Grace’s lips tightened at the implied vote of sympathy, and before she could stop herself she said, ‘I enjoy my own company, as it happens.’
‘I am sure you do,’ he answered smoothly, but despite the courtesy of his words Grace felt a hot wave of colour envelop her cheeks. For God’s sake, she thought crossly, he would think she was a complete idiot. Not only shrewish, but gauche as well.
‘I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,’ she found herself protesting hurriedly, but she saw at once that her efforts to excuse herself had fallen on stony ground.
‘Oh, I’m sure you did, Miss Horton,’ he countered flatly. ‘Once again, please accept my good wishes.’ He glanced up at the awning. ‘You’ve chosen well. The food here is some of the best in town.’
GRACE was stir-frying a pan of vegetables when Julia arrived home.
After lunch at the quayside café, she’d spent some time looking round the little town that crowded the harbour, and she hadn’t been able to resist buying some of the fresh fruit and other produce she’d found displayed in the small shops. There had been so many varieties of peaches and plums and apricots, as well as the more familiar things such as beans and peas, sweet corn and peppers, which gave off such an appetising aroma as they simmered in the pan.
If she’d wondered whether she might run into Matteo di Falco again, that was something she preferred not to think about. But she couldn’t deny that her eyes had been drawn to every tall dark man she’d seen. Still, whatever he’d been doing before he’d spoken to her at the café, he was apparently no longer in Portofalco, and she’d decided she was lucky not to have to deal with him again.
But it was good to see Julia, and Grace removed the pan from the heat before going to meet her friend. They hugged and exchanged greetings, before Julia subsided somewhat gratefully onto one of the stools that flanked the breakfast bar. ‘I’m beat!’ she exclaimed, pulling a wry face. She nodded towards the stove. ‘But I’m glad to see you’re making yourself at home.’
Grace grimaced. ‘I hoped you wouldn’t mind. I didn’t know if you’d be coming home, or what time, but I thought if you did you wouldn’t want to go out for a meal. So I’ve made enough for two.’
‘Great,’ said Julia, putting her elbow on the bar and resting her head on her hand. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be here when you arrived.’ She pulled a face. ‘I had my weekend all planned.’
‘But you had to cut it short,’ murmured Grace sympathetically, taking the bottle of wine she’d opened earlier from the fridge. She poured a glass and pushed it towards Julia. ‘Well, you can relax now. Supper’s almost ready.’
‘Thanks.’
Julia sipped the wine with evident enjoyment, and as she did so Grace took a moment to glance at her friend. Was it only the fact that she’d had to put in these extra hours that had made her look so weary? Or was there some other problem troubling her? If she waited long enough, she guessed Julia would tell her what it was.
‘So, how are you?’ Julia enquired now, straightening her back and resting both arms on the counter. ‘I must say you look pretty good, considering.’
Grace glanced with mock indignation over her shoulder. ‘Talk about being damned with faint praise,’ she said, wrinkling her nose.
‘You know what I mean,’ insisted Julia. ‘I expected you to look all wan and haggard-eyed. Instead of which, it’s me who looks as if I’ve been on a bender for a week.’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’ Despite her obvious weariness, Julia still possessed the gamine charm she’d had when they were students. Smaller than her friend, Julia had always been excessively slender, with short blonde hair that was presently shaped to curl confidingly in towards her pointed chin. ‘It was a shame the hotel knew where to contact you. If they hadn’t, I suppose they’d have had to call on someone else.’
‘Yeah.’ Julia grimaced. ‘That was my fault. If I hadn’t been bragging about going to Valle di Falco for the weekend, they wouldn’t have known where I was. But it’s not every day that you get to meet a real marchesa, and I couldn’t resist telling everyone that I was going to stay at the di Falco villa.’
‘Ah.’ Grace could feel a certain tightness in her throat. ‘Does that mean that—that Signor di Falco is really a marchese?’
‘Matteo?’ Julia took a sip of her wine, but Grace could see that her blue eyes had become a little dreamy. ‘Well, yes, he is. But these days, like lots of other Italian aristocrats, he doesn’t use his title.’
Grace was glad of the excuse of attending to the vegetables to turn back to the stove. So, Matteo di Falco was really the Marchese di Falco. Her tongue circled her upper lip. Things just seemed to get worse and worse. What must he have thought of her? She just hoped he didn’t tell Julia what she’d said.
‘Anyway,’ Julia went on now, and Grace could hear the animation in her voice, ‘you haven’t told me what you thought of him. Matt, I mean. He did fetch my suitcase, didn’t he?’
‘Oh, yes. He brought it.’ Grace judged herself capable of speaking casually, and turned to take a plate of fresh shrimp out of the fridge. If Julia thought she was flushed, she would probably put it down to the heat emanating from the vegetables. ‘He arrived about mid-morning. He explained you’d been summoned back to the hotel.’
Julia nodded. ‘So what did you think?’ she persisted eagerly. ‘Come on, Grace; don’t you think he’s something else?’ She shook her head. ‘I still can’t get over the fact that he’s interested in me. It’s the real thing this time, girl. I’m sure of it.’
Grace expelled a breath. ‘He seemed—very nice.’
‘Very nice!’ Julia snorted, her weariness apparently forgotten. ‘Can’t you do better than that? When I look at him, “nice” is not an epithet that instantly springs to mind!’
‘All right, he’s everything you said he was,’ conceded Grace unwillingly, tipping the uncooked shrimp into the pan and giving them a rather energetic stir. ‘The food’s almost ready. Shall we eat in here? Or would you rather I set the table in the living room?’
Julia looked as if she would have preferred to continue their discussion of Matteo di Falco, but after swallowing the remainder of the wine in her glass she seemed to think better of it. ‘Let’s just eat here,’ she said, helping herself to more wine. ‘Mmm, it smells delicious. I could get used to this.’
Happily, the conversation became more general as they consumed the meal, but Julia wanted to know how her friend had come to neglect her health. She expressed her own outrage that Grace’s sisters should have had to be prevailed upon to help, showing little sympathy for their responsibilities towards their own families.
‘She’s their mother, too,’ she reminded Grace sagely, getting up to help her friend with the dishes. ‘And they don’t work, remember? They probably have far more free time than you.’
Grace admitted that that was a possibility, but she had grown so used to being regarded as the fall girl that it was hard to blame anyone else. Besides, she had never considered what she did as a burden before. It was only when she was taken ill herself that she’d begun to realise that she might be doing too much.
‘Anyway, you’re here now, and I don’t want you to feel that I expect you to look after me while you’re convalescing,’ declared Julia, putting their clean plates back into the cupboard. ‘I mean, this has been quite a treat, having a meal prepared for me and all, but I’m used to picking up something on my