The Italian's Passionate Revenge

CHAPTER NINE

FOR four days Vincente’s staff had been regarding him nervously. He arrived early, stayed late and worked with a face like thunder. He spoke briefly, seemed impatient of company and seemed abnormally conscious of the telephone.

The only person he trusted was his secretary, well briefed on the calls to be blocked and those to be put through. One call, she knew, never came.

Vincente was set on being patient. She would call him. He was certain of that. Too much was left unresolved between them, and she had no choice but to call.

He had only one thing to cling to, and that was the fact that he’d managed to hide his true feelings. His shock and confusion at the first sight of her in his mother’s home must have been visible, but after that he was sure he’d kept his defences in place.

His plan to track her down for revenge had begun to go wrong on the day he’d met her. She’d been so different from the cheap floozy of his expectations that he’d been disconcerted, fascinated. When she’d rejected him that evening he’d known frustration but also satisfaction that she couldn’t be so easily seduced.

Through the months apart he’d worked to stop the sale of her apartment, determined to lure her to Rome. He’d told himself it was because his revenge must be achieved, refusing to face the true reason-that he’d met the one woman he couldn’t forget, who physically enticed him without boring him even for a moment.

There had been too many women in his life. They hurled themselves at his money and his looks, and laid themselves out to please him. But Elise challenged him, fought with him, cheerfully insulted him, and he always went back for more. Not for Angelo’s sake. For his own.

Since she’d come to Rome he’d thought of little else but being with her, when he would see her again, the feeling of having her in his bed. At times he’d almost forgotten about Angelo, and the things he needed to know. It was always there, but less important than the shine of her eyes, the feel of her body against his and the cry of fulfilment in the dark that mingled with his own.

But what really stood out in his mind wasn’t their sexual encounters, sweet though they were. It was the time sex had been denied them, when he’d lain in her bed for days, almost helpless, reliant on her assistance. And in the long nights they had talked, coming close to understanding each other.

No, honesty checked him. His deception had denied her any understanding of him. It was he who had got to know her, and learned that he’d misjudged her.

The turning point had come when she’d told him how Ben had forced her hand. It meant that she was innocent, he could think well of her, and this had caused a leap of joy in his heart that warned him where his feelings were heading. Looking back to those days and nights now, he knew it had been the best time of his life.

But he’d found himself trapped. The longer they were together, the more his plans for revenge had seemed like nonsense. Somehow he would find a way out of the mess, tell her the truth and clear the air between them, but without revealing the extent of his plotting. He’d never doubted that he would be able to do this. He’d always been able to do anything that he set his mind to.

But then she’d discovered everything in the worst possible way, forcing him to see that he was lost in a labyrinth of his own making. Taken by surprise, he’d hesitated, briefly unsure how to confront her.

But then she’d attacked him with scorn, jeering at him as a lover, and he’d snapped, turning on her, returning cruelty for cruelty. Inwardly he groaned to recall how he’d laid all the blame for Angelo’s death on her, when the truth was that she, as much as Angelo, had been Ben’s victim. He’d known that, yet still he’d hurled it at her with a savage satisfaction that shamed him now.

Why the hell didn’t she call him?

For him to call her was impossible. She would gain the upper hand-something he couldn’t afford.

Unless the call was strictly business.

It would make sense to let her know that he would no longer block the sale of her apartment, so that she could sell up and leave. That would show her that he was unrelenting, while still allowing him to hear her voice.

‘I don’t want to be disturbed until I call you,’ Vincente told his secretary.

When he was alone he dialled her cellphone but it was switched off. He tried her apartment but there was no reply.

After half an hour he called again, but couldn’t get through on either phone. At his secretary’s insistence he accepted an urgent business call but dealt with it only from the top of his head. Then he tried once more. But there was nothing.

After so long this might mean anything; she might have left the country.

‘Hold all my calls,’ he said, rising abruptly. ‘I’ll be out for the rest of the day.’

‘But you have a meeting with a government minister-’

‘Cancel it.’ He was halfway out of the door.

Twenty minutes later he reached her apartment and rang the bell impatiently, planning what he would say when he saw her, but there was no response. Suddenly filled with dread, he pressed hard on the bell, keeping his finger there.

‘You’re wasting your time,’ said a woman’s voice from further along the corridor. ‘She isn’t there.’

‘Do you know where she is?’

‘In hospital, since yesterday. She was knocked down in the street, by a truck.’

The elderly doctor looked up at the man who came racing down the corridor as though all the devils in hell were after him.

‘I’m here to see Signora Carlton.’

‘Are you a relative, signore?’

‘No, does it matter?’

‘I mean, you are not her husband?’

‘Her husband is dead. My name is Vincente Farnese.’

Most people reacted to that name-impressed or even scared. The doctor seemed barely to have heard it.

‘I see. She hasn’t been able to speak much, you understand. She drifts in and out of consciousness.’

‘Dear God!’ Vincente whispered. ‘What did that truck do to her?’

‘Nothing, signore. It didn’t hit her. She merely collapsed in the road in front of it. Luckily the driver had sharp reactions and braked in time to avoid her.’

‘Collapsed? What do you mean?’

‘She seems to be suffering some severe trauma, apart from not having eaten anything for days.’

Vincente closed his eyes. But the doctor’s next words made him open them sharply.

‘We’re doing our best to save the baby, but I must warn you that nothing is certain.’

‘A baby?’ he whispered.

‘You didn’t know, signore?’

‘I had no idea.’

‘Well, it’s very early days. She didn’t know about it herself until I told her. But I’m afraid that it may already be too late.’

‘I want to see her,’ Vincente demanded.

‘I’m not sure that will be possible.’

‘What do you mean, not possible?’ he snapped. ‘That’s my child she’s carrying-’

‘But you’re not her husband. There are rules about these things. I can’t let you in without her consent.’

Vincente was about to lose his temper in the way that had served him so well before with people who needed to be shown who was boss, but mercifully something stopped him.

‘Please ask her,’ he said quietly. Then, as the doctor turned away, he stopped him. ‘Doctor-beg her if you have to.’

The doctor nodded in understanding and disappeared. Alone, Vincente turned away to look out of the window. He cared nothing for the view but he didn’t want anyone to see his face, lest it reflect the feelings that were tearing him apart.

For once a situation was completely beyond his control. Something ancient and fundamental in him had leapt at the discovery that he was to be a father. Not for a moment did he doubt that Elise’s child was his. Now he had to face the fact that she could refuse to see him, could lose their baby without his being there, could even deny his paternity, if her hatred of him was great enough.

And why shouldn’t she hate him? He’d tricked her, always holding part of himself aloof behind the barrier of his deception. She’d captivated and confused him, so that his whole relationship with her had been coloured by that confusion, and there had been in him a dishonesty that had justified the contempt he’d seen in her eyes.

Now she might view him with even more contempt if his behaviour had damaged her enough to destroy their child.

For once in his life he was helpless, and he wanted to howl his despair and frustration.

He turned quickly as the doctor reappeared.

‘Will she see me?’ he asked sharply.

‘She did not refuse,’ the doctor said cautiously. ‘In fact she said nothing.’ His eyes were suddenly kinder. ‘I think I’m justified in taking silence as consent.’

Vincente followed him along two corridors, shocked to discover that he was frightened. He had no idea how to face her, what to say to her.

In the event his fears were wasted. When the doctor finally led him into a corner room a nurse rose, saying, ‘She fell asleep again as soon as you left, Doctor.’

‘What are those things she’s attached to?’ Vincente demanded.

‘This one is a blood transfusion,’ the doctor explained, ‘and the other is a saline drip. They’ll help to keep her strength up.’

‘And the baby?’

He checked the machines. ‘The signs are good.’

‘Let me stay with her,’ Vincente said. ‘I’ll call if anything happens.’

‘All right, but let her sleep while she needs to.’

When they had gone Vincente sat down beside the bed, his eyes fixed on Elise. Had she really fallen asleep, or was she merely pretending, in order to avoid him?

Gently he touch her hand with the back of his fingers. She didn’t flinch away as he’d dreaded, and that told him that she really was unconscious.

He wondered at himself. She had said things to him, torturing him for her own satisfaction in a way that should make him hate her, except that he knew she’d been acting out of self-defence. That was how she saw him now-as a threat to be faced down. And it was all his own fault.

She stirred and muttered, twisting her head on the pillow so that he gained a clearer view of her face. He thought she would open her eyes, but she didn’t. Moving very gently, he ventured to take her hand, carefully avoiding all the tubes to which she was attached.

‘Elise,’ he murmured, ‘I’m here.’

A terrible stillness fell over her, as though this was the worst thing that he could have said. She wanted nothing to do with him. She’d made that very plain.

‘Can you hear me?’ he asked gently.

‘Yes.’ Her whisper seemed to come from a great distance.

‘I came as soon as I heard what happened to you.’

Silence. He couldn’t tell if she was still with him.

‘I wanted to say I was sorry,’ he said, leaning closer to her. ‘I said terrible things that I didn’t mean. Elise-please believe that I’m sorry.’

Then she opened her eyes, but his heart sank as he saw no yielding in them.

‘Sorry,’ she echoed. ‘I said I was sorry…to Angelo…the day after I arrived here. I went to the Trevi Fountain…we were there together once. I threw in a coin and made a wish that I’d come back to Rome…and I did, didn’t I?’

He dropped his head into his hands.

‘I wanted to be with him for ever…but then he died. I didn’t know he’d died like that, and it was my fault…’

‘It wasn’t,’ he groaned.

‘It was. I wrote to him when I got back to England, telling him what had happened, that I still loved him and always would. I could never forget how he stood under the window, screaming as he saw me in Ben’s arms. I thought if he knew the truth-that I hadn’t really betrayed him-he could endure it better.’

‘I don’t think it ever arrived,’ Vincente said.

‘Of course not. I found it among Ben’s things after he died. I don’t know how he stole it, but he managed somehow. But if Angelo died that same night…’

‘He wouldn’t have got it.’

‘So he never knew that I was sorry, that I always loved him and didn’t betray him in my heart. He’ll never know that.’

Elise fell silent, as though speaking had exhausted her.

‘The doctor tells me that we’re going to have a child,’ he said at last.

She looked at him. ‘We?’

‘You’re pregnant. He says he told you.’

‘Yes-but I thought it was just a bad dream.’

He shook his head, unable to speak.

If only, Vincente thought, she would say something else. Surely she understood that this made a difference.

‘I’m glad about it,’ he said at last, ‘if you are.’

She made no reply.

‘I think we should marry as soon as possible,’ he persisted.

She stared at him as though he was insane.

‘Us? Marry?’ She began to shake with feeble laughter.

‘For pity’s sake, don’t do that,’ he said harshly.

‘Oh, heavens! And I thought you didn’t have a sense of humour. Marry.’

‘We could put the past behind us-’

‘You can never put the past behind you. I know that now, and so should you. The only way we’ll ever know peace is apart. And peace is all I care about. It feels like the most important thing in the world.’

‘More important than love?’

Then he wished he hadn’t said that, because she gave him a look of such bitter scorn that his heart nearly shrivelled inside him.

‘You know nothing of love,’ she said huskily. ‘You only know about acquiring things and making people dance to your tune. Whatever you want, you must have, including revenge. Someone should have stood up to you long ago.’

‘But you did,’ he reminded her. ‘You’re the only person who didn’t do what I wanted.’

‘And I never will. Go away. Leave now and don’t come back.’

‘I can’t leave you and our child.’

‘I don’t ever want to see you again. It’s nothing to you whether I have a child or not.’

‘Don’t do this.’

She was going to reply but suddenly everything became foggy. His face came and went in her consciousness, leaving only his horrified expression and the appalled note in his voice as he called for help.

Then the room was full of people, connecting her to new apparatus, checking, taking readings, talking to each other in urgent voices. Fear seized her as she thought of her baby. Whatever she’d told him, she couldn’t bear to lose it.

She could just make him out, several feet away by the window. He should be here with her, giving her strength to save their child. But it was she who’d set him at a distance, and now he could only stand there and watch as she lost the baby and the last link between them was cut.

When Elise opened her eyes it was night and Vincente was in the same position by the window, as though held frozen by a curse.

‘Is it over?’ she asked hoarsely.

At last he came closer and sat by the bed, straining to hear her.

‘The baby-it’s gone?’

‘No,’ he said at once. ‘They gave you another blood transfusion and things started to get better. Our baby’s alive, and it’s going to stay that way. From now on I’m going to look after you and make sure you’re both all right. Don’t argue with me. We’re going to be married, and that’s final.’

‘All right.’ The words were little more than a breath, so soft that he wasn’t sure that he’d heard her.

‘Our child will be born in wedlock,’ he said gently.

‘Yes-of course.’

Had any man ever received such joyless consent? It was as though she accepted him in despair-with no hope, only resignation.

He wasn’t an imaginative man, but for a moment he was granted a glimpse of the future-a bleak road stretching far into the distance, with the two of them trudging endlessly together towards nothing. And he was appalled.

The thing that shocked him most was her agreement with whatever he suggested. She, who had always stood up to him, teased and fenced with him, who had only a few hours ago told him to go to hell, now agreed without argument to whatever he said.

He had always been a dominant man, demanding exactly this kind of acquiescence as of right. But from her he hated it.

Even so, he seized the chance to make his other demand while she was in this mood. It was too important for him to take risks.

‘The doctor says you can leave soon,’ he said, ‘and I want to take you home with me.’

‘Home?’

‘The Palazzo Marini. You mustn’t live alone. It’s too dangerous for you.’

‘You expect me to live-there?’

He knew what she meant. There, where she had discovered his deception and the world had exploded around her.

‘No,’ she said angrily. ‘I just want to go home and be alone.’

‘That I won’t allow,’ he said flatly, and caught himself up at once. ‘I mean-it would be better to do it my way.’

‘No, no, you got it right the first time,’ she said with weary irony. ‘Stick to giving orders. It’s what you do best, and at least then we all know how things really stand, which is very useful. I like knowing the truth.’

Her soft bitterness shocked him and made him clench his hands out of sight.

‘Elise-’ he whispered.

‘I can’t live with your mother. How would she bear looking at me every day, knowing that I was the woman who destroyed Angelo?’

‘She knows nothing. We didn’t quarrel in front of her that night, and I never spoke a word about it afterwards.’

She gave a hard, mirthless laugh that tore at his heart. ‘Of course, how much easier to deceive her! Why didn’t I think of that?’

‘She’s had a lot of pain in her life. Angelo’s death hit her hard, and I don’t tell her anything that might upset her.’

She gave a faint, derisive smile. ‘And you’re going to take the risk of leaving me alone with her? Suppose I tell her?’

‘You won’t do that. It would be cruel and spiteful, and you’re not either of those things.’

‘I thought we’d established that I was.’

‘You told me what Ben did-’

‘How do you know I was telling the truth-such a deceiver as I am?’

‘Stop it,’ he growled.

‘But we must be realistic, mustn’t we?’ she challenged with a touch a grim humour that came strangely from her weakened frame. ‘Think how good I must be at thinking up the right lies.’

‘I forbid you to talk like that,’ he said fiercely.

At once she closed her eyes, seeming to sag wearily as though she could only fight just so much.

‘All right,’ she whispered. ‘Believe what you like.’

‘You forget, I got to know Ben. It’s easy to believe he’d behave like that.’

She opened her eyes again. ‘Yes, you knew Ben. At one time I thought you knew me-’

This time she turned her head right away from him, and he could say no more.

Would it always be there between them? Vincente wondered. He’d learned to think the best of her, but would she ever forget or forgive the fact that it had needed to be learned?

As soon as Elise was stronger Vincente brought his mother to see her. Signora Farnese was almost weeping with joy at the thought of the coming wedding and her first grandchild.

Elise could see how frail this woman was. Vincente had been born late in her life and she was in her seventies. She had known little happiness, and was eager to grasp what was left.

‘I knew this was going to happen,’ she said cheerily. ‘When I first saw the two of you together, I knew everything. There was a special “something” between you that only happens between people in love.’

Vincente and Elise could not meet each other’s eyes. Luckily his mother was oblivious.

A few days later she was installed in the Palazzo Marini, in the grand bedroom that was exclusive to the mistress of the house. The huge bed was hung with brocade curtains that swept up to a point over the pillows, where they were topped by something that looked suspiciously like a coronet.

The bedroom was only for Elise. Vincente’s room was even more grandiose. They were connected by a short, narrow corridor, little more than a cupboard, which also contained the entrance to their bathroom.

‘Perfectly horrible,’ the Signora said. ‘I always hated this suite, and Vincente has always slept in a small room on the other side of the house. But of course you will both have to move in here or the Marini ghosts will disapprove.’

She set about spoiling Elise very thoroughly, insisting that she should call her Mamma. Elise agreed, finding solace in the older woman’s kindness.

She felt stranded in no man’s land. She had wanted to separate from Vincente, and only the threatened loss of her baby had made her change her mind. Then a powerful surge of maternal feeling had made her determined to give the child everything it deserved, including a father. She had agreed to the marriage because in her mind all other paths had closed off.

But where did that leave the two of them? She had yet to find out.

The ceremony was to take place at the Church of Santa Navona, a magnificent edifice where the family had always been married and buried.

‘Does that mean Angelo’s there?’ Elise asked Vincente.

‘Yes. Do you want me to show you the place?’

‘No need. Just tell me where it is.’

‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather take you myself.’

She did mind, he could see that at once. She wanted to be alone with Angelo, but a fierce jealousy that he would not admit to made Vincente insist on going too. For a moment he thought she might argue, but then she shrugged as though it really didn’t matter very much, because nothing mattered any more. And that hurt him more than anything.

‘Before we go to the grave,’ he said, ‘I’ve got something to tell you. The night you told me about Angelo, you said his name was Caroni. That threw me, because it wasn’t. It was Valetti. Caroni was his mother’s maiden name.’

‘But why-?’

‘I suppose using it was part of his assertion of independence, the illusion of being a poor student who had to live in Trastevere.’

When they reached the churchyard he led her to the grave, which was under the trees, just visible from the path that led to the front door. A length of marble lay flat on the ground, with the name Angelo Valetti engraved in it, and his dates.

‘So even he didn’t tell me the complete truth,’ she mused. ‘Can any of you be trusted?’

‘Don’t judge him too harshly. It was a game to him.’

‘That’s why I couldn’t find any trace of his death,’ she breathed. ‘I tried to check his death certificate as soon as I arrived. I wanted to know how and why he’d died. But of course there was nobody of that name. Will you leave me, please? I’d like to be alone with Angelo.’

Reluctantly he walked away.

Elise looked a long time at the date of Angelo’s death, which was the same as the day he’d stood under her window and cried out his despair at the sight of her in Ben’s arms. She’d known it in her head, yet seeing it written like this brought a sharp reality that was almost unbearable.

Then she looked at where Angelo’s photograph had been imprinted in the marble and drew a long, tremulous breath, fighting the despair that threatened to engulf her. The picture showed a young man smiling with the joy of life. His love and eagerness glowed from him.

Once he had been hers.

She dropped to her knees so that she could run her fingertips over his face as she’d done so many times before. Except for her own water colour, this was the first time she’d seen his face for years.

‘Even you weren’t what you said,’ she whispered. ‘I thought I’d find you again in Rome but you’ve been hiding from me all the time. Nothing but lies and illusions.’

But this mood couldn’t last. His deception had been innocent enough next to Vincente’s, and now he was dead.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I never knew…I tried to tell you…I wrote but you never saw it. If only you were here so that I could talk to you. I didn’t want to be Ben’s wife, or Vincente’s. You were the one I wanted to marry. But now…’

She laid her hand over her stomach.

Vincente, watching her from a distance, saw everything he didn’t want to see. She was pleading with Angelo, no doubt begging his forgiveness because she was carrying Vincente’s child, telling him that she wished it was his.

He turned away and the taste in his mouth was very bitter.

At last she returned and he drove her home in silence.