‘Sonniva!’ Miranda said in surprise. And to her horror, she gave a little choking cry.
‘My dear! Oh, you poor darling!’ crooned Sonniva, clacking rapidly across the chequered marble.
And then Miranda was enveloped in silken arms, the bird-like body grasping her with surprising energy, two gentle hands stroking and soothing her as if she were a child.
‘O, povera piccolina! You poor little one! How glad I am to see you,’ Dante’s mother murmured, great wafts of Paradiso perfume drifting enticingly into Miranda’s senses. ‘It must have been so hard, being in an isolation hospital and not allowed to see your own husband and child! I’m thrilled you’re better now. But you look so thin!’ she chided, taking Miranda’s startled face between her palms. ‘And pale! Dante! She is still not well. We must look after you. Red wine and chocolates, yes?’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘The fever. All is well now? The hospital has let you go and you are here to stay?’
She took a deep breath, feeling wrecked. Her eyes slipped to Dante. She was shocked to see how alarmed he looked. So that was the story—that she’d been in hospital with a dangerously contagious illness. What a liar he was!
‘Miranda, darling!’ crooned Sonniva in concern. ‘You look…how do I say it?….dazed. Dante, she is staying, isn’t she? Oh, he’s been such a bear without you! And I couldn’t bear little Carlo to cry so pitifully for his mama again!’
‘You’re exaggerating, Mama—’ Dante began.
But the damage was done. ‘Oh, dear heaven!’ Miranda whispered, utterly broken by Sonniva’s final sentence. She drew in a shuddering breath. ‘Yes. Yes. I’m staying.’
Dante’s relief was palpable. She was aware of the relaxing of his muscles, one by one, and knew that she must do everything in her power to prove to him that she had been wrongfully accused. Or her life would be an utter hell.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘I WILL collect Carlo for you,’ Sonniva said decisively. ‘Dante has done his best to be a mother and father while you’ve been in hospital, you can be sure, Miranda. He has been so attentive, so loving to our little darling. To cheer him up today, Dante arranged a little entertainment after nursery—a trip on the train, a fun party with some friends and a garden full of…come si dice?’ she asked, turning to the impassive Dante.
‘Bouncy castles and play equipment,’ he provided. ‘Thank you, Mama. I’d be glad if you will collect him from his friends in Cadenabbia. Miranda will have a chance to rest before Carlo returns.’
‘And you two can be together. What a thrill for you! Allora. You can “rest” with her, Dante, yes? But don’t exhaust her. See you in a while, darlings.’
With her eyes twinkling mischievously, Sonniva blew kisses and breezed out.
‘Thank you,’ Dante said hoarsely.
‘For what? Helping you to lie to your own mother? How low will you stoop, Dante?’ she asked with contempt.
‘For my son, I will do anything,’ he muttered.
Yes. She had the impression he would. She leaned tiredly against a marble pillar, her head feeling as if it might burst.
‘So I have discovered. How long before Carlo is here?’
‘My mother will drive to the car ferry to cross the lake, then it’s a short drive to my friend’s house. By the time she’s eased Carlo from the party and made the return trip…say an hour or a little longer.’
She nodded. ‘I do need a few moments to myself. I’d like to lie down. Where can I crash out?’
‘Your bedroom—’
‘No,’ she said decisively. ‘I’d never wake up. Somewhere comfortable where I can curl up in an armchair.’
‘The library, then,’ he said at once. ‘No one will disturb you there and you can use the sofa. Shall I—?’
‘No!’ He had extended an arm, as if to support her. She shrank from his touch and said stiffly, ‘Point me in the right direction.’
‘Of course.’
At least he seemed to have realised that she’d scream if he pawed her, or scolded her any more. She badly needed to be left in peace for a while, to chew over what she’d taken on.
But she stumbled and his hand shot out to stop her from falling. For a moment she hovered dangerously close to him, every cell in her body begging her to fall into his arms, and then he was pushing her along impatiently as if he, too, wanted nothing more than to be free and alone.
Then, somewhere in the distance, she heard a high-pitched voice she recognised.
‘Lizzie!’ She groaned in dismay.
‘I’ll deal with her. She can stay the night then I’ll put her on the next flight back first thing in the morning.’
‘I should speak to her…’ Miranda chewed her lip guiltily. 0‘I’ll ned to explain—’
‘Leave a note,’ he advised. ‘Let me handle her. If I stuff money into her bag I’m sure she’ll be co-operative. I’ll get Guido to meet her flight in London. He’ll smooth things over.’
Miranda winced at his contempt for Lizzie but knew he was right. And she really couldn’t face her sister. Later she’d invite her over and give her a nice time.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and allowed herself to be led into the library, where she scrawled a hasty note and handed it to Dante.
Her gaze scanned the walls of books, tiers upon tiers of them in carved bookshelves, which stretched right up to the high, carved ceiling. The volumes were nearly all leather-bound and were probably valuable antiques.
It seemed that every detail of the house underlined Dante’s newly acquired wealth and power. Everywhere she looked—the gilded furniture, fine porcelain, the crystal chandeliers, the frescoed ceiling—she discovered further evidence of the Severini heritage. And Carlo would own this one day.
Her job would be to keep him human. Normal. To know more than this world with its rarefied atmosphere. Yes. She had an important role to play. And Dante had better accept that.
She reached the soft cream sofa and her body sank into its welcoming depths with relief. Pulling a handful of silk cushions towards her, she arranged them comfortably behind her aching back and kicked off her shoes.
Without a word, Dante poured her a glass of water from a crystal decanter, handed it to her, then walked quietly away, shutting the heavy oak door behind him. Leaving her in the hushed, muffled silence.
Now she could flop. Every bone in her body felt as if it might crack. Her muscles ached from being held in tension. Limply she raised a hand and lightly massaged her forehead, then held the cold glass against her throbbing temples.
What a dramatic turn her life had taken! It was almost unbelievable. She was to live here, to all intents and purposes the count’s wife. La contessa!
Her eyes closed in dismay. Acting out a charade would be hard enough, but to be isolated in a foreign country…
‘Heaven help me!’ she whispered. ‘Give me strength, for Carlo’s sake!’
She quailed at the daunting prospect. To enable her to cope she would negotiate her own rules with Dante. Invite friends over. Make a life of her own.
Dante would not rule her with an iron fist. Carlo must see at first hand that marriage was a partnership. The last thing she wanted was for her own son to see her as inferior—or for him