THEY had been married for nearly a week, during
which time no mention had been made by either of
them of the night of their wedding. Lorenzo was icily
polite and indifferent towards her when they were together,
and Jodie had taken to spending so much time
sightseeing that at night she simply fell into an exhausted
sleep the moment she went to bed.
But now they were back at the Castillo, the final
paperwork having been dealt with to transfer its ownership
to Lorenzo.
"I have not forgotten that I still have to fulfil my
part of our bargain," he told Jodie crisply as they
crossed the Castillo’s courtyard. "I have put in hand
the necessary arrangements for us to fly to London at
the end of the week for your ex-fiance."s wedding. The
Cotswolds hotel I have booked us into is in a place
named Lower Slaughter?"
"Oh, yes. I know it," Jodie acknowledged. If it was
the hotel she thought it must be, it was very exclusive
and expensive.
"I thought you would want to keep some distance
between ourselves and your former home."
"Yes, I do," Jodie agreed colourlessly. She certainly
did not want anyone realising that she and her brand-
new husband were sleeping in separate rooms.
Especially not when she was going to be flaunting her
happily married state under everyone’s nose. She exhaled
hesitantly.
"I’ve been thinking," she told Lorenzo quietly. "I’m
not sure that It’s such a good idea for me to…to go
ahead with what I’d planned."
"But that was your whole purpose in agreeing to
marrying me."
"Yes, I know."
They had reached the hallway now, and Lorenzo
was frowning as he studied the untidy pile of suitcases
and boxes heaped in the middle of the floor.
"We"ll discuss this later," he told Jodie as an inner
door opened.
Caterina swept in, declaring dramatically, "So, you
have arrived to flaunt your triumph and throw me out,
have you? Well, You’re too late. I am leaving of my
own accord. You think you have gained a victory,
Lorenzo. But in truth you have gained nothing other
than this crumbling ruin and a wife you do not want.
And all for what? For the sake of some old paintings
and so that you can keep a promise made to an old
woman," she taunted him bitterly. "We could have had
so much together, but now it is too late. Ilya will be
here for me soon."
"Ilya?" Lorenzo questioned sharply.
"Yes. We met when he was interested in buying
this place. He has been a good…friend to me. And
now…" She pouted and then smiled rapaciously.
"You mean he’s your lover?" Lorenzo checked her
curtly.
"Why should I answer you? But, yes, we are lovers,
and we will be married once his divorce comes
through. He is sending a driver for me, and someone
to collect my things."
She turned and looked at Jodie. "Be careful that
Lorenzo doesn’t use you as he did me. And, if he
does, make sure that he doesn’t impregnate you.
Because he will force you to abort your child, just as
he forced me to abort mine."
Jodie could feel the blood leaving her face. She
looked wildly towards Lorenzo, expecting to hear him
deny Caterina’s horrific accusations, but instead he
simply turned on his heel and left.
"that’s not true," Jodie whispered. "It can’t possibly
be. Lorenzo would never—"
"What? Have you fallen in love with him already?"
Caterina mocked her. "You little fool. You mean
nothing to him, and you never will. And it is true.
Lorenzo forced me to abort my child. If you Don’t
believe me, go and ask him. He will not spare you
by lying to you about it. Not Lorenzo. His pride
wouldn’t let him." She started to laugh, stepping past
Jodie as a car swept into the courtyard.
Jodie had no idea how long she had been out here,
sitting alone in the Castillo garden, trying to cope
with the violence of her turbulent emotions.
It wasn’t true what Caterina had said to her, she
told herself stubbornly. She had not fallen in love
with Lorenzo. But she wanted him. Physical desire
was not love. But it was a manifestation of it. She
could not love a man who not only did not love her,
but who did not even recognise what love was. But
what if she did?
"It’s getting dark, and if you stay out here much
longer You’ll risk ending up with your leg aching."
She hadn’t heard Lorenzo come into the garden,
and automatically she moved deeper into the shadows,
because she was afraid of what he might read in
her expression. She tensed as he sat down beside her.
"You’re right. I’d better go in," she told him in a
thin, emotionless voice.
"Why Don’t you want to go back to England?"
"What?" Jodie looked at him blankly. She had almost
forgotten their earlier conversation, thanks to the
inner turmoil Caterina’s comments had caused her.
"There must be some reason," Lorenzo persisted.
"I’m not sure that It’s something that I want to do
any more," she admitted reluctantly. "It seemed a
good idea at the time, and…and it even gave me a
sense of purpose — something to focus on. But now…"
Now her old life seemed a million years away, and
she didn’t care what John and Louise did or thought,
because now… Because now what? A fear that she
didn’t want to give any room to was uncurling inside
her with all the clinging tenacity of a killer vine. Was
this seismic shift in her emotional focus because she
was falling in love with Lorenzo?
Falling in love? That implied that she was in the
middle of an act she could halt, she decided with relief,
clinging to that thought in desperation. And she
would halt it, she decided fiercely.
"I think we should go."
"Do you?" If she argued with him now, would he
start thinking that it was because she might be falling
in love with him? No way did she want that.
"Yes. It will help you to find closure and be a way
to draw a line under your relationship with both of
them. Then you will be able to move on."
"Mmm. I suppose You’re right."
"I know that I’m right," Lorenzo said. "I just
wish…"
"What? That you had married Caterina?"
"No," he denied sharply.
"Did you…? Was it…? Was it true what she said
about — about the baby?" Jodie whispered, unable to
stop herself from asking the question that had been
splintering and festering inside her since Caterina had
made her accusation.
"Yes," Lorenzo admitted heavily.
Jodie shuddered. "Your own child!" she protested
with revulsion. "How—?"
"No! Caterina was not… It was not my child. But
that does not diminish my guilt. I hadn’t thought…
That was the trouble. I didn’t think. I just assumed,
with the arrogance and stupidity of youth, that—" He
broke off and Jodie could see the tension in his jaw.
"Caterina and Gino had been engaged for about six
months when she boasted to me that she had a new
lover. She had never forgiven me for ending our brief
relationship, and I think she thought she could make
me jealous. She told me that she was to have his
child, but she had told Gino the child was his. I was
angry on behalf of my cousin, whom I knew loved
her deeply, with all the self-righteous anger of the
very young. I tried to force her hand. I told her she
must tell Gino the truth or I would do so myself. I
wanted Gino to know what she was — and, yes, it is
true I hoped he would end the engagement. For his
own sake. But instead of telling Gino the truth she
had her pregnancy terminated — and told Gino she had
lost the child. He was devastated, and immediately
insisted on marrying her. So, through my interference,
one life was lost and another destroyed."
Jodie had to swallow as she heard the raw emotion
in his voice. "You weren’t responsible."
"Yes, I was. If I had not interfered she would have
had the child."
"And she would have gone on lying to your
cousin."
"I tried to play at being God, and no man should
do that. I tried to control her behaviour because I had
not been able to control my mother"s. She left my
father and she left me, too, to be with her lover.
Caterina stayed with Gino, but, like my mother, she
sacrificed her child for her own ends. It felt like I had
murdered my own brother."
As she heard the pain in his voice it occurred to
Jodie that Caterina must have known how he would
react, and that her decision would have been motivated
by her desire to inflict that pain and guilt on
him.
"I can never forgive myself for it — never!"
"It was Caterina who made the decision — not you,"
Jodie pointed out quietly. "It was her child, and her
body. You weren’t even the father."
"If I had been there is no way she would have been
allowed to do what she did," Lorenzo told Jodie passionately.
"Not even if I had to lock her up for nine
months to make sure of it." He fell silent for a moment,
then spoke more quietly. "My mother once told
me that she hadn’t wanted me. She hadn’t even really
wanted to marry my father. There had been family
pressure, and she had decided that marriage to him
was at least a form of escape from the strict control
of her parents." Lorenzo’s voice was bleak.
"I was so lucky to have two parents who loved one
another, and me," Jodie commented softly. She
couldn’t begin to image what it must have been like
for a young child to be told by his mother that he
wasn’t wanted.
"She was little more than a child when she got married.
Seventeen, and my father was twenty-four. He
loved her intensely. Too much. Her lover was a racing
driver she met through a friend. So much more exciting
than my father. She used to take me with her
when she went to meet him. I had no idea then of the
truth. I thought… He showed me his car and…"
And you liked him, Jodie recognised compassionately.
You liked him, and then you felt you had betrayed
your father — just as your mother had done.
"They ran away together in the end, and my mother
died of blood poisoning in South America, where he
was racing. My father never got over losing her, and
I swore then that I would never…"
"Trust another woman?" Jodie finished for him.
"Let my emotions control me," Lorenzo corrected
her.
"Do we really have to stay married for a year?" she
asked him. "After all, you’ve got the Castillo now,
and Caterina has left…"
"Our arrangement was that we would remain married
for one year," he reminded her curtly. "To change
that now would give rise to gossip and speculation,
and although Caterina has left she could decide to
challenge the will if she thought she might win such
a case. I Don’t want that."
"Twelve months seems such a long time."
"No longer than it was when you agreed to remain
with me for that period."
But then she hadn’t known what she knew now,
had she? Then she hadn’t known that she would be
in danger of falling in love with him, that every extra
day she had to spend close to him would increase her
danger. But she could hardly tell him that.
"What will happen with the Castillo now?" Jodie
asked, knowing that there was nothing she could say
to explain her reluctance to stay with him that would
not give her away.
"I am arranging for several experts to come out and
inspect the paintings so that we can discuss how best
to restore them, and I also intend to put in hand the
necessary work to convert the Castillo into a centre
for rehabilitation and artistic excellence. I have spoken
already with several of Florence’s master guilders
and other craftsmen— But none of this can be of
much interest to you," he told her tersely.
Jodie dipped her head so that he couldn’t see how
much his careless words had hurt her. But of course
he didn’t see her as a part of the future he was planning.
Why should he?
What was the matter with him? Lorenzo derided
himself. Just because he felt a connection with Jodie
that he had never experienced with anyone else, a
closeness to her, it didn’t mean anything. And it certainly
didn’t mean that he was falling in love with
her. He could feel himself tensing, outwardly and inwardly,
as though he were trying to lock out his
thoughts and feelings — and not just lock them out,
but squeeze the very life out of them as well.
Because he was too afraid of them to allow them
to exist? For centuries, out of ignorance and prejudice,
man had sought to control what it feared by
destroying it. Was he doing the same? If he was really
so afraid of the effect Jodie was having on him, then
why hadn’t he seized the chance she had offered to
get rid of her? Because he wasn’t afraid at all. Why
should he be? What was there to fear? Jodie meant
nothing to him, and when the time came for them to
go their separate ways he would be able to do so
without a single qualm or regret.