Acceptance that, for Antonia at any rate, leaving was perhaps the wise thing for her to do?
Looking away again, she walked forward. ‘Signor Gabrielli asked me to give you this,’ she said, and handed Antonia a cheque, then turned and left again without uttering another word.
It kind of said it all. Without so much as glancing at the cheque to see how much money her father considered his daughter’s silence worth, she ripped it into small pieces and deposited it in the waste-paper basket, then, simply because she needed to do it, she walked over to the terrace window and stepped outside.
Milan shimmered in the blistering heat of yet another hot summer’s day. Way down there below her the traffic made up for its unusual silence of the night before. And one of the first things her eyes fell upon was the imprint of Marco’s body still hugging the cushions on the lounger he must have used. Carlotta had obviously not got around to coming out here yet, because a sandwich and a glass of red wine were standing on a table close by.
When he hadn’t been able to sleep last night, he must have gone to the kitchen to make himself a late night snack and brought it out here to enjoy. But he’d seen her lying asleep on the other lounger. Food and wine had been forgotten in favour of other forces.
Like the recovery of his woman, she mused. The putting her back where she belonged, in his arms, and in his bed.
Her eyes glazed over. She had to turn away to stop the tears from flowing. It was then that she remembered the tear-drop diamond necklace, and set her feet moving further down the terrace to find it still lying exactly where she had placed it beneath the lounger. Recovering it, she took it back into the bedroom and was about to put it down on her dressing table when she noticed the note from Marco folded there.
‘Don’t worry me, cara,’ it said. ‘Be here when I return.’
It came without warning. The first sob, followed quickly by another—and another. Dropping onto the dressing stool, she covered her face with her hands then simply let go and sobbed her heart out.
When it was over, she stood up. Took a moment to compose herself and decide what she needed to do before she left here for the last time…
Marco was standing alone in his father’s library, using the landline telephone to connect him with the Romano Gallery. He wanted Stefan Kranst. He got Rosetta Romano.
‘Where is he?’ he demanded.
‘He flies home to England this afternoon,’ Rosetta told him. ‘I thought you must know that he never meant to stay longer than the first-night viewing. What do you want me to do with Signorina Carson’s painting?’ she asked. ‘Stefan never said, and Signorina Carson rang off before I could ask her when she called looking for Stefan not ten minutes ago.’
The painting. Marco frowned. He’d forgotten all about it. ‘Have it packed up and delivered to my apartment,’ he instructed. ‘Did Antonia say why she wanted Kranst?’
‘No. She just asked where he was staying and rang off, that was all.’
Marco rang off too. It wasn’t that he was worried any longer about Stefan Kranst, he told himself. But his feet took him in search of his father to wish him a quick farewell before he was heading outside and to the waiting helicopter. It didn’t occur to him, until he was in the air again, that he could have rung Antonia before leaving, just to check that she was okay.
Okay, he then repeated drily. You want to check that she’s actually there! He didn’t trust her. Could he trust her? ‘This changes nothing,’ she had told him in the depths of a night of loving. Impulsively he fished out his mobile. One glance from his pilot and he was reluctantly putting it away again.
Antonia was arguing with Stefan. ‘You have to do this for me, Stefan—please,’ she begged him. ‘You owe it to me after last night’s fiasco!’
‘Isabella Bellini was contrite afterwards, if that helps you any,’ he told her.
‘I don’t care what she was!’ It was almost a sob. ‘It doesn’t make any difference. My mind is made up. I’m leaving Milan.’
‘And Marco?’ he included.
She swallowed and nodded. ‘These are the keys.’ Her fingers shook as she held them out to him. ‘All you need to do is pay off the lease then get my things and bring them with you back to London.’
Stefan refused to take the keys. ‘What in heaven’s name happened after you left with him?’ he demanded impatiently.
But she shook her head. ‘I’ll tell you another time. I have a plane to catch.’
‘Does he know you’re going?’ Stefan asked.
She didn’t answer. He released a sigh. ‘My darling, I’ve told you something like this before but I am going to say it again. Marco Bellini is not a man to cross swords with.’
Her chin shot up, jewel-bright eyes sparkling with something he had never seen there before. It was bitter, blinding, gut-wrenching cynicism. ‘Is that your way of saying that you don’t want to cross swords with him?’
‘My God,’ Stefan breathed, and took the keys. ‘Go,’ he said. ‘Go!’ he repeated. ‘I’ll follow on tomorrow if I can get a flight. But go if you must.’
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, kissed his cheek and left his hotel suite without looking back again. If she had done she would have hesitated, because Stefan was wearing a look fit to slay any dragon that might be threatening her.
And she didn’t want Marco slayed. She needed to know he was alive and happy. In fact, it was essential to her own sanity that he remained exactly the way she wanted to remember him. Tall and lean and suave and sophisticated, but wearing one of those lazy grins that oozed sex appeal. She wanted to remember him laughing with his friends. Talking seriously about art. Or lying on a sun lounger in the middle of the night with a glass of red wine and a sandwich—missing her.
Oh, yes, she needed him to miss her, she admitted, as her taxi began a battle with Milan’s mad Saturday traffic.
She had managed to reserve a seat on a flight out of Linate airport, which was only four miles outside Milan. But it was tourist season and the roads to the airport were as busy as she had ever seen them. As the taxi eventually made it to the perimeter of the airport compound she glanced outside in time to catch the sun sparkling on a helicopter as it hovered just before landing.
Marco’s preferred form of transport to his parents’ home, she recalled, with a sad little smile, and turned away quickly, not wanting to think about Marco right now when she could still weaken and change her mind.
Marco saw the traffic as he came in to land, and cursed it. It was going to take an age to get back into the city through all of that. With a quick thanks to his pilot he got out of the helicopter and strode off towards the airport building. Any other time he would be heading for the executive car park and jumping into his car. But the Ferrari had been booked in for a service this morning, so he’d had to come here by taxi. Which meant he now had to walk right across the airport concourse to find the nearest taxi rank.
If he’d thought about it, he could have used the Lotus and saved himself a lot of hassle, because he had things to do, people to see, before he could get back to Antonia.
Which
