‘That was delicious.’ She smiled at him when she had finished. He reddened, and muttered something defensive.
‘Tell me.’ Clare put the napkin on the tray. ‘Is Fabio really your cousin?’
He shook his head vehemently. ‘No, we met in a bar. He told me he was in love with Signorina Paola, and that the Marchese was keeping them apart.’
‘Like Romeo and Juliet?’ Clare suggested.
He nodded. ‘Si, signorina. My mother is from Verona, and she has told me that story many times. I felt sorry for Fabio, and he said he would pay me when he and the signorina were married. I got him a job on the estate, so that they could meet.’
He hunched his shoulders. ‘Only Signor Lerucci sent for me, and told me that he knew I had no cousin, and I have lost my job.’ He sent her a sullen look. ‘My father worked for the Bartaldi, and his father before him, so this is a great shame for me. When she returns from my sister’s house, my mother will be very angry.’
He paused. ‘And then Signorina Paola told Fabio that she would not run away with him, so it was all for nothing.’ He sighed heavily.
‘But Fabio came up with an alternative plan for making money by stealing the Minerva statue?’ Clare suggested.
‘Si. We all know that the Marchese sets great store by the statue. It is an ancient treasure, and very valuable. And Fabio swore to me he would not damage it.’
‘And that makes everything all right?’ Clare asked. ‘I don’t think so, Marco.’
‘Fabio promised me money,’ he insisted. ‘Now I have no job, and my mother is not well. And who will employ me when they know I have been dismissed by the Bartaldi? No one.’ He sounded very young, suddenly.
A germ of an idea came to Clare. Her lips were parting to speak when the door opened, and Fabio came in carrying the cord for her wrists.
‘Is that really necessary?’ she asked with distaste.
He grinned at her. ‘I think so. You are a valuable property, signorina, and you have the advantage that you are made of flesh and blood, not stone. I need to keep you here.’
‘Perhaps I’m not worth as much as you think.’ Clare lifted her chin. ‘The Marchese Bartaldi doesn’t respond to blackmail. And he certainly won’t be interested in buying me back. I mean nothing to him.’
Fabio’s smile widened unpleasantly. ‘Good try, signorina. Unfortunately, I know differently. Because I saw you together, near the Minerva shrine one afternoon when I had been meeting Paola. And it looked to me as if you meant a great deal.’
He looked her over, making her feel as if she was coated with slime. ‘You are very pretty under your clothes, signorina. Maybe I should get a camera, and persuade you to undress for me—just to remind the noble Bartaldi what he is missing.’
‘Don’t be a fool,’ Marco broke in, his voice alarmed. ‘Dio, do not make him angrier than he is already by shaming his woman. You do not know him. You do not know what he might do.’
Fabio shrugged. ‘Maybe. We will see how generous his first offer is.’ He looked back at Clare, who slowly released her painful, indrawn breath. ‘You will have to be patient, signorina. We have decided to let your lover stew for a day or two before we make contact. I think when I talk to him, he will be glad to meet my terms.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ Clare said glacially, as he retied her wrists.
She kept her head high until they left the room, then she collapsed on to the edge of the bed, her legs shaking.
The thought that they’d been spied on as Guido brought her to the edge of surrender made her feel nauseous. Her skin crawled at the very idea. She would never convince Fabio that she wasn’t Guido’s mistress, she realised.
But Marco might be a different matter. He was clearly uneasy about the situation, and that was what she would work on.
She wondered how soon it would be before she was missed. In retrospect, leaving her clothes behind didn’t seem such a good idea after all.
Wearily, she swung her legs on to the bed, and made herself as comfortable as possible. Whatever happened, going without sleep would solve nothing.
Oh, Guido, she thought as she closed her eyes. Please come to me. Please find me. And, if you want, I’ll stay with you. I’ll do anything—be anything you ask.
And for a brief, sweet moment, she imagined she could feel the brush of his lips against her skin, her hair, and her eyelids. And was comforted.
WHEN Clare woke, her watch, that she’d removed the previous night, told her it was morning.
She slid awkwardly off the bed, and managed to make her way to the door, turning her back to knock at its panels.
As she’d hoped, Marco appeared, looking no happier than he had the night before.
‘Buongiorno.’ Clare smiled calmly at him. ‘I’d like the bathroom, and then some coffee.’
He hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.
As she washed and cleaned her teeth, Clare heard him go downstairs. Scooping her toilet things back into their bag, she opened the door and peeped out.
The passage was empty, and she was sorely tempted to make a dash for it. Except, she reminded herself, that she hadn’t a clue where ‘it’ might be.
A familiar sound was coming from a room across the passage, and she trod softly across and pushed open the door, wrinkling her nose at the smell of grappa which assaulted her. Fabio was sprawled across the bed, an empty bottle on the floor beside him, snoring loudly.
Out for the count, she thought. And the perfect opportunity to work on Marco.
The shutters were open, and she tiptoed across and looked out of the window. As she’d feared, all she could see were fields and trees.
The house, which she was certain belonged to Marco’s mother, was in total isolation.
But directly below her was Fabio’s car, looking rustier than ever in the sunlight.
If I could just get the keys, she thought. We can’t be that far from a main road.
Fabio snorted, and turned on to his side. She crept back to the bathroom, closing the door quietly just as Marco came upstairs with her coffee. In addition, there was a plate, with a slice of ham, a piece of cheese, and a sad-looking peach.
‘Thank you.’ She sent him another smile. ‘How well you look after me. Your mother must be proud of you.’ She glanced round her. ‘How beautifully she keeps her house.’
‘Grazie, signorina.’ He looked faintly gratified.
‘And what a shame she won’t be able to stay here,’ Clare went on, watching him from under her lashes as she sipped her coffee.
His brow creased. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, she won’t be able to look after her house when she’s in jail.’
‘Jail?’ He gave her a stony look. ‘My mother will not go to jail. And nor will I. There are many places I can hide—even from Bartaldi.’
‘But you’ve kept me in her house, which will make her an accomplice. At least that’s how the police will see it.’
‘But you know differently, signorina. You will speak for her. She is not young, and she has been sick.’
‘Maybe you should have thought about that before you let Fabio involve you in his get-rich schemes,’ Clare said contemptuously. She leaned forward, fixing his gaze with hers. She said urgently,