her luggage on the low chest at the foot of the bed, Stefano said in passable English, ‘Not to use the smart valigia the Signora buy for you?’
As his glance rested on the old hold-all and shamefully battered suitcase into which she had stuffed Jilly’s lovely clothes she understood his meaning, found a smile and invented rapidly, ‘I didn’t want it to get scuffed; I wanted it to stay smart.’
Which earned her a beam of approval and the self-congratulatory thought that so far she was doing just fine. Which lasted precisely five seconds, the time it took for Stefano to exit and for her to realise that she was facing her reflection in a full length pier glass.
Staring at herself, she simply couldn’t believe Saracino hadn’t seen through the deception! True, feature for feature, she and Jilly were identical, but where her twin walked and held herself with sublime confidence, she drooped!
Hastily hauling her shoulders back, she pushed her fringe out of her eyes. Eyes innocent of any artifice. Unfortunately Jilly hadn’t left any of her cosmetics behind, just the clothes she’d worn a couple of times and grown tired of. So Milly had had to do the best she could with her usual moisturiser and rarely used rose-pink lipstick. Totally different from the trade mark scarlet pout, heavily darkened lashes and expertly applied foundation, eye shadow and blusher.
No wonder Saracino had made that scathing remark about toning down her act!
She was going to have to try harder! Make herself act, walk and talk like her sister, because if she didn’t then sooner or later—probably sooner—she would be rumbled. The thought terrified her so much that she felt nauseous as she made her way back to the huge hall.
Where Saracino was waiting, pacing, and clearly not pleased.
His nostrils flared, dark eyes shooting a dire warning at her, he bit out, ‘I told you to wait here.’
Inwardly quailing, Milly straightened her spine. Never mind how Jilly would have reacted to this ogre in the guise of an Adonis, she, Milly, wasn’t going to be spoken to as if she were a dim-witted form of low-life. ‘So you did.’ Proud of her dulcet tone, achieved with great self-control, she added serenely, ‘But I needed the bathroom. Now I will make my apologies to Nonna.’
‘She is not your grandmother. I won’t have a creature like you presuming family connections!’ The sensual mouth compressed with distaste as he took her arm in ungentle fingers. ‘You will address her as Filomena, as you always have done, and as Signora Saracino when speaking to the staff on her behalf.’
Little did he know it but because of her slip of the tongue he was being a great help. This thought buoyed her a little as he practically frog-marched her through an intricately carved door that led into a sitting room of beautiful proportions.
Tall windows lay open to an arcaded stone veranda admitting the soft spring light that gleamed back from gilded looking glasses and exquisite inlaid furniture. But Milly’s attention wasn’t for the obvious grandeur of the surroundings, it was all for the beaming elderly mauve-clad lady seated in a throne-like chair that dwarfed her frail body, both hands held out in welcome.
‘Jilly—naughty girl! Running away without a word!’ The warmth of the tone and the smile that went with it robbed her words of any sting. ‘Come, let me look at you.’
Unnervingly conscious of a pair of hard black eyes boring into the back of her head, Milly went forward on legs that felt like wet cotton wool, uncomfortably aware that if she put a foot wrong Filomena Saracino would see right through her and out her as the imposter she was.
Frail fingers clasped her own and the warmth of affection flooded through Milly and made her want to weep because the warmth wasn’t for her but for her charismatic sister. Jilly, the golden girl, only had to turn on that effortless charm of hers to have the recipient eating out of her beautifully manicured hands.
‘You’ve cut off all your hair; why did you do that, child?’
Disconcertingly—her sister was a total stranger to blushes—Milly felt her face flood with colour. She hated having to lie to this patently nice old lady. She pulled a breath into her suddenly oxygen-starved lungs and managed, ‘With the hot weather coming I thought it would be cooler,’ and heard behind her a cynical huff of breath. Saracino. He believed she’d done it to try to alter her appearance; he’d said as much at their first meeting.
‘Very practical.’ The silvery head was tipped assessingly, the faded eyes lively, ‘It suits you. You look younger; don’t you think so, Cesare?’
Which elicited no response, but Milly knew his first name now and that was one more brick in the edifice of deception she was building up—a necessary deception, she hastily reassured herself, as distaste for the part she was playing flooded her conscience.
The old lady released her hands and prompted gently, ‘Now pull up a chair and tell me about the family crisis that took you away from me.’
Silently Cesare placed a delicate upright chair a little to the side and a little in front of where his grandmother was sitting, then took himself across the room to lean against the huge marble fire surround, one arm draped over the top, feet crossed at the ankles.
He might appear relaxed but he wasn’t. Those dark hostile eyes didn’t leave her for a single moment, Milly noted sinkingly as she sat on the chair he had provided and tugged the hem of her narrow skirt more demurely over her knees. He was watching her like a hawk to make sure she didn’t do or say anything to upset his grandmother or leap up and snatch the rope of pearls from around the old lady’s throat and make a run for it, she thought with rising hysteria.
‘It must have been important,’ Filomena probed. ‘For you to leave without saying goodbye, or phone me later to tell me what was happening.’ Her voice trembled slightly. ‘I really missed you. The days seemed so long and dull without you to brighten them for me.’ The eyes that had seemed so lively on her arrival now dulled. ‘Would you have come back if Cesare hadn’t gone to England to find you?’
A lump the size of a small planet formed at the base of her throat and from the opposite side of the room Cesare put in, as smooth and deadly as black ice, ‘Don’t upset yourself, Nonna. I know Jilly can put your mind at rest.’ Dark eyes narrowed on her troubled face and she heard the threat behind his seemingly bland tone.
‘Can’t you, Jilly?
CHAPTER FOUR
SUDDENLY MILLY COULD hear herself breathing. Shallow and too rapid. The soft calling of the doves in the flower-decked courtyard she could glimpse beyond the stone arcade seemed preternaturally loud in the ear-tingling silence that awaited her response.
She swallowed heavily and stared at her short no-nonsense fingernails, then clenched her fists to hide them out of sight of querying eyes because Jilly wouldn’t be seen dead without long, perfectly manicured nails.
Inventing an important crisis was completely impossible. Piling lie on unnecessary lie was utterly distasteful. Besides, of late hadn’t there been many all too real crises in her life—the bruising advent of Cesare Saracino, mislaying her sister, losing her mother?
The death of her mother just over a month ago had been the absolute worst. The reminder of that dreadful day was rawly, painfully devastating and her voice shook with the emotion she couldn’t hide as she whispered, ‘My mother died. It was very sudden.’ And at times it seemed as if
