She pulled plates out and started arranging the salad. He was watching the television now, flicking through the channels, and then he stopped. ‘Oh, no, for heaven’s sake, why can’t they leave me alone?’
‘What?’
‘It’s made the news. Look. The police said it might and they were going to do some damage limitation, but it doesn’t sound like it.’
She put the knife down and went over, perching on the end of the sofa and watching.
‘Police say Giovanni Valtieri was released from hospital at midday today following an incident yesterday in which he was assaulted. He was seen being driven away from the hospital by a woman believed to be Anita Della Rosso, a friend of the family and one-time girlfriend of the lawyer, who’s been at his side since the incident.’
‘What!’ She plonked down onto the sofa next to him and stared at the television in astonishment. ‘How did they find that out?’
He shrugged. ‘They’re everywhere. Listen.’
There was a reporter standing outside the hospital now, talking about how she’d been seen arriving yesterday and again this morning, and then further talk about their relationship.
‘A hugely successful lawyer in his own right, Giovanni is the colourful and flamboyant youngest son of Vittorio and Elisa Valtieri, members of one of Tuscany’s oldest and most respected families, and his renewed relationship with society wedding planner Anita Della Rossa is bound to be a cause for speculation. Will Anita be planning her own wedding soon?’
The screen went suddenly blank, and she looked at Gio.
His face was rigid, his lips pressed tightly together into a straight line, a muscle in his jaw jumping. He threw down the remote control and sat back, arms folded, fulminating in silence.
He was furious, she could tell, but more than that, he was worried.
He dragged in a breath and turned to her.
‘I never should have dragged you into this. All this talk about our relationship—it’s so public, and now they’re going to point Camilla Ponti straight at you.’
She smiled a little ruefully and touched his cheek. ‘Gio, it’s OK. This is my private bolt-hole, a secret hideout that hardly anybody knows about. She won’t look for us here, everyone thinks I live either in my apartment in Firenze or with my parents. There’s nothing to link it to me, not even the address. I give my parents’ villa as my postal address here. This is just like a guest villa.’
‘Talking of your parents, you’d better warn them,’ he said. ‘If they’re watching this news bulletin—’
Her phone rang, right on cue, and she spent the next five minutes telling her mother he was all right, they were at her villa and it was all just idle speculation. She was simply looking after an old friend.
‘You expect me to believe that? There’s no smoke without fire, Anita.’
She coloured. Her mother didn’t know about their brief affair five years ago. Nobody did, not really. They certainly hadn’t told anyone. Luca and Massimo had guessed, but nobody else had, as far as she knew. Well, apart from the press and now half of Tuscany—
‘It’s just rumour,’ she said lightly. ‘Ignore it. I have to go, I’m cooking supper for us.’
But her mother wasn’t stupid. ‘Take care, carissima,’ she said softly, and Anita swallowed.
‘I will. Ciao, Mamma. Love to Papà.’
She lowered her phone and met his eyes.
‘Is she OK?’
‘She’s fussing.’
‘Of course she’s fussing, she’s your mother. I’m surprised she’s not over here right now checking the sleeping arrangements.’
‘Well, she’ll be disappointed, then, because I’ve made up the spare room for you. Do you want to eat where you are, or at the table?’
‘Here? Do you mind? I can’t be bothered to move.’
Subtext: it’ll hurt too much, even though he’d had his painkillers with coffee earlier. She took his food over to him, with a glass of wine to wash it down.
Not that she approved, but it might help relax him and she wasn’t in the mood to play his mother.
‘Thanks, that looks really good. I can’t tell you how hungry I am.’
She’d spread the pâté on the toasted ciabatta, so he could eat it one-handed, and he forked in the salad and mopped up the dressing with the last of the toast. ‘That was good. Tasty. What can I smell?’
‘Lasagne. I thought you could eat it with a fork.’
‘Great idea.’
She took his plate and brought it back with the lasagne on it, and after they’d eaten it he leant back and sighed in contentment.
‘Better?’
‘Amazing. That was really good. I was ready for it. I haven’t eaten anything proper since the day before yesterday.’
He rolled his head towards her, his eyes serious, the food forgotten. ‘Anita, I hate involving you in this. You should be on holiday, not sitting here babysitting me while they gossip about us on the news.’
‘Don’t worry. I don’t care if people talk about us.’
‘Well, I do, and I’m not thrilled about them giving Camilla Ponti directions.’
‘She won’t come after you,’ she said with more confidence than she felt. ‘She’s in Firenze somewhere, trying to hide from the police. Even she’s going to realise she’s in deep enough trouble without making it worse. And anyway, I thought you said she was mortified.’
‘She was. She really didn’t mean to hurt me.’
‘Well, then, we’ll be fine,’ she said firmly. ‘The outside lights come on if anyone approaches, so we can’t be sneaked up on. I’ll set the alarm and put the car in the garage, and nobody would know we were here, if that makes you happier.’
What would make him happier was knowing that Camilla Ponti had been found and seen by a doctor. Until then, this would have to do.
‘Fine.’
‘Good. Now I think it’s time you went to bed.’ Their eyes clashed again, and then he levered himself to his feet.
‘You’d better show me to my room, then,’ he said, and she led him down the hall and pushed open the bedroom door. She’d unpacked his bag and laid his things out on the top of the chest, including his painkillers.
He was pleased to see them. He’d just had some, but he had no doubt he’d need more before the night was out. He hobbled awkwardly past her, looked around and then met her eyes again. ‘It’s a nice room. Thank you.’
‘Prego. I’ll bring you a glass of water. The bathroom’s across the hall, and I’ve put out clean towels and your pills are on the chest. Will you be all right getting ready for bed, or do you want me to help you undress?’
He gave a soft huff of laughter.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
Their eyes locked, his dark and unfathomable. As well as she knew him, she couldn’t read them.
She could feel the heat scorching her cheeks, but she held her ground. ‘I thought you weren’t feeling great.’
‘I’m not, but I’d have to be dead before I let you undress me. Buonanotte, Anita.’
And he closed the door softly in her face.