not one of Vittorio’s attributes at the best of times. He had the air of a man who was used to having people dance to his tune without question—a man who controlled his world absolutely. She found all her sympathies were with his sister, whatever the disagreement was about. Quietly, she said, ‘I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing for a woman to be strong and wilful. We are living in the twenty-first century after all.’
He looked at her. A hard look. ‘How old do you think my sister is?’ he asked expressionlessly.
Taken aback, Cherry hesitated. ‘My age? Twenty-five or thereabouts?’
‘Sophia will be seventeen on her next birthday in four months’ time,’ he said grimly. ‘And although she has the body of a mature woman I can assure you she has the mind of a sixteen-year-old—a reckless and obstinate sixteen-year-old. Our parents died when she was still very young and I have been her guardian since then, but over the last few years it has been a battle.’
Teenage girls. She could have told him it wouldn’t be an easy ride—not with rampant hormones and especially not with someone who looked like Sophia. The boys must have been after her in droves since she was out of nappies.
He confirmed this with his next words. ‘There is a boy,’ he ground out woodenly. ‘She has been meeting him secretly when she was supposed to be with schoolfriends.’
‘But that’s natural at her age.’
His mouth compressed. ‘Sophia is a Carella. She knows there will be no boys until she is eighteen, and then only when she is chaperoned. To do such a thing is unforgivable.’
Cherry stared at him. ‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘In England, maybe. Not in Italy. Not among girls of good families. She has attended a select school where the girls are supervised at all times. When she is eighteen any suitors will come to me first. This is for her protection.’
He couldn’t be serious. What a dinosaur!
‘My housekeeper now has to accompany her when she leaves the house as I cannot trust her. It is an inconvenience.’
No power on earth could have stopped Cherry’s next words. ‘And what about her? Sophia?’ she asked indignantly. ‘She must be feeling so embarrassed if she has to see her friends with your housekeeper tagging along. That’s cruel.’
Stormy grey eyes turned thunder-dark. She watched him rein in his temper and gain control, and it was impressive. ‘You are a guest in my home, signorina.’ He was suddenly very much the aristocrat. ‘I must not burden you with my concerns. Suffice to say Sophia is a child and must be protected from herself. Now, if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to. Please make yourself comfortable and ring for anything you desire. The pool and grounds are at your disposal, of course, and dinner is served at seven o’clock.’
He had swept out of the room before Cherry could think of a reply. Although once the door had closed behind him a hundred acidic put-downs were there.
What a horrible, arrogant, chauvinistic pig of a man—and his poor sister, she thought angrily, her cheeks burning. Sophia was virtually kept in a cage here. Albeit a gilded one. He was still living as though it was two or three centuries ago, when women had no rights nor voice of their own.
Cherry sat and brooded for another ten minutes, absent-mindedly eating three more of the delicious cakes and pastries, which were the best she’d tasted since arriving in Italy. The scents of a thousand flowers drifted into the room from the open windows. The patio area was bright with huge terracotta pots of lemon-scented verbena, pink begonia, brilliant red geraniums, salvias, pelargoniums and other flowers she didn’t recognise but which all added to the dazzling display of summer colour. Suddenly she wanted to be outside, despite the afternoon sun. A dip in that magnificent pool would be sheer heaven.
Decision made, she left the drawing room and found her way to her bedroom, where she changed into the modest black one-piece swimming costume she’d brought with her. She had also packed two brightly coloured bikinis, both of which were on the skimpy side, and she balked at wearing those here. It was silly, but somehow the thought of appearing half-naked anywhere within a ten-mile radius of Vittorio was out of the question. To that end she pulled on a brightly coloured sarong which went with one of the bikinis for good measure, feeling better once her legs were covered.
She sat down on the bed once she was ready, gazing round the room as she admitted to herself she was feeling a mite guilty about the way she’d behaved. It had been good of Vittorio to offer her refuge the way he had, and she didn’t think she had actually thanked him once. She bit her lip, her small white teeth gnawing at the soft flesh. It wasn’t like her to be so antagonistic—just the opposite, in fact.
She shook her head at herself, her shoulder-length brown hair, which the Italian sun had bleached almost blonde in places, shining like raw silk.
But it was him. Vittorio. He’d rubbed her up the wrong way from the minute she’d laid eyes on him—or certainly from the first time he’d opened his mouth. He was so arrogant, so sure of himself, so very male. But that didn’t excuse her ingratitude. She’d have to apologise and thank him properly for coming to her rescue. She groaned softly, wriggling off the bed and standing up. But after her swim. Maybe tonight during dinner? And then once the replacement car arrived tomorrow she’d thank him again for his hospitality and put as many miles between them as she could.
She slipped on the daisy flip-flops she’d bought for the beach and walked to the door, turning round and looking at the sumptuous room again before she left. The whole situation she found herself in seemed quite surreal: one of the most—if not the most—handsome men she’d ever seen in her life, a house and gardens straight out of the pages of a glossy magazine featuring millionaire lifestyles, servants, wealth, splendour, and here she was, bang-smack in the middle of it. Even if it was just for a night. She almost felt like pinching herself to make sure it wasn’t a dream. It would be something to tell her friends.
Once downstairs, Cherry stood uncertainly, wondering which was the accepted way to the pool. A door at the far end of the hall opened and a severe-looking woman with iron-grey hair and dressed completely in black appeared. The housekeeper, Cherry surmised—rightly. And straight out of a Dickens novel.
On seeing her, the woman came gliding forward, a polite smile on her somewhat formidable face. ‘Si, signorina? Can I help you? There is something you require?’
Not sure if the housekeeper knew the circumstances, Cherry said quickly, ‘Mr Carella said I could use the pool. I’m staying here overnight. My car—’
‘Si, si, signorina.’ It was slightly impatient. ‘I know of this. The signore—he has informed me of your situation. You have everything you need in your room?’
‘Yes—yes, thank you.’ Cherry thought the housekeeper fitted in well. She was every bit as intimidating as her indomitable employer. Poor, poor Sophia.
‘You please to follow me, signorina.’ Without further ado the woman turned and retraced her steps, stopping at a door which led into a sunny breakfast room which again had doors leading to the garden. The housekeeper opened a cupboard stocked with massive fluffy beach-towels, taking two and handing them to Cherry as she said, ‘The pool, si?’ She pointed into the distance. ‘I will send Gilda or Rosa with the iced drink shortly, signorina.’
‘Oh, no, please don’t go to any trouble on my account,’ Cherry said hastily. ‘I’ll
