fortune—said terrible, threatening things to him. For a while, he was frightened, but now he knows he cannot live without me, and he will risk anything.’
I bet, Clare thought stonily, tempted to take Paola by her pretty shoulders and shake her until her teeth rattled.
But that would solve nothing. In fact, it would probably harden Paola’s determination to ruin her life. And Clare hadn’t the slightest doubt that would be the outcome if the silly girl wasn’t stopped.
She could, of course, dump the whole thing on Guido Bartaldi, but he would probably try and put a stop to the affair by locking Paola in a convent, or something equally mediaeval. And that would simply turn her into a martyr, and make her more stubborn than ever.
No, Paola must somehow be made to see Fabio for what he really was. To be disillusioned so deeply that he would never stand a cat in hell’s chance with her again. Nor anyone else of his ilk, she added grimly.
But if Paola eluded Fabio’s frying pan, she should not be despatched to the Marchese’s fire either.
They’re just so wrong for each other, Clare told herself vehemently. It would be a wretched marriage for both of them.
Although there was no reason why she should care what kind of a mess Guido Bartaldi created for himself, she admitted, biting her lip.
No, Paola was her concern here. She might be young and giddy, but she didn’t deserve either of the fates that were being wished on her.
But, Clare conceded, she needed to learn to grow up, and stand on her own two feet. Become her own rescuer, instead of relying on other people.
I wonder if she’s capable of that? Clare thought, stealing a sideways glance at the lovely face with its full, sulky mouth. So far, she’s spent most of her time being handed round like a parcel, and letting men dictate to her. I wonder if I could show her that there’s more to life than that?
‘Clare—you do not speak.’ Paola’s voice was petulant. ‘What are you thinking?’
Clare smiled at her calmly. ‘I’m just trying to decide what the best plan of action might be.’
‘Then you will help me?’ The younger girl’s face was suddenly transfigured. ‘But how? Guido told me he asked you to take the place of the Signora, but you would not. And it will be hard for us to keep in touch when you are in Cenacchio. I cannot always think of reasons to come here.’
‘Then I’ll just have to come to the Villa Minerva,’ Clare said resignedly.
‘You mean it? You will tell Guido you have changed your mind? Oh, that is wonderful.’
‘Yes,’ Clare said, wincing inwardly. ‘I’ll tell him.’
And, as if she’d conjured him up from some dark place in her soul, she saw him walking across the square towards them, with Violetta chatting vivaciously at his side.
‘Guido,’ Paola carolled. ‘Guess what. Clare says she will be my companion after all. Isn’t that good news?’
Guido halted, his brows lifting as his dark gaze swept from Paola’s triumphant face to Clare’s tense figure.
‘I am overwhelmed,’ he said courteously, after a pause. ‘Particularly as you seemed so adamant at our last meeting. May I know what has brought about this change of heart?’
‘I’ve had time to think things over,’ Clare returned evenly. ‘And I realise there could be mutual advantages in the situation. I planned to spend a few months in Italy, and working locally I can continue to see Signora Andreati in my free time.’
She paused. ‘I presume I shall have free time?’ she added. ‘That you won’t expect me to maintain a round-the-clock watch on Paola?’
He gave her a long, dispassionate look. ‘These are details, signorina. I am sure we can work out an arrangement that will be agreeable to us both.’
‘Oh, not signorina,’ Paola protested. ‘So dull—so antiquato. You must say Clare, as I do. And she must call you Guido.’
‘As I’m going to be the Marchese’s employee, maybe a certain formality should be maintained.’ Clare returned his cool look with compound interest.
‘It shall be exactly as you wish—Miss Marriot. And staying in touch with your godmother should not be a problem either, as I hope very much she will consent to be my guest at the Villa Minerva for a few weeks. While you are—finding your feet, shall we say?’ He turned the charm of his smile on Violetta. ‘Well, signora, will you do us all the honour of accompanying the signorina when she joins my household?’
No way, thought Clare. No one’s ever managed to winkle Violetta out of the Villa Rosa at this time of year. And just as well, because I’m going to need somewhere to retreat to. And Paola might need a temporary refuge too.
But, ‘How very good of you. I should be delighted, Marchese,’ Violetta proclaimed sweetly, offering him a melting look as he bowed over her hand.
‘Naturally I do not wish to interfere with any plans you have made for her entertainment,’ Guido continued. ‘But it would be helpful if Miss Marriot could take up her duties as soon as possible.’
‘That will be no problem,’ Violetta assured him serenely. ‘We are at your disposal, signore. Clare, indeed could join you tomorrow, and I will follow as soon as I have made the necessary arrangements at home.’
Clare found she was sitting with her mouth open, and closed it indignantly.
‘Arrange my life, why don’t you’ she muttered under her breath.
She had the feeling that she was being swept along on some inexorable tide. That things were already out of her control. And it was not a sensation she relished.
She’d allowed her concern for Paola to railroad her into a decision she would certainly regret, she realised with resignation. But it wasn’t irrevocable. She was no longer Guido Bartaldi’s prisoner, and could leave whenever she wanted.
She came out of her less than reassuring reverie to the awareness that he was watching her, a faint smile slanting the corners of his mouth, as if his thoughts were providing him with some kind of private satisfaction.
She lifted her chin in silent challenge, wishing she could read his gaze. He wasn’t wearing sunglasses today, so there was no artificial barrier between them, but it made no real difference. He was still an enigma to her. A puzzle she had no hope of solving.
But maybe that was a good thing, she told herself soberly. Arm’s length, and more, was the safest distance with a man like him. She had already glimpsed what devastation even a fleeting intimacy with him could evoke. Just the memory of his hand—his mouth—on her skin made her tremble inside.
She could not afford any more such moments of weakness.
‘Come, Paola.’ Guido Bartaldi extended his hand. ‘We should return home and prepare to receive our guests.’
The other girl pouted, but she rose readily enough and went to his side, sliding her arm through his with a casual familiarity that seemed to belie her earlier protests about their relationship.
