Husband By Necessity Page 11

  ‘Brandy,’ she said. ‘Thaw you out. Heaven knows, you need it.’

  While he drained the glass she went to find a thick, towelling robe that she’d purposely bought four sizes too large because she enjoyed snuggling into it.

  ‘Your clothes are sodden right through,’ she told him. ‘Take everything off and put this on. Go on, I won’t look. I’ll be getting you some more brandy.’

  When she returned he was wearing the robe and she got to work on his foot, exclaiming as she touched his freezing flesh. ‘How long had you been walking?’

  ‘I don’t know. Hours.’

  To her relief the ankle was neither broken nor sprained, but merely wrenched, although it was suffering from the burden he’d put on it.

  ‘How soon did you do this?’ she asked, testing the swelling.

  ‘Almost at once.’

  ‘You haven’t done it any good walking on it. What possessed you? Why didn’t you turn back, use your mobile to call someone to drive up and collect you?’

  ‘I wanted to reach Montedoro,’ he said irritably. ‘It seemed a good idea then but now I’m not sure why. Quit nagging!’

  ‘Your face is bruised and your head cut,’ she said. ‘How did that happen?’

  ‘When I fell I was on a very steep part of the road, and it was icy. I slipped back several feet.’ He showed her his hands, lacerated where he’d tried to grip the cobbles.

  Alarmed, she checked him all over, but found to her relief that there were no broken or cracked bones. She bathed his cuts and put some sticking plaster on his head. By now he was leaning back with his eyes closed, as though the sudden warmth, lack of food and two hefty slugs of brandy had caught up with him all in a moment.

  Quietly Angie went into the kitchen and began to prepare some food. As she worked she continually glanced up at the sight of him, out like a light. She felt happier than she’d been for a long time. He might say what he liked, but he’d returned because she was here, and he wouldn’t leave her alone. When the going got tough, he ought to have turned back. But he hadn’t.

  He jumped when she touched him on the shoulder. ‘Hot soup,’ she said.

  He rubbed his eyes. ‘I should go home.’

  ‘Soup,’ she said inexorably, handing him the bowl and the spoon.

  When she saw him eating she fetched her own soup and sat down facing him over the low table. After the soup came something hot and filling that she’d microwaved straight from the freezer. It wasn’t exactly cuisine, but he ate as though he was too tired to know what he was doing.

  Just as he finished eating the telephone in the kitchen rang. It was Baptista, sounding concerned.

  ‘Do you know if Bernardo got home safely?’ she asked. ‘He would insist on leaving just when the weather was closing in.’

  ‘He’s here,’ Angie said. ‘He arrived an hour ago.’

  ‘An hour? But he left this morning.’

  ‘He had to do the last part on foot.’

  ‘Then he is lucky to be alive. There was no talking him out of it. I’ll stop worrying now. I know he’s safe with you. Goodbye, my dear. May this year be a happy one for you.’

  ‘Goodbye Baptista. And-thank you.’

  She was smiling to herself as she replaced the receiver and returned to Bernardo. He was lying full length on the sofa, dead to the world. Quietly she removed the dishes and draped a blanket over him.

  She went to bed but left the door open between the bedroom and the main room. In the thick blackness she couldn’t see him, but she could just make out the sound of his breathing. She lay listening until she fell asleep.

  She awoke with a start. The dark was still impenetrable but she could hear the sound of someone stumbling around, muttering. Quickly she slipped out of bed and made her way towards the noises. She was about to put on a light when an arm came out of nowhere, curling about her neck, and the next moment she was holding most of Bernardo’s weight, slumped against her. Instinctively she closed her arms about him.

  ‘What are you doing in my house?’ he muttered. ‘Oh, lord, my head!’

  ‘Probably all that brandy,’ she said softly.

  ‘I never drink brandy.’

  ‘You did last night. You needed it.’

  ‘I need my bed. I can’t find the bedroom.’

  ‘Come with me,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll take you.’

  Inch by inch she moved back towards the bedroom. He came with her unresisting, only half awake, seeming now to accept her presence as normal. She supported him as far as her bed, then let him fall gently on it, and drew her thick duvet over him. He was deeply asleep in a moment.

  The duvet was huge, to match the bed, and there was room for her to slip beneath it without touching him. She longed to put her arms about him, but she didn’t dare yield to the temptation. They had a long way to go yet.

  But her heart sang because she knew he had come back for her.

  She was awoken by the feel of an unaccustomed weight on her breast. Opening her eyes she saw that it was Bernardo’s head, which had found its place by instinct. He was holding her tightly with one arm thrown over her as though he found in her something that he needed.

  She realised that he was no longer wearing the robe. He’d had it on when he came to bed, so she guessed his movements must have dislodged it.

  Very, very gently she dared to touch his hair, and felt it springy against her fingers. At once she snatched her hand away, fearful of waking him. But the next moment she reached out again, relishing the pleasure of touching him.

  She had missed him so much. It had been bad enough during the long weeks in England but since she’d returned to Sicily, living within a stone’s throw of him, the ache of longing had been worse.

  On the surface things were going well. Despite his warnings she’d been a big success with her patients. There were still some prejudices to overcome but they weren’t fools. They knew they stood to benefit from her up-to-date equipment and even more up-to-date attitude, and they had given her a chance. Even Bernardo had been forced to accord her respect.

  Plus there was the satisfaction of knowing that she’d surprised him. She’d challenged him, laughed at him, turned all his expectations on their heads. He no longer knew how to cope with her, and serve him right!

  But in the essentials nothing had changed. Behind the civility, even the occasional smile, they were almost as far apart as ever. And there was the added torment of seeing him every day, wondering about his thoughts and feelings.

  For she could overcome his doubts about her commitment, but the true barrier was something more elusive. If he had been merely too proud to take money from a woman, that she could have understood. But his revulsion at her wealth came from a darkness deep inside the man that she couldn’t confront because he wouldn’t let her.

  So now she would make the most of the few precious minutes when he was hers, for she didn’t know how long they would last. His skin felt so good beneath her hands, and his head so right nestling against her. He stirred and burrowed more closely, and she risked tangling her fingers in his hair.

  She felt the first movement of his lips against the swell of one breast and drew a long breath. She must stop this now, quickly, before he awoke. But-just one more moment-and one more-

  The sound of his voice reached her so faintly that she had to strain to listen. He’d murmured something-her name? After holding her breath for a long time she realised that the moment had passed, and she would never know.

  This was how it should have been. This was the life they should have had, being together, loving in peace, facing their problems as a team instead of being driven apart by shadows that couldn’t be fought.

  She set her chin. There must be no talking like that. Anything could be fought, and she was here to fight it. He was hers and she wouldn’t let him go.

  He whispered something again and she felt the heat of his breath against her skin.

  ‘Yes, my dear,’ she murmured, enveloping him in str
ong, protective arms. ‘We’re going to win, do you hear? Whatever I have to do, we’re going to win.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A T LAST Bernardo slackened his grip and she could ease herself carefully from under him. He didn’t awake, and she managed to slip from the bed and pull on a light robe before going into the kitchen.

  The light startled her. In the bedroom the wooden shutters were drawn across the windows, blocking out the light. Now she realised that they had both slept very late and it was nearly ten o’clock in the morning. Luckily it was Sunday, Ginetta’s day off, and they wouldn’t be disturbed. She was smiling as she began to make the coffee.

  The soft rustle of her movements as she left the bed was enough to awaken Bernardo. At first he lay very still, baffled by the unfamiliar surroundings. This was neither his room nor his bed. Nor did he feel very much like himself. The man he knew himself to be had gone to sleep in the snow and darkness a thousand years ago. He didn’t know how he’d been transported to this place so that he awoke bathed in warmth and well-being. He only knew that he wanted to stay here forever.

  As more of his surroundings came into focus he became aware that the far side of the bed was warm and sweet-smelling. There was a dent, too, in the other pillow. Inspecting it more closely he found a single hair. It was blonde, fluffy and intensely feminine.

  Then it all came back to him, the driving need to return to this place to watch over her, the journey that had turned into a nightmare, and the presence that had materialised out of the darkness to take him home. She’d tended him, fed him, then left him asleep on her sofa. He remembered that bit very clearly now.

  What he couldn’t recall was how he’d come to be sleeping in her bed.

  Naked.

  Or what he’d done once he was there.

  He tried frantically to kick start his memory, but it was hard when it was so entwined with his longings. In his dreams he’d made love with her so often that it was impossible now to be sure whether the pictures in his mind were memories or imagination.

  He sat up, shaking his head. The movement caused the robe to slide right off the bed. He made a grab for it, missed, and was about to lean out for it when the sound of Angie’s footsteps made him hastily retreat under the duvet.

  She appeared with coffee, smiling when she saw him awake. He tried to read that smile, to guess what she expected of him. But though friendly, her eyes gave nothing away.

  ‘Have you rejoined the human race?’ she asked.

  What did that mean?

  ‘I’ve thawed out,’ he said carefully.

  ‘Good. There was a time I thought that would never happen. Which side do you want your coffee?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You’re in the middle of the bed. Do you want to lean over here or that side?’

  ‘Over here is fine,’ he said, indicating the side where she was standing, and inching his way over. She sat on the bed and he clutched the duvet.

  ‘You were like an icicle, when I found you on the road,’ she observed, setting down the coffee.

  ‘Pretty near a dead icicle,’ he admitted. ‘Thank you, dottore.’

  ‘Dottore?’ she asked, looking amused.

  What, in heaven’s name, had he called her last night? He had an unnerving feeling it hadn’t been dottore.

  ‘I never thought to hear you say thank you,’ she said with a shake of the head that made her soft hair dance wickedly about her cheeks. She smiled, meeting his eyes significantly, and he drew the duvet a little more firmly around him. ‘You just never know what’s going to happen next, do you?’

  ‘No,’ he agreed, not taking his eyes from her. ‘Life is full of surprises.’

  ‘And some things are more of a surprise than others.’

  That reply was like a blow over the solar plexus. It was true, then. She really had lain in his arms, offering him all herself, whispering his name in her delight, asking everything, giving everything…

  And he couldn’t even remember it properly.

  Angie was trying to collect her scattered wits. Her eyes would insist on fixing themselves on his bare chest. She could still feel where his arm had been flung over her, where his head had lain against her and his breath had warmed her. If only she knew whether he’d been aware of that. Had he known when he moved his lips against her and murmured words she couldn’t hear? Did he remember it now? Did he regret it? What ‘surprises’ was he thinking of?

  She searched his eyes. They gave nothing away.

  ‘If you’ll go away for a moment,’ he said, ‘I’ll get up.’

  ‘Oh, no, you don’t. You’re staying in that bed. You nearly froze to death yesterday and I’m going to take care of you. That’s what a doctor is for.’

  He frowned. ‘Did I get a bang on the head?’

  ‘Not that I know of. Why?’

  ‘There are gaps in my memory. I’m sure I went to sleep on your sofa.’

  How did I get into your bed? At what point, exactly, did I discard my clothes?

  ‘I found you wandering around in the night. You were half asleep and confused. You thought you were back in your own home. I thought you’d be more comfortable in here.’

  ‘Is-that all?’

  ‘That’s all.’

  Perhaps he’d imagined her little sigh of regret. Or perhaps he’d only heard it inside himself.

  ‘It’s time I made you something to eat,’ she said. ‘English breakfast, bacon, eggs, sausage, tomato, fried bread. And you’ll have it in bed.’

  By the time she returned with a laden tray he’d retrieved the robe from the floor, tucked it decently around him and was back under the duvet. He’d meant to stride out determinedly and insist on sitting at the table, with dignity. But suddenly it was pleasant to be looked after, and he stayed where he was.

  Besides, she looked so pretty with her face flushed from the stove, and her ridiculous hair wafting around it in tendrils. How could a doctor have hair like that?

  ‘Bernardo,’ she said patiently, trying to get through his glazed expression.

  ‘What?’ Startled, he came back to reality.

  ‘I asked you to straighten your knees. I can’t put the tray down.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He complied and they settled matters efficiently. ‘Aren’t you having anything?’

  ‘Just getting it.’

  She returned and sat on the bed, with a large mug in her hands. It was a child’s mug, covered in cartoon characters, and right this minute she looked little more than a child.

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘This is English tea. It’ll set me up for the day.’

  ‘Is that what I’ve got?’ he asked with misgiving.

  ‘No, I made you coffee.’

  ‘Let me try that.’ He took a sip from her mug, made a face and nearly choked. ‘Good grief!’ he said, reaching hastily for his coffee, and they laughed together.

  ‘How did the party go?’ she asked.

  ‘Wonderfully well,’ he said, tucking in and speaking between mouthfuls. ‘Renato has finally made up with Lorenzo. I mean really made up. Before we went down to the guests we had a drink together, and Renato toasted Lorenzo, saying he owed his happiness to him. He said they all knew Heather and Lorenzo’s wedding was a mistake, and Lorenzo was the only one who had the nerve to do anything about it.’

  ‘Which is true,’ Angie mused.

  ‘Yes, it is.’ Bernardo gave an ironic grin. ‘If Lorenzo hadn’t been brave enough to be a coward, Heather and Renato wouldn’t be as happy as they are today.’

  ‘Are they really, do you think?’

  ‘They’re in love. They belong together but Renato screwed it all up by trying to marry her to Lorenzo.’

  ‘Why did he do that, I wonder?’

  ‘Because he was enjoying his life as it was, a string of girlfriends and no commitments. But someone had to marry and provide an heir so he cast Lorenzo as “the sacrificial lamb”-that’s how Lorenzo puts it. But you should see Renato now, the very
picture of the happily married man, and-’ Bernardo paused, grinning.

  ‘No!’ Angie exclaimed. ‘Is Heather-?’

  ‘There’s no announcement, but Baptista’s certain. She says she can “tell”.’

  ‘That would be wonderful,’ Angie said with a touch of wistfulness. ‘A baby. They’ll be a real family at last.’

  ‘Nothing matters as much as family,’ Bernardo agreed. ‘That’s why Baptista likes to have everyone around her on her birthday.’

  ‘Tell me about the rest of the evening. Did she like my gift?’

  ‘She loved it. The hall was filled with hothouse flowers that Heather had bought from some fellow who specialises in winter blooms. He was there, and he turned out to be an old friend of hers, from far back in her youth. Federico, I think his name was. She seemed very happy to see him.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ Angie said sincerely. ‘I love Baptista.’

  Bernardo paused, not looking at her. ‘So do I,’ he said after a moment. He looked at her. ‘You should have been there.’

  ‘If you knew how much I wanted to.’ She chuckled ruefully. ‘And nothing happened. Nobody so much as cut their thumb.’

  ‘But you were right about the weather,’ he admitted.

  ‘Why did you try to get back, Bernardo?’

  Silly question. The answer was there in his eyes, fixed on her.

  ‘You’d think I’d have known better,’ he said. ‘But-I didn’t.’

  ‘Do you have to be wise all the time?’ she asked wistfully.

  ‘I’m not so very wise, Angie.’

  He made a slight movement and the tray tilted, forcing him to grab it just in time. Angie took it hastily and removed everything to the safety of the kitchen.

  He leaned back against the pillows in a state of deep content. It was a strange feeling, and one he’d never known before-or not for twenty years. After a good night’s sleep and a large breakfast he should be ready to leap out of bed. Instead a heaviness seemed to weigh down his limbs, and he wanted only to stay here, happy to be in her hands. For years he’d known no comfort such as this, nobody to say, ‘Stay there and let me look after you.’ He hadn’t asked for it, couldn’t take it, and would have fiercely rejected the offer.