‘Yes, but it is hardly the same for you now that Marco has remembered his responsibilities to Altimazza. He can hardly be expected to commute to Milan on a daily basis. And the castello can be a lonely place.’
Her smile was taut. ‘Please don’t concern yourself about me, Signor Baressi. It really isn’t necessary.’
‘Call me Tonio, I beg. I assure you that I only wish to be your friend.’
‘Thank you.’ She reached for her bag and extracted enough money to pay for her own coffee. ‘That’s kind of you, but now I must be going.’
He said, almost idly, ‘If you are expecting Roberto, he has gone back to San Silvestro. I told him I would bring you back to the castello myself.’
Flora’s lips parted in a gasp of sheer outrage. ‘Then you had no right to do any such thing,’ she exclaimed heatedly. ‘And I prefer to make my own way back. I’ll find a taxi…’
His grin was unrepentant. ‘You fear I shall make advances to you?’ He shook his head. ‘I shall not. I offer friendship only. Something you may welcome before long,’ he added softly. ‘So let us have no more nonsense about taxis. It will be my pleasure to drive you.’
Flora lifted her chin. She said crisply, ‘In that case I’d like to leave straight away. Roberto is going to find himself in real trouble with Alfredo for deserting me like this. He could even be sacked.’
He shrugged. ‘He will easily find another job.’
Tonio also drove a sports car, but a considerably flashier example than the one Marco had used in London. He also considered himself a far better driver than he actually was, and Flora found herself cringing more than once.
When the coast road was suddenly abandoned, and they turned inland, she stiffened. ‘This isn’t the way to San Silvestro.’
‘A small detour.’ He was totally at ease. ‘To the other side of the headland. My aunt, the Contessa Baressi, has expressed a wish to meet you. I know you would not wish to disappoint her.’
She said curtly, ‘I would have preferred to be consulted in advance. And if Marco wishes me to know his godmother, then he’s quite capable of arranging it.’
‘Marco,’ he said, ‘is in Milan.’
‘Yes, but he’ll be back this evening. I can mention her invitation then…’
‘My aunt wishes to see you now,’ he said softly. ‘And her requests are invariably granted. Even by Marco.’ He paused. ‘The two families have always been very close. And he and the Contessa have a very special relationship.’
‘All the more reason,’ she said, ‘for him to be there.’
‘Unfortunately, the Contessa intends to return to Rome very shortly. She was anxious to make time for you before her departure.’
He turned the car through a stone gateway, following a wide curving driveway up to the house.
It was a large, formal structure, built of local stone over three storeys.
The grounds were neat and well-kept, and an ornate fountain played before the main entrance, but for Flora it lacked the wilder appeal of the castello. Or was that simply because she was there under a kind of duress?
She sat very straight in her seat as Tonio brought the car to a halt.
‘Please,’ she said. ‘Will you make some excuse to your aunt and take me back to San Silvestro?’
‘Impossible, mia cara. She does not take disappointment well.’
He came round and opened her door. His hand gripped her arm, his smile openly triumphant as he observed her pallor—her startled eyes.
He said softly, ‘Avanti. Let’s go.’
And he took her up the steps and into the house.
ENTERING the house was like walking into a cave. The hallway was vast and lofty, but also very dark. Flora was acutely conscious of Tonio’s hand on her arm, urging her forward. As the elderly maid who had greeted them reached a large pair of double doors and flung them open she shrugged herself free of his grasp with unconcealed contempt, then walked forward, her head held high.
She found herself in a large room, with tall windows on two sides. Although she could at least see where she was going, the heavy drapes and the plethora of fussy furniture made her surroundings seem no less oppressive.
While the atmosphere of hostility, she thought, drawing a swift startled breath, resembled walking into a force field.
And it had to be generated by the two people who were waiting for them.
The Contessa Baressi was a tall woman, with steel-grey hair drawn into an elaborate chignon and the traces of a classic beauty in her thin face. The hands that gripped the arms of her brocaded armchair blazed with rings, and there was a diamond sunburst brooch pinned to the shoulder of her elegant black dress.
The other occupant of the room was standing by one of the windows, staring out. She was much younger—probably in her early twenties, Flora judged. She had a voluptuous figure, set off by her elegant pink linen sun dress, and a mane of black hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face that would have been pretty in a kittenish way except for its expression of blank misery. Her entire body was rigid, except for her hands, which were tearing monotonously at the chiffon scarf she was holding. She did not turn to look at the new arrivals, nor give any sign that she was aware of their presence.
Intuition told Flora that this must be the Ottavia on whom she’d expended so many anxious moments, and that her unease might well have been justified.
‘Zia Paolina.’ Tonio walked to his aunt and kissed her hand with easy deference. ‘Allow me to present to you Marco’s latest little friend, the Signorina Flora Graham.’
The Contessa’s carefully painted mouth was fixed in a thin smile, but the eyes that looked Flora up and down were lizard-cold.
She said in heavily accented English, ‘I am glad you could accept my invitation, signorina. Grazie.’
‘You speak as if I had a choice,’ Flora returned, meeting the older woman’s gaze defiantly. ‘Perhaps you would explain why you’ve had me brought here like this.’
‘You do not think I wish to be acquainted with my figlioccio’s—companions?’
‘Frankly, no,’ Flora said steadily. ‘I’d have thought myself beneath your notice.’
She heard a sound from the direction of the window like the hissing of a small snake.
The Contessa inclined her head slightly. ‘Under normal circumstances you would be right. But you, signorina, are quite out of the ordinary. And in so many ways. Which made our meeting quite inevitable, believe me.’
‘Then I must be singularly dense,’ Flora said. ‘Because I still can’t imagine what I’m doing here.’
The thin brows rose. ‘Not dense, perhaps, but certainly a little stupid, as a woman in thrall to a man so often is. My godson’s charm has clearly bewitched you—even to the point where you were prepared to break off your engagement and follow him to another country.’ She gave a small metallic laugh. ‘Such devotion, and all of it, alas, wasted.’
Flora’s heart missed a beat. The Contessa, she thought, seemed to know a lot about recent events, even though her view of them was slanted.
She said, ‘I think that’s our business—Marco’s and mine.’
‘Ah, no,’ the older woman said softly. ‘It was never that exclusive, believe me.’ She paused. ‘Did you know that Marco had also