The Marchese's Love-Child (19 page)

She forced a smile. 'Better than I could have hoped. And you?'

He said laconically, 'I survived.' And lowered Charlie down to the flags.

The little boy came rushing to Polly. 'Mammina, I went in a boat, with big sails.' Waving arms indicated a vast expanse of canvas. 'And a man give me a fish all of my own. Doro says I can eat it for supper.'

Polly sent Sandro a surprised look. 'What's this?'

'I took him to meet an old friend of mine, called Alfredo.' Sandro poured himself some lemonade. 'When I was a young boy, I used to escape whenever I could down to the port, and Fredo would take me fishing with him. A pleasure I would like Carlino to share.'

'But he can't swim,' Polly protested. 'Supposing the boat had capsized?'

Sandro shrugged, his face hardening. 'Supposing we had all been abducted by aliens?' he countered impatiently. 'And I intend to give him his first swimming lesson later today, after siesta.' He paused. 'Perhaps you would like to come and make sure his life is not endangered again.'

She said stiffly, 'I suppose you think I'm making a fuss about nothing.'

'Yes,' he said, 'if you think I would allow harm to come to one hair on his head.'

Biting her lip, she turned back to Charlie and gave him a big hug. 'So, tell me about your fish, darling. What colour is it?'

He gave it frowning thought, then, 'Fish-coloured,' he decided.

Sandro's lips twitched. 'Avanti,' he said. 'Let us go and find Doro, figlio mio. It is time you had a rest.'

'Let me take him,' Polly said quickly. ‘To Julie.'

'But I am already going upstairs,' he said. 'So there is no need for you to do so. Unless, of course, you wish to share the siesta with me,' he added with touch of mockery.

'Thank you,' Polly acknowledged, stonily. 'But no.'

His mouth twisted. 'You seemed to find it enjoyable once.'

'Perhaps,' she said. 'But I really don't need to be constantly reminded of my mistakes—especially those in the distant past.'

'Last night is not so distant, cara,' he said softly. 'And you slept happily in my arms for most of it.'

Polly put her glass down very carefully. 'What are you talking about?'

"Think about it,' he advised, then swung Charlie onto his hip and went indoors, leaving her staring after him, alarm clenching like a fist inside her.

He was teasing her, Polly told herself, pacing backwards and forwards across her living room. For reasons of his own, he enjoyed needling her—seeing how far he could push her before the explosion came. That was all it was. She was sure of it.

And yet—and yet...

She couldn't forget that curious feeling of well-being that had surrounded her when she'd awoken that morning. How rested she'd felt. How completely relaxed.

And remembered, too, those times when they were lovers that he'd joined her in bed when she was already asleep, and she'd woken to find herself wrapped in his arms, her head tucked into the curve of his shoulder, and her lips against his skin. And, smiling, had slept again.

There was a strange familiarity about it all.

Oh, no, she groaned silently. Please—no...

And, all too soon now, she had to face him again, she thought glumly. She couldn't hide away anywhere, so the only thing she could do was bluff it out. Pretend that nothing had happened, which might even be true, and never refer to it again.

She was halfway to the door, when it opened abruptly and the contessa came in.

So much for privacy, Polly thought wryly.

She said, politely, 'Buongiorno, contessa. Is there something I can do?'

The older woman stared around her for a long moment, then turned back to Polly, smiling stiffly. 'On the contrary, dear Paola. I came to make sure that you had everything you wanted—in your new domain.'

She gave the room another sharp, appraising look. 'I confess I have not visited it since Alessandro gave orders for its total renovation. I—I find it painful to see the changes, indeed I can barely recognise it, but I know I must not be a foolish old woman.'

Polly said quietly, 'I don't think anyone would ever see you in that light, contessa.' She paused. 'Were you very close to Sandro's mother? I didn't know.'

'Close to Maddalena?' the older woman queried sharply. 'I knew her, of course, but we were never on intimate terms. No, I was speaking of my cherished Bianca, who was also given this room by Alessandro's father as her personal retreat. She loved it here.' She sighed deeply. 'Now every trace of her has gone, even the portrait of her that my cousin Domenico had painted.' She paused, and a note of steel entered her voice. 'I am astonished that your husband should have so little regard for his father's wishes.'

'I'm sorry you feel like that,' Polly said, caught at a loss. 'Maybe you should take up the matter with Sandro himself.'

'My poor Bianca.' The contessa swept on regardless. 'How much she loved him—and what she endured for his sake. And how soon she is forgotten.' And she sighed again.

'I'm sure that's not true,' Polly told her quietly. 'I know he has the greatest respect for her memory, contessa.'

'Dear child, you are kind to say so. But the evidence makes that so hard to believe. She was such an innocent, and her only sin was to love Alessandro too much. And because of that—she died.'

She shook her head with the appearance of someone labouring under more sorrow than anger.

'He drove too fast—always. And that terrible day, he was in a temper—a wicked, dangerous rage. He had quarrelled with his father, so Bianca followed him, like the angel she was—insisted on going in the car with him to reason with him. To persuade him to return and make peace with his father.'

Her voice broke a little. 'Only for her, there was no return. He was too angry—too reckless to judge the bend correctly, and the car went into the ravine.

'He was never made to answer for what he had done, of course. His own injuries saved him from possible charges.

'But it is guilt he feels, my dear Paola—not respect—and that is why he has had every remnant of my poor Bianca's presence removed—even her portrait.'

She paused, looking keenly at Polly, who was standing with her arms wrapped round her body in an instinctive gesture of defence. 'I am sorry if I grieve you, but it is as well you should know the truth.'

Polly said quietly, 'I am sure my husband blames himself just as much as you could wish, contessa.'

The older woman's tone was almost purring. 'But call me Zia Antonia, I beg you. We cannot be strangers. Your position in this house is hardly an enviable one,' she added. 'Alessandro is so— unpredictable, and I fear you may find yourself much neglected. I hope that when problems arise, you will know you can always turn to me.'

"Thank you,' Polly said. ‘I—I'm very grateful.' Or am I? she asked herself silently as she watched the contessa walk to the door, bestow another thin, honeyed smile and leave. It's like feeling obligated to a cobra that's already bitten you once.

But the contessa's words had left her shaking inside. She was clearly implying that Sandro was guilty of manslaughter at the very least.

This, coupled with Emilio's comments about a possible cover-up at the official inquiry, painted a frightening picture, and one Polly did not even want to contemplate.

If he had been recklessly speeding and made a fatal error of judgement which caused the accident, then surely he had been well-punished for it. The mark of Cain, she thought, and shuddered.

But, at the same time, the power of the Valessi family was being highlighted for her in an awesome way, she realised unhappily.

Money was waved, and things happened. A girl who could prove a nuisance was dismissed back to her own country. An eyewitness to a car crash was persuaded to doctor his account of the tragedy to protect the heir to a dynasty. An expensive court action was threatened, and that same heir acquired a wife and child.

He would have hated the scandal of a court appearance, she thought. If I'd listened to my mother and stood up to him, maybe he'd have backed off. And I would not be here now, torn apart by doubts. Tormented equally by my fears and longings.

She looked down at the glow of the diamond on her hand. A symbol of a fever in the blood? she wondered. Or a cold flame that would consume her utterly, reducing her to ashes? As it might have destroyed Bianca three years earlier, she thought, and shivered.

And once she had gone, would she be so easily forgotten too?

There was a tap on the door, and Teodoro appeared.

'Please excuse me.' He inclined his head respectfully. 'But the tnarchese is asking for you to join him at the swimming pool. I should be happy to show you the way, marchesa, if you will accompany me.'

'Yes.' she said, and took a deep breath. 'Yes. of course.'

She got slowly to her feet, pushing her hair back with a mechanical gesture. Life went on, and whatever her mental turmoil, it seemed she was required to join Sandro, and needed to obey the summons. Accept the situation that had been forced upon her, she thought, and all its implications.

Because, after all, what other choice did she have?

And, straightening her shoulders, she reluctantly allowed Teodoro to escort her from the room, and out into the sunlight.

CHAPTER TEN

The pool was an oval turquoise set in creamy marble, created, Polly guessed, out of a former sunken garden and reached by a series of shallow steps, which wound their way downwards through banks of flowering shrubs. And where Teodoro left her to make the rest of her way alone.

As she descended, she saw that the pool was surrounded by a broad sun-terrace with cushioned loungers and parasols, and, at the far end, there was a flamboyant piece of statuary, depicting some sea god surrounded by leaping dolphins.

And with equal flamboyance, a large inflatable duck with a coy smile and long eyelashes was bobbing quietly at the pool's shallow end.

Sandro was stretched out under one of the umbrellas, reading. He was wearing a pair of brief black trunks, which set off his lithe, bronzed body in a way that made her heart skip a momentary beat. His only other covering was the pair of designer sunglasses which he removed at her approach.

'Ciao. ' He surveyed her with a faint frown. 'Are you all right?'

'Never better,' Polly lied too brightly. She looked around her. 'What—what a wonderful spot this is. And so peaceful.'

'I think the peace will be broken when Dorotea arrives with Carlino,' he said drily.

'Dorotea?' Polly asked, her own brows creasing, seating herself on an adjoining lounger. 'Why not Julie?'

He shrugged. 'Perhaps she is still learning her way about—or tired from the events of yesterday.'

'Yes,' she said. 'Perhaps.' She hesitated. 'I should apologise for my failure to join you this morning, and say goodbye to your guests. I hope no one was offended.'

'I explained you needed your rest,' he said. 'They understood completely.'

Faint colour invaded her face. 'Oh, I expect you made sure of that.'

'It was hardly a lie,' he said. 'You did not sleep well, because you were clearly troubled by bad dreams. Otherwise, why would you have spoken my name and reached for me, as you did?'

Her flush deepened. She said coldly, 'I wasn't aware of it, believe me. And I've had nightmares before,' she added.

'Not,' he said softly, 'when you have been in bed with me, carissima.'

She bit her lip. 'Perhaps not. But there was no need for any— intervention on your part.'

'Well,' he said lightly, picking up his book again, 'it will not occur again. From tonight, you will sleep alone, bella mia. I have given the necessary orders.'

"Thank you,' she said. 'My own bedroom as well as a personal living room. What luxury.' She paused. 'But can I ask not to be allocated another shrine to Bianca?'

His gaze sharpened. 'What are you talking about?'

'Your cousin Antonia visited me earlier. She was upset about the changes you'd made to your mother's room—especially the removal of Bianca's portrait.'

'I will tell Teodoro to rescue it from storage,' he said. 'And hang it in her own suite, if it means so much to her. But she already maintains a shrine to Bianca,' he added coldly. 'It is on the mountain road at the place where the car went over. There is a photograph, with a candle burning in front of it, and fresh flowers which she places there regularly. I am sure she would show it to you. if you asked.'

She said, 'I'll bear it in mind.' She paused. 'Not that it matters, but don't your servants find it a little strange that we're having separate rooms?'

"They are not paid to question my decisions,' he drawled. 'And they will not find it so extraordinary. My parents and grandparents had the same arrangements, and probably every generation of my family before that.

'And you are also under a misapprehension,' he added. 'You will not be moving. You will continue to sleep in the master bedroom, which is quite free of any connection with Bianca.' His tone was expressionless. 'As far as I know, she never entered it.'

She said uncertainly, 'But surely that's your room, and you should keep it.' She tried to smile. 'After all, you're very much the master here.'

'I can sleep anywhere,' he said. 'And besides, I shall be away from the palazzo a great deal.'

'You will?' She looked at him uncertainly.

'Naturalamente. My work involves a great deal of travelling, and this trip has been planned for a long time.' He slanted a look at her. 'If circumstances were different, I would take you with me, cam. But I cannot guarantee there will always be convenient bolsters in our accommodation.'

'Not that they seem to make much difference to you,' she flashed.

He hunched an indifferent shoulder. 'I held you, Paola, while you slept, and because you seemed to need comfort. If you wish me to apologise for that,' he added deliberately, 'you will wait forever.'

He looked her over. 'You are not dressed for swimming. You do not intend to join your son in the pool for the first time?'

She bit her lip. 'I didn't bring any swimwear with me. I—I suppose Teresa thought there was no need...that I would buy something when I got here.'