be in control, give the impression of calm and cold restraint; anything else would be seized upon as weakness and used against her. ‘I’m very sony about your mother,’ she said quietly, hoping the slight quiver in her voice would pass unnoticed. ‘She was a truly great lady.’
‘Yes, she was.’ He was standing very still, his loose-fitting trousers and dark blue cotton shirt immaculate as always and sitting on the big, lithe body in a way guaranteed to make any female heart beat a little faster.
But not hers. Grace took another hidden breath before she spoke. Definitely not hers, never again. ‘The telegram said it was sudden?’ she asked carefully, keeping her voice neutral. His had been quite expressionless, cold and flat.
‘A haemorrhage, in the brain.’ He touched his forehead as he spoke, the movement emphasising the heavy gold watch on his wrist and the thick gold band on the third finger of his left hand. ‘She knew nothing about it. Now...’ He turned slightly, gesturing to someone behind him. ‘Antonio will take your bags—’
‘I’m not staying at Casa Pontina!’ She had spoken too sharply and too quickly but it was too late to try and moderate her tone as the handsome male face in front of her darkened. ‘I... I’ve made arrangements,’ she said hastily. ‘It’s all taken care of.’ How had he known of her arrival? Why was he here? What was all this in aid of? As the numbing shock of the sudden encounter began to fade Grace found a barrage of questions attacking her mind.
‘Where else would you stay but at Casa Pontina?’ The arrogance was pure Vittoria and as such hit her on the raw, causing her soft mouth to tighten in response to the challenge.
‘I’m booked in at the Hotel La Pergola,’ she said coldly, ‘for three nights.’
‘I think not.’ He smiled now, but it didn’t touch the glittering blackness of his eyes. ‘It would not be fitting in the circumstances and this you know. It will be expected that you stay at Casa Pontina.’
He spoke as if the matter were settled, and as the uniformed chauffeur reached for her case again at Donato’s tight nod she found herself whisking it behind her and stepping back a pace. ‘I don’t have to do what is expected of me, not any more,’ she said fiercely. ‘I’m answerable to myself and no one else. You can’t order me about like you do everyone else.’
‘Everyone, Grace?’ The dark voice was quiet and silky now, with a thread of steel that she knew was meant to intimidate. ‘I had forgotten how you like to exaggerate.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ she tossed back bitterly. ‘I’m only surprised you remember my name.’
‘Oh, I remember your name, mia piccola.’ The soft endearment hit her like a punch in the chest and it took all of her will-power not to let it show. ‘I remember everything about you. Now, you will let Antonio take your luggage,’ he continued in a smooth, conversational tone of voice that was belied by the glittering intensity in his eyes, ‘and you will stay at Casa Pontina.’
‘Why should I?’ she asked hotly, her blue eyes stormy.
‘Because it is what my mother would have wanted.’
She stared at him, the anger and bitter resentment draining away as the truth in his words left her pale and shaking. Liliana would have wanted her to stay at the family home, she acknowledged painfully. In fact the matriarch of the Vittoria clan would have been horrified at anything else.
This was one last thing she could do for Liliana, she thought sadly, for the tall, proud, aristocratic Italian woman who had wielded such power and influence within her own family and shown Grace nothing but love and kindness from their first meeting. Yes, she would do this for Liliana; for Liliana she would even endure living under the same roof as Donato for three days and nights.
‘Very well.’ She saw the flash of triumph in the jet-black eyes and had to bite her lip to prevent more hot words. Liliana was dead, the last tentative link with Italy was broken by her demise, and she would endeavour to see out this final travesty with the sort of dignity and aplomb that the genteel Italian woman would have expected from her. ‘I shall have to cancel my reservation at La Pergola on the way to Casa Pontina.’
‘Sì, of course; this will be no problem.’ The words were smooth and self-satisfied and caused her stomach muscles to tighten.
Donato nodded in a sharp little bow, clicking his fingers at Antonio, who reached behind her for the case, his pock-marked face beneath its chauffeur’s cap of blue and gold apologetic. ‘Scusi, signora.’ The voice was humble, the appearance of the big, beefy individual anything but.
Antonio might not know any English, Grace reflected with a touch of wryness, but he had certainly had no trouble in following the general theme of the conversation.
She had always thought Donato’s chauffeur resembled a member of the Sicilian mafia rather than a household servant, and this idea was reinforced now as she followed the swarthy, dark figure out to the Vittoria Mercedes, Donato’s hand at her elbow, feeling for all the world as though she was being led to her execution.
The fifty-or-so-mile drive to Donato’s magnificent villa in Sorrento would be no problem—the Mercedes’ excellent air conditioning added to the fact that the late-April temperature was only just touching seventy degrees made travelling at midday still a pleasure, unlike in high summer—but sitting in close proximity to Donato for well over an hour was a different matter.
Grace had planned to stay overnight in Naples and travel down to Sorrento early the next morning by hire car in time for the funeral, returning the same day. That would have meant she could have paid her last respects to Liliana while retaining some degree of independence, but...she might have known Donato would overrule any arrangements she had made.
Donato opened the car door for her but she paused before sliding in, looking up into his cold, handsome face as she asked, ‘How did you know I was coming today, and on that flight?’
‘Does it matter?’ His voice was cool and dismissive, his manner remote. It was an attitude she had seen him adopt many times in the past and it usually had the desired effect of forestalling further conversation, but not so with her, and not today.
‘Yes, it does, to me.’ She continued to hold his glance, her vivid blue eyes with their thick, curling lashes dark with determination. ‘I wasn’t aware I told anyone of my plans.’
‘Possibly not,’ he said.
‘Well, then?’ Her gaze was becoming a glare but she couldn’t do anything about it; his arrogance was bringing up a strong feeling of rebellion. ‘How did you know?’ she asked again.
‘I know most things about you, Grace.’ The way he said her name still had the power to make her weak but she would rather have walked through coals of fire than admit it, even to herself.
‘Meaning?’ she snapped tightly, her eyes hot.
‘You want me to list all the things I know about you?’ he asked smoothly, with simulated surprise. ‘Here? Where we could so easily be overheard?’
‘Stop playing games, Donato.’ She said it with a touch of weariness that narrowed his eyes on the whiteness of her face, in which exhaustion was suddenly all too evident
‘Is that what you think I am doing, mia piccola?’ he said softly. ‘Playing the game? Nothing could be further from the truth.’ For a moment
