that, Laura thought bleakly, when he’d gone and she was left staring into the darkness, was probably our last exchange. I insulted him, and he threatened me with physical violence. Tomorrow he’ll be in Perugia. The day after, I’ll be on the plane to London. End of story.
And she looked up at the blurred moon, and realised unhappily that she felt like howling herself.
Laura made sure she was around in the morning to bid Paolo an openly fond farewell.
‘As soon as you get back,’ she whispered as she hugged him, ‘you must phone the airline and change our flights. Please, Paolo. I—I can’t stand it here much longer.’
‘You are better off here than lunching with Camilla Montecorvo. She is a bigger dragon than my mother,’ he returned morosely. ‘And at least you will have the place to yourself while my cousin is in Perugia on this mysterious business of his.’ He gave her a knowing look. ‘If you ask me, he has a woman there, so he may not come back at all.’ Then, more loudly, ‘Arrivederci, carissima. Hold me in your heart until I return.’
Breakfast, as usual, was served on the terrace, although Laura was not so sure this was a good idea. It was not a pleasant morning. The air was sultry, and there was no faint breeze to counteract it. Looking up, she saw that there were small clouds already gathering around the crests of the hills, and realised that Fredo’s change in the weather was really on its way.
She thought, Everything’s changing… and shivered.
She also noticed that two places had been set at the table.
‘His Excellency comes soon,’ Emilia told her. ‘He swims.’
Yes, thought Laura, biting her lip, fighting the sudden image in her mind. He—told me.
For a moment she let herself wonder what would happen if she went down to the pool and joined him there.
‘I’ve come for my swimming lesson,’ she could say as she slid down into the water, and into his arms…
She shook herself mentally. She would never behave in such a way, not in a thousand years, so it was crazy even to think like that. And futile too.
A woman in Perugia, Paolo had said.
The lone wolf off hunting his prey, she thought. Looking for a mate.
And that, she told herself forcibly, her mind flinching, was definitely a no-go area. How the Count Ramontella chose to amuse himself was his own affair. And at least she had ensured that she would not be providing his entertainment, however shamefully tempting that might be.
At that moment Alessio arrived, striding up the steps from the pool, damp hair gleaming and a towel flung over his bare shoulder. He was even wearing, she saw, the same ancient white shorts as on the day of her arrival.
‘Buon giorno.’ He took the seat opposite, the dark gaze scanning her mockingly. ‘You did not join me in the pool this morning.’
‘I hardly think you expected me to,’ Laura retorted coolly, refusing to think about how close a call it had been.
‘I expect very little,’ he said. ‘In that way I am sometimes pleasantly surprised.’ His eyes sharpened a little. ‘I hope you slept well, but it does not seem so. You have shadows under your eyes.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said shortly, helping herself to orange juice. ‘But I think the heat’s beginning to get to me. I’ll be glad to go home.’
‘Yet for Paolo, this is home,’ he reminded her softly. ‘So maybe you should try to accustom yourself to our climate, hmm?’
She glanced back at the hills. ‘At the moment it seems a little unpredictable.’
‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘We are undoubtedly going to have a storm.’ He poured himself some coffee. ‘Are you afraid of thunder, Laura mia?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ She looked down at her plate. ‘And sometimes a storm can—clear the air.’
‘Or breed more storms.’ He paused. ‘Did you say a fond goodbye to your innamorato this morning?’
‘He’s going for lunch with friends,’ she said. ‘Not trekking in the Himalayas.’
‘Both can be equally dangerous. I suspect that my aunt may have arranged for Beatrice Manzone to be present.’ He paused. ‘Does that disturb you?’
She kept her eyes fixed on her plate. ‘Paolo is old enough to make his own decisions. I—I simply have to trust him to do that.’
‘How admirable you are, mia cara.’ His tone was sardonic. He finished his coffee in a single swallow, and rose. ‘And now I too must leave you. But, unlike Paolo, you are in safe hands.’ He gave her a tight-lipped smile. ‘Guillermo and Emilia will look after you well.’
But when are you coming back? She thought it, but did not say it. Could not say it.
She watched him disappear into the house, and pushed her food away untouched as pain twisted inside her. There was so much, she thought, that she dared not let him see. So much that would still haunt her even when the width of Europe divided them—and when she herself was long forgotten.
It was going to be, she told herself unhappily, a very long day.
In fact, it seemed endless. She didn’t even have Caio’s company, as the Signora had chosen to reclaim him that morning, announcing imperiously that he would be accompanying them to Trasimeno. Laura had seen him struggling, his small face woebegone as he was carried inexorably to the car.
She spent some time by the pool, but soon gave it up as a bad job. The clouds had begun to gather in earnest, accompanied now by a strong, gusting wind, and even a few spots of rain, so she gathered up her things and returned to the villa.
She’d finished Mansfield Park so she went along to Alessio’s library and returned it, borrowing Pride and Prejudice instead. She knew the story so well, she thought, that she could easily read it before it was time for her to leave.
She lingered for a while looking round the room. It seemed to vibrate with his presence. Any moment now, she thought, he would stride in, flinging himself into the high-backed leather chair behind the desk, and pulling the laptop computer towards him, the dark face absorbed.
The desk itself was immaculately tidy. Besides the laptop, it held only a tray containing a few sheets of the Arleschi Bank’s headed notepaper, and that leather-bound copy of Petrarch’s poetry that he’d been reading.
She opened the book at random, and tried to decipher some of the lines, but it was hopeless—rather like the love the poems described, she told herself wryly.
From the eyes to the heart, she thought, the words echoing sadly in her mind. How simple—and how fatal.
To Emilia’s obvious concern, she opted to lunch only on soup and a salad. The working girl’s diet, she reminded herself, her mouth twisting.
Elizabeth Bennett’s clashes with Mr Darcy kept her occupied during the afternoon, but as evening approached Laura began
