The Italian Millionaire’s Marriage

CHAPTER SEVEN

IN THE early morning light Harriet awoke suddenly and sat up, listening to the silence. Slipping out of bed she went to the tall window and pushed it open, looking out onto the quiet countryside, dotted with pine trees.

The memory of last night still seemed to live in every part of her, mind, heart and body. She’d seen a side of Marco she’d never dreamed of. She’d known that he was full of contradictory qualities, that he could be charming, seductive, calculating and ruthlessly determined. But she hadn’t known that he could be dangerous. She knew now. For the few moments that he’d held her in his arms, forcing bruising, desperate kisses onto her, the air had crackled with danger, and she had felt alive as never before. It was shocking, but it was true.

She tried to call common sense to her aid. Whatever tumult of feeling she’d thought she detected, the truth was that Marco had been trying to prove a point. She’d made a fool of him and he wouldn’t stand for it. He’d reclaimed her in front of their guests, but pride had driven him to give her a demonstration of power when they were alone. He’d wanted to show her that he could fire her with such passion that she was his, whether she liked it or not.

And he’d succeeded. She knew now what his touch could do to her. The lightest caress could melt her so that she could think only of more caresses, and more…

But his own thoughts were different, she guessed, summoning his face to her mind and trying to read his eyes. He wanted to show her that, while he wouldn’t allow himself to become hers, she had no choice but to be his. In the cold light of day there was no more to it than that.

But the light of day wasn’t cold. As she raised her eyes to Rome’s distant hills she could see the golden glow of the rising sun.

It was nearly six in the morning. Marco, the early-rising banker, would be up by now and she needed to hear his voice. But his phone was switched off and when she called his apartment she was answered by a machine. She didn’t leave a message. How could she when she didn’t know what she wanted to say?

She needed to be outdoors. Hastily throwing on jeans and a sweater she slipped down the stairs and into the grounds. For a while the trees pressed close together and she was able to get away from the house, moving down winding paths that led in several directions.

That was her life now, moving along winding paths to a destination she no longer knew. A voice inside warned her to go home, but there was a bittersweet ache in her heart that said stay. She was a mass of confused feelings, and she couldn’t have said where she wanted her path to lead.

She came to a small lake and began to stroll along the edge of the water, relishing the beauty of the day. The morning mist had vanished, the light was fresh, and the sound of birdsong rose in the clear air.

Where was he?

Then she saw something that made her stop and catch her breath. A man was sitting on the ground against a tree, one arm flung across his bent knee, still in the clothes he’d worn last night, but for his jacket which had been tossed aside. His shirt was open halfway down, and the way his head was flung back against the tree showed the strong, brown column of his neck, and the thick curly hair that covered his chest.

Dropping down quietly beside him Harriet saw that his eyes were closed and he breathed heavily as though sleeping. For once all tension was drained away from his features, the mouth softened, gentle, as though it had never said a harsh or bitter word. She knelt there awhile, watching his unshaven face, the hair falling over his forehead and the dark shadows beneath his eyes, feeling a tenderness he’d never inspired in her before. She knew he would hate the idea of being studied like this, while he was vulnerable and unaware, but she lingered one more moment-just one more-

He opened his eyes.

Instead of being angry he surprised her again, simply sitting motionless, gazing at her so long that she wondered if he actually saw her. At last the dazed look faded from his eyes, replaced by a helpless pain.

‘You still speaking to me?’ he said at last.

She nodded. There was a lump in her throat.

He sighed and dropped his head onto the arm across his knee. ‘That’s more than I deserve,’ he said in a muffled voice. He raised his head. ‘I guess I had too much to drink.’

‘I didn’t see you drinking very much.’

‘You weren’t there to see-’ he checked himself with a shrug. ‘Forget it.’

‘Have you been out here all night?’

‘Since I left you, yes.’

‘I thought you were going home.’

‘I had to get away from you, but I couldn’t leave you, if that makes any sense.’

It made perfect sense. Since he’d stormed out last night she’d felt a persistent tug in her heart, as though it was connected to his by an invisible thread. Now she knew that he had felt it, too.

She sat down properly beside him, took one of his cold hands and began to rub it. He let her, seemingly too drained to react, but his eyes were on her hand, minus the ring.

‘I haven’t looked for it yet,’ she explained. ‘It could be anywhere in that big room. Suppose we never find it?’

His answer was the faintest possible shrug. After a moment his fingers moved to grasp hers. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked quietly.

‘Yes, I’m fine.’

‘Did I-hurt you?’

It was there again; the force of his mouth against hers, bruising, crushing, driving her wild with its ruthless persistence: the feelings still lived in her flesh, excitement, alarm, the joy of risk-taking, never known before.

‘No, you didn’t hurt me,’ she said.

‘Are you sure? I have a hellish temper, I’m afraid.’

‘You weren’t trying to hurt me.’

‘No,’ he said huskily. ‘No, I was trying to make you aware of me.’ His mouth quirked faintly at the corner. ‘When I was a child I used to cope with frustration by roaring at the top of my voice. Then people listened.’

‘Yes, I think I would have guessed something like that,’ she said gently.

‘Time I grew out of it, huh?’

‘People don’t stop being the way they are. You don’t frighten me.’

‘Thank God! Because that’s the last thing I’d ever want. Please Harriet, forget everything about last night.’

‘Everything? You mean-?’

‘Every last damned thing,’ he said emphatically. ‘Go to Manelli’s house whenever you like. There’ll be no more trouble, I promise. What’s past is past. It was a kind of madness, no more.’

‘But Marco, what got into you? It wasn’t drink, I know that.’

‘I can’t explain, but there are some things I’m not-rational about. Let’s just say that I get jealous easily. And possessive. It’s not nice. I apologise.’

‘You have nothing to be jealous about.’

‘I know. But there are things I can’t forget.’

‘About the other woman, the one you were going to marry?’

He stirred. ‘What do you know about her?’

‘Not much. You were engaged, then you both changed your mind.’

A long silence, then he said as though the words were dredged up from some fearful depths. ‘It was a little more complicated than that.’

‘Break ups aren’t usually completely equal,’ she suggested tentatively.

He nodded. ‘Something of the kind. Whatever! It makes me act unreasonably, and I’m sorry.’

She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, thinking that she’d never in her life seen a man so unhappy.

‘When you find the ring,’ he said wearily, ‘will you wear it again?’

She hesitated. ‘I don’t know.’

‘If you leave now-so soon after last night-’ he gave a bark of laughter. ‘That’ll give the gossips something to talk about. And also-’ he grew quiet again ‘-it would hurt my mother badly.’

‘I won’t leave-for the moment.’

‘Thank you.’

Suddenly he leaned forward, resting his head against her in an attitude of despondency, almost of despair, she thought. Her arms went about him and she held him close, longing to comfort him, but knowing that there was a part of him she still couldn’t reach. She dropped her own head, resting her cheek against his dishevelled hair, and tried to tell him, through the strength of her embrace, that she was there for him. She thought she felt his arms tighten about her, as though he’d found something he needed to cling to.

They sat motionless while the warmth stole through her. Not the warmth of passion: something quite different and far more alarming. While they fought she could hold out against him, even in the face of her own desire. But his sudden vulnerability shook desire into a fierce longing to protect him that was suspiciously like love.

Disaster! She hadn’t meant to love him, wasn’t sure she wanted to. It was a trap and she’d fallen into it before she knew it was there.

Why couldn’t you have gone on driving me nuts? she thought. It was easier then. This isn’t fair.

He stirred and she released him. He pushed back his hair, which immediately fell over his forehead again. ‘I suppose I look like a tramp?’

‘A bit,’ she said tenderly.

He started to get up and winced. ‘I’m stiff!’

‘If you’ve been here all night I’m not surprised. Let me help.’

He slipped an arm about her neck and got painfully to his feet, scooping up his leaf-stained jacket.

‘The ground’s damp,’ she said. ‘You could catch pneumonia like this.’

‘I used to sleep out a lot when I was a kid. Just over there in the woods, there’s a place where I’d make a camp and pretend I was an outlaw.’

‘Show me.’ She wanted to prolong this gentle time with him.

‘All right.’

Still with his arm around her shoulders he guided her through the trees and up a steep slope to a clearing. ‘This is where I used to sleep out under the stars,’ he said.

‘It’s a wonderful view.’

‘Yes, “the enemy” couldn’t approach you unaware.’

‘Unless they came from above,’ she pointed out. ‘But I expect you posted sentries. How many of you were there?’

‘Just me. I used to envy Leo and Guido who were brothers and had each other. Actually they were separated when Guido was ten, and Uncle Francesco took him to live in Venice, leaving Leo in Tuscany. But I always thought of them as having each other.’

‘It’s a pity you didn’t have any brothers and sisters.’

‘My father died early, and Mamma never wanted to marry again.’

‘But surely you had some friends?’

He shrugged. ‘At school.’

But none for his fantasy life, she thought, pitying the lonely little boy. She thought of how much easier he was when surrounded by the rest of the boisterous Calvani family, like a man who would gladly be one of them, but always felt slightly apart.

‘You can see almost as far as Rome from this spot,’ he said. ‘At night I used to sit under this tree and watch the lights. Just here.’ He put his jacket on the ground and indicated for her to sit on it beside him.

‘You too,’ she said, making room for him.

They sat quietly together as the light expanded and the sound of birdsong grew louder. His hand had found its way into hers.

‘This is a wonderful place,’ she said. ‘I can understand you wanting to come here often.’

There was no answer, and she became aware of a weight on her shoulder. Turning, she found his head lying against her, his eyes closed again.

Now she saw something else in his face. He was weary in a way that had nothing to do with missed sleep. Strain and tension had fallen away, but they left behind a bone-deep exhaustion that looked as if it had been there a long time, perhaps years.

She’d never thought to pity Marco, but she pitied him now in a way that she didn’t entirely understand. But there would be time to learn about him, and reach out to the trouble deep within him. Gently she brushed the hair back from his forehead.

He stirred and opened his eyes, looking straight into her smiling ones.

‘You fell asleep again,’ she said tenderly.

‘Yes-’ he sounded unsure of himself. ‘How long?’

‘Just a few minutes.’

Then she saw the look that she’d dreaded, as though shutters had come down. Light faded from his eyes, leaving a deliberate emptiness as he withdrew back into the comfortless place within himself. He pulled away from her and got to his feet, not letting her assist him this time, but offering his own hand to help her up. She took it, rising so quickly that she almost lost her balance. He steadied her with his other hand on her arm, but didn’t draw her close, as he could so easily have done.

With dismay she realised that it was all gone, the warmth and communication that had been there before. Now his eyes were watchful. Perhaps he was even more wary of her because he’d allowed her to draw near.

‘What time is it?’ he asked, consulting his watch. ‘Past seven. I’ve got to be going. I’m sorry for putting all this onto you.’

‘I’m glad we talked,’ she said, seeking a way back to him. ‘I understand you better now.’

He shrugged. ‘What is there to understand? I behaved badly, for which I’m sorry. You’ve been very patient, but there’s no reason for you to put up with my moods. I won’t inflict them on you again.’

She nearly said, ‘Not even when we’re married?’ but the words wouldn’t come. Everything that had seemed certain a moment ago had vanished into illusion. She no longer knew him.

She made one last try. ‘Moods aren’t the worst thing in the world. Maybe people shouldn’t be polite all the time. I wasn’t very polite to you last night and you-’

‘Overreacted I’m afraid. But it won’t happen again. Now, can we leave it?’

He rubbed his stubbled jaw. ‘I’d better get inside and put myself right. I don’t want my mother to see me like this. I’d prefer that you didn’t tell her.’

‘Of course not.’

They walked back in silence. Within sight of the house he said, ‘Take a look first, and signal me if it’s clear. No, wait!’

He grasped her arm and pulled her back into the trees as Lucia appeared at the rear door. Her voice reached them.

‘Who left this door unlocked? Surely it hasn’t been like this all night?’

‘It’s all right,’ Harriet said, advancing so that Lucia could see her. ‘I opened it. I’ve been out for an early-morning walk.’

She ran up the steps, kissed Lucia and drew her inside, chattering, apparently aimlessly, but actually manoeuvring her deep into the house. She resisted the temptation to look back, but she thought she heard the faint sound of footsteps going up the stairs.

Half an hour later Marco joined them for breakfast, showered, impeccably dressed and apparently his normal self. He thanked his mother charmingly for the successful party and complimented Harriet on her successful debut in society. He made no mention of anything else.

A few days later an invitation arrived to a party at the Palazzo Manelli.

‘We’ve never been invited there before,’ Lucia observed in surprise.

‘It’s Harriet he really wants, Mamma,’ Marco said. ‘She’s after his collection.’ He gave Harriet a brief smile. ‘This will make your name. Nobody’s ever been so privileged before. Of course we must accept.’

Nobody could have faulted his manner, which was charming, but impenetrable.

Life at the villa had settled into a contented routine. Lucia, whose days were filled with committees, was happy for her guest to spend her time in museums and art galleries. They would meet in the evening for a meal sometimes at home, sometimes at a restaurant before going to the opera. On these occasions Marco would usually join them after the meal, and Harriet realised that he loved opera. Comedies didn’t interest him, but he was drawn to the emotional melodramas, and would sit through the music in a kind of brooding trance, emerging reluctantly.

She’d found the ring and slipped it back onto her finger for public occasions, explaining to Lucia that at other times she was afraid of losing it. She wore it when Marco invited her to lunch again at the bank. He was delightful, even amusing, but she felt he was sending her a silent message that there was no way back to the brief closeness they’d known.

‘You’re afraid I’ll make trouble at Manelli’s party, but I’ve already promised not to,’ he said smoothly. ‘And nobody will think anything of it if such a noted antiquarian as yourself goes off to explore. No, don’t look so sceptical. I’m learning about your international reputation. Several of my colleagues here recognised your name and have asked to meet you.’ He raised his glass. ‘I’m very proud of my fiancée.’

Of his fiancée, she noted, not of herself. There was no way past such implacable charm.

The Palazzo Manelli was in the heart of Rome’s old quarter, near St Peter’s. The lights were already blazing forth from wide windows and doors as their car glided up. The Baron was there to greet them.

Harriet enjoyed herself from the first moment. She knew she was looking at her best in a dress of deep gold silk, with Marco’s gift of rubies about her neck, and she was already acquainted with many of the people here.

Marco squired her conscientiously at first, introducing her to the few strangers, making clear his pride and admiration. Then, true to his promise, he faded away and turned his attention to other guests. These were his old friends and could keep him happily occupied all evening. All his fiancée required was the occasional glance to see if she needed his help. Which she never did.

As Harriet’s confidence grew her wit flowered. Manelli’s guests included several nationalities, and her ability to riposte quickly in each of their languages was making heads turn. This, plus her physical transformation, had made her into a ‘figure’, a slightly exotic personality. She wasn’t pretty, but she was magnificent, and every man in the place seemed increasingly aware of it.

‘Marco, what are you doing neglecting poor Harriet?’ Lucia chided him.

‘“Poor” Harriet is doing very well without me.’ Marco said calmly. ‘Does she look neglected?’

‘She looks submerged in men,’ Lucia retorted tartly. ‘One of them is positively drooling over her hand, and the other keeps trying to see down her dress.’

‘Mamma, the man trying to see down her dress owns an original Michelangelo piece of sculpture,’ Marco said, as if that explained everything. ‘I can’t compete with that. And it’s all perfectly innocent.’

‘Hmph! Manelli isn’t innocent. He’s one of the worst lechers in Rome.’

‘But Harriet is innocent, which is what counts.’ Then he drew a sharp breath.

‘What is it? My dear boy, why do you look like that?’

‘Nothing,’ he said, pulling himself together. ‘Please don’t trouble yourself about this, Mamma. It’s the modern way. Engaged couples don’t live in each other’s pockets. Will you excuse me for a moment?’

He moved away quickly, feeling that if he couldn’t be alone soon he would suffocate. In the garden he managed to evade the lights and laughter and find solitude under the dark trees. His forehead was damp with the strain of what had just happened to him.

He’d said, ‘Harriet is innocent,’ and the word ‘innocent’ had been like a bullet, shattering the glass wall he kept between himself and the past.

She’s innocent-innocent. That was what he’d said when they had tried to warn him about the woman to whom he’d given his heart once and for all time, with nothing held back. No defences. No suspicions, even when he heard the rumours. Just blind love. Blind and stupid. A mistake, never to be repeated. For she hadn’t been innocent, and he’d found out in a way so brutal that it had almost destroyed him. Memory returned to him now, leaving him shaking like a man in the grip of fever.

But Harriet was different, not merely innocent but guileless and blinkered, as only the truly honest were. And there lay his safety, he reasoned. In the long run it was more reliable than trusting to her, or any woman’s, heart.

After a while he pulled himself together. When he was sure he could appear his normal self he returned to the party, smiling broadly, not letting his eyes search for her.

Harriet was relishing her success. After squiring her around at first Marco had turned away with a smile, leaving her to her own devices, and thereafter he entertained himself with all the most beautiful women. Which suited her fine, she thought. Just fine.

And then she saw someone who drove all other thoughts out of her mind.

‘Olympia!’

Her sister had just arrived, now she came sweeping across the floor, arms open to envelope Harriet, pretty face full of glee.

‘I’ve been hearing so much about you,’ she cried, managing to whisper under cover of their embrace. ‘Are you really engaged to Marco?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Harriet said wryly.

Olympia stood back and regarded her. ‘There’s my cautious Harriet. If only I could learn from you!’

‘Then you wouldn’t be Olympia,’ Harriet laughed. ‘Where have you been all this time?’

‘In America, with Mamma and Poppa. They’re still there, but I came home today, and rushed here because I heard “Marco and his bride” were going to be at the party. Oh, you clever, clever sister. You got your own terms, then?’

‘Well-’

‘But of course you did. My dear, that ring! It must have cost-’

‘Don’t be vulgar,’ Harriet chuckled.

‘You’re right. Play it cool. Keep him guessing. That’s the way with Marco. And the others as well. They say you’ve got Manelli eating out of your hand.’

‘He’s going to show me around.’

Manelli appeared at that very moment and swept both women off for a tour of his mansion. He talked well and informatively, and Olympia’s eyes were soon glazing with boredom. She made a desperate excuse and escaped, barely noticed by either of them.

Returning to the party, she was immediately claimed by admirers, and worked her way through them until she found Marco. He hadn’t seen her since the day he’d made his proposition and she’d rejected him in five seconds. They greeted each other amiably.

‘I didn’t know what I was starting when I suggested Harriet, did I?’ she teased. ‘Did I do you a bad turn?’

‘Not at all. Harriet is an excellent choice, barring her habit of vanishing with other men at parties.’

‘Oh, Manelli’s just showing her his pictures. No need to be jealous.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’m not jealous.’

‘All right, don’t snap at me. Harriet’s a very unexpected person, as I dare say you know by now. I must admit I only suggested her to tease a rise out of you.’

‘The sort of prank I’d have expected from you,’ he said coldly. ‘You haven’t grown up since you were a child and I used to rescue you from trees when you’d climbed too far. I can take care of myself, but did you ever think you were being unfair to Harriet?’

‘You mean she might have fallen for you?’ Olympia asked with a trill of laughter. ‘Nonsense, caro. I wouldn’t have done it if I thought she might get hurt. I know you’re incapable of falling in love, but so is she. Haven’t you found that out yet?’

She passed on, saving him the necessity of replying.