Mediterranean Rebel's Bride Read online

  ‘It’s all right, you’re decent,’ he said, seeing the gesture and misunderstanding it. ‘Don’t worry.’

  ‘I wasn’t,’ she sighed. ‘Ruggiero, what’s happened?’

  In the darkness she knew that he was glaring.

  ‘Let’s say I’ve finally come to my senses,’ he said harshly.

  ‘What—exactly—do you mean?’

  ‘Do you need to ask? Haven’t you been waiting for me to let go of the damned fool fantasy and get real?’

  He switched on her bedside light and showed her the album that he’d put on the bed before waking her.

  ‘Here,’ he said.

  The book was open at a large, glossy picture of the bride and groom, standing just outside the church. The photographer had been an expert, and had caught every unappealing detail about the groom—including the fact that he was a good thirty years older than his bride, and at least five stone overweight.

  Even that might not have mattered. Many an ugly man had won a woman’s heart with love and kindness. But George Ranley’s overflowing jowls showed only the greasy self-satisfaction of a man who was selfish, greedy, demanding, suspicious and thoroughly unpleasant.

  ‘Look at her.’

  Ruggiero pointed to where the bride was regarding her new husband with a look of adoration. ‘Did you ever see so much love in a woman’s face?’

  ‘No,’ Polly said cautiously.

  ‘For that thing?’ he asked, pointing contemptuously at George. ‘The man’s a pig, but she’s looking at him like he’s a god.’

  ‘Well, it was their wedding. A bride is expected to…’ Polly’s voice faltered.

  ‘It was an act,’ he said. ‘I wonder what she was really thinking at that moment.’

  ‘Ruggiero—’

  ‘Just as I wonder what she was thinking when she looked at me like that,’ he finished quietly.

  Polly was silent. There was nothing to say. After a while he spoke again, in a voice full of anguish.

  ‘That was the look she wore for me—the look of a woman who’s totally besotted with a man. And he believes it while what she’s really thinking is that she’s got the poor sap just where she wants him.’

  Her heart ached. She’d wanted him to see the truth, but now it was happening she couldn’t bear the hurt it would cause him.

  ‘I expect he had a lot of money,’ Ruggiero mused, almost casually.

  ‘He was a multimillionaire.’

  ‘Those jewels on her head? Real diamonds?’

  ‘Nothing less. George had seized them back from his third wife.’

  ‘Third?’

  ‘Sapphire was the fourth.’

  ‘Go on. Tell me the rest—and don’t sugar it.’

  ‘He desperately wanted a son, and none of the other wives had ever got pregnant. He wouldn’t admit that there might be a problem with himself, and kept divorcing them as “useless”.’

  ‘Sapphire—Freda—didn’t want to be divorced, so when he was away for a couple of weeks she went to London to find someone who would give her a child that she could pass off as his.’

  ‘So she went cruising the bars, looking for a suitable candidate?’ he said bitterly. ‘I just happened to be there. How did I come to pull the short straw?’

  ‘Your colouring is the same as George’s used to be before he went bald, so he’d have been easier to convince. And when she discovered that you’d soon be leaving England it was a plus.’

  He winced. A long time seemed to pass before he asked, in a low voice, ‘She never cared for me at all, did she? Be honest, Polly.’

  ‘I don’t think she did.’

  ‘I was just useful,’ he said slowly, as though spelling it out would help him understand. ‘When I’d served my purpose I was surplus to requirements. All that mystery that seemed so exotic and romantic was just an efficient way to make sure I couldn’t spoil things by following her.’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  Suddenly he began to laugh. A cracked, bitter sound that was on the edge of madness. He lay back on the bed and laughed and laughed until Polly became scared for him.

  ‘What’s funny?’ she asked, leaning over, taking his shoulders.

  ‘I am,’ he choked. ‘It’s a great joke. I’m the funniest idiot who ever tramped the streets hunting for something that didn’t exist.’

  He held her in return, looking up into her face.

  ‘When she vanished I searched for her high and low. Once I’d watched her walk away, so I reckoned she was within walking distance, and I went to every nearby hotel. I described her a thousand times, but nobody knew her. I didn’t shave or take any care of myself, and by the end of the week I must have looked like a down-and-out. I didn’t eat, because to eat I’d have had to stop, and I couldn’t bear to. Sometimes I didn’t go back to the hotel at night.

  ‘Finally I gave up, got blind, roaring drunk and ended up in a police cell. The next morning they threw me out and told me to stop bothering “decent people”. After that I came home. But that wasn’t the end of it. In my dreams I went on searching for her, always thinking she’d be around the next corner, but she never was. At last I realised that she wasn’t anywhere, and the dreams stopped. The strange thing is that since I’ve known she was dead they’ve come back again. Sometimes I’m afraid to sleep in case I find myself chasing around corner after corner, always finding nothing.’

  He sat up slowly, still holding onto Polly.

  ‘I guess part of me has known the truth from the first moment, but I wouldn’t let myself face it. Now I have, and I should be glad. If this is how it really was, then there’s nothing for me to grieve about.’

  Nothing except the end of an ideal. Neither voiced the thought, but it was there in the air between them.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Polly said at last. ‘You’ve been looking at these pictures for days. Why has this happened now?’

  ‘I don’t know. As you say, I could have seen the truth in her face at any time. I guess I just wasn’t ready before. I ducked and dived, and clung to what I wanted to believe—anything to avoid the reality.’

  ‘But what do you think the reality is?’ she asked carefully.

  ‘That I’m a fool who fell victim to a clever woman because he was too stupid and conceited to see through her. She acted as though I were the one she’d spent her life waiting for. The only lover who could satisfy her, the one man who could make her life worth living. Of course I believed her. I was wide open for it. She must have seen me coming for miles.’

  His voice was harsh with the scorn and derision he poured on himself. The more he’d believed in his dream, the more contempt and loathing he felt for himself now.

  Polly couldn’t bear it. She pulled him into her arms and held him tightly. He clasped her back, as though she were his only refuge. It wasn’t the embrace of a lover, and he seemed completely unconscious of her lightly clad body, but he buried his face against her and she could feel him trembling.

  In a sudden passion of tenderness she began to stroke his head. She knew it wasn’t wise, but suddenly wisdom seemed an abomination when set beside his need. If this moment cost her the rest of her life she would pay the price gladly.

  Ruggiero didn’t draw away, which emboldened her to lay her cheek against his hair while her hands caressed his body, but only tentatively, half longing for him to sense her, half fearing it.

  For a moment she grew still, waiting for his reaction, her heart thumping. If he would only reach for her—

  But he didn’t move. His body against hers was heavy and relaxed, his head lying against her shoulder in an attitude of contentment. She dropped her head, letting her lips lie against his hair.

  He did not react, and something inside her seemed to hide away, weeping.

  ‘Don’t…’ she murmured.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself.’

  ‘It’s better if I am. I’ve been easy on myself for too long. Now it’s time
to see things clearly. Mio dio! What a coward I’ve been!’

  ‘You’re not a coward. You just needed time. And you made it. She was holding you trapped. The illusion was turning to poison and it would have destroyed you. Now you’re free.’

  ‘Free?’ He echoed the word as though trying to understand it. ‘Free.’

  It had a hollow sound, as though it resonated only bleakly in his heart.

  He drew back and looked at her for a moment.

  ‘I needed you,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

  But you didn’t notice I was here, she thought sadly. Not really.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WHEN Ruggiero had gone Polly dozed fitfully, unable to sleep properly. Even Sapphire didn’t manage to storm her way in. She tried, but now something was excluding her.

  Polly awoke in the morning, wondering if she’d imagined the night before. But her hand could still feel where he’d gripped it in his as he declared his faith in her, and his need. He’d left immediately after that.

  Just a handclasp, but it had left her burningly aware of every detail about him. The things she’d been trying not to think of—the strong, hard feel of him, the warmth of his body when it had lain against hers, all the things a good nurse was supposed to ignore—had all come surging back to her.

  I’m not going to let this happen, she tried to tell herself. I’m not.

  But it had already happened. It was too late to deceive herself about that. Last night she’d given in to weakness, allowing her tenderness to flare briefly into passion. If he’d responded she would have done all in her power to make him want her, to make love with him.

  But he hadn’t responded. He hadn’t even been aware of the change in her. She tried to be glad about that, but against her will her flesh was reacting to her memories, growing hot, the skin beginning to tingle with need.

  But the need wasn’t just physical. His heart craved the help that only she could give, and it was her nature to be strong, reaching out to those who were vulnerable. If she’d met Ruggiero at any other time, when his macho mask was securely in place, she might not have seen behind it, and then she would never have been drawn to him.

  Now he would always appear to her as she’d seen him first—stunned, troubled, cast adrift by events over which he had no control.

  And if Sapphire had really been banished, mightn’t there be a vacancy?

  Get real! she lectured herself. This hasn’t turned you into a beauty, so don’t think it.

  But her inner voice lacked conviction, and she hummed to herself in the shower.

  She found Ruggiero in the kitchen.

  ‘Come and have some breakfast,’ he called, in a voice that was firm and cheerful.

  ‘Fine, I could do with some,’ she said, matching his tone. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘No, just sit at that table and I’ll serve you.’

  He watched as she went to the table and looked out at the bright harbour, already busy in the morning sun. He was watching for any sign of consciousness on her part, but there was nothing in her voice or her demeanour.

  It had been his imagination. He’d lain in her arms, amazed at the sense of peaceful joy that had stolen over him, taking the consolation she’d offered.

  But how much had she offered? Had he only imagined the way her hands caressed him, her kiss against his hair? Recently he’d been so plagued by hallucinations that he dreaded to discover this was only another. He’d held still, waiting for her to do or say something that would tell him what to think.

  But she’d only said, ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself.’ Kind words, but those of a friend, not a lover.

  He’d pulled himself together, swallowing something that felt strangely like disappointment. Now he had to do it again.

  ‘How are you feeling after that disturbed night?’ he asked, sitting opposite her at the table.

  ‘A bit confused.’

  ‘That’s my fault. I’ve been giving you a hard time. But no longer. We got everything sorted out, didn’t we?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  She spoke cautiously, and he smiled, assuming a firm, efficient voice.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ve got things in perspective. I don’t know what took me so long.’

  A faint uneasiness began to stir in Polly’s brain. This clear-sightedness was surely what she’d wanted, and yet—

  Misunderstanding her worried look, he said, ‘It’s all right, Polly. It’s all over. She’s gone. After all, she never actually existed, did she?’

  Irrationally she wanted to say, She existed in your heart, but she was lost for words. She should be glad of his recovery. Instead she felt a creeping dismay that made no sense.

  ‘Freda existed. Sapphire didn’t,’ she agreed.

  ‘She was an invention—a role she’d decided to play. But then the curtain came down, the heroine vanished, and the idiot was left alone on the stage, not realising that the performance was over.’

  ‘Don’t call yourself names,’ she said firmly.

  ‘You’re right, it’s boring.’

  ‘That wasn’t—’

  ‘Did I try your patience very hard?’

  She shook her head. ‘You had something beautiful and I was taking it away. I don’t blame you for wanting to hold onto it.’

  ‘Except that it wasn’t beautiful,’ he said with a shrug. ‘It was stupid and dishonest, and it made me weak. I won’t let that happen again.’

  The way he emphasised ‘that’ increased her unease.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with a little weakness if it means needing people,’ she said. ‘Trying to be self-sufficient all the time just leads to trouble.’

  ‘You said something like that to me the first time we met,’ he remembered wryly. ‘In fact you’ve always had a pretty poor opinion of me. And you were right. I finally stood outside and got a good look at myself. Mio Dio! What a sight! But no more. I’ve got a job to do, and with your help I’m going to do it.’

  ‘A job?’

  ‘I have to learn to be a father to my son.’

  The words should have made her rejoice, but she was struck by the cool efficiency of his manner—as though he were ticking off tasks on a worksheet. His love, once so sweet to him, had been revealed as a con-trick—to be dismissed along with the side of his nature that was capable of those feelings. Now his relationship with his son was the next assignment on the list.

  She shivered.

  ‘I’d better start with some toys, hadn’t I?’ he said. ‘What does he like?’

  ‘Cuddly things. I don’t know what Italian shops sell.’

  ‘Fine, we’ll go shopping. That means a taxi. What a pity my car’s still at the villa.’

  ‘Makes no difference. I wouldn’t let you drive it.’

  ‘Wouldn’t let me—?’

  ‘Nope. And wipe that outraged look off your face, because it’s wasted on me. You’ve fallen into the hands of a real bully now.’

  ‘I think I’d already guessed that. All right, a taxi it is.’

  In the city centre they found a large toy shop and explored it from top to bottom. Polly’s mood soared. The day was bright, the sun high in the sky, and his manner was engaging. Surely she was worrying about nothing?

  ‘Why are you looking at me?’ he asked once. ‘Wait—let me guess. It’s the first time I haven’t been scowling at you.’

  ‘I ignore scowls. It’s just the first time I’ve seen you looking cheerful,’ she teased.

  He grinned and put an arm around her shoulder, moving carefully for he was still sore.

  ‘Let’s spend some money,’ he said.

  This wasn’t what she wanted from him, but it was a start. And spending money proved to be as enjoyable as she’d always heard it was.

  The toys were dazzling. And an array of magnificent teddy bears rose high on the shelves, making Polly sigh with longing.

  ‘They’re so beautifully made it seems almost criminal to give them to a child who’ll pull them about,’ sh
e mourned.

  She selected a fluffy bear with golden fur, about a foot high with large, mournful eyes.

  Ruggiero plunged into the important business of explaining his needs to an assistant. Polly couldn’t follow the words but she gathered he was doing everything methodically, giving precise specifications—just as if he were ordering spare parts for the factory, she thought.

  But he was doing his best, and she appreciated that.

  When she saw the collection he’d amassed she stared.

  ‘They’re for children developing hand-eye co-ordination,’ he explained. ‘He can pull this one along behind him, and he also has to fit the shapes into the right holes. With this one he presses buttons with animal pictures, and it makes noises.’

  ‘What kind of noises?’

  ‘Animal noises. Moo and cluck.’

  To demonstrate he pressed the cow button and the cow mooed.

  ‘Let me try,’ she said, entranced, pressing the chicken button.

  A horse neighed.

  ‘That’s not right,’ she said. ‘That should be a chicken.’

  Ruggiero experimented and the same thing happened. He tried the horse button, and a duck quacked. An assistant bustled over, looking concerned.

  ‘Houston, we have a problem!’ Polly intoned.

  Commotion followed. The staff took out toy after toy, pressing buttons to see if they made the right noises—which they didn’t. The shop was filled with the sounds of a barnyard. Passers by stopped and stared in.

  The manager was called. He too pressed buttons, without receiving the right sounds in return.

  ‘It’s a new consignment,’ he wailed. ‘They must all be faulty.’

  ‘Do you have anything of the same kind?’ Polly asked.

  Luckily a similar toy had just come in, based on wild animals, which turned out to be properly connected. Lions roared like lions, elephants trumpeted like elephants, baboons gibbered. Everyone was happy, if slightly hysterical.

  ‘We’ll take this one,’ Ruggiero said with relief. ‘And these.’ He indicated all the other toys that he’d collected.