Or perhaps the girl was just tired of having to run round after yet another of the signore’s mistresses, she thought, with a stifled sigh. Although she could never ask her that, of course. Or whether Ottavia had ever been one of them…
She firmly closed off that line of questioning. She had to learn to live entirely for the present, she told herself. It was pointless concerning herself about the past, or even worrying over the future, because both were out of her hands.
So, it would be one day at a time, and no more, and what was the problem with that when she was so happy?
And no one, she thought, could ever take that away from her.
The boathouse, Flora had soon learned, was not just for show. It contained a speedboat, which Marco used mainly for water-skiing, as well as his windsurfer, and a sailing boat—the Beatrice II.
‘My father built the first one, and named it for my mother,’ he told Flora when he took her sailing the first time, standing behind her, steadying her hands on the wheel. ‘I decided to continue the tradition.’
‘Did she like to sail?’ Flora found she was revelling in this swoop along the coast, her ear already attuned to the slap of water against the bow and the song of the wind in the sails above her.
He shrugged. ‘My father loved to—and she loved to be with him. She even watched him play polo, which terrified her. And she was his first passenger when he got his pilot’s licence.’ There was a taut silence. ‘And, of course, his last.’
Flora was very still. Marco knew every detail of her family background, but up to now had said very little about his own. Perhaps this new candour would drive away the faint mist which seemed to hang between them.
‘There was an accident?’ Tentatively, she broke the brooding quiet.
‘Some kind of mechanical failure.’ His tone was brusque with remembered pain. ‘They were flying down here from Rome for my grandfather’s birthday. I had been allowed home from school for the occasion too, and I remember going with Nonno Giovanni to meet them at the airfield, whining because they were so late and I was getting bored.
‘And then someone came and called my grandfather away into another room. I could watch him through the glass partition, although I could not hear what was being said. But I saw his face—and I knew.’
‘How—how old were you?’ Flora asked, her heart twisting.
‘I was ten. Usually I flew with them too, and I had been angry because they had gone to Rome without me, to collect Nonno Giovanni’s birthday gift.’
He shook his head. ‘To this day I do not know what it was they had bought for him. But it could never have been worth the price they paid for it.’
She said quietly, ‘Marco—I’m so sorry. I—I had no idea, even though you’ve always talked about your grandfather rather than your parents. It must have been terrible for you.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘It was a bad time for us all. And I hardly had time to mourn before Nonno Giovanni began to train me as the next head of the family and the future chairman of Altimazza.’
She gasped. ‘But you were just a small child.’
‘The circumstances demanded that I grow up quickly,’ Marco said drily. ‘That I should understand and accept the responsibilities waiting for me.’
She leaned back against him. Her voice was husky. ‘And when you became a man, what if you’d decided that kind of life wasn’t for you?’
‘Ah, mia cara, that was never an option.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘Only once was I offered a choice—and then I chose wrongly.’ His voice was suddenly harsh.
She said hesitantly, ‘But now you’re free—surely?’
His arms tightened around her. She felt his mouth, gentle on the nape of her neck. ‘I want to believe that, mia bella. Dio—how much I want to believe it.’ There was a note almost of anguish in his tone.
He said no more, and she did not like to probe further.
Later they anchored in a small bay and swam, then picnicked on board. Afterwards, Marco made love to her with slow, passionate intensity, his eyes fixed almost painfully on her face, as if asking a question he dared not speak aloud.
What is it, my love? her heart cried out to him. Ask me—please…
When they arrived back at San Silvestro Alfredo was waiting on the landing stage, grave-faced.
‘There has been a telephone call, signore—from the laboratories. They need to speak urgently with you.’
Marco cursed softly, then turned to Flora. ‘Forgive me, carissima. I had better see what they want.’ He set off up the path to the house, with Alfredo behind him, leaving Flora to follow more slowly.
She had showered and put on a slip of a dress, sleeveless and scoop-necked in an ivory silky fabric which showed off her growing tan, by the time Marco came into the room, his face serious and preoccupied.
He said without preamble, ‘Flora, I have to go to Milan straight away. We have been conducting tests on a new drug to help asthma sufferers, which we believe could be a real breakthrough, but there seem to be problems—something which I must deal with immediately.’
‘Oh.’ Flora put down her mascara wand. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘I think you would be too much of a distraction, mia bella.’ His tone was rueful. ‘Stay here and relax, and I will be back in a couple of days.’
‘Then shall I pack for you?’
He shook his head. ‘Alfredo has already done so. The helicopter is coming for me very soon.’
He came across to her and pulled her to her feet. ‘I hate to leave you, carissima.’ His tone thickened. ‘But this is important.’
‘Of course. And I’ll be fine.’ She smiled up at him, resolutely ignoring the ball of ice beginning to form in the pit of her stomach. Because this enforced absence would eat into the diminishing amount of time she had to spend with him. ‘Alfredo will look after me.’
‘You have won his heart.’ He raised her hand to his lips. ‘And that of everyone here.’
Apart from Ninetta. She thought it, but did not say it. Then Marco was kissing her, and she stopped thinking, offering herself totally the yearning demand of his mouth. Aware of nothing but the warmth and strength of him against her.
At last he almost tore his lips from hers. ‘I must go,’ he muttered huskily. ‘I have to change my clothes.’
Left alone, Flora could hear the steady beat of the helicopter’s approach. Coming, she thought, with a stab of anguish, to take him away. And it was ridiculous to feel so bereft—so scared—when he would be back so soon.
It must be the story about his parents which was weighing so heavily on her, she thought with a shiver.
When he emerged from his dressing room he looked almost alien in the formal dark suit. Flora looked across the room and saw a stranger.
Her smile was so forced it hurt. ‘Please—take care.’ Or take me with you.
‘My heart’s sweetness.’ He looked back at her with passionate understanding. He took half a step towards her, then deliberately checked. ‘I shall come back. And then I must talk to you.’ He paused. ‘Because there are things to be said. Issues, alas, that can no longer be avoided.’
He’s going to tell me it’s over, Flora thought, with a lurch of the heart. That all good things must end. That it’s time we returned to our separate worlds and got on with our lives.
With