Bride By Choice Read online

  ‘Signor Lorenzo went to England, but the next day I was in her room when the phone rang. She answered it and said, “Lorenzo”, then she ordered me out. As I left the room I heard her say, “It’s all right, I’m alone.” Then later she told me she was going away. She didn’t say where but-well-I heard through the door-’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘She told him that she would be with him that night,’ Sara said in a low voice.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Helen said firmly. ‘You must have misheard.’

  If she had to listen to any more she knew she would go mad. Forcing a smile to her face she got to her feet, managed to say goodbye, and fled.

  Left alone, Sara finished all the cakes and drank the coffee, relishing every crumb, every last drop. She had fantasised how she would hit back at Heather for her dismissal, but who would have thought the chance would present itself so opportunely? It had been a good day’s work.

  Somehow Helen got herself to the villa that was to be her future home, and where she wouldn’t be disturbed. Her head was spinning and she needed time to come to terms with what she’d heard.

  Lorenzo and Heather had been in love, had planned to marry.

  And he’d left her at the altar.

  Perhaps it wasn’t true. Why had she believed Sara so easily? It might all be an invention.

  Yet a memory disturbed her; Heather, showing her to her room on the first day, saying, ‘It’s where Angie and I slept when I came out here-’ Then the sudden awkward silence.

  She’d asked, ‘Did Renato meet you at the airport?’ Taking it for granted that Renato had been the bridegroom.

  But the bridegroom had been Lorenzo. And Heather had swiftly changed the subject, embarrassed to realise that Helen didn’t know the truth.

  Because Lorenzo hadn’t told her. That was the worst thing of all.

  She’d thought they were close, lovers and best friends. That was the strength of their relationship, that it was built on friendship as well as passion. And friendship meant trust and confidence. Suddenly all trust was blown away.

  There had been the suggestion that Heather had never stopped loving Lorenzo, marrying Renato on the rebound, and the unsubtle hint that Lorenzo had regretted his action and continued to pine for the woman who was now his sister-in-law: that together they had betrayed her husband.

  Heather and Lorenzo were there in her mind, their heads close, laughing together. How readily she put her arms about him, how eagerly he embraced her back.

  It was nonsense, she told herself firmly. They hugged as brother and sister, under Renato’s eyes. But only under his eyes? The question slid into her mind like a snake.

  And when Heather lay in the hospital, her life in danger, Lorenzo had wept. Renato, that hard man, had looked like a stone. But Lorenzo had wept.

  It meant nothing. Renato closed up, told his feelings to nobody. It was his way. Lorenzo’s emotions were near the surface, and he could talk about things.

  But he hadn’t told his intended bride that he’d jilted another bride at the altar.

  That was the fact she couldn’t escape. It stood across her path like a monolith, barring her way to her wedding.

  CHAPTER NINE

  S HE tried twice to call Lorenzo in France, but both times the calls were interrupted, and she realised that this was hopeless. The talk they must have couldn’t be conducted over the telephone.

  The time before he returned was terrible. Everything she saw seemed lit up by a livid light. Heather’s smile, once so sweet and friendly, now seemed to have a jeering, cynical twist. And wherever she looked she saw cruel concealment, knowledge hidden from her because she was nothing.

  If she hoped that Lorenzo’s return would provide a chance to talk she was soon disillusioned.

  ‘Cara, I want to be alone with you too,’ he said, swiftly kissing her as they sat in the back of the chauffeur driven car from the airport. ‘But Renato’s going to keep me at it until the last minute. And when I’m not working I’m entertaining. But it’s all in a good cause, so that after the wedding we can enjoy our honeymoon.’

  ‘Darling, please,’ she begged, her eyes on the chauffeur’s back. ‘It’s important.’

  For answer he took her into his arms and kissed her hard. ‘That is important,’ he said. ‘Loving each other is important.’

  He was at his most charming as he said it, but suddenly his charm seemed almost frightening. It was such a potent weapon. Was there something a little ruthless about the way he used it? She searched his face, trying to see there the man who could jilt a woman at the altar and take her to bed when she was his brother’s wife. But all she could see was his charm.

  Then it was the day for her family to arrive, filling the Residenza’s guest rooms, plus half the nearby hotels. Her parents were beside themselves with joy as Baptista showed them over the splendid house of which they’d heard so much. They basked in the honour shown them by this great lady, and Helen wondered how they would feel if they knew that she was desperately thinking of calling the wedding off.

  But that was overreacting, she assured herself. Somehow she would have a long talk with Lorenzo and he would explain everything. Of course he hadn’t betrayed Renato with his wife. Sara’s story had been garbled. As for his behaviour in the cathedral-there must be an explanation. He would tell her, and everything would be all right.

  But the days were rushing by in a blur of parties and shopping trips, and suddenly it was the last night, and Lorenzo was being swept off in a tidal wave of male relations, for a final carouse.

  ‘Darling, please-’ she tried to plead, but Renato intervened.

  ‘Don’t worry, Elena. We won’t let him get too drunk, and we’ll bring him home safely.’

  He was as good as his word. At two in the morning he and Bernardo helped their brother up the stairs, reasonably sober, considering it had been a stag night, but way past talking coherently. Helen watched their progress in despair.

  That night she lay awake, wretched, trying to picture the future, seeing only a blank. She dropped into an uneasy doze at six o’clock, and was awoken an hour later by the maid with her coffee. Now the day had to be faced.

  Her bedroom was crowded with women all eager to help her on with her bridal gown, made of satin that had been specially woven for extra weight, draped over a wide, crinolined skirt. It wasn’t white, but ivory, a better colour for Helen’s black hair and warm skin. The skirt was heavily embroidered, with tiny sparkling jewels sewn into rosettes, and a diamond tiara to hold the veil in place. It was a romantic dream of a dress, but now its very magnificence filled her with anguish.

  ‘Where’s Lorenzo?’ she said urgently. ‘I must talk to Lorenzo.’

  There was a united scream from every woman in the room.

  ‘You can’t see the bridegroom before the wedding,’ her mother said firmly. ‘It’s unlucky.’

  ‘Oh, Mamma, that’s just superstition.’

  There was a knock at the door and her father’s voice called, ‘Are you all ready?’ The next moment he was in the room, laughing and bawling his enjoyment.

  ‘She wants to see Lorenzo,’ Mamma complained.

  ‘She can’t do that,’ he roared.

  ‘Poppa, I must-’

  ‘Nonsense,’ he said, standing in front of the door, twice her size, daring her to try to remove him. ‘This is just female foolishness. I won’t listen.’

  ‘But perhaps we should,’ her mother suggested worriedly. She had seen something in her daughter’s face that made her contradict him for once.

  ‘No,’ Nicolo said forcefully. ‘Trust me, Mamma, I know what’s best.’

  And Mamma subsided, to Helen’s burning resentment. Poppa was still standing in front of the door, implacable, confident of his own rightness in everything. She turned and stormed out onto the terrace.

  The cars were moving off. Helen watched them stream away down the hill, knowing that Lorenzo would be in one of them, with all the others filled with rel
atives. The first car grew fainter and fainter until it vanished out of sight.

  Her father appeared behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

  ‘Now it’s our turn,’ he said kindly. ‘And I’m the proudest Poppa in the world.’

  Good-tempered now that his will had prevailed, he offered her his arm with an air of old world gallantry. Helen took it, and they went out together.

  But as she descended the grand stairway another bride seemed to be there with her; Heather, in bridal glory, very like her own, beginning the same journey to the same cathedral to marry the same man. Only he hadn’t been there, and the bride had been humiliated, and had to return home, broken hearted, to face the world’s scorn. How could anyone do a thing so devastating, so wicked and cruel?

  In no time at all it seemed that they had passed through the countryside, had reached the city and were driving down the Corso Vittorio Emanuele, the long, straight road that led to the piazza, and the entrance to the cathedral.

  With an air of pride Poppa handed her out of the car, and the procession began.

  The cathedral seemed to stretch away into infinity. As she began the long journey down the great aisle she had the strange sensation that the altar was retreating and she would be here forever, striving to move forward and getting nowhere.

  Lorenzo was there, looking down the aisle towards her, smiling as she neared. It was going to be all right, she thought as she saw the love blazing from him. How could she doubt him when he looked at her like that? He even reached out his hand as she neared, so great was his eagerness, and a murmur of approval ran around the congregation. Such an ardent groom. Such a lucky bride.

  The service washed over her, until the moment she heard Lorenzo say,

  ‘I, Lorenzo Luigi, take thee, Elena, to be my lawfully wedded wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health till death us do part.’

  Then it was her turn. Her hand was in his. He was looking at her, his eyes warm with love, a gentle, expectant smile on his lips. In a dream she began to say,

  ‘I, Elena, take thee, Lorenzo-’

  It was as though a hand clamped over her throat, choking off the words. She tried again. ‘I, Elena-’

  The silence seemed to stretch forever, filled with Lorenzo’s surprise, the soft buzz as the congregation sensed something wrong, ‘till death us do part’ tolling like bells in her head, her own heartbeat growing louder because she was horrified by what she was about to do.

  But she had no choice.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t-’

  Lorenzo gave her his delightful smile. ‘It’s all right, carissima. One short step and we’ll be together forever.’

  Forever. With a man she couldn’t trust.

  ‘No,’ she cried. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t. I can’t!’

  She had a brief glimpse of his face as her words registered, then she darted away fast enough to evade his restraining hand, running away from Lorenzo, running as if her life depended on it.

  The cathedral was a blur about her as she sped down the long aisle. She was vaguely aware of shocked faces, but they were gone the next instant. Then she was out in the piazza, running towards the parked cars. She threw herself into the front one, gasping, ‘Drive!’

  After a brief look at her distraught face the chauffeur started up. They were speeding away as Lorenzo rushed out of the church, looking madly around him.

  ‘Elena! ELENA!’

  ‘No,’ she wept, crouching down in the back seat, her hands over her ears. ‘I’m not Elena,’ she muttered. ‘I’m Helen. Helen! You never understood-never-’

  They would be following her soon. If only she could get home and throw off the wedding dress that belonged to a stranger called Elena. Without it she could escape from this place, be herself again, and forget that she’d ever been deceived by a sweet-talking charmer called Lorenzo Martelli.

  As they headed for the Residenza she pulled herself up onto the seat and looked through the rear window. Another car was in pursuit, gaining on them.

  ‘Faster,’ she urged the driver.

  In a few minutes they were swinging into the courtyard and she was fleeing up the stairs to her room. She slammed the door shut and stood clinging to it, breathless, overwhelmed by what she had done.

  She heard his footsteps running up the stairs, coming towards her.

  ‘Elena-what happened? For pity’s sake tell me.’

  ‘Later,’ she choked. ‘I need a moment-’

  Silence. Then his footsteps walking away. Her relief was short-lived. A moment later she heard him coming along the terrace, and hurriedly locked the great window. His shadow appeared and the lock rattled.

  ‘Open this or I’ll break the glass,’ he said harshly.

  She had no doubt that he meant it. She turned the key and backed away. She was trembling.

  Lorenzo was as she’d never seen him before. His face was hard, but after that brief outburst he was in command of himself.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked quietly. ‘Did you lose your nerve?’

  ‘No, I lost my love,’ she said, very pale.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t know you any more, Lorenzo. And if I don’t know you, how can I love you?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he whispered.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘You know who I am. I’m the man who loves you.’

  ‘No, I thought I knew that man, but suddenly there’s a new one in his place. He does terrible things and hides them behind a smiling face, and lies to the woman who loves him because she doesn’t really matter. What else are you capable of that I don’t dream of?’

  ‘I don’t understand a word you’re saying.’

  ‘I know,’ she said fiercely. ‘I know about you and Heather.’

  ‘There is no me and Heather.’

  ‘But there was. You were going to be married, weren’t you? And you stood her up at the altar.’

  ‘So you did the same to me!’ he shouted. ‘What were you trying to do? Get even on behalf of all women?’

  ‘It’s nothing like that. You suddenly looked different. I tried to talk to you about it but you could never spare me the time.’

  ‘Only because everything was so rushed for the wedding.’

  ‘You should have told me long ago.’

  ‘Like when? On the first day when you turned me down before we’d been introduced? Faithless and unreliable. Remember saying that? I was likely to tell you then, wasn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, it would have been too much confirmation.’

  ‘It didn’t matter then, can’t you see? We were just friends, laughing all the time. And lately-I suppose I didn’t think. All right, I was thoughtless, but I love you. Isn’t that enough?’

  ‘No, it’s not enough,’ she said wildly. ‘You treated me with contempt.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t think it’s treating me with contempt to conceal from me something that everyone else knew, letting them laugh at me, pity me, counting on me not finding out until too late? No, of course you don’t. Because that’s how a Sicilian man behaves, isn’t it?’

  ‘Will you stop talking like that?’ he roared. ‘All that prejudice of yours is damned silly.’

  ‘No, it isn’t, it’s true. I thought you were different, but you’re not. And my prejudices, as you call them, are based on reality. The little woman is entitled to know exactly what he tells her and no more. If even you can behave like that, I was right all the time.’

  ‘All right, I should have told you, but it’s so far in the past-’

  ‘Little more than a year ago.’

  ‘It’s still over.’

  He was a creature of the moment, she realised with despair. What was over was over, whether it was one year or ten.

  ‘Heather and I weren’t right for each other-’ he began to say.

  ‘You must have loved her once or it would never have go
t as far as a wedding.’

  Lorenzo tore his hair. Analysing people, especially himself, came hard to him, and the effort was doing his head in. But he tried his best. ‘I thought I did,’ he said. ‘I was wrong.’

  ‘Oh, you changed your mind just like that, and left her standing there to be laughed at.’

  ‘That wedding was a terrible mistake. Heather and I didn’t love each other.’

  ‘Didn’t you? Are you sure you didn’t regret it afterwards? She was very convinced you two still had a yen for each other, maybe still do-’

  ‘She? Who?’

  ‘Sara. She was a maid here when it happened. And later, she took the call when Heather dashed to England to be with you, although she was married to Renato by then-’

  ‘Sara? Mio Dio!’ He threw up his hands. ‘So that’s it. Heather dismissed her for stealing. She must have had a wonderful time getting her revenge.’

  ‘You mean it’s not true? You didn’t leave Heather at the altar?’

  ‘Yes, I did, and I’m ashamed of it, but if you’d just let me explain-’

  ‘It’s too late for that. You should have told me earlier, and not left me to find out from someone else. What were you thinking of?’

  ‘I was thinking of you,’ he said simply. ‘Just you. You drove everything else out of my head. Maybe I should have remembered the past and realised, but-’ he shrugged ‘-I suppose I just assumed that our love was so special that it could overcome everything.’

  She turned away swiftly, not to let him see that this affected her. It was less his words than his tone, suddenly gentle and almost bewildered, that touched her heart. But she fought the tears back. He’d always known how to make her weaken, but she couldn’t afford to weaken now.

  Lorenzo took hold of her, drawing her close although her head was still averted from him.

  ‘Listen to me, darling, I was wrong. I’m sorry, but I love you more than anything in the world. It’s not too late. If we go back to the cathedral now, we can still be married. People will think it strange, but let them. If we love each other-’

  ‘Stop it, stop it!’ she cried, wrenching herself free. ‘I can’t simply turn the clock back like that. You talk about love, but what is your love worth? How long does it last? You changed your mind about Heather. What about when you change your mind about me, Lorenzo? It’s not so easy after the wedding, but I’m sure you’d have found a way to do as you pleased.’