of a most uncharacteristic urge to search out Joe and force him to apologise.
With his fists, if need be.
No man should have the power to make those bright eyes so dim, to make a confident, laughing girl so full of self-doubt.
The man was undoubtedly a fool. He said so, but Minty shook her head.
‘Funny, isn’t it, how the things some people like in you are the things somebody else despises? Spike loved all that—the trust fund and ancestors who fought for Charles I and advised Henry VIII. Barty took it for granted because that was his world too. Joe, on the other hand...’ She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t just my ancestry, it was the money too—especially as I didn’t earn it. We always had to travel budget airlines and stay in youth hostels. It was fun at first.’
She looked up and smiled at Luca. ‘It’s always fun to try something new. But I wanted to treat him for his birthday so I took him to New York. First class, a lovely hotel and the latest must-go-to restaurant. It was outrageously expensive, to be honest, even I thought so, but he sulked for the whole of the holiday. I wasn’t behaving the way he expected me to behave. Apparently I was the one who was meant to compromise all the time. We split up a week later.’
She went back to her soup. Luca sat back in his chair and watched her for a moment. Her face, what he could see of it under those ridiculously large sunglasses, was unconcerned but he was beginning to understand her. He chose his words carefully. ‘Compromise is important, but on both sides, Minty. If someone can’t accept you for who you are, love everything about you, even the bits that are harder to take, then they’re not right for you.’
She pushed her soup bowl away and looked up, a bright smile plastered onto her face. ‘That’s the fairy tale, isn’t it? The dream we’re sold: someone will fall for you flaws and all.’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘I don’t think so. I think everyone has to pretend a little, suppress themselves a little, if they want it to last.’
Minty reached out for the bread and tore a piece off it. ‘Or be alone. Look at my Great-great-aunt Prudence. No man of the time wanted an Amazon explorer for a wife; she chose adventure over settling down and never regretted it.’
Luca visualised a turn-of-the-century Minty, hair streaming behind her, one hand on a large straw hat as the paddle boat pulled out into piranha-infested waters. ‘I don’t agree,’ he said carefully. ‘I think it’s possible to find someone who complements you, a true partner. Someone who supports whatever you want to do, even if you want to sail down the Amazon!’
Minty shook her head. She was toying with her bread, tearing off small bits of the chewy inside and rolling it around in her hands. Luca watched her long fingers so busily at work, so unsettled. ‘Love is fun for a little while, but I don’t think it forms a good basis for “for ever”. There’s too much pretence, too much compromising to make it work. Mutual respect, that’s the key; a sensible arrangement so you know what you’re getting up front. And then no need to change—or to keep moving on.’
Like the marriage Luca was hoping for. Suddenly it didn’t sound so appealing. It sounded cold, clinical. What did he plan? A dating agency? An advert? Arrogantly he had just sort of assumed that he would just need to look around. After all, he was successful; he had a nice house, a business.
All his own hair.
A flush of mortification spread through him. Did he really think a list of desirable attributes was all that was needed? Was he really so conceited he thought he’d just have to click his fingers and a queue of suitable wives would form?
And what made him think that finding someone who fulfilled a checklist would make him happy anyway? After all, his sophisticated, city-bred, society mother had been happy with her countrified husband.
‘Don’t give up,’ he said. ‘Someone out there would give up everything to travel along the Amazon with you.’
‘For a while, maybe.’ Her voice trailed off, the heap of small balls of bread on her plate growing larger. Luca opened his mouth to reassure her, to press the point home. But he didn’t know what to say.
At that moment the waiter brought out large plates heaped with steaming pasta, covered with a delicious-smelling tomato and vegetable sauce garnished with anchovies.
‘Good, they haven’t stinted on the anchovies,’ Minty said enthusiastically, picking up her fork. ‘I love them.’
And the moment was gone. But he wanted to hold on to it, hold on to her. Spend more time in her world, her impulsive, irresponsible, fun world, away from the everyday cares and stresses he had been shouldering for as long as he could remember.
Be someone else, someone she wanted, for just a little bit longer.
* * *
‘We don’t have to go straight back to Oschia.’
Minty looked up from the car’s state-of-the-art and ridiculously complicated stereo. ‘I thought we were getting to the stage where all we would have to do was think of a tune and it would miraculously play,’ she grumbled. ‘I don’t understand what it wants me to do.’
Luca reached down without looking and one second later the strains of classical music filled the car. It was a violin solo and Minty was immediately transported back to the night before. To that moment of sheer perfection and happiness.
‘Too solemn,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I want something poppy.’ Something that wasn’t going to evoke any embarrassing memories of weakness. Of neediness.
Luca obligingly changed the music until he reached a well-known female singer-songwriter and Minty nodded approvingly. ‘Perfect,’ she said, leaning back and putting her bare feet back on the dashboard, throwing a provocative glance at Luca as she did so. She knew how much it annoyed him.
She wiggled her toes.
‘So?’ he prompted.
‘So?’
‘What do you think about not heading back?’
‘We already stopped off for lunch,’ Minty pointed out, regarding her toenails critically. She had painted them silver for the party but they were already chipping. Maybe something bright and cheerful next; she had bought a vivid orange in Florence which might do. She slid a glance over at Luca. He probably wouldn’t really appreciate her painting her nails in his car.
He was a smooth driver, though.
And at that thought a mental image of the two of them the day before, entwined, filled her head. She squirmed in her seat. Driving wasn’t the only thing he did smoothly.
‘I didn’t mean for an hour or two. I meant for a few days. After all...’ His head jerked meaningfully to the three large suitcases in the boot. ‘You have enough there to last an apocalyptic catastrophe.’
She hadn’t brought that much with her. Minty glanced into the back. Oh, the man had a point.
‘Won’t people talk?’
He shrugged. ‘Who? The tabloids don’t even know who I am.’
‘Not people—people,’ she said. ‘Your family. Our—your—colleagues.’
He
