The colour flew to Dervla’s cheeks. ‘No, I’d have pushed you into the pool, but this is Carla—she doesn’t mean anything by it.’ Be tolerant, Dervla, be tolerant. ‘She’s like that with all men.’
He gave a grimace of fastidious distaste. ‘You mean she comes on to all men.’
Dervla’s eyes flew wide. She pressed her hand to her stomach feeling suddenly nauseous. ‘She’s never … with you, has she?’
‘A gentleman does not speak of such things.’
‘So that leaves you free to spill the dirt.’
Gianfranco threw back his head and laughed. ‘She is really not my type, cara,’ he promised, lifting a hand to stroke her cheek. ‘And you need not worry about her feelings. She has the skin of a rhino. Short of showing her the door, we’re stuck with her until tomorrow. I suppose we’ll just have to grin and bear it.’
During dinner Gianfranco showed very little inclination to follow his own advice, so it was left to Dervla to supply the extra smiles.
By the time the Italian woman was midway through a lengthy description of the famous people she had rubbed shoulders with at a recent celebrity auction Dervla’s facial muscles were aching from the marathon.
‘What charity was the auction for?’ she asked when Carla paused for breath.
‘For …?’ The older woman looked at her blankly for a moment.
‘The charity it was raising money for?’
‘I really can’t recall.’
Dervla bit her lip, and didn’t dare look at Gianfranco, she knew he’d make her laugh.
‘Did I mention that I spoke to the prince? A charming man.’
Before Dervla had a chance to adopt an appropriate expression of polite enquiry Gianfranco cut in with a dry, ‘Yes, you did, Carla—several times.’
Dervla shot her husband a look of warning from beneath the sweep of her lashes and said brightly to fill the awkward silence, ‘Are you sure you won’t have some of this lemon tart, Carla?’
‘No, no pudding, I’m watching my weight.’ The glance she slid the second slice on Dervla’s plate suggested that she thought Dervla ought to be doing the same. ‘But, you could lend me your husband, just for a few minutes. Boring financial stuff …’ She angled a look of enquiry at Gianfranco. ‘If it wouldn’t be too much of a bother …?’
There was a pause and for one awful moment Dervla thought Gianfranco was going to say yes, it would be too much of a bother, when he got to his feet, his attitude more polite resignation than eagerness. ‘If it’s urgent?’
‘Well, you probably won’t think it is, but I have been worried.’
‘Would you like to come to the study?’ His enquiring glance slid towards Dervla.
‘I’ll wait here.’
Carla smoothed her creaseless skirt down over her slim hips and patted Dervla’s hand. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t keep him a minute.’
The minute Carla had spoken of stretched into an hour while Dervla sat alone at the dinner table drinking coffee. When the maid came in she refused the offer of another pot and told the girl with a smile she could clear away.
Another five minutes and she decided she might as well go to bed. As she passed the door of Gianfranco’s study she heard some very unfinancial-sounding laughter before she shouted her intention of retiring.
‘I’ll be up in a moment!’ Gianfranco called out.
It turned out his grasp of time was just as sketchy as Carla’s. It was actually midnight when Gianfranco finally did join her in their bedroom. Hearing his footsteps in the corridor outside, Dervla leapt into bed, picking up a magazine from the table on her way.
‘What did she want?’
Conscious that this was one of those situations where it would be very easy to sound like a jealous wife, Dervla was careful that nothing in her manner suggested her interest in Gianfranco’s response to her question was anything but tepid.
Actually she had spent the past hour pacing up and down, her eyes drawn continually to the hands on the clock. It wasn’t that she was jealous as such of Carla, and she was sure that Gianfranco did not think of the older woman in that way, but they had a history, a history she was excluded from, memories she did not share.
Carla had been a close friend of Alberto’s mother, Sara. Had the conversation in the library turned to Sara?
While every snippet of information she’d gleaned from Carla had only confirmed her suspicion that Sara had been the love of Gianfranco’s life, some hitherto unsuspected streak of masochism in her made Dervla hungry for the details even though she was tortured by every new proof of how special their love had been.
Gianfranco gave a disgruntled snort. ‘Some stuff about shares, hardly urgent.’
The same could not be said of his desire to join his wife in their bed. The light from the bedside lamp picked out the gold in her burnished hair and made the nightgown she wore almost transparent. His body hardened as he looked at her; her slim, supple curves never failed to arouse him.
‘Finally,’ he said, walking towards the bed where she sat hugging her knees, ‘I have you all to myself.’
She tilted her head and reminded him, ‘This weekend was your idea.’
‘It was a bad idea.’ Slipping the buttons on his shirt, he sat down beside her on the bed. He reached for the magazine in his way and Dervla, catching a glimpse of the cover, tried to snatch it away.
‘What are you reading that you don’t want me to see?’
‘Nothing, nothing, let me have it, Gianfranco.’
The anxiety in her voice made him frown. He leaned back, the magazine in his hand, and turned it over. His teasing smile faded. It was a medical journal.
Dervla sighed. ‘Oh, all right, I didn’t want to tell you this way, but the doctor suggested I read this article …’
‘Article?’ He glanced down. The front cover announced the contents included the latest research on a new drug for breast cancer.
It took his mind a microsecond to make the next sickening leap. He felt as if someone had just reached inside his chest and placed an icy hand around his heart.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, telling himself that his feelings were not important, this was about Dervla and he had to be strong and stay positive for her.
Her eyes slid from his, her lashes brushing her smooth cheeks as she turned her head. ‘Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.’
He cupped her chin in his hand, drawing her face up to him as he moved closer to her on the bed.
‘You are a terrible liar.’ Please, God, let this not be happening. ‘Look, whatever it is we can face it together … It is never hopeless—they are coming up with new cures for …’ He stopped and took a deep breath. He had to stay positive for her sake. ‘Cancer is just a word.’
She gave a small cry of denial, her eyes widening in horrified comprehension. ‘No … no, it’s nothing like that. I promise you, Gianfranco, I’m not ill.’
‘You’re not?’
When she shook her head positively he released a long sigh, his shoulders slumping as the most intense relief he had ever felt in his life washed over him.
There was, he realised, a degree of truth in the old adage that said you didn’t know how much you cared for something until you were faced with the prospect