’t face life without him.’

‘But surely you won’t have to. I think he’s just as overwhelmed as you. Hasn’t he told you?’

‘He doesn’t use many words,’ Angie said, but her eyes told the rest.

‘I’m really happy for you. Are you happy?’

‘Oh, yes, yes, so happy. If only he’d say something to make it definite!’ Angie laughed wildly and buried her face in her hands. ‘Isn’t it a big joke? I kept them all dangling and it was only fun. But now someone’s keeping me dangling and it isn’t fun any more. Angie’s met her match.’ She raised her head. Her mouth was curved in a blissful smile. ‘But it’s a lovely match.’

Suddenly she was shaken by a fierce joy that had in it a touch of inexplicable anguish. She crossed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes, racked by the strength of her feelings. ‘Oh, Heather,’ she whispered, ‘it’s such a lovely, lovely match.’