he loved you,’ he said, embellishing the truth, because he knew she needed to hear it and because he knew it to be true. ‘More than anything or anyone in the world. He talked about how special you are and how much you mean to him. He talked about how afraid he was for you when he was gone, how he would miss seeing you married with children one day.’
She dragged in air and bit down on her plump bottom lip with her teeth in the way he remembered her always doing whenever she’d been upset years ago. He remembered her trying not to cry out loud at her parents’ funeral and biting down so hard on her lip those teeth had drawn blood, blood she’d later smeared on his white shirt when he’d hugged her and held her close. How her twelve-year-old’s tears had reduced him to tears too, even though he’d promised himself to be strong that day.
God, but she’d been through so much. He could well understand Umberto wanting to protect her and ensure nothing bad ever happened to her again. He wanted that too. And, the longer he was with her, the more he wanted it. But he still knew in his crusted heart that he was the last person who could make it so.
‘He told me that you see the good in everyone, that you do not judge, that you have a good heart.’
Across the table, she sniffed. ‘Thank you. It would have been nice to have heard these things first hand, but it is good to hear them at all, so thank you.’
‘Sometimes it is not possible to say these things face to face. Your grandfather was old-school. Did he ever tell you he loved you when he was alive?’
‘No, but I still knew.’
‘Yes, you knew. Some things, Bella—some things do not need to be said for us to know them to be true,’ he said, feeling only slightly guilty for the things he’d told her, the things he’d embellished and the things he’d omitted when he saw how happy she was to hear them.
And she smiled, tears once again welling in her eyes. ‘Thank you, Raoul,’ she said as she clasped his hand in hers, only letting go as their meals were served. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘WHAT will you do now?’ he asked while they ate. ‘Will you stay in Paris?’
She tilted her head as she toyed with a mushroom, contemplating his question and letting herself appreciate for the first time just how much she was enjoying tonight. She hadn’t expected to enjoy anything today, and there was still an Umberto-sized hole in her chest. But she felt, if not entirely happy, then almost good, she decided, although she was in no doubt that the company was a major factor in that. Just being with Raoul seemed to make her feel good, to feel warm.
‘I have my job at the American Library here in Paris. They’ve given me leave, as long as I need, although I think I really should get back to work. I’ve been off more than a month already.’
‘You don’t look like any librarian I’ve ever seen,’ he offered. ‘In fact, if librarians had looked like you when I was at school, I might have spent more time studying in the library.’
She smiled and tilted her head. ‘Why thank you, kind sir, but I think perhaps that is the wine talking.’
‘No,’ he countered. ‘That is definitely the man talking.’
She felt his words in the quake that rumbled its way down her spine and lodged deep in her belly; she had to suck in air to cool and mitigate its far-flung effects. ‘I’m the special-collections manager,’ she said, squeezing her legs together under the table to quell the buzzing between her thighs. ‘Maybe the library gods give us a bit more leeway in that department.’
And to her relief he laughed, a rich, deep sound that resonated through her bones. ‘Come to Venice with me.’
Her breath caught—or maybe it was her heart—and it was her turn to laugh, but this time nervously. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I have business in Venice. Come with me, Bella.’
She shook her head, once again blindsided by the events of the day. She was torn to think he was leaving already after such a short time, tempted to do something wildly un-Gabriella-like and take off with him. But she didn’t work that way. ‘I can’t just take off to Venice.’
‘Why not?’
‘I have my job.’
‘You’re on leave.’
‘But … But … ‘ She was thinking of all the reasons going to Venice with Raoul would be so wonderful: the chance to renew their acquaintance, the opportunity to feel his warming presence; logic momentarily deserted her.
‘What do you have to stay for? A change would do you good.’
When he put it like that, it had been a long time since she’d had any kind of holiday. Once she went back to work it would be months before she could ask for more time off, and the thought of going to Venice with Raoul … ‘No.’ She shook her head, much more emphatically this time, half to convince herself. ‘That’s silly. What were we talking about again?’
He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter one way or the other. ‘So, think about it. No rush. Meanwhile, we were talking about you. Where did you go to school? I seem to remember Umberto mentioning boarding school once or twice when I visited him.’
She nodded, feeling warmed by the thought of Umberto talking to Raoul about his granddaughter and what she was doing—and Raoul actually remembering—while in the back of her mind she kept hearing his words, Come with me, Bella.
She took a sip of water, wondering if it was the wine making her feel reckless enough to want to say yes. Then she marshalled her scattered thoughts enough to answer his question properly.
‘From the day I was born, my mother had me booked into the same ladies college in the Cotswolds she’d attended as a girl. I’d always known I was going there and, while I didn’t want to leave Umberto, it felt good being there and nearer her parents, too, while they were alive. And I’d see Mum’s name on winners’ boards and amongst lists of past prefects and it made me feel good—walking those same corridors, sitting in those same classrooms that she had. Like I was closer to her, if that makes any sense.’
Suddenly she wasn’t sure what made sense and what didn’t. She gave a nervous laugh, tilted her head. ‘Did you actually mean it about coming to Venice?’ Immediately she dismissed it. ‘But, no, sorry, it’s a crazy idea. I’m probably not making any sense.’
‘You make perfect sense,’ he said, raising his glass to her. ‘And it’s not such a crazy idea.’
Oh, but it was. If she went to Venice she might get used to the warm, wonderful way he made her feel—as if she had one hundred per cent of his attention all the time, as if she were the only person, the only woman, in the world.
And that would be crazy.
‘Anyway,’ she pressed on, determined to get back to her story and not dwell on things that could not be, ‘That’s where I met Phillipa.’
‘Your friend I met today?’
She
