evening. All about having fun.
But it hadn’t been fun trying to track him down afterwards. The thought of applying to the hotel for information had made her shiver with shame. Instead she’d gone to an internet café and then ransacked the internet for Italian vintners until she found no less than five of them called ‘Lucio.’ Luckily there was a photograph that identified him, but the search had made her feel like some abandoned serving girl from a bygone era. Which didn’t improve her temper any.
She’d finally identified him as Lucio Constello, one of the most successful men in the business. His wine was famous throughout the world, and he seemed to live a glamorous life, enjoying yacht trips, rubbing shoulders with celebrities, making money at every point. There were pictures of him with beautiful women, one of whom had recently ended a romance with a film producer.
‘And perhaps we know why,’ enthused the text. ‘Just look at the way they’re gazing at each other.’
But after that the starlet was never seen with him again.
One article declared that he was ‘a man who really knew how to enjoy himself.’ Which meant, Charlotte thought wryly, that one-night stands were a normal part of his life. Hence his disappearance and her feeling that he wouldn’t be pleased to see her.
His vineyards were many, spread out over Italy, and all subject to his personal supervision. Crisis! He could be anywhere. But an article revealed that he usually spent May in Tuscany at the Vigneto Constanza. There was time to catch him.
At the same time a perverse inner voice argued that there was no need to contact him at all. What did this baby really have to do with Lucio? Forget him. He belonged in the past.
But her mother’s voice seemed to flit through her mind. It was weeks since she’d learned the truth of how Fenella had led Cedric Patterson into accepting Clay Calhoun’s twins as his own, yet still the deception haunted her. No matter how much she tried to defend her mother she knew that she herself must be honest. So she would write to Lucio.
But somehow the letter wouldn’t get itself written. Whatever tone she adopted was the wrong one. Too needy. Too hopeful. Too chilly. Too indifferent.
So she’d headed for Tuscany, checking into a hotel in the picturesque old city of Florence, and hiring a car from the hotel for the rest of the journey. For part of the way a map was useful, but when she grew nearer she asked directions. Everyone could point the way. The Vigneto Constanza was known and respected for miles around, clearly a source of welcome employment which was probably why they called the house a palazzo, she thought.
But she changed her mind when she saw the building, which was certainly a palace, rearing up three floors, with an air of magnificence that suggested nobility rather than business.
As she approached a middle-aged woman came out and stood waiting on the step.
‘Good morning,’ she said as Charlotte got out of the car. ‘I’m Elizabetta, the housekeeper. Can I help you?’
‘I’m here to see Signor Constello.’
‘I’m afraid he’s not here,’ Elizabetta said.
Charlotte gave a sharp breath. He’d vanished. She’d pursued him for nothing. Suddenly she was in the desert again.
But then Elizabetta added, ‘Not just now anyway. He’s gone out inspecting the vines on the far side of the estate.’
‘But he is… coming back?’
‘Well, it’s a big estate. He won’t be home until very late, and sometimes he stays the night with one of his workers who lives on the far side.’
‘I need to see him today. Can you tell me where he’ll be?’
A few minutes later she headed off in what she hoped was the right direction. The sheer size of the grape fields was stunning—acre after acre, filled with long straight lines that seemed to stretch into infinity. She wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that she’d arrived on a strange planet, and Lucio wasn’t here at all.
‘Stop being fanciful,’ she told herself sternly. ‘There he is in the distance. Everything’s going to be all right.’
Instead nothing was all right. His response had been so bleak that she’d fled after a few minutes, and was now back in Florence, pacing the floor of her hotel room.
The paper she’d left him had contained both the hotel details and the number of her cell phone. He would call her soon, and they would settle it. But as time passed with no call, she faced the fact that she was alone again.
Another desert.
As the light faded she sat at the window, looking out at the old city. Her room overlooked the beautiful river Arno, with a clear view of the Ponte Vecchio, ‘the old bridge,’ which had stood there for over a thousand years. It was lined with shops on both sides, at one time a common Italian habit. But that convention had faded, and now the Ponte Vecchio was almost unique in still having them. They were lit up, dazzling and golden against the night air, flooding the water with light.
On impulse she determined to go down and explore the bridge. She would take her cell phone. Lucio could call that number if he wanted to contact her. But if he didn’t, he needn’t think she was going to languish here waiting for him to deign to give her his attention.
In a moment she was downstairs and out of the door, heading for the street that ran along the river. Despite the lateness of the hour she was far from alone. Couples strolled slowly, absorbed in each other or leaning over the wall to gaze at the water before turning to meet each other’s eyes.
At last she reached the bridge and walked halfway across to where there was a gap in the shops and she could look out over the dazzling water. On either side of her couples murmured, pleading, suggesting, happy.
Happy, she thought. Was it really possible to be happy in love?
And what was love anyway?
Briefly she’d thought she’d discovered the answer with Don, but she knew differently now. Not just because he’d let her down, but because in one devastating night with Lucio she’d discovered something that had reduced all other experiences to nothing.
Gazing down into the shimmering water, she seemed to be back in the hotel room, hearing the sound of the door close, feeling him move close. How warm his breath had been on her face, how gladly she had drawn closer to him, raising her head to receive his kiss.
She could still feel his mouth on hers, silencing the last of her doubts. Until then the voice of reason had whispered that she mustn’t do this with a man she’d only just met. It wasn’t proper behaviour. But the gentle, skilful movements of his lips had conquered her. Propriety had never meant much to her. In his arms it meant nothing at all.
It was obvious that he was a ladies’ man, but he’d undressed her with an air of reverent discovery that made her feel special. Of course this was merely part of his expertise, she’d guessed, but it was hard to be realistic when his eyes on her were full of astonished worship.
He’d removed her dress, but before stripping her completely he’d tossed aside his jacket and shirt. There were no lights on in the room but enough came through the window to reveal his smooth, well-shaped chest and arms. Lying beside her on the
