Clare smiled tautly. ‘I don’t think that will be a problem. I’m sure he’ll meet you more than halfway.’
There were tears in Paola’s eyes again. ‘Oh, you are good to me, Chiara. It was you who first made me doubt Fabio, although I did not wish to.’ She took Clare’s hand. ‘You will stay, won’t you, for my wedding?’
‘I’ll try, but it may be difficult,’ Clare said huskily. ‘I will need to find another job.’ She paused. ‘Paola—you are sure—you want this marriage…?’
‘Si.’ Paola smiled almost shyly. ‘I feel as if I have come home. Can you understand that?’
‘Yes,’ Clare said. ‘I understand perfectly.’
Guido returned to the villa just before dinner that evening. Clare did not see his arrival, but she was aware of it all the same. There was always a new vibrancy in the air when Guido was at home. A tingle in the atmosphere which echoed in her bloodstream, making her heart beat faster.
She stood, looking at herself in the mirror. Tonight would be a time for celebration, so she’d put on the dress that Violetta had bought her in Perugia. It seemed a tiny bit looser than it had done, signalling that she’d lost some weight. Her cheekbones were more pronounced too, she thought critically, and there were tense lines along her jaw and throat.
Everything was combining to betray her inner turmoil, she thought unhappily. But, hopefully, no one would be looking at her. All attention would be turned to Guido and Paola.
She told herself that she should be glad for them. Relieved that Paola had been saved from making a terrible mistake with Fabio. And there was no doubt that she would be pampered and protected for the rest of her life as the Marchesa Bartaldi. But was that enough? Wouldn’t she want to love and be loved in equal proportion? Could Guido’s indulgence ever be enough?
She shook her head. She must stop thinking like this. It would soon be none of her concern, anyway. Her job was done and she could hand in her notice.
But first she had to get through this evening, which promised to be the most difficult of her life.
She went slowly downstairs, and stood, hesitating, listening to the voices coming from the salone. The excitement in the air was almost tangible.
She saw that Guido’s study door was standing open, and drew a deep breath. There would never be a better time to tell him she was leaving. The way things stood between them, he could only be relieved to see the back of her.
She reached the doorway, and peeped into the room. Guido was there, but not alone. Paola was with him, in his arms, her face buried against his shoulder while his hand stroked her hair with unmistakable tenderness.
As Clare stood motionless, lips parted and eyes enormous, he lifted his head sharply and looked at her, and she saw his face, grim, almost haggard, his mouth set, his whole expression at total variance with the gentleness of his embrace.
For a long moment they were locked together, in a kind of shocked, bitter awareness, his dark gaze sweeping her, burning her.
Until with a small sound between a sob and an apology, Clare turned and sped away.
‘DEAR child.’ Violetta’s voice was full of concern. ‘You look ill. What has happened?’
Clare forced a travesty of a smile. ‘I have this splitting headache. There must be a storm coming. Thunder always affects me like this.’ She hesitated. ‘I was wondering if you had your painkillers with you.’
‘But of course.’ Violetta produced her leather vanity case. ‘They are in here, cara. Also tissues, and a bottle of my special cologne. Take whatever you need.’ She paused. ‘Is there anything else I can get you? Matteo says you are not coming down to dinner. May he bring you a light supper on a tray, perhaps? Some soup and fruit?’
‘No—no, thank you.’ Clare bit her lip. ‘I’m really not hungry.’
‘Such a shame.’ Violetta patted her cheek gently. ‘When there is to be a celebration. And you look so beautiful in that dress, although pale. Paola has told you her news, of course? Such happiness.’
‘Yes,’ Clare said steadily. ‘Such happiness.’
I meant to be brave, she thought, as she stood at the window in her room, staring rigidly and sightlessly down at the garden, held in the heavy hush of evening. But that was before I saw them together. Before I saw her in his arms. And knew I couldn’t bear it.
She’d exaggerated her headache, of course, to avoid having to present herself downstairs, but there was a dull throb above her eyes, and a bitter, shaking emptiness inside her just the same.
She had promised Violetta she would take the capsules and go straight to bed, but she didn’t seem capable even of that small amount of effort.
When the door behind her suddenly opened, she presumed her godmother was coming to check on her.
She said, wearily, ‘Please don’t bully me, Violetta. I’m going to bed right now.
‘It is not the Signora.’ Guido’s voice was harsh, almost inimical.
She spun round with a gasp, watching in shock as he kicked the door shut behind him.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I am being a good host,’ he said coldly. ‘Asking after the health of one of my guests. A guest, it seems, who prefers sheltering behind minor illnesses to confronting life.’
Angry colour flooded her face. ‘That’s not fair. And I’ve had more than my share of confrontation since we met, Marchese.’
‘You sought me out earlier,’ he said. ‘What did you want?’
‘To give you formal notice.’ Her heart was hammering, her breath rasping in her chest. ‘To tell you that I was leaving.’
‘It is more usual to put such a communication in writing,’ Guido said curtly. ‘In any event, you are wasting your time. I shall not accept your notice.’
‘My job here has finished,’ she said huskily. ‘You have no reason—no right to detain me any longer.’
‘Do not speak to me of rights.’ He flung back his head. His eyes blazed at her. ‘This is my house, Chiara. This is my land. And I am Bartaldi. I exercise what rights I choose. As for reasons—you know as well as I do why I wish you to remain.’
‘You wish—you wish.’ She threw the words at him. ‘And what about my wishes—my feelings? What if I say I can’t bear to stay under the same roof with you a moment longer?’
‘Tell what lie you please. It makes no difference. There is no escape.’ Hands on hips he regarded her, his mouth twisting sardonically. ‘I have seen your eyes follow me these last three weeks, as mine have followed you. The shadows in your face tell me you have shared my sleepless nights. Until you share my bed, Chiara, I doubt I shall ever sleep again.’
‘Then enjoy your insomnia,’ she said fiercely. ‘For God’s sake, signore, how many women do you want in your life?’
‘I need only one, Chiara. I need you.’ He took a step towards her. His voice deepened, gentled. ‘You are tearing me in pieces, mia bella.’
She said hoarsely, ‘Don’t come near me. Don’t say these things. You’re cruel, signore. Cruel.’
‘Then let us be kind to each other, carissima.’ A small laugh forced itself from his throat. ‘Let us comfort each other for the misery of the last three weeks.’
‘And what about the wretchedness of the rest of our lives?