CHAPTER FOUR
SOME of Fabian’s well-heeled friends turned up unexpectedly for lunch, and he insisted that Laura join them. They ate al fresco, at a table on another spectacular terrace overlooking a lush sea of olive groves. The sun shone and the wine flowed, and although her boss showed an interest in the conversations that went on around him—even occasionally laughing or smiling with his companions—Laura detected that his mind was not entirely focused on the present.
As she cut a sweet red apple into neat quarters and bit into one, she recalled his surprising comments about holding the concert in his father’s memory. The revelation that he had been a cruel man had disturbed her—mostly because of how that must have affected the young Fabian, growing up. Now that she’d gleaned his relationship with Roberto had been less than idyllic—and that obviously this concert held in his memory was reminding him of the fact—she wasn’t surprised that Fabian’s thoughts appeared to be elsewhere. She couldn’t begin to imagine the money, time and effort it took to organise one of these impressive events—and how much must he be resenting that if it was something he did out of duty and not love? Could it be that he was willing the whole event to be over instead of anticipating it with pleasure?
Her curiosity and concern deepening, Laura lifted her gaze—only to find it on a collision course with Fabian’s. Next to her, an Italian count with an unpronounceable name laughed hard at a joke he had made—but she barely registered the sound because once again she’d dived into that flawless blue ocean and found herself short on oxygen. Expecting him to say something, she was honestly deflated when he didn’t, but simply glanced away again and started talking to the elderly gentleman beside him.
‘Lo zio, Fabian!’
A small girl with glossy brown pigtails and eyes the colour of luscious cocoa appeared at the top of the terrace steps, ran towards the table and climbed onto Fabian’s lap. Weaving her sturdy brown arms around his neck, she buried her head into his chest.
‘Cybele!’
There followed an affectionate demonstration of delight bar none from Fabian, and Laura watched him make a fuss of the child with a sense of almost dizzying surprise and pleasure that she couldn’t deny. They made the most compelling tableau—the man with the kind of masculine beauty that would haunt you to your grave and the enchanting dark-haired child—and an old longing swept through her heart and made her want to weep, because she knew it would probably never be realised. A longing that had been almost utterly destroyed by a relationship turned dramatically wrong.
Everyone around the table was either applauding or making some admiring comment about the child’s beauty and their host’s obvious pleasure in her company. Simply for being herself, the child commanded all their attention. But that was just as it should be Laura thought smiling.
‘Scusa, Signor Morittzoni?’
Now Maria appeared at the top of the steps, puffing and clearly out of breath in her sombre black dress, a delicate lace handkerchief mopping the perspiration that beaded her brow. From what followed, Laura gathered that Cybele was her grandchild, come for a visit. Delighted to learn that Fabian was home, she had rushed ahead to find him.
Fabian told Maria not to worry. He was more than happy to see the child, and asked if she would like to stay and have some food with them. Maria thanked him, but insisted that Cybele go with her and let the grown-ups enjoy their meal in peace. The child went reluctantly, waving goodbye until she and her grandmother finally disappeared from view.
‘What a gorgeous little girl!’ Laura remarked.
‘You like children, signorina?’ The elderly man next to Fabian leant towards her across the table, the thin, faintly bloodless lips beneath his military-style moustache curving in a knowing smile. ‘Yes, I do. Very much.’
‘Then you will make a perfect mamma! But first you need a husband, si?’
There was a chorus of approving laughter, and as Laura tried to field the wave of embarrassment that swept over her at suddenly being the centre of so much attention Fabian’s penetrating gaze seared into hers with undisguised interest. But he said nothing.
‘Put everything on hold for while … we are going out.’
Re-entering the office after a short but necessary meeting with Maria and her kitchen staff—Laura stared at Fabian in surprise. She got the distinct sense that he’d been pacing and thinking hard about something in her absence, and the tousled appearance of his golden hair indicated he’d tunnelled his impatient fingers through it several times.
‘Where?’
‘I am taking you to visit the hospice that the concert is being held in aid of. It will be a good opportunity for you to see for yourself the necessity for such a valuable organisation to continue to receive our help.’
‘Well, then …’ She hovered in the doorway, taken aback by the impromptu nature of this planned visit, as well as by the overwhelming idea of seeing children who were suffering and sick and in some cases dying. Already Laura’s senses were clamouring in sympathy and trepidation. ‘If you just give me a minute I’ll go and get my jacket.’
She hardly registered the helicopter ride to the simple whitewashed group of buildings set deep in the Tuscan hillside. During the short journey, both she and Fabian had lapsed into thoughtful silence, mutually respected and understood. She had questions, without a doubt—but for now they would have to keep.
On their arrival at the hospice they were greeted by a joyful elderly nun—Sister Agnetha—who welcomed Fabian with a beaming smile and a fiercely affectionate hug. The sight made Laura’s legs feel unaccountably wobbly. There was no sense of awkwardness or embarrassment evident in him at all, and his arresting eyes clearly reflected his genuine heartfelt pleasure at the reunion. The man was beginning to intrigue her more and more.
Once inside, they were guided from ward to ward, room to room, and in every case Fabian sat on the edge of the sick child’s bed and conversed with him as though he were a personal relative, and the children responded in kind—their delight at seeing him palpable, even though they were so ill. For his part, during those encounters a myriad of emotions crossed his startlingly handsome face. Laura saw sympathy, kindness, humour and love written there. At times during the visit, her heart was so full she could barely speak.
It was well into the evening when they emerged from the hospice, and the night was silky soft and fragrant with the rich natural scent of the stunning Tuscan countryside. Laura couldn’t help but think that on such a night all should be well in the world … there shouldn’t be innocent children suffering and dying. She bit her lip and could not bring herself to look at Fabian in case he saw her distress. After receiving an affectionate goodbye hug from Sister Agnetha herself she knew her mind and emotions were swamped with impressions and feelings both raw and tender, and her already tenuous grip on her self-control was under serious threat.
‘Are you all right?’ Fabian asked gruffly at her side in the helicopter, as the powerful rotor blades roared into action and lifted them off the ground.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said, turning her face away to stare out of the window at the fast disappearing earth below.
There had been babies as well as older children there. That was the sight that had almost completely undone her. What was the point of such short desperate lives full of suffering? She could only imagine what agony their parents were going through. Yet the staff at the hospital had been full of smiles and humour, and some of the less ill children had responded with ready laughter to Fabian’s teasing and joking around. This side of his character had been a wonderful revelation to Laura, and she was still reeling from the evidence of it.
‘It