Married Under the Italian Sun Page 5

  She was beginning to realise that a good harvest was vital. The lump sum Joe had paid her, and which had seemed comfortable at the time, was vanishing fast under the demands she was forced to make on it. Her wage bill alone was alarming. She knew she couldn’t do without a car, but she put it off, and finally bought herself only a modest vehicle.

  The time was coming when she would be forced to make money somehow, and it made her uneasy because none of the ways open to her were appealing. She’d already had an offer to sell the story of her life with Joe, complete with juicy details, but to do that was to return to the old life and the old values, the very ones she was trying to escape.

  Angel pushed the thought aside, telling herself that there would be time enough to worry later. Just now, she wanted to concentrate on Sam, and getting his new home ready for him.

  Every morning and evening she called him, seizing on any sign that he was a little more alert, and concealing her disappointment when he didn’t know her. Afterwards she would talk to Roy or Frank, his nurses, and they would be reassuring.

  ‘He’s been a little better today-truly-we talk of you, and he seems to understand. He just doesn’t recognise your voice on the phone, but it’ll be different when he sees you.’

  ‘Of course it will,’ Angel would say, trying to convince herself. ‘Give him my love. Tell him we’ll soon be together again.’

  Then she would put the phone down and weep.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  V ITTORIO usually ended a trip to town by collecting his mail. It eased the confusion caused by the fact that he no longer lived in the big house.

  ‘I’ve got some for you today,’ the post mistress said with a smile. ‘And also some for her.’

  She said ‘her’ in the significant tone many of the locals used to signify that they were on his side. This time it troubled him.

  ‘It’s not her fault she’s the new owner,’ he said mildly. ‘Perhaps we should ease off.’

  A guffaw behind him made him turn to see a young man whom, now he thought of it, he’d never much liked. His name was Mario, a ne’er-do-well who drank too much and lived by doing odd jobs, not very well. Vittorio had hired him as a temporary hand at harvest time, and fired him for laziness.

  ‘I guess she’s been working her wiles on you,’ Mario said now, sounding not quite sober.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Vittorio asked in a cold voice that should have warned him.

  ‘Well, we all know what kind of a woman she is. It’s in the papers.’

  Moving with deliberate care, Vittorio took Mario’s ear between his finger and thumb, squeezing it painfully, and eliciting a squeal.

  ‘I’ll tell you just once,’ he said, almost gently. ‘Shut-up! Understood?’

  A strangulated gasp signified agreement, and Vittorio released him, turning his back at once.

  ‘I’ll take my mail now,’ he said. Then he walked out of the shop without a glance at Mario, who was still rubbing his ear and regarding him with malevolence.

  Sitting in the car afterwards, he took some deep breaths, clenching his hands on the wheel. To calm himself down he checked over the mail. Among the items for Angel was a large brown envelope that had come from England and was falling apart. He laid everything on the seat and started up.

  At the villa he walked straight in, going to the room at the back where there was a desk, from which he had once run the estate. As he laid the brown envelope down it suddenly gave up the ghost and split right open, depositing its contents over the floor, and revealing them to be a collection of English magazines. As he picked them up Angel’s face blazed out at him.

  She was there on the cover of a publication with a ridiculous name, designed to make every man who read it feel like a daredevil. And her pose reinforced the impression, eyes wide, as though meeting a man’s gaze, lips touched by a provocative smile. It was practically an invitation to bed.

  Then he saw the words beneath.

  How Angel Broke My Heart-by the lover she dumped.

  Vittorio made a sound of distaste, flinging the magazine down and heading for the door. But something made him stop, turn back and, hating himself, retrieve it.

  Inside, there were more pictures from Angel’s heyday, but there were also amateur snapshots showing her several years back, looking unfinished and barely recognisable as her present self. With her was a handsome young man, presumably her boyfriend.

  The headline claimed that this was ‘The True Story Of What Really Happened’, told by Angel’s broken-hearted fiancé.

  What followed was a tragic tale of a young man’s love spurned by a rapacious woman, who callously threw him over for a rich man. Reading it, Vittorio discovered that his English had improved more than he had realised.

  I loved her, and I thought she loved me, but she threw me over for the sake of wealth. How could I compete with Joe Clannan’s millions? I bear her no ill-will, but, now that she too has been dumped, I hope she has learned the value of a loving heart.

  He grimaced with disgust. Then he took a closer look at the man’s face. Like a god, he thought. Probably an empty-headed god, but exactly what a young girl would fall for. But she’d dumped him for Joe Clannan, and Vittorio reckoned he didn’t have to be clairvoyant to guess why.

  He felt suddenly sad.

  Angel, coming into the room a few minutes later, found him sitting, staring into space. She stiffened when she saw the magazine.

  ‘I don’t admire your choice of reading matter,’ she said coldly.

  He jumped as though she’d startled him.

  ‘It belongs to you,’ he said, speaking with an effort. ‘It was with your mail, which I collected with mine.’

  ‘And you felt you had to open it?’

  ‘The envelope split.’ In the face of her sceptical look, he held it up, and she nodded.

  He watched as she glanced over the story, and saw a bleak weariness settle over her face. It made her look older, almost haggard. At this moment, he thought, nobody would have recognised her as Angel. He found himself moved by a strange instinct to console her.

  ‘You shouldn’t let that thing upset you,’ he said. ‘They probably sought him out and offered him a good price to say whatever they wanted. It’s not important.’

  ‘You mean that’s the dirty world I live in, so I shouldn’t be surprised,’ she said, challenging him directly.

  At any other time this was exactly what he would have meant, but not now. While he struggled for a tactful answer she added, ‘You’re quite right. They probably paid him several thousand for that piece of spite. Good luck to him.’

  She gave a hard, mirthless little laugh, that hurt Vittorio to listen to. Suddenly he wanted to think well of her, more than anything on earth.

  ‘But he’s made it up, hasn’t he?’ he asked, almost pleading.

  ‘Some of it. I didn’t ditch him for Joe. We’d already broken up by then.’

  ‘But when he says you married your husband for his money-’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said lightly, challenging him with a look. ‘That’s perfectly true.’

  He paled. ‘You don’t mean that.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I mean it?’ she flung at him defiantly. ‘You’ve met my ex-husband. Did you think I married him for love?’

  ‘I guess not,’ he said heavily.

  ‘Don’t look like that,’ she cried, seized by irrational anger. ‘It’s what you thought of me anyway, isn’t it?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘Well-yes, maybe.’

  ‘Oh, you coward,’ she said softly. ‘You’ve despised me from the first day. Admit it!’

  He stood silent. After a while she gave a contemptuous laugh.

  ‘It was fine as long as you could sneer at me from a distance, wasn’t it? But you can’t say it to my face.’

  ‘Maybe because I know how much I got wrong. I blamed you because of the way he bought this house, but you told me yourself it wasn’t for you.’
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  ‘And you believed me?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Maybe you shouldn’t. You have only my word for it.’

  ‘I take your word,’ he said through gritted teeth.

  ‘And if I tell you that I was a poor innocent who went blindly into marriage without knowing what I was doing, would you believe me?’

  ‘Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘I could if I wanted to. I could say anything if I wanted to. How would you know the difference? For the last eight years I’ve been living in a world where lies and truth don’t exist. There’s only what will work for the moment. If it’ll do you some good, you say it. If it doesn’t work, you change it. The only reality is money. Joe Clannan had millions and he wanted to spend them on me. So I let him. Why not? He bought me, I sold me, and I made sure I got a high price. Is that plain enough for you?’

  ‘Stop it,’ he said fiercely. ‘Why are you doing this?’

  ‘Just trying to restore your sense of reality. You knew all the worst of me by instinct, the first day. You should have stuck with it. It’s all true.’

  ‘All of it?’

  She drew a sharp breath. ‘Most of it. Enough to put any decent man off me, if he had any sense.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’ he demanded harshly. ‘Why didn’t you sell this place and use the money to go on living the high life? The money would have run out in the end, but by that time you could have snared another rich husband easily. It’s only a question of the right technique and, according to you, you’ve got that. Or did I misunderstand you?’

  ‘No, you didn’t misunderstand me,’ she raged. ‘Got the right technique? I’ve got a dozen of them. There’s a way to make a fool of almost any man. You just have to find what it is. Some are more of a challenge than others but, in the end, most of them sit up and beg.’

  She could see that he hated this. His eyes darkened and his breathing became fast and shallow. He turned away, but she darted in front of him.

  ‘It’s not just a question of fluttering your eyelids. That’s a corny old trick, although it still works on the dumber ones-and there are plenty of those. It’s knowing when to lick your lips, and a particular note you can put in your laughter because that sends shivers up their spines-’

  ‘Shut up!’ he raged. ‘Don’t you dare say another word.’

  She looked up into his face, giving her head a little shake so that her hair fell back in ripples.

  ‘Giving me orders, Vittorio?’ she asked softly. ‘Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?’

  A new darkness came over his face. It would have been frightening if she’d been in the mood to be scared. As it was, a thrill went through her, making her whole body tremble with pleasure.

  ‘I could kill you just for saying that,’ he said slowly.

  She laughed then, recklessly, knowing what she was doing would push him to the edge, knowing also that she wanted to do exactly that.

  ‘And with some men you have to make them angry first,’ she said, leaning forward so that her warm breath fanned his face. ‘The result is always the same.’

  Vittorio gripped her shoulders hard. ‘Are you mad to speak to me like that?’ he demanded, giving her a little shake.

  ‘Perhaps. Maybe that’s how I get my fun. You must admit that I’ve made my point.’

  ‘What point?’ he asked in a dazed voice.

  ‘I said some men are more of a challenge than others. Actually, you were one of the easier ones.’

  ‘If you think you’ve brought me under your cheap spell, think again,’ he grated. ‘Do you think I haven’t met women like you before? Do you think I don’t know what to do with them?’

  ‘No, you’ve never met one like me before,’ Angel told him, eyes fixed on his face. ‘And you’re right-you have no idea what to do with me.’

  That was true, she thought with bitter triumph. For one defenceless moment it was there in his face-everything he wanted, everything he’d told himself was not for him.

  He was holding her tight against him now and she could feel the thunder of his heart, telling her that she was driving him to madness. She began to laugh, at him, at herself, at the sensations pulsing through her.

  ‘Stop that!’ he said fiercely. ‘Stop it or I’ll make you.’

  ‘You couldn’t make me,’ she challenged.

  Vittorio’s face tightened, and he jerked her so close that their lips almost touched. A thrill of triumph went through her. This man who defended himself against her with such iron control was melting in her hands.

  But in the same moment Angel felt the change inside herself. The brilliant exhilaration faded, died, leaving bleakness behind. She wanted to cry out, grasp it while there was still time, but the time was already over, and there was nothing there.

  He saw it all happen, saw the exact instant when her eyes emptied. One minute he was grasping her in anger, the next he was almost holding her up.

  ‘Angel,’ he whispered. ‘Angel what are you trying to do?’

  She shook her head. She didn’t know. The mood that had swept over her might have happened a thousand years ago.

  He released her carefully, half expecting her to fall, but she stepped back and looked at him with the bleakest expression he had ever seen. He couldn’t bear to look at her. It was like watching somebody dying, crumbling inside until only the empty shell was left.

  ‘Why do you want me to think badly of you?’ he asked.

  ‘You will anyway, whatever I do,’ she said sadly. ‘It’s safer this way. Go on thinking the worst of me, Vittorio. It’s probably true.’

  She walked out of the room, leaving him stunned.

  He tried to tell himself that everything was very simple. She’d just confirmed his worst suspicions. But he couldn’t make himself believe it. She’d spoken cruel, bitter words, all aimed at herself. And every one of them had struck him like a cry for help.

  But he didn’t know how to help her, and suddenly he wanted to smash something.

  Once outside, Angel fled across the hall. When Berta came out from the kitchen, suggesting coffee, she thanked her and declined, then fled up to her room, unable to face even the simplest conversation.

  When her bedroom door had closed behind her she let the tension drain from her body and almost fell onto the bed. For a long time she didn’t move, just stared into the distance, trying to fight the miserable lethargy that was taking her over.

  The last time this had happened was on the night of the quiz show, just as she had gone out into the lights. But that had lasted only briefly. This was swamping her.

  It had started in the dark days after she had lost her baby, but she had told herself that she was over them now. Then something would happen to show her that she was mistaken.

  The air about her was thrumming, and Vittorio seemed to be there with her again, holding her, losing control, coming to the danger point and taking her with him because her rioting desire matched his own.

  That was it. That was what had been lying in wait from the beginning, the thing she had refused to face, that wouldn’t be denied any longer.

  Then something inside her had failed at the crucial moment. But for that…Angel drew a long breath. Don’t think of it. Don’t give him the upper hand.

  She pulled herself together, seizing the magazine she had grabbed and trying to focus on the words. Gavin seemed to come from another life, and the handsome, stupid face on the page brought back no memories. The more recent picture showed her that he still bore traces of good looks, although growing beefy.

  I didn’t dump him for Joe, she thought indignantly. I dumped him because he didn’t want Sam. He hasn’t even mentioned Sam in that piece. Not that I’d want him to.

  Toni, who’d slipped into the room behind her, began to clamour for attention.

  ‘OK, let’s go for a walk,’ she said.

  It was an aimless walk, but they both liked it that way. There was something comforting in the company of a crea
ture who didn’t expect her to be always striking attitudes. Whatever she wanted to do was fine by him, whether it was wandering, lying down under some trees, or dozing off. When he found her motionless and breathing steadily, he simply curled up in the crook of her arm and stayed with her as the hours passed and the light faded.

  Berta was just sitting down for a coffee when Vittorio dropped in late that evening.

  ‘Come and have one,’ she called, fetching him a cup. ‘In fact, have some supper. There’s plenty to spare.’

  He accepted gratefully, eating in silence until he had the energy to say, ‘That’s better. I wasn’t looking forward to going home and feeding myself.’

  ‘No, you’ve been spoilt,’ Berta said, with the frankness of long service.

  ‘Spoilt by you,’ he agreed. ‘I just looked in to give our mistress a report of some of the things that need doing, and how much it’s going to cost her to do them.’

  ‘She’s not home,’ Berta said. ‘She went out with Toni hours ago and neither of them have come back. I thought she might have gone to town but her car’s here.’

  ‘But it’s dark,’ Vittorio said, with a worried glance out of the window. ‘Has she been out there all this time?’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re concerned for her,’ Berta said. ‘I thought you hated her.’

  ‘I don’t hate her,’ Vittorio said awkwardly, adding, as though explaining a weakness, ‘She’s good to the dogs, no matter what they do.’ He gave a faint grin. ‘She even bought cheap clothes so that they could make a mess of them.’

  ‘Yes, I saw. And she doesn’t look the same any more. She’s not what we thought.’ When Vittorio didn’t answer, she said insistently, ‘Is she?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he mused, remembering what had happened only a few hours ago.

  ‘Did I tell you, she knows all about those murals? When I showed them to her she kept saying, “Ah! That one was painted by…”’

  ‘And was she right?’

  ‘What do I know about pictures? But she knows. And she’s speaking Italian better and better after just a week or so. She must have learned it in the past. I wonder why. Just as I wonder why she’s doing up those rooms.’