looked as if she would have preferred some kind of explanation as to why they were here before she offered them any refreshment. He doubted she had bought his story about giving Tess a guided tour of the area. But courtesy demanded that she play the generous hostess and a thin smile appeared as she said, ‘Ma certo, Papa. Please, come with me. We can have drinks on the patio.’
Chapter Six
CASTELLI’S daughter led them along a path between a clump of oak and cypress trees. There was the scent of pine and the unmistakable tang of the sea. And when they emerged onto a private sun terrace, Tess could see a handful of guests basking on the beach below the hotel. There were striped chairs and tilted awnings, pedalos lying dormant in the noonday heat. Some children were paddling in the shallows, searching for shells, while their parents stretched out on towels on the sand.
She hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told Maria it was a beautiful place. The small town of Viali occupied a curving headland and the cliffs that rose above it were thick with pine and spruce. The beach was deep, stretching out some distance towards the water, with gently rising dunes studded with flowering cactus and prickly pear.
The terrace Maria took them to was separated from the public areas by a trellis totally covered with flowering vines. A teak table and chairs were set beneath a pale green umbrella, and as they approached a girl of perhaps eighteen, dressed in the uniform of a maid, bustled out to see if there was anything she could get them.
Maria ordered refreshments, consulting her father before adding a bottle of Chianti to her request. Then, after handing the basket of flowers to the girl, she gestured to Tess to take a seat.
It was all very polite, very civilised, but Tess knew that Castelli’s daughter had not been pleased to see her. Oh, she’d hid it well, due no doubt to her father’s influence, but Maria obviously considered Tess’s presence an intrusion.
And it was, thought Tess unhappily. She should never have agreed to come with him. It wasn’t as if this trip was going to achieve anything except highlight the immense gulf between his—and Marco’s—lifestyle and that of herself and Ashley.
Unless that was what he had intended to do, she reflected, resting her elbows on the table and cupping her chin in her hands. Though what influence he thought she might have on her sister, she couldn’t imagine. The whole situation just got more and more bizarre and this had to be the last time she let him make her decisions for her.
He had seated himself beside her now, dropping his jacket over the back of his chair and rolling back the sleeves of his shirt over his forearms. A lean brown-skinned arm, liberally sprinkled with dark hair, rested on the table only inches from her elbow and she quickly withdrew back into her chair.
She hadn’t forgotten the brush of his fingers against her thigh or the disturbing weight of the hand that had rested so briefly on her shoulder moments before. It was stupid to think it, she knew, but there’d been something almost possessive about the way he’d gripped her bones. He’d probably only done it to stop her from blurting out why they were really here, but that hadn’t prevented the unsettling feeling it had given her in her stomach.
Had Maria noticed? She had certainly observed Castelli’s hand resting on her shoulder and she was bound to be speculating about the kind of relationship they had. No relationship, Tess tried to communicate silently. This visit was far more innocent than it appeared. Maria didn’t have to worry that her father was having a midlife crisis over her.
The maid returned wheeling a trolley. From within its chilled cabinet she took a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice, another of what looked like lemonade, and a squat jug of fresh cream. Riding on top of the trolley was a pot of coffee and some hand-painted cups and saucers, as well as a dish of almond biscuits and the bottle of wine Castelli had requested.
There were glasses, too, and a cut-glass vase containing a newly picked red rose still not fully in bloom. The girl placed everything on the table along with a handful of scarlet napkins, taking the trouble to set everything out so that her mistress could have no complaint, Tess was sure.
‘Grazie.’
It was Castelli who thanked her, his infrequent smile causing her to blush with obvious pleasure. But then, he had that ability, thought Tess ruefully, to make any woman feel as if she was important. She had to remember that, too. It wouldn’t do for her to think that his interest in her was anything more than self-serving.
Yet there had been that moment in the car when they’d talked more easily. He’d told her a little about his childhood and she’d explained how she’d felt when her father had died. He was easy to talk to and for a little while she’d forgotten what she was doing there and where they were going. However when his questions had become too personal she’d made the mistake of using the insect that had settled on her leg as a distraction, and suddenly she’d been painfully aware of how naive she was.
The way he’d looked at her then had been far from impersonal. There’d been that stillness in his gaze that she’d seen once before and a frankly sensual curve to his mouth. He’d looked at her as if he was assessing what kind of partner she’d make in bed, she thought uneasily. It had been a devastating assault on her senses that had left her feeling confused and shivery and distinctly weak.
Of course moments later she’d been sure she’d imagined it. He hadn’t repeated the look. In fact, he’d spent the rest of the journey in virtual silence. It hadn’t helped that she hadn’t been able to think of anything to say either. All she’d done was withdraw into her corner as if having a man stare at her had scared her to death.
But it was foolish to be thinking about such things here with his daughter regarding her with obvious suspicion and Castelli himself near enough to touch. Oh, God, she thought, this was getting far too complicated. She didn’t want any kind of involvement, with him or anyone else.
‘So, Papa,’ said Maria, when the maid had departed again. ‘How did you get to know Miss—er—Tess?’
‘Teresa,’ Castelli corrected her shortly, and Tess could only imagine the warning look he cast his daughter and which caused Maria’s face to darken with colour. ‘We met at the Medici Gallery, naturalmente. I was looking for her sister and she was not there.’
‘No?’ Was that a slightly uncertain note she could hear in the younger girl’s voice now? Tess wondered. Whatever, Maria evidently tried to appear only casually interested. ‘I did not know you were acquainted with the gallery, Papa.’
‘I am not.’ Castelli was sharp and to the point. ‘But your brother is, capisce?’
Maria’s jaw dropped. ‘Marco?’ she echoed, and Tess wondered if she was only imagining the consternation in the girl’s voice now. ‘Ma perché? Prego—but why?’
‘You do not know, cara?’ There was no mistaking the censure in Castelli’s tone. ‘Do not lie to me, Maria. You knew of Marco’s sudden interest in painting. I have heard him discussing his aspirations with you.’
‘Well, yes.’ Maria lifted her shoulders defensively. ‘But why should I associate his interest in painting with the Medici Gallery?’
Castelli’s eyes narrowed. ‘You tell me.’
Maria cast a malevolent look at Tess, clearly resenting her observance of this embarrassing scene. If she could, Tess would have left the table then, just as unhappy with the situation as Maria. But she was a
