Mediterranean Rebel's Bride Page 4

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘But you did. You were walking straight towards me, and your hair was blowing in the wind. I could have ridden right over you, but you didn’t seem to realise that. You were smiling—like the time—’

  His breathing was becoming laboured and she went to him quickly, trying to soothe him.

  ‘It wasn’t me. Truly. It was the speed that confused you, and that visor. You couldn’t have seen anything properly. Just an illusion—someone who wasn’t really there.’

  ‘But—she was there,’ he whispered. ‘I saw her—’

  ‘You couldn’t have. It’s impossible.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘Because—’Suddenly realising that she was straying onto a dangerous path, she checked herself. At this moment she couldn’t tell him why she was sure he would never see Sapphire again. The truth would crush him.

  ‘Because if there had been anyone on the track you’d have hit them,’ she said.

  ‘You can’t hit a ghost,’ he said wearily. ‘Do you believe in ghosts?’

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured, saying it almost against her will. ‘I try not to, but sometimes people just won’t let go—no matter what you do, they’re always with you.’

  ‘So you know that too?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘I know that too. Go to sleep now.’

  He moved his hand forward and back, then sideways, as though searching for something. She reached out and took his hand, feeling the tension in it.

  ‘It’s going to be all right,’ she said.

  Some corner of his mind—the part of him that argued with everything—wanted to demand how she could be so sure. But the argument retreated before the reassurance of her clasp. His thoughts were confused.

  She’d said, ‘Please don’t argue with me. It’s a waste of time,’—talking like his mother. He’d tried to be annoyed, but it had been a relief to have her rescue him from the hole that his pride had dug for him. Hell would freeze over before he admitted that he’d been ready to collapse into bed, but she’d known without being told.

  At last the tension began to fade. His eyes closed, his hand relaxed, and he was asleep.

  As dawn broke Hope looked in.

  ‘Is he all right?’

  ‘Sleeping like a baby,’ Polly assured her.

  ‘Then why don’t you go and get some sleep? I’ll take over for a while.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  In her own room she snuggled blissfully down in the luxurious bed. When she awoke the sun was high in the sky. She stood under the shower, wondering what the day would bring and whether she would get the chance to fulfil her mission.

  As she finished dressing she looked at her watch and was shocked to see that it was ten o’clock.

  ‘Hope said to let you sleep,’ said Evie, who’d just popped in.

  ‘I’d better go and see my patient.’

  ‘I’ll send your breakfast up.’

  She paused outside Ruggiero’s room, wondering how difficult he would be this morning, and how much he would remember of the night before. She found him watching the door.

  ‘Come in,’ he said.

  He sounded cautious, and she felt much the same as she approached the bed. Neither was quite sure of the other’s mood, and for a moment they looked at each other.

  ‘I apologise,’ he said at last.

  ‘For—what?’

  ‘For whatever I did. I don’t remember much about last night, but I’m pretty sure I acted unforgivably.’

  ‘You acted like a damned fool,’ she said frankly. ‘Like a complete and total idiot. I’ve never seen such blinding stupidity in my whole life.’

  ‘Hey, don’t sit on the fence. Tell me what you really think of me.’

  That broke the ice, and they shared a grin.

  ‘Yes, I guess I shouldn’t have gone clowning around after bumping my head,’ he admitted. ‘But, hey, it’s a tough world. Don’t let them see any sign of weakness or the tigers pounce.’

  ‘But they weren’t tigers at that track,’ she said. ‘They were your friends. And perhaps having to impress people all the time is also a sign of weakness.’

  He looked alarmed. ‘Are you going to psychoanalyse me?’

  ‘That’s all for today. I’ll save the rest until you’re feeling better.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ he said in a dispirited voice. ‘Except that I don’t seem to have any energy.’

  ‘You’ve probably got a hangover as well as everything else. I want you to stay in bed for a while. Or are you going to fight me about that?’

  ‘No, ma’am. I’m sure you know best.’

  She regarded him cynically. ‘You must be worse than I thought.’

  There was no chance to say more, because Evie appeared with Polly’s breakfast, and after that the rest of the family came to say goodbye before returning to their distant homes. Ruggiero greeted them all boisterously, cracked jokes and generally acted the part of a man who was on top of the world. But when it was over his forehead was damp and he was full of tension.

  ‘That was quite a performance,’ she said sympathetically.

  ‘Sure—a sign of weakness, like you said.’

  ‘Not this time. You sent them off easier in their minds about you.’

  He tried to shrug, but immediately winced, making a face and rubbing his shoulder.

  ‘You should let me look at that.’

  She helped him off with the pyjama jacket, revealing a shoulder that looked inflamed.

  ‘I haven’t broken anything,’ he said, sounding mulish again.

  ‘Will you leave me to make the diagnosis?’ she asked lightly. ‘As a matter of fact I don’t think you have broken anything, because otherwise you’d be in a lot more pain than you are. But stop trying to take over.’

  ‘Yes, I’m wasting my time doing that with you.’ He sounded resigned.

  ‘That’s right,’ she told him. ‘I’ve seen off far more troublesome patients than you.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah!’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah!’

  She was slowly working on his shoulder, feeling for injury, talking to distract him.

  ‘On the wards they call me Nurse Bossy-Boots. People scurry for cover at my approach.’

  ‘Think you can make me run?’

  ‘Right this minute nothing could make you run. You might manage a stagger, but even then I’d have to hold you up.’

  He started to laugh, but ended with a sharp gasp. ‘Don’t make me laugh,’ he begged.

  She eased herself behind him, one knee on the bed so that she could reach his shoulder from the best angle. He drew a deep breath of relief, muttering, ‘That’s better.’

  For a while neither of them spoke while she worked on the shoulder, massaging it until it relaxed, then moved his arm gently in several directions. It was bruised and inflamed, but not dislocated. She finished by rubbing in some of the gel the doctor had left with her.

  Studying him professionally, she saw that he was in superb physical condition, lean and muscular, as she would have expected from a man who lived an athletic life, and evenly tanned, as though he swam a good deal under the hot sun.

  He carried so little weight that when he leaned forward for her to examine his spine she could easily make out its straight line, and the lines of his ribs.

  ‘It wouldn’t hurt you to gain a few pounds,’ she observed, flexing her fingers gently against his skin. ‘It might give you something to land on.’

  ‘I’d put on weight if I could. I eat like a horse but I stay like this.’

  ‘Lucky you. Lie back.’

  She pressed him gently back against the pillows while she felt his ribs at the front.

  ‘A couple of cracks,’ she confirmed, ‘but you’ve got off very lightly, considering.’

  ‘You’re not going to drag me off to hospital to be strapped up?’

  ‘There’s no need. Strapping fixes your ribs,
but it can make it harder to breathe. So just be careful how you move and it’ll heal naturally.’

  The quiet authority in her voice seemed to ease his mind, and she felt him relaxing under her hands.

  ‘Let’s put your jacket back on,’ she said. ‘Then I’ll give you a couple more pills.’

  He winced as she slid the jacket back over his shoulders, but at last it was done. He accepted the pills with a faint smile, and was soon asleep.

  The house was quiet now that the guests had departed, and Hope, Toni and Francesco had travelled to the airport to see off the English party. Polly listened to the silence, which seemed to have an edgy quality, and thought she was being warned that this tranquil time could not last for ever. The moment was approaching.

  She slipped next door and found the picture of Freda and the young man she now knew as Ruggiero. She studied his face a while, trying to reconcile its glowing joy with the dour, tense individual he had become. Then she put it in her pocket and returned to sit quietly with him until she heard a car return late in the afternoon.

  Hope and Toni came in together, full of gratitude.

  ‘I will stay with my son for a while,’ Toni said, ‘while you go down for supper.’

  Ruggiero was awake but drowsy as Toni slipped into the room.

  ‘All gone?’ he asked, yawning.

  ‘Their flight took off on time. How are you feeling?’

  ‘OK, I guess. I seem to be floating.’ Suddenly he remembered. ‘Poppa, do you know what Mamma did? She practically kidnapped Polly.’

  ‘Don’t blame me,’ his father said hastily. ‘I knew nothing about it until it was too late. You know your mother.’

  ‘But didn’t you make some protest?’

  ‘Why? I’m glad you’re being properly cared for.’

  ‘I guess she told you what to say,’ Ruggiero said with wry amusement. ‘You’re bullied—you know that?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Toni said seriously. ‘Your mamma never bullies me. She knows what I need before I know myself, and she makes sure that I have it.’

  ‘There’s a difference?’

  ‘Yes,’ Toni said simply. ‘There’s a difference.’

  Downstairs the table was spread with a banquet, and Polly found herself treated as an honoured guest. Hope ceremonially poured champagne, clinked glasses, and produced an envelope plump with euros.

  ‘But this is far too much,’ Polly gasped. ‘I can’t take it all.’

  ‘You are worth every penny,’ Hope declared. ‘Not only for what you are doing for us, but also because you have allowed us to take over your holiday without complaint.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Polly said awkwardly. ‘It wasn’t really a holiday.’

  ‘Do you mean that you have to return to England soon? When are you due back at your job?’

  ‘I don’t have a job at the moment.’

  ‘Aha—then you are free to remain as long as you wish. Good. You will stay with us. Now, let us eat.’

  Toni joined them after a while, with the news that Ruggiero was sleeping.

  ‘I’ll go back fairly soon,’ Polly said.

  They made it hard for her—treating her like a queen, toasting her with champagne, encouraging her to talk about herself. That was a dangerous subject, and she had to be circumspect, but these were warm-hearted people, taking what they wanted with a charm that threatened to melt her heart.

  As soon as possible she brought the conversation back to Ruggiero, explaining about his condition and how she could take care of it.

  ‘He’ll be fine if he can be persuaded to rest for a few days,’ she finished.

  ‘You can persuade him,’ Hope declared. ‘You have him eating out of your hand.’

  Polly put her head on one side. ‘I try to picture him eating out of anyone’s hand,’ she said whimsically, ‘but it’s beyond me.’ As they laughed, she added, ‘Thank you for a lovely meal. Now I think I’ll go upstairs and crack the whip a little. Goodnight.’

  She seated herself quietly beside Ruggiero’s bed, seeing with satisfaction that he was deeply, contentedly asleep. She waited beside him for a while, dozing gently herself, so that she didn’t notice when he awoke, and didn’t know that his eyes were open until he murmured, ‘Polly.’

  ‘Yes, I’m here. Is something the matter?’

  ‘Yes, in a way. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Hey, you’ve already apologised.’

  ‘For being a jerk, but not for—’ He broke off, groaning, ‘I hit you, didn’t I? When you were by me on the track—I seem to remember—’

  ‘You sent me flying,’ she said lightly. ‘But it was an accident. You didn’t mean to do it. You were just flailing around blindly.’

  ‘I do a lot of that, I’m afraid.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she said in a rallying voice. ‘Why are you so determined to give yourself a hard time?’

  ‘Perhaps somebody ought to,’ he said grimly.

  She was touched by this glimpse of humility, so unexpected.

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ he said. ‘Are you sure you don’t blame me?’

  ‘Honestly—it’s not that.’

  ‘Then what is it? What’s the mystery, Polly? And don’t try to brush me off, because I’ve been lying here doing a lot of thinking, and I don’t reckon you just happened to be at the track—did you?’

  ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘It wasn’t an accident.’ She took a long breath. ‘Maybe it’s time I told you everything.’

  Suddenly the enormity of what she had to tell him came over her. She’d wanted to choose her moment—not have it forced on her like this.

  ‘I meant to tell you earlier,’ she said at last. ‘But then you were ill so I had to wait.’

  ‘Whatever it is, I think I need to know.’

  Switching on the bedside lamp, she reached into her bag and took out the photograph of him with Freda.

  ‘I think this will explain part of it,’ she said, handing it to him.

  As he stared at the picture she saw a change come over him—but not the one she’d expected. After the first shock he became possessed by dark fury.

  ‘You’ve been going through my things,’ he accused.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘You must have done, or you couldn’t have this picture.’

  ‘That isn’t yours,’ she said urgently.

  ‘Don’t lie to me.’

  ‘I’m not lying. I have one too. Yours is still wherever you keep it.’

  He hauled himself up in bed, wincing, so that she reached out to help him. He pushed her away.

  ‘Get off me,’ he snapped.

  She realised that she should have thought of this, but she hadn’t.

  He made it painfully over to the chest of drawers on the far side of the room, pulled open the top drawer and reached deep inside. Polly wondered at the swift change in him. There was no trace now of the humility that had briefly touched her heart. His streak of ferocity, never far below the surface, had reasserted itself.

  She saw his face change as he drew something out of the drawer and looked at it. She guessed it was the companion picture. Coming slowly back to the bed, he almost fell onto it, breathing hard with the pain. In silence she handed the first photograph back to him. He gazed from one picture to the other, like a man who’d received a stunning blow.

  ‘Where did you get this?’ he demanded hoarsely.

  ‘She gave it to me.’

  ‘She?’

  ‘My cousin—Freda. She said you went to the funfair together and had the pictures taken in a machine. There were two, and you took one each.’

  ‘Freda?’

  ‘You knew her as Sapphire.’

  He turned his head on the pillow, looking at her intently.

  ‘Take your hair down,’ he said.

  ‘Surely there’s—?’

  ‘Do it.’

  A quick movement and it fell about her face. She guessed that the dim light emphasised her likeness to Freda, and wa
s certain of it when he closed his eyes, as if to shut her out.

  ‘That’s why I thought you were her,’ he said, almost to himself.

  ‘It’s not much of a resemblance. She was always the beautiful one.’

  He opened his eyes again and studied her. She was sure the contrast between her and his fantasy image struck painfully.

  ‘You said she’s your cousin?’

  ‘She was,’ Polly said softly. ‘She’s dead now.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘DEAD,’ he whispered. ‘No—you didn’t say that. I just thought for a moment—’

  ‘She’s dead,’ Polly repeated softly. ‘A few weeks ago.’

  He looked away, concealing his face from her, while his fingers moved compulsively on the photograph until it began to crumple.

  ‘Go on,’ he said at last, in a voice that seemed to come from a great distance.

  ‘Her real name was Freda Hanson—until she married George Ranley, six years ago.’

  He stirred. ‘She was married when I knew her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He made her unhappy? She no longer loved him?’

  ‘I don’t think she was ever madly in love with him,’ Polly said, choosing her words carefully. ‘He’s very rich, and—’

  ‘Stop there,’ he said quickly. ‘If you’re trying to tell me that she married for money—don’t. She wouldn’t—not the girl I knew.’

  ‘But you didn’t know her,’ Polly said gently. ‘Don’t you realise that she made sure of that? She didn’t even tell you her real name. That way you couldn’t find her again when she went home.’

  ‘Where was home?’

  ‘In Yorkshire, in the north of England.’

  ‘How much do you know of what happened between her and me?’

  ‘You met in a bar in a London hotel, and you were together for two weeks.’

  ‘You could put it like that,’ he said slowly. ‘But the truth was so much more. What we had was there from the first moment. I looked at her, and I wanted her so badly that I was afraid it must show. I even thought I might scare her off. But nothing frightened her. She was brave. She went out to meet life—she came to me at once.’

  There was an aching wistfulness in his voice that saddened Polly. She knew the truth behind her cousin’s ‘bravery’. She hadn’t had much time to pursue her object. That was the ugly fact, and it was painful to see this blunt, forceful man reduced to misery by her ruthless tactics.