Swept Away!

‘But you don’t know that,’ she pleaded. ‘You passed out on the top of that ladder and—’

‘How the hell do you know?’

The sudden cold fury in his voice was like a slap in the face, making her flinch back.

‘You weren’t up there; you don’t know what happened,’ he snapped. ‘You saw me close my eyes against the smoke and give myself a moment’s rest before climbing down the rest of the way. And that’s all! Don’t start dramatising.’

‘I didn’t mean—I’m just worried about you.’

‘Do I look as if I need worrying about?’ he asked in a voice that was now quiet and steely.

Ferne was struggling to come to terms with the terrible transformation in him, and she had to take a deep breath before she could reply bravely, ‘Yes, actually, you do. Everyone needs worrying about. Why should you be any different? Something dreadful has happened to you. It might have made you ill and I simply want to find out. Why should that make you angry?’

‘Why does any man get angry at being fussed over? Just leave it, please.’

His voice was still quiet, but now there was something in it that was almost a threat.

‘But—’

‘I said leave it.’

She didn’t dare to say any more, and that word ‘dare’ told her what a dreadful thing had happened. The mere thought of being afraid of Dante was incredible, and yet she was. This was more than masculine irritation at being ‘fussed over’, it was bitter, terrifying rage.

But he was recovering himself. Before her eyes, the temper drained out of him.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m not quite myself. I’ll be all right soon. Just promise me one thing—you won’t say anything about this at home.’

‘Not tell them about the fire? I think that story will get around somehow.’

‘I don’t mean that. I meant the other thing, that I had a bad moment on the ladder. Hope worries easily. Say nothing.’

When she hesitated he said, ‘You must give me your word.’

‘All right,’ she said quickly. She had a fearful feeling that his rage was on the verge of rising again.

‘You promise faithfully?’

‘Yes, I promise.’

‘Fine. Then everything’s all right.’

Everything was far from all right, but she couldn’t say so. She could never forget what she’d seen.

But now his mood was lightening, changing him back into the Dante she knew.

‘Look on the bright side,’ he said. ‘Think what exciting pictures I must have given you.’

Pictures. Stunned, she realised that she’d never once thought of them.

She, to whom photography was such a part of her DNA that even her own lover’s treachery had been recorded for posterity, had forgotten everything the moment Dante had started to climb.

‘I didn’t take any pictures,’ she whispered.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked in mock outrage. ‘You take pictures of everything. How come I’m not considered worth the trouble?’

‘You know the answer perfectly well,’ she snapped. ‘I was too worried about you to think of photography.’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what the world is coming to,’ he said sorrowfully. ‘My great moment and you missed it. Shall I go back up and give you a second chance?’

‘Don’t bother,’ she said crisply. ‘The second take is never as effective as the first.’

They both knew what they were really talking about. The woman who let nothing get in the way of a good picture had missed this because she’d forgotten everything but his being in danger.

Now he would know, and how he would love that! But when she met his eyes she saw in them not triumph, but only bleak weariness, as though a light had gone out. He was struggling to present his normal, jokey self, but it was an effort.

‘Come on,’ he said tiredly. ‘Let’s go home.’

They found the car and drove back in silence. At the villa he immediately went for a shower. While he was away, Ferne outlined the events to the family but, remembering her promise, said nothing about what had happened at the end.

‘Trust Dante to go back for the dog,’ Hope said.

‘He loved it,’ Ferne said. ‘It was as though risking his life gave him some sort of kick.’

‘His father was the same,’ Toni sighed. ‘Always finding excuses to do crazy things.’

‘Yes, but—’ Hope began to speak, then stopped.

Puzzled, Ferne waited for her to continue. Then Hope met her husband’s eyes and he gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

‘If a man is like that, he’s like that,’ she finished lamely. ‘I’ll just go up and see if he’s all right.’

She returned a moment later saying, ‘I looked in. He’s asleep. I expect he needs it.’

Then she deftly turned the conversation, leaving Ferne again with the impression that where Dante was concerned there were strange undercurrents.

Next morning he’d already left for town when she rose. She tried not to believe that he was avoiding her, but it was hard.

Her new credit cards arrived in the post, and news came from the consulate that her passport was ready. She drove down and collected it, then went to a café by the water and sat, considering.

Surely it was time to move on? Her flirtation with Dante had been pleasant but it would lead nowhere. Forgetting to take pictures was an ominous sign, because it had never happened before. But the mere thought of a serious affair with him was madness, if only because of his habit of withdrawing behind a mask.

On the surface he was a handsome clown who could tease his way into any woman’s heart. But, when she’d given him her heart, what then? Would she be confronted by the other man who concealed himself inside, and whose qualities were beginning to seem ominous? Would he frighten her? Or would Dante keep her at bay, allowing her only to see what suited him? Either prospect was dismaying.

She thought of their first meeting on the train when they had sat together, thundering through the night, talking about the circles of heaven and hell. It had seemed a trivial conversation, but now she had the conviction that Dante was mysteriously acquainted with hell. Yesterday he had looked into its fiery depths not once but twice. Unafraid. Even willing.

Why? What did he know that was hidden from the rest of the world? What was his hell, and how did he confront it?

She was sunk so deep in her reverie that it took a while to realise that her mobile phone was shrieking.

‘Ferne—at last!’

It was Mick Gregson, her agent, a cheerful, booming man.

‘You’ve got to get back here,’ Mick said. ‘There’s a great job coming up, big time, and I’ve put your name forward.’

He outlined the job which was, indeed, ‘big time’. Following Sandor’s example, a major Hollywood actor had just signed up for a West End play, seeking the prestige of live theatre. Next to him Sandor Jayley was peanuts.

‘The management wants only the best for the pics, and when I mentioned you they were very interested.’

‘I’m surprised anyone wants me after last time,’ she observed wryly.

‘I’ve heard that they value your “self-sacrificing honesty”. Don’t laugh; it’s doing you a world of good. Seize this chance, sweetie. Gotta go.’

He hung up.

So there it was, she thought, staring at the silent phone: the decision was made for her. She would say farewell to Dante and return to England, glad to have escaped.

Escaped what?

She would have to learn to stop wondering about that.

The phone rang again. It was him.

‘Where are you?’ he asked in a voice that sounded agitated. When she told him, he said, ‘Don’t move. I’ll be there in a few minutes.’

She was waiting for him, baffled, when he drew up at the kerb.

‘Sorry to hassle you,’ he said as she got in. ‘But I need your help urgently. I’ve had a call from a man who owns a villa a few miles away and wants me to sell it. I’m going up there now, and I need a great photographer, so of course I thought of you.’

‘I’m flattered, but my experience is showbiz, not real estate.’

‘Selling a house can be a kind of showbiz, especially a house like this. In the nineteenth century, it was notorious. The owner had a wife and three mistresses and kept each one in a different wing. Then he was murdered.’

‘Good for them.’

He laughed. ‘It’s odd how people always assume that it was the women.’

‘If it wasn’t, it should have been,’ Ferne said without hesitation.

‘It probably was. The police never found out. I want you to bring out the drama, while also making it look a comfortable place to live.’

After an hour they came to the villa, set on a hill with an extravagant outline, as though it had been built as part of a grand opera. Inside, the place was shabby with few modern comforts. The owner, a tubby, middle-aged man, followed her around, pointing out what he considered the attractions, but she soon left him behind and made her own way. The atmosphere was beginning to get to her.

It took three hours. On the way home, they stopped off for a meal and compared notes. Now Dante was a serious businessman. His notes were thorough, and he was going to do a first-class job with the house.

‘My text, your pictures,’ he said. ‘We’re a great team. Let’s get back home and put it all on my website.’

‘Fine, but then I’ve got something to tell—’

‘Naturally, I’ll pay you.’

‘So I should hope.’

‘Of course, I can’t afford your usual fees. I expect you get top-dollar now for the right kind of picture.’

‘I’ll ignore that remark.’

‘But you’re the best at this kind of thing, and I could sell these houses much faster with your help.’

‘I’m trying to tell you—’

‘I’m going to leave soon, driving all over this area, drumming up business. Come with me. Together we’ll knock ‘em all dead.’ When she hesitated, he took her hands in his. ‘Say yes. It’s time to have a little fun in your life.’

This was the Dante she’d first known, the chancer who faced life with a smile. The darkness of the recent past might never have been.

‘I don’t know,’ she said slowly.

She was more tempted than she wanted to admit. Just a little longer in his company…

‘Look, I know what you’re thinking,’ he said persuasively. ‘But you’re wrong. I’ve accepted your rejection.’ His voice became melodramatic. ‘Bitter and painful though it is.’

Her lips twitched. ‘Oh, really?’ she said cynically.

‘Why don’t you believe me?’

The mere idea of Dante meekly accepting rejection was absurd. It was a ploy, telling her that he was settling in for a long game, but if she admitted that she would be conceding a point in that very game. If there was one thing she knew she mustn’t do, it was let him win too easily.

‘Are you seriously asking me to believe that you’ll act like a perfect gentleman at all times?’

‘Ah, well, I might not have been planning to go quite that far,’ he hedged cautiously. ‘But nothing to offend you. Just friendly, I promise.’

‘Hmm,’ she observed.

‘Hmm?’ he echoed innocently.

‘Hmm.’

In this mood, he was irresistible. On the other hand there was the promise of the biggest job of her life, maybe a trip to Hollywood eventually.

‘I’ll think about it,’ she said.

‘Don’t take too long.’

They drove back to the villa and spent a contented hour at the computer, marrying his text and her pictures. The result was a triumph, with Ferne’s flair for the dramatic balancing Dante’s factual efficiency. He sent a copy to the owner, who promptly emailed back, expressing his delight.

At the end of the evening Ferne went out onto the terrace and stood looking up at the stars, wondering what she was going to do. It should have been an easy decision. How could any man compete with such a career opportunity?

She knew what would happen now. Dante would have seen her come out here, and he would follow her, trying to charm her into doing exactly what he wanted.

Just friendly, indeed! Who did he think he was kidding?

She could hear him coming now. Smiling, she turned.

But it was Hope and Toni.

‘Dante has gone to bed,’ Hope explained. ‘He wouldn’t admit it, but I think he has a headache.’

‘Is something wrong?’ Ferne asked. Something in the older woman’s manner alerted her.

‘He tells us that he wants you to travel and work with him,’ Hope said.

‘He has asked me, yes. But I’m not sure if I should agree. Perhaps it’s time for me to be getting back to England.’

‘Oh no, please stay in Italy for a while,’ Hope said anxiously. ‘Please go with him.’

Ferne’s first thought was that Hope was matchmaking, but then she got a closer look at the other woman’s expression and her amusement died. Hope’s face was full of strange fear.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘It’s something serious, isn’t it?’

Again that disconcerting silence; Hope glanced at her husband. This time he nodded and she began to speak.

‘I’m going to confide in you,’ she said, ‘because we trust you, and we both think that you must learn the secret.’

‘Secret?’ Ferne echoed.

‘It’s a terrible one and it weighs on us. We try not to believe it, but the truth is—’ She took a deep breath and spoke with difficulty. ‘The truth is that Dante might be dying.’

‘What?’ Ferne whispered, aghast. ‘Did you say—?’

‘Dying. If that should happen, and we could have done something to prevent it and had not—But he will not have it spoken of, you see, and we don’t know what to do.’

Ferne forcibly pulled herself together.

‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘He must know if he’s ill or not.’

She could hear fearful echoes in her head. They were filled with warnings and told her that she was about to discover the dark secret that made Dante unlike other men.

‘On his mother’s side, he’s a Linelli,’ Hope explained. ‘And that family has a hereditary problem. There can be a weak blood vessel in the brain that can suddenly start to bleed. Then the victim will collapse, perhaps go into a coma, perhaps die.’

‘This has happened to several of them over the years,’ Toni said. ‘Some have died, but even the ones who survived have often been unlucky. His Uncle Leo suffered a major haemorrhage. His life was saved by surgery, but his brain was damaged. Now he’s little more than a child, and to Dante he’s an awful warning. He refuses even to consider that he might have inherited this illness and need treatment.’

‘But has there ever been any sign?’ Ferne asked. ‘Or are you just afraid because it’s hereditary? After all, not everyone in the family will have it.’

‘True, but there was one frightening moment about two years ago. He had a headache so bad that he became confused and dizzy. This can mean a minor rupture of the blood vessel, and if that’s ignored it can lead to a major one. But he insisted that he was perfectly recovered, and nothing else has happened since. That might mean nothing is wrong, or it might mean that he’s been very, very lucky. He could go on being lucky for years, or…’ Hope broke off with a sigh.

‘But wouldn’t it be better to find out?’ Ferne asked.

‘He doesn’t want to know,’ Toni said sombrely. ‘He isn’t afraid of death, but he is afraid of surgery, in case he ends up like Leo. His attitude is that, if death comes, it comes.’

‘Doing the quick-step with fate,’ Ferne murmured.

‘What was that?’

‘Something I’ve heard him say. I didn’t understand it before. But I can’t believe he’ll go so far. Surely he’ll be better having a diagnosis?’

‘He’s determined not to,’ Hope said in despair. ‘He doesn’t want the family pressuring him to have surgery, even though it might not be so much of a risk. Surgical techniques have greatly improved since Leo’s operation nearly thirty years ago, and Dante could easily come out of it well and whole, but he won’t take the chance. He wants to get the best out of life while he can, and then, well…’

She gave a despairing sigh. Ferne was transfixed. This was worse than anything she’d feared.

‘If only we knew for sure, but there’s no way to be quite certain,’ Hope resumed. ‘Unless there’s a definite symptom, like a dizzy spell. Have you ever seen him grow faint without warning?’

‘Yes,’ Ferne said, remembering with horror. ‘He seemed to get dizzy when he was coming down the ladder when he saved the dog. But it seemed natural after what he’d been through—all that smoke.’

‘It probably was natural,’ Hope agreed. ‘And his headache tonight is probably natural, just a delayed reaction to what he went through. But we always wonder. It’s hard to say anything for fear of enraging him.’

‘Yes, I’ve seen that,’ Ferne murmured. ‘I wanted him to see a doctor, and he was very angry. He made me promise not to say anything to the family, or I would have told you before. He got so furious that I had to give in. I could hardly believe that it was him.’

‘He’s going off alone,’ Hope said. ‘Please, Ferne, go with him.’

‘But what could I do? I’m not a nurse.’

‘No, but you’d be there, watching out for him. If anything worrying happens, you won’t dismiss it as a stranger would. You can summon help, perhaps save his life. And you might even persuade him that he doesn’t have to live this way.’

‘He won’t listen to me,’ Ferne said. ‘He’ll probably suspect me from the start.’

‘No, because he’s invited you to go with him, so it will all seem natural to him. Please. I beg you.’

Ferne knew the decision had been made. This woman who had come to her rescue and asked so little in return was now imploring her.

‘You don’t need to beg me,’ she said at last. ‘Of course I’ll do it. You must tell me all you can about this illness, so that I can be of most use.’

For answer, Hope flung her arms about Ferne’s neck in a passion of thankfulness. Toni was more restrained, but he laid a powerful hand on Ferne’s shoulder and squeezed tightly.

But Ferne was shaking, wondering what she’d let herself in for.

CHAPTER SIX

A SOUND from inside the house made them look up quickly, but it was only Primo, come to say goodnight before taking Olympia back to their apartment. Ferne took the chance to slip away among the trees. She needed to calm her thoughts and, more than that, calm her emotions.

For now there was a howling wilderness inside her, and she wanted to scream up to the heavens that it couldn’t be true. It mustn’t be true, for if it was true she couldn’t bear it.

She’d wanted to know Dante’s secret, and here it was. He was probably dying, and he knew it. At any moment of the day or night he could collapse without warning. That was the fact he lived with, refused to duck from, even laughed at. That was the quick-step he was dancing with fate.

Now she understood why he’d gone back into the burning house when anyone wiser would have stayed away. Inwardly he’d been yelling, ‘Go on, then, do your worst!’ to the gremlins who haunted him, trying to scare him, not succeeding.

If he’d died that day, he’d have called it a blessing compared with the fate he dreaded: permanent disability, being as dependent as a child, pity. To avoid that he would do anything, even walk into the fire.

This was why he chose light relationships. He couldn’t allow himself to fall in love, nor would he risk a woman falling in love with him. He was at ease with her because she fended him off with laughter and seemed in no danger of serious feelings, which was just what he liked; it was safer for them both.

But he’d miscalculated, she thought in anguish. The news of his being in danger had brought a rush of emotion to her heart. Deny it though she might, the misery of knowing that he might be brutally snatched from her at any moment was tearing her apart.

She should fly this place now, run from him while she might still have even a little control over her feelings. Instead she had agreed to stay in his company, to watch over him, vulnerable to his charm which seemed even more potent now that she understood the tragedy that lay behind it.

She would probably fall in love with him despite her determination not to. And how would she bear what might happen next?

Flee! said the voice in her mind. Forget what you’ve promised.

‘I can’t,’ she whispered, resting her head against a tree.

To go was to abandon him to whatever was waiting, leave him to face it alone. The fact that he’d chosen it that way would make it no less a betrayal.

‘No,’ she murmured. ‘No, no, no!’

Suddenly she knew she couldn’t keep her promise to Hope. She’d been mad to say yes, and there was still time to put it right. She would hurry back now…

‘There you are,’ came Dante’s voice. ‘Why are you hiding?’

She turned to see him walking towards her. He had the rumpled look of a man who’d recently been asleep.

‘I came out for some air,’ she said. ‘It’s lovely out here at night.’

‘It is beautiful, isn’t it?’

He didn’t put his arms about her, but leaned against the tree, regarding her quizzically.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, fine,’ she said hastily. ‘What about you? How’s your head?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with my head. Why do you ask?’

‘When you went to bed early, Hope thought—’

‘Hope’s a fusspot. My head is fine.’

Was his voice just a little bit too firm? She shouldn’t have raised the subject. It was a careless mistake, and she must be more careful.

‘You can’t blame her for fussing,’ she said lightly. ‘You of all men, going to bed early! What kind of earthquake produced that?’

‘I’m probably still suffering a touch of smoke inhalation. Even I’m not superman.’

‘Now, there’s an admission!’ she said in as close to a teasing voice as she could manage.

She longed to take his face between her hands, kiss him tenderly and beg him to look after himself. But anything like that was forbidden. If she stayed she would have to guard every word, watch and protect him in secret, always deceive him. The sooner she was out of here, the better.

‘Dante,’ she said helplessly. ‘There’s something I must—’

‘Oh yes, you were trying to tell me something this afternoon, weren’t you? And I never gave you the chance. Too full of myself as always. Tell me now.’

It would have to be faced soon, but before she could speak blessed rescue came in the form of a commotion. Ruggiero’s toddler son, Matti, came flying through the trees as fast as his short legs would carry him. From behind came Ruggiero’s voice, calling to him to come back, which he ignored.

‘I used to escape at bedtime just like that,’ Dante said, grinning. ‘Some rotten, spoilsport grown-up always grabbed me.’

He seized Matti and hoisted the toddler up in his arms, laughing into his face.

‘Gotcha! No, don’t kick me. I know how you feel, but it’s bedtime.’

‘It was bedtime hours ago,’ Ruggiero said breathlessly, reaching them. ‘Polly looked in on him and he made a run for it.’

‘Parents can be a pain in the neck,’ Dante confided to the tot. ‘But sometimes you have to humour them.’

Reluctantly Matti nodded. Dante grinned and handed the child to his father.

‘You really know how to talk to him,’ Ruggiero said. Then, fearing to be thought sentimental, he added, ‘I guess it’s because you’re just a great kid yourself, eh?’

‘Could be,’ Dante agreed.

Ferne, watching from the shadows, thought that there was more to it than a joke. Dante was part-child, part-clown, part-schemer, and part something else that she was just beginning to discover. Whatever it might turn out to be, he was a man who needed her protection. Somewhere in the last few moments the decision had been made.

‘Now we’re alone again,’ he said, ‘what were you going to say?’

Ferne took a deep breath and faced him with a smile.

‘Just that I really enjoyed working with you. When do we leave?’

Be careful what you say in jest: it may return to haunt you.