The Marchese's Love-Child (21 page)

But when Ernesto was down at the pool with the children, and Polly was alone with Teresa in her living room, she did confide in the other girl about her staff problems, and saw her frown.

'Your Italian is good,' she said. 'And will become better with practice. So, there should be no misunderstandings—especially with Dorotea. She has worked at the palazzo longer than anyone, and is devoted to the Valessi family. You are the mother of Alessandro's heir, so she should be your greatest supporter.' She patted Polly's hand. 'I will go and ask for some coffee and almond cakes to be brought, and see what I can find out.'

When she returned, her face was solemn. 'They believe they are going to lose their jobs,' she said. "That you intend to replace them all with your own servants from England, and that Julie is only the first of many.'

'But that's complete nonsense.' Polly stared at her, aghast. 'I haven't got any servants in England, for heaven's sake. And Julie's here on a strictly temporary basis. In fact, I'm surprised she hasn't walked out already.'

She shook her head. 'And even if I wanted to make changes— which I don't—Sandro would never allow it. Surely they know that?'

Teresa shrugged. "They know only that he is a man with a new bride,' she commented drily. 'And that you have powers of persuasion with him that they lack.'

She hesitated. 'Dorotea has been the most deeply hurt. She believes you think her too elderly to have charge of Carlino, and too old-fashioned in her ways, and that is why she will be the first to be replaced.'

'No wonder it's like walking into a brick wall whenever I go near the nursery,' Polly said bitterly. 'Oh, God, how can this have happened?'

Teresa chose her words carefully. 'It is clear to me, Paola, that these rumours have been started by someone with authority, whose word they feel they can trust. I think you have an enemy, cara,' she added gently.

Polly had been staring at the floor, but now her head came up sharply. 'Don't tell me,' she said with sudden grimness. 'The Contessa.'

'It seems so. She has offered to be their champion, and fight their cause with you. No doubt she is already telling them that you are intransigent, and will make no concessions.

'You need to do something, Paola, before they walk out,' she added candidly, 'and Alessandro returns to find his house deserted.'

'Perhaps I'm the one who should leave,' Polly said in a low, unhappy voice. 'I'm clearly out of my depth here. I thought they just despised me because I didn't know how to be a marchesa.'

'But you have one great advantage over any lies that Antonia Barsoli tells,' Teresa said quietly. 'You are Alessandro's chosen wife, and they love him.' She smiled encouragingly at Polly. 'Make it clear their jobs are not threatened, and fill that big nursery with more babies for Dorotea to cherish, and they will love you too.'

Easier said than done, Polly thought, forcing a smile of agreement. On both counts.

She was smiling again when she waved them off a few hours later, but she felt bleak as she went slowly back indoors. For a while, she'd been let off the hook, and allowed to put her troubles aside to enjoy their company.

Now her temporary reprieve was over, and her problems were crowding round again. But at least she now knew what she was up against, she thought. And Teresa's advice had been practical as well as bracing, so she had a plan of action too.

It had done her so much good to have them here, and she'd extracted a serious promise from them to come for a proper visit later in the summer. If, of course, she was still here, she amended with a pang.

However, just for a few hours, she hadn't felt quite so isolated, and she missed them all badly now that they'd gone back to Naples.

Nor was she the only one.

Charlie, Julie reported ruefully, had screamed blue murder when he realised the twins were leaving, and had subsequently cried himself to sleep.

'He really needs other children to play with on a regular basis,' she added, with a swift sideways glance at Polly, who flushed, guessing that the other girl was thinking in terms of brothers and sisters for him.

Clearly, because she was part of the opposition, any gossip about the separate rooms had passed her by completely.

Perhaps, as time went on, she would establish some kind of social life, Polly thought, trying to be hopeful, and meet other young mothers whose children could provide Charlie with companionship.

Meanwhile, she would simply have to go on enduring all these none-too-subtle hints, she told herself and sighed.

The next morning dawned overcast and heavy, with even a hint of thunder in the air.

Good day for starting a different kind of storm, perhaps, Polly thought as she drank the tea that Rafaella had brought to her bedroom.

As the girl emerged from the dressing room with the pale blue linen trousers and matching jersey top that she'd been asked to fetch, Polly gave her a quick smile.

'Has your grandfather come back yet from Salerno ?' she asked. 'Because I'd still like to talk to him.'

'I have not forgotten, madame.' There was a faintly evasive note in Rafaella's voice. 'I will ask again.' She paused. 'Shall I run your bath now?'

'Yes—please.'

Polly took another reflective sip of tea. It sounded as if Giacomo had already been approached and returned a negative response, she thought, troubled. Which seemed to suggest that he might well have something to hide over Sandra's accident.

For good or ill, I need to know, she told herself.

In the mail that was brought to her living room later that morning was a postcard from Cornwall. 'Just like old times,' ran the message. 'Keep well. Be happy.' The handwriting was her father's, but her mother had signed it too, she noticed thankfully.

She took out the notes that she'd made the previous day with Teresa's help, and read them through several times, committing them to memory, before she put them in the empty grate and set fire to them.

Then she rang for Teodoro. 'Will you tell all the staff that I wish to see them in the salotto at three o'clock?' she instructed quietly. 'And I mean everyone.'

'Even Dorotea? The little Carlino is upset because he cannot swim today, and she plans to take him

out in the car this afternoon.'

'Certainly Dorotea,' Polly said crisply. 'Julie can look after my son.'

'Si, Vossignoria. ' He hesitated, studying her with worried eyes. 'Is there some problem?'

She smiled at him. 'Nothing that can't be fixed, I hope. Three p.m., then.'

Teodoro had done his work well, because the salotto seemed full of people when Polly entered.

She had decided not to change into more formal clothes, because that might look as if she was trying too hard. Instead, she had simply combed her hair and applied some colour to her lips.

She stood in front of them all, her back to the open door, and spoke slowly using the Italian phrases that Teresa had written down for her. 'I have called you here today to clear up a serious misunderstanding. Some of you may have heard a rumour that I plan to take your jobs from you, and have you dismissed from the palazzo. I wish to set your minds at rest, and assure you that there is no truth in this story, and I cannot understand where it has come from, or why it has been spread in this malicious way.'

She heard faint gasps from her audience, but went quietly on. 'I am sorry that none of you felt able to come to me and ask if it was true, but we are to a large extent still strangers to each other. I intend to change that, and take on much of the everyday management of the household myself.'

More gasps, and louder.

'One thing I must make clear at once,' she continued, raising her voice a little above the whispering that had also broken out. 'In the last few weeks, the life of my little boy has changed completely. He has a new environment to learn, and a new language, too.'

She paused. 'Julie, who came with us from England, is not simply a bambinaia, but a friend who is helping him come to terms with all these puzzling changes. But it was always the plan of the marchese that Dorotea, who cherished him in childhood, should ultimately take full charge of his son in turn. And this is my wish, also.'

She looked directly at Dorotea, who was staring back, her mouth working, and her hands twisting in her white apron.

'My husband, the marchese, has a demanding career,' Polly continued. 'And I wish him to have a peaceful and well-run home to return to. I hope we can work together to achieve this, but anyone who cannot accept my regime is, of course, free to leave.'

She smiled around her, keeping it positive. Letting them see she expected their co-operation. 'Although, naturally, I hope you will all stay. And that you will bring any future difficulties straight to me. Because I am the mistress of the house.'

But it appeared she had lost them, because nearly all eyes were looking past her to the door behind.

And then she heard Sandra's voice, cool and slightly mocking. 'Bravo, marchesa. I am impressed.'

She swung round, her heart thumping, and saw him, leaning against the massive doorframe, watching

her steadily with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The almost agonised leap of her heart at the sight of him stilled and died. She checked the impulsive step towards him she'd been about to take, waiting rigidly instead for him to come to her side.

As he did, his cool gaze sweeping the room, his hand lightly clasping her shoulder. 'So,' he said, I suggest that anyone wishing to remain in our employ gets back to work—subilo.'

Polly had never seen a room empty so quickly or silently.

'Teodoro,' Sandro added as the majordomo approached, 'be good enough to bring us coffee—in the marchesa's own living room, I think, if you permit, cara mia’

As if she had any real choice in the matter, thought Polly, finding herself led gently but firmly by the hand to the room in question.

Sandro waved Polly to one of the sofas, and seated himself opposite, long legs stretched out in front of him as he loosened his tie. He looked tired, she thought, and he needed a shave.

She looked down at her clasped hands. 'I wasn't expecting to see you.'

‘I did not anticipate returning so soon.'

She cleared her throat. 'Did—did you have a successful trip?'

'So far,' he said. 'Unfortunately, it was curtailed before I reached Rome.'

'Oh.' She felt a stab of fierce pleasure. 'Why was that?'

'Because last night I received a telephone call from Teresa and Ernesto telling me that you had problems here, and might need me.'

She looked at him, stunned. So, they knew where to find you, she thought, biting her lip. And I didn't.

'Therefore, I came to you at once,' he went on. 'Only to find you coping admirably alone.'

She said, 'It's kind of them to be so concerned, but they've already been of great help. They—they shouldn't have dragged you into this. Interrupted your trip.' She shrugged. 'Really, it was all pretty trivial. A storm in a teacup.'

His mouth twisted. 'If it is like the storm outside, Paola mia,' he said as a sudden flash of lightning illuminated the room, followed almost at once by a reverberating clap of thunder, 'then it may get worse before it is better.'

He paused. 'So, has your rallying call halted the revolution, cara’ he asked softly. 'Or are there still matters to be dealt with?'

She met his gaze with as much composure as she could muster. 'I think it's—settled.'

'Ah,' he said. "Then Zia Antonia is at this moment packing her bags.'

She swallowed. 'No, of course not. I—I couldn't do that.'

'But you are the mistress here,' he said. 'I heard you say so.'

'Yes.' Her hands tightened on each other almost painfully. 'But perhaps I was presuming too much.'

'Or not enough,' he returned drily. 'While I have been away, I have had time to think, and I realise that the situation here cannot be allowed to continue.'

Before she could even ask what he meant, the door was flung open and the contessa came in, all smiles.

'Cara Alessandro.' He rose at her entrance, and she reached up to embrace him. 'But what a wonderful surprise for us all. I should have been here to greet you, but I was resting in my room. This weather—so dreadful. I shall be fortunate to avoid a migraine.'

She turned to Polly, a reproving note in her voice. 'But, my dear child, you have ordered no refreshment for your husband on his return. A little remiss of you, if you will forgive me for saying so.'

'I am sure she will do so,' Sandro said quietly. 'And coffee is being brought, so do not concern yourself.'

The contessa's tone became steel covered by honey. 'But I must express my anxieties, my dearest cousin. Your household is in my charge after all, and yet my maid had to inform me of your arrival.' She tutted smilingly. 'She also informs me that our dear Paola summoned all the staff to a meeting a little while ago, to harangue them on the subject of loyalty. If she had issues to raise on that or any other matter, then surely she should have come to me first.'

The smile she bestowed on Polly was pure acid. 'One must make allowances for your inexperience, dear girl. You are not accustomed to dealing with servants, of course. But, in future, there is certainly no need to indulge in such...ludicrous histrionics—or to send for your husband, while he is away on important business, and involve him in a purely domestic matter.

'I hope Alessandro is not too angry with you,' she added on a teasing note that set Polly's teeth on edge.

'I am not angry at all,' Sandro corrected her courteously. 'And nor did Paola send for me. I had other reasons for my return.' He moved across to Polly and put his arm round her, drawing her close to his side.

'I felt, you understand, that I had left my bride alone for too long, and could not bear to spend another night away from her. A very different domestic matter,' he said softly.

Polly looked down at the floor, aware that every drop of blood in her veins had moved to her face and was tingling there.

The contessa's little laugh was husk-dry. 'Why, Alessandro, how marriage has tamed you,' she said. 'You have become quite a romantic, cam mio.' She paused theatrically. ‘Dio mio. Tell me that I have not intruded on a private moment.'