The Italian Match

‘In every other way he is. He gave you his name—provided us both with a home and a good life. He’s a good man. The very best.’ Beth’s voice was tender. ‘I love him dearly.’

‘But not the way you loved Giovanni?’

Beth shook her head, her smile wry again. ‘No two loves are the same, darling. What Giovanni and I had was wonderful, but whether it would have lasted—well, who can tell?’ She hesitated before continuing. ‘I know it’s a lot to ask, but can we keep it just between ourselves? John regards you as his own child. He’d be terribly upset if he knew that you knew you weren’t.’

Loving him the way she did herself, she’d had no inclination to tell him what she knew, either then or since, Gina reflected, but the knowledge couldn’t be wiped out. For years she had toyed with the idea of some day coming out here and searching for her forebears, only an idea was all it had been until now. She had three more weeks before she started the new job she hoped would rekindle the interest and ambition so lacking this last year or so. Once into that, her free time would be severely restricted.

It was coming up to six o’clock, she saw, glancing at her watch. She’d been sitting here for more than half an hour thinking about it all. The question of whether these Carandentes were of the same family line as her father still remained to be answered. The most direct way was to ask outright, of course, but she was somehow reluctant to do that.

A knock on the door signalled the arrival of her bags. Dinner, she was advised by Guido in fragmentary English, would be served at nine-thirty in the salon. The master requested that she join the family for prior refreshment on the terrace at nine.

Gina thanked the man, receiving a bare nod by way of return. It was obvious that her presence was not looked on with favour. As an old family retainer, he would naturally take Donata Carandente’s side in the matter of who was to blame for the accident, she supposed. It was possible that the rest of the staff would take the same attitude—although Crispina had shown no sign of it.

Whether through the delayed shock Lucius had spoken of, or simply the effects of a long day behind the wheel, the weariness overtaking her was not to be denied. It was doubtful if she’d sleep, but a couple of hours just resting would revive her for the evening to come. She would hate to nod off over the dinner table.

She took off her outer clothing before lying down on the silk bedspread, stretching out luxuriously beneath the spinning fan. So much nicer than functional air-conditioning, she thought, watching the moving blades. The soft, whirring sound was soporific in itself.

Lucius had said Donata was his younger sister. Were there other siblings? For him to be padrone, his father must be dead too, but perhaps there was still a mother alive. If these people really did turn out to be her father’s kith and kin, then she and Lucius could be cousins. She found the idea oddly displeasing.

Daylight had faded to a dim glimmer when she awoke. It was a relief to see there was still half an hour to go before she was expected to join the family on the terrace.

The sleep had refreshed her, the shower did an even better job, but no amount of revitalisation could make what was to come any easier. At some point this evening she had to bring up her father’s name and learn the truth. For peace of mind alone she needed to know her origins.

Having planned on staying at good hotels throughout her journey, she had packed clothes to suit most circumstances. Cut on the bias in deep blue silk jersey, the dress she picked out to wear to dinner skimmed her figure to finish on the knee. Teamed with a pair of high-heeled sandals, it should fit the bill, Gina reckoned.

A stroke or two of mascara along her lashes, a dash of lipstick, and she was ready to go. There hadn’t been time to put her hair up into the French pleat she would have preferred, but it would have to do. Thick and glossy, it fell in soft waves to her shoulders—the bane of her life when it came to drying after washing, but she could never bring herself to have it cut short.

Night was fast encroaching when she reached the wide, stone-balustered terrace, the lamps already lit. Of the five people gathered there, three were female, the family resemblance pronounced.

Lucius came forward to greet her as she hesitated on the threshold of the room through which she had emerged, the look in his eyes as he scanned her shapely length tensing muscle and sinew. He was making no secret of the fact that he found her as much of a draw as she had to admit she found him. A man who might well be her cousin, she reminded herself forcibly. A first cousin, even.

The prospect of a family relationship was hardly enhanced by Donata’s open hostility. Her sister, Ottavia, was around twenty-seven or eight and married to a man some few years older named Marcello Brizzi. Their response to the introduction was courteous enough on the surface, but it was apparent that they too regarded her presence as an intrusion.

It was left to the matriarch of the family to show any warmth in her welcome. Skin almost as smooth as Gina’s own, the still luxuriant hair untouched by grey, she scarcely looked old enough to have a son Lucius’s age.

‘My son tells me you are half Italian yourself,’ she said. ‘I believe you never knew your father?’

Seated in one of the comfortable lounging chairs, the gin and tonic she had asked for to hand, Gina shook her head. ‘He died before I was born.’

Signora Carandente expressed her sympathy in a long, drawn sigh. ‘Such a terrible thing!’ She was silent for a moment, contemplating the girl before her. ‘You have older siblings, perhaps?’

Gina shook her head again, eliciting another sigh.

‘For a man to die without a son to carry on his name is a sad matter indeed! Should anything happen to Lucius before he produces a son, our own lineage will be finished too. You would think, would you not, that he would recognise such a responsibility?’

‘I am not about to die,’ he declared calmly.

‘Who can tell?’ his mother returned. ‘You must marry soon. You have a duty. And who better than Livia Marucchi!’

His shrug made light of the moment, but Gina sensed an underlying displeasure that such matters should be discussed in the presence of a stranger. She’d found the episode discomfiting enough herself. From what little she had seen of him, she judged him a man who would make his own decision about whom and when he should marry anyway. His choices, she was sure, would in no way be limited to one woman.

‘What was your father’s name?’ asked Ottavia, jerking her out of her thoughts and into sudden flaring panic. She wasn’t ready! Not yet!

‘Barsini,’ she said, plucking the name out of some distant memory without pause for consideration. ‘Alexander Barsini.’

She regretted the impulse the moment the words left her lips, but it was too late to retract.

‘Barsini,’ Ottavia repeated. ‘Which part of Italy did he come from?’

Having begun it, she was left with no option but to continue, Gina acknowledged ruefully. ‘Naples,’ she said off the top of her head.

‘He has family still living?’

This time Gina opted for at least a partial truth. ‘I don’t know. I came to Italy to try and find out.’

Ottavia’s brows lifted in a manner reminiscent of her brother, though minus any humour. ‘Your mother failed to maintain contact?’

Gina returned her gaze with a steadiness she was far from feeling. ‘My mother never met his family. They knew nothing of the marriage.’

‘I think that enough,’ Lucius cut in before his sister could continue the catechism. ‘Let the matter rest.’

Ottavia looked as if she found the command unpalatable, but she made no demur. Gina doubted, however, that her curiosity would remain contained. Catching Donata’s eye, she tried a smile, receiving a glare in return. There would be no softening of attitude there for certain. She was well and truly in the doghouse!

Dinner proved less of a banquet than anticipated, with no more than four courses. Gina drank sparingly of the free-flowing wines. She loved the reds, but they didn’t always love her. The last thing she needed was to waken with a hangover in the morning.

Lucius insisted that all conversation was conducted in English for her sake, which made her feel even more of an outsider. Marcello, she learned, was the estate comptroller, Ottavia a lady of leisure. The latter confined her questions this time to Gina’s present background, expressing astonishment on hearing she was a qualified accountant.

‘Such an unusual job for a woman!’ she exclaimed. ‘Do you not think so, Lucius?’

‘An admirable achievement for anyone,’ he returned, directing a smile that set every nerve in Gina’s body tingling. ‘Especially at so young an age.’

‘I’m twenty-five,’ she felt moved to respond. ‘Not that much younger than yourself, I imagine.’

The smile came again, accompanied by an unmistakable glint in the dark eyes. ‘Eight years is no obstacle, I agree.’

Obstacle to what, Gina didn’t need to ask. Neither, she was sure, did anyone else. That his interest in her was purely physical she didn’t need telling either. It could hardly be anything more.

Her cool regard served only to increase the glint. Opposition, it appeared, was an enticement in itself. More than ever she regretted the situation she had landed herself with. If she wanted to know the truth, not only was she faced with the prospect of explaining a lie she had no logical reason to have told in the first place, but the possibility of mortifying Lucius with the news that he had been making advances to a relative.

‘And what does your stepfather do for a living?’ Ottavia persisted, claiming her attention once more.

‘He’s in textiles,’ she acknowledged.

‘On his own account?’

‘His own business, yes.’ A highly successful one, Gina could have added, but saw no reason to go into greater detail—especially when said success was dependent on factors she found rather worrying at times.

Ottavia seemed content to leave it at that for the moment, but Gina sensed that the digging was by no means done. Plain nosiness, she assured herself. There was no way the woman could suspect the truth.

Midnight brought no sign of an end to the evening. Hardly able to keep her eyes open, Gina finally gave in.

‘I hope it won’t be taken amiss if I go to bed,’ she said. ‘I was on the road at seven this morning, and didn’t have all that good a night’s sleep before it.’

‘But of course!’ Signora Carandente responded. ‘You must feel free to do whatever you wish while you are our guest. Perhaps you would prefer to have breakfast served in your room?’

‘Not at all,’ Gina assured her. ‘I’ll be fine.’ She added impulsively, ‘Your hospitality is second to none, signora.’

‘Contessa,’ corrected Ottavia with some sharpness of tone.

‘You may call me Cornelia,’ her mother told Gina graciously.

Still grappling with the implications, Gina inclined her head. ‘Thank you.’

She took her leave with a general ‘Goodnight,’ avoiding any clash of glances with Lucius himself. If his mother was a Contessa, his father obviously had to have been a Count, which meant the title must have been handed down. It made the likelihood of her father having any connection seem even more remote. What would a son of such a family have been doing attending an English university as an ordinary student?

On the other hand, it was surely unlikely that either now or in the past another, entirely unconnected, Carandente family resided in Vernici.

She was going around in circles, Gina acknowledged. The only way to be sure was to do what she should have done several hours ago and tell the whole story. Concealing the name had been an idiotic gesture all round. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she would come clean. It was hardly as if she was after feathering her nest in any fashion. All she wanted was to know who her father had really been.

CHAPTER TWO

DESPITE her tiredness, Gina was wide awake at six. The early morning sunlight beckoned her out onto the balcony to view the beautifully landscaped gardens stretching to all sides. The vistas beyond were shrouded in early morning haze.

There was no one about that she could see from here. On impulse, she returned to the bedroom to don a pair of light cotton trousers and a shirt. Half an hour or so’s exploration would still leave her plenty of time to get ready for the day proper.

She could hear the muted sound of voices coming from somewhere towards the rear of the premises as she descended to the lower floor, but no one appeared to question her purpose. Not that any member of staff would do that in any case, Gina supposed. As a guest of the house she was, as Cornelia had assured her, entitled to do as she wished.

All the same she reduced the chances of running into anyone by using the front entrance. The Fiat was gone, the driveway clear of vehicles of any kind. There would be garages around the back somewhere, she assumed.

She headed left, away from the house, dropping down stone steps between white marble pillars to terraces over-hung with luxuriant plant life and strewn with classical statues. Gina revelled in the beauty of it all against the clean, clear blue of the sky.

On one level lay a pond laced with water lilies of every hue, the carved stone bench at its edge positioned to take full advantage of the harmonious view across the valley. She slowed her steps on sight of the man already seated there.

‘I didn’t realise anyone else was up and about yet,’ she said a little awkwardly. ‘I thought I’d take a look around before breakfast.’

‘I saw you from my window,’ Lucius admitted. ‘It seemed probable that you would eventually reach this spot.’ His regard this morning was fathomless. ‘So, how do you find our home?’

‘It’s truly beautiful,’ she acknowledged. ‘A dream of a place! Why didn’t you tell me you were a Count?’ she tagged on.

He gave a brief shrug. ‘I have no use for status symbols.’

‘Ottavia doesn’t appear to share the aversion.’

‘My sister clings to an order long gone.’ He patted the seat at his side. ‘Come sit with me.’

‘I have to get back,’ she said hurriedly. ‘It must be getting on for breakfast time.’

‘Food will be served whenever and wherever required,’ he advised. A hint of amusement in his eyes now, he added, ‘You are afraid of me, perhaps?’

‘Of course not!’ she denied.

‘Then, of what I make you feel?’ he continued imperturbably.

Pretending not to know what he was talking about would be a waste of time and breath, Gina knew. ‘You take a great deal too much for granted,’ she retorted.

The amusement grew. ‘That is your English half speaking. Your Barsini blood responds to mine.’

The time to tell him the truth was now, but the words wouldn’t form themselves.

‘Grateful as I am to you for what you’re doing with my car, I’m not about to become your playmate for the week,’ she said coolly instead.

‘Playmates are for children,’ he returned, not in the least rebuffed. ‘We are neither of us that.’

‘But we are strangers,’ she replied with deliberation. ‘You don’t really know anything about me.’

‘Then, tell me,’ he invited.

The moment was there again, but Gina still couldn’t bring herself to take advantage of it.

‘I should be getting back,’ she repeated.

‘Then, I will come with you,’ he said.

He got to his feet, lean and lithe as a panther in the black trousers and shirt. Gina steeled herself as he moved to where she stood, but he made no attempt to touch her, falling into step at her side as she turned back the way she had come. Catching the faint scent of aftershave, she was supremely conscious of the fact that she had yet to shower, yet to put a brush to her hair.

‘Are you always up this early of a morning?’ she asked.

‘I rise when I awaken,’ he said easily. ‘No later than six, sometimes as much as an hour before that.’

‘Even when you don’t get to bed until the early hours?’

‘A matter of custom. If I tire in the day I may take siesta. It depends on my commitments.’

‘I imagine those are extensive.’

‘Not too much so.’

Doing her best to keep the conversational ball rolling, she said, ‘You speak excellent English.’

‘But somewhat structured compared with the way you speak, yes?’

Gina cast a glance at the chiselled profile, responding to the curve of his lips. ‘My old English teacher would approve every word. It’s usually tourists who introduce bad habits.’

‘Few tourists find Vernici,’ he said. ‘It is off the regular routes.’

‘I know. I had some difficulty finding it myself.’

It was Lucius’s turn to slant a glance, expression curious. ‘Why were you looking for Vernici at all if your father came from Naples.’

Do it now! an inner voice urged her, even as she mentally cursed the slip-up. ‘Latterly,’ she heard herself saying regardless. ‘But he was apparently born in Vernici, so I thought it worth taking a look there too.’

‘I see.’ From his tone, it was obvious that he was wondering why she hadn’t mentioned that fact last night. ‘The name is unfamiliar to me,’ he went on after a moment, ‘but the older townsfolk will surely recall the family. I will have enquiries made.’

She was getting deeper and deeper into the mire, thought Gina unhappily. What the devil was wrong with her that she kept on fabricating things?

They had reached the front of the house. Lucius preceded her up the steps to open a door for her to pass through, too close by far for comfort as he followed her in. Soles wet from their passage across the grass, her sandals had no purchase on the terrazzo. Lucius shot out an arm as she skidded, hauling her up against him, his hand warm at her waist.

‘You must take more care,’ he said, making no immediate attempt to let her go again.

‘I will,’ Gina assured him. ‘I’m fine now, thanks.’

His laugh was low, the brief pressure of his lips at her nape where the curtain of hair had parted stirring her blood in a manner she deplored.

‘I’d prefer you didn’t do that,’ she got out.

He laughed again, but this time released her. Gina made herself meet the dark eyes. ‘I realise you probably won’t be used to it, but I’m telling you again that I’m not…available.’

‘Do you not think that you might be the one now taking too much for granted?’ Lucius returned with mock gravity.

‘Am I?’ she challenged, and saw the glint return.

‘No. I would be only half a man if I could look at you and not want you in the instant, cara.’ He gave her no time to reply—if she could have come up with a reply at all. ‘I will begin enquiries about the Barsini family this very morning. I would hope to have news of them before the day is over.’

A forlorn hope, Gina reflected ruefully. The longer this charade of hers continued, the harder it became to revoke.

‘There’s something I—’ she began, breaking off as Guido heaved into view.

‘Something you…?’ Lucius prompted.

She shook her head, courage lost. ‘Forget it.’

Leaving him standing there, she ran lightly up the stairs to head for her room. The situation was becoming increasingly difficult. If it weren’t for her lack of transport, she would be tempted to abandon the whole idea and return home. She was vitally attracted to a man who might just be a close blood relation, a man who was making no effort to conceal his objective. Even if there should prove to be no connection, she wasn’t into the kind of casual, ships that pass in the night, relationship that was all Lucius would have in mind.

Despite last night’s refusal, breakfast was brought to her at eight o’clock. Gina ate it out on the balcony, enjoying both the view and the warmth. The sky was so blue, the quality of light a joy in itself. It was possible that her father had viewed the same scene—perhaps even from this very room. Could she really bear, Gina asked herself, not to know for certain?

She went downstairs again with no notion of how she was going to spend the day. Wandering out to the terrace, she found Ottavia stretched out on a lounger beneath an opened umbrella. She was wearing a gold-lamé bikini that barely covered her voluptuous curves, her eyes shielded by designer sunglasses. Her toenails, Gina noted, were painted the same shade of scarlet as her fingernails and lips, the whole effect more reminiscent of the film world, she thought, than Italian aristocracy.

‘Buon giorno,’ she proffered tentatively.

Ottavia pulled down the sunglasses a fraction to run a disparaging eye over the cotton dress Gina had elected to wear. ‘You are quite recovered from your weariness, I trust?’ she enquired, without bothering to respond to the greeting.

‘Quite, thank you,’ Gina confirmed. She felt it necessary to add, ‘The breakfast was very good, but I really don’t expect to be waited on while I’m here.’

‘As you are here at my brother’s invitation, you are entitled to be treated as any other guest,’ came the smooth reply. ‘You realise, of course, how fortunate you are to have gained his support in this affair.’ She didn’t wait for any answer. ‘A word of warning, however. Lucius may pay you some attentions because he is a man and you are attractive to look at, but it means nothing.’

‘In other words, don’t run away with the idea that he might be about to offer marriage,’ Gina returned. ‘I’ll certainly bear it in mind.’

The irony left no visible impression. ‘Good,’ was the only comment.

Her presence wasn’t exactly welcome, Gina gathered, as the glasses were replaced and the head returned to the supporting cushion. She was tempted to stay anyway, just for the hell of it, but there was little to be gained from keeping company with someone who so obviously didn’t want her there.

She had only covered a small part of the immediate grounds earlier. Now would be the right time to take a turn round the other side of the house before the heat became too great for comfort. With several days to fill, and nowhere else to go, she was probably going to be spending a lot of time out of doors. Which in this climate would be no great hardship, she had to admit.

She was crossing the drive when a low-slung sports car came roaring round the bend. Gina leapt instinctively for safety, missed her footing and went down on one knee in the gravel, steeling herself for the impact she was sure was to come. The car screeched to a halt with its front bumper bare inches from her. Spouting Italian at a rate of knots, the driver leapt out without bothering to turn off the engine, a look of concern on his handsome face as he came to lift her to her feet.

‘Inglese,’ Gina said for what seemed like the millionth time in response to what she took to be a spate of solicitous enquiry. ‘Non capisco.’

‘English!’ he exclaimed on a note of surprise.

‘That’s right.’ Gina gave a wry grimace as she eased her knee. ‘Does everybody round here drive like bats out of hell?’

His brows drew together in puzzlement. ‘Bats?’

‘It’s just a saying,’ she explained, regretting the use of it. ‘It means fast, that’s all.’

The frown cleared. ‘Ah, fast!’ Concern leapt once more in his eyes as he caught sight of the trickle of blood running down her leg. ‘You are hurt! Why did you not tell me you were hurt?’

‘I hadn’t realised it was grazed,’ Gina admitted, lifting the edge of her skirt to view the not inconsiderable damage. ‘I thought I’d just knocked it.’

‘It must be cleaned and dressed,’ he declared. ‘Before it becomes infected.’

‘It will be,’ she assured him. ‘Just as soon as I get back to the house. I’m a guest there,’ she added, in case he was in any doubt. ‘Gina Redman.’

‘A friend of the family?’ He sounded intrigued.

‘Not exactly. There was an accident. My car was badly damaged. Lu—Signor Carandente very generously invited me to stay until it’s repaired.’