infant.
A movement outside the summer dining room caught his eye. In the far distance a dust devil spiralled along the line of the drive. It was heading for the villa. Gianni’s eyes narrowed with annoyance. He really didn’t need visitors right now. With an exclamation, he slid his palms back across the white linen of the tablecloth and cranked himself to his feet. His sleep-deprived brain was still functioning, but his limbs were set in concrete. Crossing the room, he went out through the open French doors and onto the terrace. However he felt, he had a duty to those arriving to pay their respects to his late father. He shut his eyes, concentrating on what he would say.
The Tuscan countryside sounded as only an afternoon in high summer could. In the still, hot air not a leaf moved. A single bird called, with the monotonous chip-chip of two parched stones tapping together. The only other sound was that single car engine, making a tunnel through the dense air as it tore towards him. Everything else held its breath.
Gianni heard the car swing around in an extravagant semicircle to stop in front of the villa’s main door. Puzzled, he opened his eyes and saw—not some grand limousine, but a simple radio cab. There wasn’t time to be shocked before its driver bellowed a hearty greeting and leapt out to open the car’s boot.
The cabbie began hauling out suitcases and piling them on the dusty ground, while keeping up a cheerful conversation with his still invisible passenger. Gianni stared at the scene with disbelief. All the time the car radio chattered away. No one at the Villa Castelfino had raised their voice above a whisper for days. Until that moment, the vast face of the house had been blank with shutters closed against the sunshine. Now flickers of movement ran along behind many of them. This unexpected racket was mobilising Gianni’s staff. Sure enough, one of the kitchen lads raced out from a side door to tackle the new arrivals. While he was busy silencing the cab driver, the brand new count got another shock.
The rear door of the taxi opened and the most beautiful woman in the world struggled out. Her skirt, already short, had ridden up during her journey exposing long, beautifully shaped legs. Her dark blonde hair moved loosely around her shoulders, shining in the sunlight. She looked dazed. As she straightened up she staggered slightly, as though pushed back against the security of the car. Gianni realised she had been caught off guard by the sudden contrast between the air-conditioned taxi and the sun-baked amphitheatre in front of the Villa Castelfino. Is it any wonder, he observed, when she’s wearing tights?
With a curse, he turned away. His body had sprung to life as it always did at the sight of a pretty girl. How could it possibly play a tasteless trick on him like that, today of all days? A keen interest in all things feminine was only natural, but noticing such fine detail at a time like this was grotesque. Gianni dropped his gaze to his feet. And then he heard her laugh. It was as captivating as a charm of goldfinches.
‘Signor Bellini! What a surprise! I never expected to see you again, let alone here! What a lovely surprise!’
He heard her take long, confident strides toward him across the gritty forecourt. From his vantage point on the terrace he could look down on her with the mere flick of a glance. As she noticed his bitter, twisted expression she stopped smiling. In half a dozen steps she went from delight, through puzzlement, to concern. Her steps became hesitant, and when she spoke again her voice was halting and uncertain.
‘You are the man I met at the Chelsea Flower Show, aren’t you?’
‘Sì. I am Gianni Bellini.’
He dropped the words like icicles, but then recognition swept over him. This was the flower girl. Gianni never forgot a pretty face—or a curvaceous body like hers. Manufacturing a smile, he nodded a brief welcome. Details slowly came back to him. This one was not only beautiful, she was clever, too. That was enough of a novelty for her to have made a special impact on Gianni at the time, but he had never dreamed of seeing her a second time.
The force of his reply didn’t stop her. She advanced with another laugh and stuck out her hand in greeting.
‘Good grief, I never would have believed it. You’ve changed—all those girlfriends must be running you ragged, signor!’
‘What are you doing here?’ he enquired in a voice like cut glass. As he spoke he looked down at her outstretched hand as though he would rather shake a viper by the tail.
She frowned, looking into his face as though searching for recognition.
‘I work for the Count di Castelfino. I’m moving into the Garden Cottage today. Someone usually meets me at the airport, but for some reason the chauffeur didn’t turn up today.’
‘That is because my father is dead. I’m the Count di Castelfino now,’ he announced with crisp formality.
Her smile vanished, and she stared at him in growing horror.
‘Oh…I’m so sorry.’ Helplessly she looked from the taxi, to her heap of suitcases and then back to him. ‘How crass of me to arrive in such a flurry like this…C-can I ask what happened?’
‘He suffered a stroke some days ago, in Paris. He died yesterday—no, the day before—’
Shaking his head, Gianni raised one hand and dragged it wearily down over his face. The rasp of stubble under his palm was loud and intrusive in the horrible, thick silence.
‘I—I’m so sorry…’ she repeated, her voice soft and insubstantial.
Exactly like her, Gianni thought instinctively, before silently cursing his reactions again.
‘You weren’t to know. I didn’t know you were expected. That’s why no one was sent to meet you. I was only driven back here an hour ago.’ Distracted, he looked across at the taxi and pulled out his wallet. ‘I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey. You’ll have to go back to wherever you came from. How did you get past my security guards at the gate, in any case?’
Her eyes opened wider and wider as he spoke until they looked like two clear reflections of the cobalt sky.
‘They were expecting me…my name is on today’s visitor list…so they just waved my taxi straight through…’ Her voice was faint. As it faltered still further he had to lean closer to hear what she was saying. ‘But I can’t go back…all the plants here will need someone to look after them. The count—the old count—would have wanted them cared for properly…’
Gianni shook his head. ‘I’m the Count di Castelfino now, and I have my own plans. It’s the start of a new regime. There’s no room here for anything that doesn’t pay its way. Whatever projects my father may have had in mind won’t be going ahead. I’m in charge now, and my interests are much more practical.’
As he spoke he saw the heaven of her eyes become cloudy and misted with tears. She shrank visibly, and when she spoke her voice was barely more than a whisper.
‘You can’t mean that, signor?’
‘I’m afraid so. The Castelfino vineyard is my only concern. I’m interested in practical projects, not hobbies.’
Springing lightly down from the terrace, he started to walk towards the taxi. Because old habits couldn’t be shaken off, he put a comforting arm around her shoulder to lead her in the same direction. ‘Don’t worry, signorina. I’ll pay your taxi fare back to the airport. By the time you get there, my staff will have phoned through and arranged a return ticket for
