been forbidden—for a while at least.’
‘Well, the cigars, at any rate, must be counted as a blessing,’ Renzo said teasingly as he took his father’s hand and kissed it lightly.
His father pulled a face. ‘That is also Ottavia’s opinion. She has just left. I have her to thank for the pyjamas and the flowers, also for summoning help so promptly. We had just finished dinner when I became ill.’
Renzo’s brows lifted. ‘Then I am grateful to her.’ He pulled up a chair and paused. ‘I hope Signora Alesconi did not go on my account.’
‘She is a woman of supreme tact,’ said his father. ‘And she knew we would wish to talk privately. There is no other reason. I have assured her that you no longer regard our relationship as a betrayal of your mother’s memory.’
Renzo’s smiled twisted a little. ‘Grazie. You were right to say so.’ He hesitated. ‘So may I now expect to have a new stepmother? If you wished to—formalise the situation I—I would welcome…’
Guillermo lifted a hand. ‘There is no question of that. We have fully discussed the matter, but decided that we both value our independence too highly and remain content as we are.’ Her emoved his glasses and put them carefully on the locker beside his bed. ‘And while we are on the subject of marriage, where is your wife?’
Well, I walked headlong into that, thought Renzo, cursing under his breath. Aloud, he said, ‘She is in England, Papa—as I think you know.’
‘Ah, yes.’ His father gave a meditative nod. ‘Where she went shortly after your honeymoon, I believe, and has remained ever since.’
Renzo’s mouth tightened. ‘I felt—a period of adjustment might be helpful.’
‘A curious decision, perhaps,’ said Guillermo. ‘Considering the pressing reasons for your marriage. You are the last of the line, my dear Lorenzo, and as you approached the age of thirty, without the least sign of abandoning your bachelor life and settling down, it became imperative to remind you that you had a duty to produce a legitimate heir to carry on the Santangeli name—both privately and professionally.’
He paused. ‘You seemed to accept that. And with no other candidate in mind, you also consented to marry the girl your late mother always intended for you—her beloved goddaughter Marisa Brendon. I wish to be sure that advancing age has not damaged my remembrance, and that I have the details of this agreement correct, you understand?’ he added blandly.
‘Yes.’ Renzo set his teeth. Advancing age? he thought wryly. How long did crocodiles survive? ‘You are, of course, quite right.’
‘Yet eight months have passed, and still you have no good news to tell me. This would have been a disappointment in any circumstances, but in view of the evening’s events my need to hear that the next generation is established becomes even more pressing. From now on I must take more care, they tell me. Moderate my lifestyle. In other words, I have been made aware of my own mortality. And I confess that I would dearly like to hold my first grandchild in my arms before I die.’
Renzo moved restively, ‘Papa—you will live for many years yet. We both know that.’
‘I can hope,’ said Guillermo briskly. ‘But that is not the point.’ He leaned back against his pillows, adding quietly, ‘Your bride can hardly give you an heir, figlio mio, if you do not share a roof with her, let alone a bed. Or do you visit her in London, perhaps, in order to fulfil your marital obligations?’
Renzo rose from his chair and walked over to the window, lifting the slats of the blind to look out into the darkness. An image of a girl’s white face rose in his mind, her eyes blank and tearless, and a feeling that was almost shame twisted like a knife in his guts.
‘No,’ he said at last. ‘I do not.’
‘Then why not?’ his father demanded. ‘What can be the problem? Yes, the marriage was arranged for you, but so was my own, and your mother and I soon came to love each other deeply. And here you have been given a girl, young, charming, and indisputably innocent. Someone, moreover, you have known for much of your life. If she was not to your taste you should have said so.’
Renzo turned and gave him an ironic look. ‘It does not occur to you, Papa, that maybe the shoe is on the other foot and Marisa does not want me?’
‘Che sciocchezze!’ Guillermo said roundly. ‘What nonsense. When she stayed with us as a child it was clear to everyone that she adored you.’
‘Unfortunately, now she is older, her feelings are very different,’ Renzo said dryly. ‘Particularly where the realities of marriage are concerned.’
Guillermo pursed his lips in exasperation. ‘What can you be saying? That a man of your experience with women cannot seduce his own wife? You should have made duty a pleasure, my son, and used your honeymoon to make her fall in love with you all over again.’ He paused. ‘After all, she was not forced to marry you.’
Renzo gave his father a level look. ‘I think we both know that is not true. Once she’d discovered from that witch of a cousin how deeply she was indebted to our family she had little choice in the matter.’
Guillermo frowned heavily. ‘You did not tell her—explain that it was the dying wish of your mother, her madrina, that financial provision should continue to be made for her?’
‘I tried, but it was useless. She knew that Mama wanted us to marry. For her, it all seemed part of the same ugly transaction.’ He paused. ‘And the cousin also made her aware that when I proposed to her I had a mistress. After such revelations, the honeymoon was hardly destined to go well.’
‘The woman has much to answer for, it seems,’ Guillermo said icily. ‘But you, my son, were a fool not to have settled matters with the beautiful Lucia long before you approached your marriage.’
‘If stupidity were all, I could live with it,’ Renzo said with quiet bitterness. ‘But I was also unkind. And I cannot forgive myself for that.’
‘I see,’ his father said slowly. ‘Well, that is bad, but it is more important to ask yourself if your wife can be persuaded to forgive you.’
‘Who knows?’ Renzo’s gesture was almost helpless. ‘I thought a breathing space—time apart to consider what we had undertaken—would help. And at the beginning I wrote to her regularly—telephoned and left messages. But there was never any reply. And as the weeks passed the hope of any resolution became more distant.’ He paused, before adding expressionlessly, ‘I told myself, you understand, that I would not beg.’
Guillermo put his fingertips together and studied them intently. ‘A divorce, naturally, could not be countenanced,’ he said at last. ‘But from what you are telling me it seems there might be grounds for annulment?’
‘No,’ Renzo said harshly, his mouth set. ‘Do not be misled. The marriage—exists. And Marisa is my wife. Nothing can change that.’
‘So you say,’ his father commented grimly. ‘But you could be wrong. Your grandmother honoured me with a visit yesterday to inform me that your current liaison with Doria Venucci is now talked of openly.’
‘Nonna Teresa.’ Renzo bit out the name. ‘What a gratifying interest she takes in all the details
