style="font-size:15px;"> What would she say when he told her?
He clenched his fists, trying to find the courage to do the right thing.
But his courage failed him, and to his relief the waiter appeared.
‘We’re about to close, sir.’
‘Then I guess we have to go,’ he said hurriedly, trying not to sound too relieved.
It was dark outside. He walked Jackie to the shop door and waited, wondering if she would invite him in. But she only said, ‘I’m glad we met. It was nice to have coffee.’
‘Yes, it was. Jackie...’ He hesitated, uncertain how to go on.
‘Yes?’
‘Nothing. Perhaps we can—see each other again. I’d like to talk.’
‘So would I. Tomorrow?’
‘I’ll look in.’
She went inside, locking the door behind her. For some moments Vittorio stood in silence, trying to come to a troubling decision.
He should have told her everything, but he knew the truth would hurt her greatly. He felt that in his heart, and flinched from striking that blow.
He’d planned every step of the way how he would confront George Benton, explain, apologise, and draw a line under it. Instead he found himself confronted with a woman whose sweetness and vulnerability touched his heart. And the truth was he didn’t know how to respond.
After standing there hopelessly for several minutes he turned and hurried away into the darkness.
NEXT MORNING VITTORIO awoke early. The clock said half past five and suddenly there seemed no point in staying in bed. Showering and dressing quickly, he headed straight out.
It felt good to enjoy the fresh air and the fast-growing light. But then he saw something that alarmed him. A young woman walking away in the distance. It was hard to be certain of details, but she looked strangely like...
Jackie.
Wanting to be sure, he hurried after her, but she turned a corner out of sight.
Cursing, he ran desperately through the streets. He didn’t know London at all. It was hopeless, he thought frantically when he found himself by the River Thames. She must be walking along the embankment—but in which direction?
Then luck was with him. After a hundred yards he could see her, sitting on a bench, staring out over the water. He moved closer, struck by the way she seemed sunk in another world. It reminded him of himself the night before.
He stayed silent, unsure whether it was right for him to disturb her, but after a moment she glanced up.
‘Vittorio? What are you doing up this early?’ she asked.
‘I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d stretch my legs. How are you this morning, Jackie? Are you worried about facing Rik today?’
‘I’m fine—honestly.’
‘Forgive me, but I don’t think you are.’ He lifted her chin with his fingers, looking at her face. ‘You’ve been crying.’
‘Just a little.’
He put his arms round her, overtaken by a desire to care for her. Protectiveness was a feeling he’d seldom, if ever, known before, and now it was almost alarming. He had to tell her something that would break her heart, and suddenly he wasn’t sure that he could do it.
‘Hold on to me,’ he whispered. ‘It’ll be all right.’
‘Sometimes I think things will never be all right,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry to dump all this on you, but I can’t talk about Daddy without—’
‘Without remembering all the bad things that happened to him?’
‘I don’t know why, Vittorio, but I feel I could tell you anything.’
She looked up again and the sight of her vulnerable face swept him with a desire to kiss her. He yielded—but only to lay his lips on her forehead.
‘Do you want to tell me any more?’ he murmured.
‘You can’t want to hear such a terrible story,’ she said.
She was more right than she could imagine, he thought wretchedly. But he owed it to her to listen.
‘You can tell me anything, Jackie.’
She brushed the tears aside from her face. ‘I don’t really know what to say... It isn’t my tragedy.’
‘In a way it is. You lost too. You wanted to go to university. What did you want to study?’
‘I wanted to study languages. They just seem to come easily to me.’
He regarded her wryly.
‘Buon per te, signorina. La maggior parte delle persone non possono far fronte con le lingue.’
He spoke in Italian. His words meant, ‘Good for you signorina. Most people can’t cope with languages.’
‘Italian is the language I manage best,’ she said. ‘I took a few classes at night school, because we were planning to take a holiday there together. My father longed to travel to Italy. He’d been there once as a young man.’
‘Did he tell you a lot about his visit?’
‘Yes, he said it was such fun.’
‘Did he never mention meeting my father?’ he asked.
‘He mentioned an Italian friend, but said nothing at all about him being a count! They met in Italy and then again in England a few weeks later. From what Daddy said I gather they got on really well and enjoyed each other’s company.’
Vittorio nodded. ‘Yes I remember Papà saying something like that—I gather they had quite a few adventures together whilst he was there.’
‘Daddy said things like that too. He had such a lovely time with his Italian friend. Only then—’ She checked herself.
‘Then?’ Vittorio said tensely. He had an uneasy feeling that he knew what was coming.
‘Then suddenly it was all over. One day they were close buddies—the next day his friend disappeared. He left a note but it didn’t say much. Just Goodbye my friend. Franco’. No address, nothing. Daddy couldn’t contact him and he never heard from him again. It left him very unhappy after what they’d been to each other.’
‘He told you that? Didn’t he tell you any more about who the man was?’
‘No, just that his name was Franco.
