has in such matters.’
‘Well, his arrogance in other ways more than compensates for that,’ Polly said crisply, zipping herself into a pretty blue shift dress.
‘You would not think so if you had known his father, the Marchese Domenico,’ said Teresa. ‘Now, there was a supreme autocrat. And of course that old witch he brought to the house after his wife died encouraged him to think he could do no wrong. She and Bianca, her secret weapon.’
Polly put her wedding dress away in the wardrobe. She said, ‘What was she like—Bianca? Was she beautiful?’
‘An angel.’ Teresa waved a languid hand. ‘A dove. Submissive and so sweet. I longed to bite her and see if there was honey in her veins instead of blood. And taught by nuns,’ she added darkly. ‘She wore her purity like a sword—every inch of her being saved for the marriage bed.’
She sighed. ‘No wonder Alessandro looked for amusement elsewhere.’ She stopped dead, clapping a hand over her mouth, looking at Polly in round-eyed horror. ‘Dio, Paola. My mouth will be my death. Forgive me—please.’
Polly sat down at her dressing table, and ran a comb through her hair. She said quietly, ‘There’s nothing to forgive. I’m really under no illusion about Sandro—or myself.’
‘Cara,’ Teresa shot off the bed where she’d been sprawling, and came to kneel beside Polly. ‘Listen to me. Ernesto—myself—every friend Sandro has—we are so happy that you are together. And that you have given him a son that he adores. Let the past rest. It does not matter.’
‘Bianca died,’ Polly said. ‘That makes it matter.’
‘You think he wished to marry her?’ Teresa demanded. ‘No, and no. It was the contessa, who saw to it that Bianca had the old marchese twisted round her little finger. With Sandro, he was always harsh, but Bianca was his sweetheart, his darling child. And Bianca wanted Alessandro.’
‘Yet you say they weren’t lovers.’
Teresa gave her a worldly look. ‘But whose choice was that? Ernesto, who has known Alessandro since they were children, told me that she used to watch him constantly—try always to be near him. He said—forgive me, this is not nice, and Ernesto is never unkind—that she was like a bitch on heat.’ She shrugged. ‘And for her, he was unattainable.’
‘Then why did he agree to marry her?’
‘His parents’ marriage had been an arranged one,’ Teresa said. ‘It was made clear to him what was expected of him in turn. And perhaps he felt it was a way to please his father at last. He was only twelve when his mother died, and after that his relationship with the marchese became even more troubled. And Sandro was wild when he was younger,’ she added candidly.
She gave Polly a serious look. ‘But you can understand, cara, why his relationship with Carlino is so important to him. Why he wishes to make his own son feel loved and secure.’
‘Yes,’ Polly said quietly. ‘I can—see that.’
Teresa got to her feet, brushing the creases from her skirt. ‘But you were telling me of Julie. There is some problem?’
‘She’s having some time off this afternoon to go for a job interview.’ Polly sighed. ‘Apparently, she’s only on a temporary contract with us, which lasts until we get to Italy and then Sandro’s staff take over, and she flies back. I—I’m going to miss her badly, and so will Charlie. And she’s someone I can talk to in my own language.’
‘Then ask him if you may keep her on.’ Teresa shrugged. ‘It is quite simple.’ She gave Polly a wicked grin. ‘I am sure that you can persuade him, cara. Do as I do. Wait until you are in bed, and you have made him very happy. He will give you anything. And the rest of the servants will be pacified when they have your other bambini to care for.’
Polly’s blush deepened painfully, but she made herself speak lightly. ‘That’s the kind of cunning plan I like.’
The way things were between them, he was more likely to fire Julie instantly, she thought ruefully when Teresa had gone. But she could always ask, although it wouldn’t be in the way the other girl had suggested.
Not that she had the opportunity for the rest of the day. In the afternoon, she went to visit her parents in a last-ditch effort to get them to come to the wedding.
But Mrs Fairfax, still in her dressing gown and looking pale and wan, was adamant, insisting she wasn’t well enough to go, and needed her husband with her in case of emergency.
And she alarmed Charlie by hugging him too tightly, and weeping.
Polly got back to the hotel feeling as if she’d been run down by a train, her only comfort her father’s quiet, ‘She’ll come round, sweetheart. She just needs time.’
Sandro was out, and, although she planned to tackle him about Julie on his return, he was still missing by the time she eventually admitted defeat and went to bed.
He was spending the eve of his wedding with Teresa and Ernesto, who were going to act as their witnesses, so she would just have to catch him first thing in the morning before he left, she told herself.
Charlie had already been collected by Julie, and taken down to the dining room for breakfast, when she woke, so she had the bathroom to herself.
She bathed and put on one of her new dresses—primrose silk with a scooped neck, and slightly flared skirt. Nailing her colours to the mast, she thought with faint defiance as she crossed the drawing room to his door.
‘Avanti.’ The response to her knock was cool and casual, and Polly, drawing a deep breath, opened the door and went in.
The curtains were drawn back, filling the room with sunlight, and Sandro was in bed, lying back against the piled-up pillows, reading a newspaper and drinking coffee from the breakfast trolley beside him. His skin looked like mahogany against the pristine dazzle of the white bed linen.
He glanced up, his brows snapping together as he saw her.
‘Buongiorno,’ he murmured after a pause. ‘You will forgive me if I do not get up,’ he added, indicating the sheet draped over his hips which was quite clearly his only covering. ‘Would you like coffee?’
‘No, thank you.’ Polly shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, praying she would not blush, and wondering if it was possible to look at someone without actually seeing them. And certainly without staring. And particularly without feeling that treacherous excitement slowly uncurling inside her. ‘I’ve had breakfast.’
‘How virtuous of you, cara,’ he drawled. ‘They bring an extra cup each morning, presumably because they hope I will eventually get lucky. I think I shall have to tell them to stop.’ He refilled his own cup. ‘So—to what do I owe this extraordinary pleasure?’
Polly gritted her teeth. ‘I—I’ve come to ask you a favour.’
His brows rose. ‘You fascinate me, bella mia. Especially when you choose my bedroom to make your request.’
‘Well, don’t read anything into that,’ Polly said shortly. ‘It’s just that I seem to see so
