Suddenly everyone was making for his or her seat, and Kelly sank back down in her own as the orchestra began to tune up.
‘Bitch,’ Judy whispered in an aside to Kelly.
‘What?’ Kelly asked. ‘What did I…?’
‘No, not you, silly! Olivia Maldini. I told her about Carlo’s accident and she immediately implied I should be at home looking after him—her way of making sure I refused the invitation to join their party. Ever since her husband died three years ago…’ Judy flashed Kelly an old-fashioned glance ‘…it has been rumoured she would not be averse to marrying his younger brother. She obviously saw you and me as competition. Mind you, I don’t think she will succeed. Gianfranco dates some of…a lot of,’ she amended with a knowing grin, ‘the most beautiful women in the world. I can’t see him settling for one alone, and, though his sister-in-law is OK, she is nothing special.’
With a kind of sick fascination Kelly watched as Gianfranco’s party took their seats in the front row. She was numb; she hardly dared breathe because she knew the pain was waiting for her…
Afterwards Kelly did not remember a single scene from the opera Don Giovanni.
She heard Judy’s voice as if from a distance.
‘Hurry, Kelly. We might catch the count on the way out. I want to invite him to dinner. It might help Carlo clinch his business deal with the man.’ Judy leapt to her feet.
Kelly had no desire ever to speak to the count again, and in a desperate attempt to delay she deliberately dropped her purse on the floor. Ducking down, she scraped around on the floor, pretending she had lost something, and when she finally straightened up the Maldini party had left and Judy was spitting nails.
Kelly thought her ordeal was over, but no such luck. By the time they got back to the villa Judy had got over her bad temper, and, after discovering her husband was already in bed and asleep, insisted Kelly share a nightcap with her. She proceeded to regale Kelly with every last bit of information she knew about the count.
‘Actually, I think I still have the magazine from last year when the count allowed them to do a ten-page spread on his lifestyle. But only on condition they made a large donation to a town on the edge of the River Poe that was almost buried in a landslide.’
It was pure torture for Kelly. She drained her glass of wine, and for the first time in her life wished she could drink a whole bottle and block out the horror of the evening.
But when Judy returned, and spread a well-known Italian magazine on the table and began pointing out the various pictures, it got even worse. Kelly looked at the pictures with sick humiliation almost choking her.
The enormous family home in the heart of the countryside, the New York and the Rome apartments, the ocean-going yacht at Genoa harbour. But what finally broke Kelly’s heart was the picture of what was called a hunting lodge on a hillside above Lake Garda.
She recognised it. The house where he had taken her last Friday—the house he had told her belonged to the company he worked for. As if that was not enough to convince her, the last picture was of Gianni sitting astride his motor bike, apparently talking to a man with a gun bent over his arm—the security guard.
Her whole body clenched in pain, nausea knotting her stomach. The same man who had found them almost naked at the lakeside last week; the same man Gianni had spoken to. While she had thought they were in trouble for trespassing Gianni must have been laughing like a drain at how easily he had fooled her.
‘Are you all right?’ Judy asked, suddenly noticing Kelly’s long silence.
‘I feel a bit sick; probably the wine. I think I’ll go to bed.’ And she ran.
SICK at heart, Kelly stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower. She turned the water on and stood under the soothing spray, her tears mingling with the water. God, what a disaster of a night! A disaster of a week!
She should have known meeting the man of her dreams was too good to be true.
She should have gone with her first impression on seeing Gianni. A man up to no good. She had got that right! He was a lying, deceitful pig.
Kelly sighed. Knowing the truth did not make the pain go away. It hurt, it really hurt, and she had no one to blame but herself. She had allowed herself to succumb to his surface looks and charm, while he had simply been slumming it for a few days. No wonder he had been horrified when he’d discovered she was a virgin and the possibility of pregnancy was a real threat. His anger at the time, and his crack about a paternity suit, made perfect sense now. If or when Count Maldini married it would be to some suitably wealthy well-connected Italian girl, not some unknown orphan like Kelly.
Turning off the shower, she stepped out and took a large towel off the rail, and briskly rubbed herself dry. She was bone tired, her head ached, and all she wanted to do was sleep. She dropped the towel on the floor and walked into the bedroom. She slipped, naked, into bed. But sleep was a long time in coming.
Every time she closed her eyes she saw the image of Gianni… No, not Gianni…Count Gianfranco Maldini, she kept reminding herself, and when she had reminded herself for the hundredth time of his cruel deceit she finally cried herself to sleep.
At seven the following morning a wide-awake, laughing Andrea jumped on Kelly’s bed. Bleary-eyed, she surveyed the little boy, and with a wry smile dragged herself out of bed. Experience told her that his parents would not be up for an hour or so yet, and after bathing and dressing Andrea and herself she made her way downstairs to the kitchen.
Fifteen minutes later she sat at the table watching Andrea with an indulgent smile. He was a lovely little boy who, after devouring a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice, was intent on tearing a bread roll into the shape of some mythical beast as shown on the cereal packet. His innocent enjoyment of something so simple put her own problems into some kind of perspective.
So she had allowed herself to be sweet-talked into bed by a devious man out for a bit of fun. She was not the first woman in the world to fall for the charms of a sophisticated male on the make, and she would certainly not be the last. Chalk it up to experience and get on with life, she told herself firmly.
Picking up her coffee-cup, she drained it and placed it back on the table. There was about as much chance of Count Gianfranco Maldini ringing her as the Pope marrying, she thought wryly. But in that she was to be proved wrong…
‘Right, young man.’ She rose to her feet. ‘How about…?’ But the ringing of the telephone prevented her continuing. ‘OK, Andrea, stay there a minute.’ Crossing the room to the wall-mounted telephone, she lifted the receiver to her ear.
‘Pronto.’ She gave the conventional greeting.
‘Kelly? Kelly, is that you?’ There was no mistaking the rich, deep tone of Gianfranco Maldini.
Shock kept her silent for a moment, and her first thought was to hang up, but then anger came to her aid. ‘Yes,’ she snapped. ‘Who is it calling, please, and to whom do you wish to speak?’ she asked facetiously.
‘Gianfranco, and to you, of course,’ his deep voice drawled huskily. ‘Look, Kelly, I can understand
