After a welter of kisses and farewells, they hurried off.
‘Did you sing?’ she asked at once.
He shrugged and seemed shifty. ‘I might have done. Often I’ll have the refrain of a tune in my head and I sing when I’m alone.’
‘You weren’t alone,’ she pointed out. ‘Felipe heard you.’
‘He might have done,’ he conceded. ‘You must understand, though, that in accordance with Italian custom, Felipe exaggerates,’ Dante added shortly. ‘He was being gallant. Telling you what you want to hear.’
‘Is that what you do, Dante? What you’ve done throughout our marriage?’ she asked tensely.
‘No. I have lived so long in England that I’ve lost the art of effusive flattery. I say what I mean, though perhaps not quite so bluntly as the English.’
She thought about this. ‘Felipe genuinely seemed to think you were pleased because I was on my way here,’ she persisted, hoping to get to the truth.
‘I’m sure he and Maria were subjected to conversations with my mother, in which she enthused over my feelings for you,’ he drawled. ‘He would have assumed that was why I appeared to be happy—whereas we know different.’
‘Your mother certainly seems convinced of your adoration,’ Miranda mused, breathing hard and fast. Sonniva, she mused, was a perceptive woman, shrewd and honest…
‘Some people have rose-tinted vision,’ he dismissed. ‘They see what they want to see. Like Felipe and Maria. But…they have been good friends to me since I arrived,’ he added and she had the distinct impression that he was keen to avoid further discussion. ‘They live in the villa not far from us,’ he explained. ‘We’ll see a lot of them, as they have a boy of Carlo’s age.’
‘Good. I like them,’ Miranda said demurely. For the moment she’d let Dante off the hook. But all her instincts told her that he was hiding something from her. She hoped it was his true feelings. ‘I look forward to meeting them again. I’m sure we could all be good friends.’
‘You seem to be accepting the fact that you’ll live here in future. No regrets, I assume?’ he asked, his expression tense.
‘None. I’ll be with Carlo, won’t I?’ And you, she left unsaid.
‘You’ll enjoy the lifestyle, of course,’ he observed, a cynical tone to his voice.
‘You’re thinking I’m looking forward to being the wife of a wealthy man and sweeping from one grand palace to another. But that wouldn’t be enough for me,’ she said, determined to put him straight about her potential as a gold-digger.
‘You want more?’
‘Not in the way you think.’
He shot her a look. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘No. You thought I married you for material gain,’ she said with sadness. How could he ever have believed that? ‘Dante. Was I ever extravagant? Did you see any signs of greed in me?’
He frowned, as well he might. ‘No,’ he admitted.
‘Did I know you were well off when I worked for you?’
‘You could see I had a good lifestyle,’ he grunted.
‘But not flamboyant. You went everywhere by taxi as many people do in London. Your apartment in the City was not in a fashionable area although it was spacious and expensively furnished. You dressed well, but…’ She smiled. ‘You’re Italian. It’s part of your culture. If I’d been hunting for a rich man, I’d have gone for Guido.’ She frowned, a bad taste in her mouth. Then dismissed it because her argument was so important. ‘He flung his money around as if he had bottomless pockets. He has a Maserati. Eats only in the best celebrity restaurants. Wears a lot of jewellery. Everyone in the office thought he was loaded. Why, then, if I’d been truly mercenary, would I have set my sights on you?’
‘I don’t know. I am at a loss,’ he said slowly.
She leaned into him a little. ‘Listen,’ she said softly. ‘Since I was very young, my only wish has been to spend my life with someone I love. Do you believe that?’
‘I think you do care for Carlo, yes,’ he said, looking guarded.
She beamed. It wasn’t quite what she’d meant, but nevertheless it was a milestone. ‘And you accept that he wasn’t starved of love?’
Dante looked uncomfortable. ‘Perhaps my informant made a mistake.’
‘Call the nanny and find out,’ she urged. ‘I have her new number. She’ll complain that she wasn’t allowed enough time with Carlo!’
‘I have seen enough. I don’t need to. I apologise for doubting your maternal instincts,’ he said stiffly.
‘And for doubting my love for you?’ she asked, her heart beating hard.
His head jerked away, his profile suddenly stern. ‘I can’t pretend that your infidelity never happened,’ he clipped and she realised she had a long way to go before she proved her innocence to him. ‘The next week or so will be difficult for both of us. But we’ll settle into some kind of working arrangement, providing you like it enough here.’
‘Like it?’ she cried, hope lifting the burden she’d carried from her shoulders. ‘How could I not? It’s a bonus that Bellagio is so beautiful. I love the lake and the mountains and the romantic little villages. I like the friendliness of the people who smile and nod at us even though they don’t know who we are. I like to see the affection youngsters and their parents show towards older relatives. I like your friends. In fact,’ she added, glancing around her fondly, ‘I like Italians very much.’
‘I’m glad,’ Dante said drily. ‘You’d find life hard if you didn’t.’
‘Mmm. They’re wonderfully…free with their emotions, aren’t they?’ she mused.
She had been watching them for a while. Everywhere she looked, it seemed that people were gesticulating as they conducted lively exchanges. They stood close to one another as if they had no idea of personal space. And yet already she’d noticed that what initially seemed like fiery arguments often ended with laughter and hugs.
She sighed wistfully because here and there she could see courting couples gazing in rapture at one another, content, it seemed, just to breathe the same air, to be on the same planet.
‘You envy their lack of inhibition?’ Dante asked quietly.
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I do.’
And she vowed to allow the Italian love of free expression to seep into her. It was what he’d been used to. No wonder he’d thought her cold and unresponsive.
‘Me too.’ Dante’s brooding eyes studied his surroundings. ‘You know, I was so intent on handling the London end of the business, marrying you and setting up home there, that I didn’t realise how much I missed Italy until I came back here to live.’
She absorbed this without comment. But she was stunned. He hadn’t been happy in England. She pursed her lips, contemplating the fact that he’d been in virtual exile from the country of his birth.
Scanning the bustling promenade, she compared the greyness of the city of London and the vibrant colours all around them; the roar of the capital city’s traffic, the dirt and the smell of petrol fumes…and the partially traffic-free Bellagio, where stately ferries ploughed their way across a glittering lake. The hurried, preoccupied Londoners wrapped in their own concerns…and the lively Italians hell-bent on living life to the full and including any passing stranger who caught their attention.
‘I understand