changed my mind.’ She shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘A woman’s prerogative.’
Rafaello’s breathing was ragged. ‘You would have made a beautiful bride,’ he said unsteadily. ‘So tall—so slender—so fair.’ In the flickering light from the candles, his dark face was taut with emotion, and because Jaime was wearing high-heeled sandals, their eyes were almost on a level. Compulsively, it seemed, he lifted his hand to slide its length against the curve of her cheek, and in the incense-laden atmosphere, Jaime’s senses spun away …
‘A che ora si parte, padre?’
The youthful voice of a boy, dressed in the robes of a novice and speaking to an elderly man attired in a priest’s hassock, broke the spell. One moment, Rafaello’s hand was against her cheek, his thumb brushing her lips, his cool fingers incredibly sensuous against her heated skin, his dark eyes moving over her face with something akin to hunger—and the next, he had turned from her and was striding down the nave and out of the cathedral, his long legs extending the distance between them, as if by doing so he could put her out of his life.
Jaime followed more slowly. Pausing for a moment to light one of the candles and secure it in place, she nodded diffidently to the elderly priest, who had watched Rafaello’s departure with evident perplexity. ‘Vada con Dio, signorina,’ he murmured, making the sign of the cross, and Jaime bowed her head respectfully as she emerged from the cathedral into the slanting sunlight of the evening.
JAIME’S room overlooked the curve of the valley and the lower, wooded slopes of the mountains that gave it protection. It did not have the most impressive view of any of the rooms in the Castello, nor was it the largest apartment in the castle, but Jaime had been so relieved to see it, she had cared little for its size or situation.
Awakening the next morning in a bed whose proportions were totally out of place in such modest surroundings, Jaime lay for several minutes wishing she did not have to get up. The prospect of the day ahead filled her with apprehension, and she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she should not have given in to Nicola’s pleading.
The night before, they had arrived at the Castello when the drifting shadows of evening were casting a misty insubstantiality over the surrounding countryside. The latter part of the journey had been by far the most arduous, not only because of Rafaello’s brooding silence, but also because the last few miles had been a twisting turning climb through picture-book scenery that nevertheless was harrowing on the nerves. Perhaps if Rafaello had driven less aggressively, more consideringly, Jaime would not have felt as if her head was spinning by the time they reached the little town of Vaggio su Ravino, but as it was, nausea was her most obvious reaction when she first saw Rafaello’s home.
The Castello di Vaggio was about half a mile from the town, at the head of a winding road that Jaime guessed would be treacherous in winter. And it was a castle, she discovered in amazement, clinging to the mountains in much the same way as the monastery she had admired earlier. Somehow, she had imagined that the name castello was just the courtesy title for a rather large villa, and to discover that Rafaello’s ancestors had built the castle hundreds of years before had come as quite a shock. He had never boasted of his antecedents. He had never even mentioned that the di Vaggio family had lived in this part of Italy for more than eight hundred years. But Nicola had told her, spilling the castle’s history carelessly as she showed Jaime to her room, answering her questions without enthusiasm, and obviously finding the subject tiresome when she wanted to talk about herself.
Nicola had been waiting for them the night before. When the sleek Maserati swept beneath the stone gateway that gave access to the courtyard, she had emerged from the castle, her flowing velvet caftan giving an impression of an earlier age.
Rafaello, who had not spoken since they left Santo Giustino, paused to give Jaime a tight look before thrusting his door open. ‘My wife appears to have recovered,’ he remarked, rescuing her jacket from the back of the car and tossing it into her lap. ‘You will find she often has these attacks. But do not worry, she is not as fragile as she looks.’
‘But—–’
Jaime started to speak, but Rafaello was not listening to her. He had already thrust his legs out of the car, and as he got to his feet, Nicola reached them.
‘You’re late,’ she pouted, looking up at her husband with resentful eyes. ‘I’ve been waiting for ages. Was Jaime’s plane late?’
‘So far as I know, it was on time,’ replied Rafaello, flexing his weary shoulder muscles. ‘We came as quickly as we could. However, you will appreciate that I do not have the ability to rid our roads of other traffic!’
‘Don’t be cross.’ Nicola’s lips tilted. ‘What must Jaime think of us?’ She reached up to press her lips against his taut cheek, her eyes darting sideways as the other girl got out of the car. ‘Caro,’ she murmured huskily, her fingers seeking the parted vee of his shirt, and then stepped back with a provoking smile as Rafaello dashed her hands away. Without looking at his wife again, he strode away across the courtyard, disappearing through the doorway that Nicola previously had used.
Jaime, not knowing what to make of what she had seen, made an effort to behave naturally. Going round to the back of the car, she fumbled awkwardly for the catch of the boot, but Nicola, after following her husband’s retreating figure with her eyes, seemed to remember her manners, and came eagerly to embrace her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, the look of provocation quite gone now, and replaced by a distinctly tearful expression. ‘Oh, Jaime,’ she hugged her very close, ‘you don’t know how good it is to see you again! You must forgive me if I seem thoughtless, but Raf can be so cruel at times.’
‘That’s all right. It’s good to see you, too, Nicola.’ Jaime drew away determinedly, immediately aware of how gauche Nicola always made her feel. She had changed little, hardly at all, in fact, and her diminutive height of a little over five feet had always made Jaime feel like an Amazon. A cap of glossy dark hair framed a face that might have modelled a Botticelli angel, and in those early days Jaime had often marvelled that Rafaello had not chosen Nicola from the beginning. She was so much more to his taste, after all, not least because Nicola had had no ambitions beyond making a good marriage, and she had done her best to catch his attention before Jaime came on the scene.
‘Leave your luggage,’ exclaimed Nicola impatiently now. ‘Giulio will attend to it. You must be starving. We’ll go and have dinner, and then I’ll show you your room.’
After the journey Jaime had just had, she would have preferred to go straight to her room. A shower and a change of clothes would have been very welcome, but as Nicola’s guest, she felt obliged to fall in with her wishes. But afterwards …
It was deliciously cool inside the thick walls of the castle. Outside, the evening was quite humid, but inside an air-conditioning system that required no electricity kept the atmosphere fresh.
‘I thought it would be incredibly cold in winter,’ confessed Nicola, leading the way across a marble-tiled hall, with suits of armour set beneath fading tapestries, ‘but it’s not. As a matter of fact, it can be quite cosy; although I must admit I prefer the apartment in Rome.’
‘The apartment?’ echoed Jaime, gazing about her with fascinated eyes. An inlaid marble staircase swept above them in a veined pinkish semi-circle, and a vaulted ceiling arched above a mural gallery.
‘Of
