The Italian Millionaire’s Marriage Read online

  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.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

/>   M ARCO had said Harriet had an international reputation and she was discovering how true it was. The news that she had broken ‘the Manelli barrier’ was soon all over Rome, and her services began to be much in demand.

  ‘I’m here as an emissary,’ Marco said to her one evening. ‘Two of my colleagues at work want to consult you and they say you’re putting them off. I’ve promised to use my influence. They seem to think I have some,’ he added drily.

  ‘I was being tactful,’ Harriet said. ‘Precisely because they’re your colleagues it seemed better for me to stay clear. Suppose I give them wrong advice?’

  ‘Is that possible?’ he murmured slyly.

  ‘Tell them about the necklace,’ she challenged him.

  ‘The less said about that necklace the better,’ he said, almost teasing. ‘May I inform my associates that my influence has been successful?’

  ‘I’ll bet you’ve already done so.’

  He grinned and didn’t deny it.

  On this level they were easy with each other, but Harriet had learned that any attempt to draw closer to him was fruitless. After that one time in the garden he’d retreated into his shell, perhaps further back than before, wary, mistrustful of her and himself. Above all, mistrustful of what might happen between them.

  It was lucky that she hadn’t fallen in love with him, as she’d briefly feared. The moment when she’d sensed approaching disaster had been a warning which ‘sensible Harriet’, now in the ascendant again, had heeded. Soon the time would come for them to go their separate ways, him to find a suitable bride elsewhere, and herself into an apartment in the city.

  For she’d decided to stay here. With Marco’s help she’d reclaimed her Italian heritage, and she would always be grateful to him for that. But as more people sought her expertise she realised that she was laying the groundwork for a life here that didn’t include him.

  So when he asked her to accompany him on a trip to visit a client, who lived in Corzena, about two hundred miles to the north of Rome, she had no trouble in claiming that her time was occupied.

  ‘You can surely spare a couple of days for me,’ he said impatiently.

  ‘I’m busy.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘I beg your pardon!’

  ‘It can’t be that important.’

  ‘That’s for me to say,’ she insisted, riled by his tone. ‘Give me that!’

  He’d snatched up the pad on which she’d scribbled notes on her current work.

  ‘The Vatican Museum,’ he read.

  ‘Signor Carelli has asked me to check some references for him.’ This should have been the killer fact, since Carelli was one of the banking colleagues for whom Marco had interceded. But he wasn’t impressed.

  ‘He won’t mind waiting,’ he said.

  She knew it was true. She was finding excuses, and she wasn’t sure exactly why, except that she felt herself subtly moving away from him, and perhaps it was best to keep it that way.

  ‘I’m not going to ask him to wait,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve made my plans and I’d prefer to stick to them.’

  ‘Fine,’ he said, tight-lipped. ‘I won’t ask again. Please tell my mother I called, and that I’ll be away for the rest of the week.’

  And when he’d gone it all seemed so stupid. Why had she taken such a stubborn line? Why refuse to spend a couple of days in his company?

  Because the prospect was far too agreeable, that was the answer. It was a relief that he’d left, making it too late to change her mind. Not that she wanted to change her mind.

  Lucia slept late next day and Harriet breakfasted alone. She was just finishing her coffee when Marco walked in. Her heart’s flicker of delight was too intense to be ignored, but she concealed it.

  ‘I thought you’d be on your way by now,’ she exclaimed. ‘Weren’t you leaving early?’

  He’d left in the dawn and driven for twenty miles before stopping the car and getting out to stand looking over the countryside. He’d stayed there for half an hour before getting back into the car and turning it around.

  ‘I’ve come back because I want you to be honest with me,’ he said quietly. ‘I want the real reason you won’t come to Corzena.’

  ‘I’ve already told you-’

  ‘Yes, you have, and it’s bull. You know it and I know it. I want the other reason-’ he faced her ‘-the one you can’t bring yourself to tell me.’

  Alarm and pleasure seized her equally. Had he really guessed that she’d turned coward, backing off because she feared the growing strength of her own feelings for a man who was incapable of returning them? Or did he return them, and this was his way of creating the mood for a declaration?

  ‘Marco-’

  ‘Harriet,’ he said desperately, ‘I know. Did you really think I wouldn’t guess?’

  ‘You’ve guessed-?’ she whispered, not daring to hope.

  ‘When I started to think hard it became obvious-especially after what happened the night of the party-Harriet, I may not be the most sensitive man in the world, but I think I’m sensitive enough to see this. We’ve been honest with each other from the start, why didn’t you just tell me-? No, that’s stupid, isn’t it? How could you speak bluntly about such a delicate matter?’

  ‘Marco, are you saying-?’

  ‘I’ll make it easy for you by saying it myself.’ He took a deep breath, evidently having difficulty, and she waited, her heart beating eagerly. At last he said, ‘You don’t want to be alone with me. You’re afraid of what I’ll do.’

  ‘Wh-what?’

  ‘That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t trust me, to behave decently. But you can, I swear it.’

  She was coming out of her happy daze to a chilly reality. ‘I see,’ she managed to say, hoping desperately that her face didn’t show her cruel disappointment.

  ‘This is business,’ he went on, ‘and my client is an important one. The bank tends to indulge his wishes, and his present wish is to meet you.’

  ‘That’s blackmail!’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is, and that’s just why you can trust me. Having more or less coerced you into this trip the last thing I’d do would be put you in an awkward situation.’ He regarded her steadily. ‘I hope you understand me.’

  She wanted to laugh, perhaps hysterically. ‘I think I do. You’re promising to be the perfect gentleman, no midnight taps on my door-’

  ‘I doubt our rooms will even be on the same floor. Our host is very old-fashioned. Nothing will happen, Harriet, you have my word of honour.’

  She wanted to throw something at him and scream, I don’t want your word of honour. I don’t want you to be the perfect gentleman. I want you to kiss me as you did that night, and this time I don’t want you to stop. Oh, you idiot!

  But instead she said coolly, ‘I suppose, that makes everything all right.’

  ‘I hoped it would. This is really important, he’s a very big client-’

  ‘Then we must keep him happy,’ she said brightly. ‘Business comes first, after all.’

  He smiled at her. ‘You say that to the manner born.’

  ‘You think I might be a credit to you?’

  He put his hands on her shoulders, smiling into her eyes in a way that made her hold her breath. If only-

  ‘You already are a credit to me,’ he said warmly. ‘I’m proud of you and I want to show you off. Get some clothes together quickly, while I go and see if my mother’s awake.’

  As she packed she heard murmurs coming from Lucia’s room, and went in to bid her goodbye. ‘I’m sorry to rush off without notice-’

  ‘Nonsense. Go on and have a wonderful time, cara.’

  It was a lovely day and their drive lay through beautiful countryside. Gradually her mood improved from the sheer pleasure of being with him. Marco drove fast but easily and with confidence, as he did everything.

  ‘Tell me about this man,’ she said.

  ‘Elvino Lucci is one of the richest men in Italy. He started with nothing and h
e’s built up to where he is through sheer hard work and brilliance. He’s been my mentor for years.’

  ‘I can’t picture you with a mentor, somehow. I don’t think you’d let him get a word in edgeways.’

  ‘Everyone needs a mentor,’ he said seriously. ‘Not just at the start but maybe for always, to give you a sense of perspective. I learned a lot from him when I was just starting, and he still has things to teach me.’

  ‘A great financial brain, then?’

  ‘The greatest. He believed in keeping his attention focused and never taking his eye off the ball.’

  ‘You mean there’s been nothing in his life but financial wheeling and dealing?’

  ‘He married and has a family, but he’s been a widower for ten years.’

  ‘I’ll bet he married an heiress.’

  ‘No, his own secretary.’

  ‘Oh, well, nothing like securing cheap labour.’

  Marco laughed. ‘You may find him a little stiff and puritanical, but you’ll like him when you get to know each other.’

  ‘But why does he want to meet me?’ she asked lightly. ‘Am I being tested for suitability? If he gives me the thumbs down, am I out?’

  ‘Don’t be absurd. I think he’s just lonely.’

  ‘Lonely? With all that money?’

  ‘Harriet please don’t say that kind of thing in front him? I know it’s a joke, but he wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘Hey, you recognised a joke. Better not let him suspect that, or you might not be his white-headed boy any more.’

  Diplomatically he didn’t answer this.

  When they stopped for lunch Marco called Elvino Lucci to apologise for being late. Harriet could just make out the man’s voice.

  ‘You, late? That must be a first! Only something special would make Marco Calvani break the habits of a lifetime!’

  ‘It was,’ Marco said.

  ‘Well, I’m longing to meet her. I’m storing up a little surprise myself.’

  They reached Corzena in the late afternoon. It was an old town built on a hill at the edge of a lake, with the villa on the lower part, near the shore. Huge wrought-iron gates swung open at their approach, and soon the house was in sight. There on the steps, waiting to greet them, was a tall man with white hair and a distinguished face. Beside him stood a very young woman who bore a strong resemblance to a sugar-coated doll. She had a mass of blonde hair, dressed high and wide, and sprayed into a confection like candyfloss. Her eyes were large and ingenuous.