Swept Away!

That thought pursued Ferne over the next few days.

She’d teased Dante about being a perfect gentleman at all times, and he’d responded with an encouraging dismay. But as time passed she began to realise that he’d taken her seriously and was being, as he’d promised, ‘just friendly’.

He bought a car, a solid, roomy vehicle designed for serious travel, and quite unlike the frivolous choice she might once have expected him to make. They headed south to Calabria, the rugged, mountainous territory at the toe of the Italian peninsular. One of Dante’s techniques was to seek out places that had been on the market for a long time and offer his services.

‘There are three villas there that my research tells me have been for sale too long,’ he said. ‘Let’s try our luck.’

Their luck was in. The owners were getting desperate and were eager for Dante to add their properties to his books. They spent several days working up a sales pitch for each house, complete with glorious pictures. At the end of it, Ferne was exhausted.

‘I seem to spend my life climbing stairs and walking mile-long corridors,’ she complained. ‘If I’d known it was going to be this tiring, I wouldn’t have come.’

Dante himself didn’t seem at all tired, and was clearly in such blazingly good health that she wondered if she was crazy to be watching out for him. He had a fund of funny stories which he directed at her over dinner, reducing her to tears of laughter, after which he would take her hand to lead her upstairs to their separate rooms, kiss her on the cheek and bid her goodnight.

No man could have behaved more perfectly. No man could have been more restrained and polite. No man could have been more infuriating.

For this she’d turned down the chance of a lifetime?

Mick Gregson hadn’t been pleased.

‘What were you thinking of?’ he’d bawled down the phone. ‘This man carries influence in film land. If he’d liked your work, you could have done anything you wanted.’

But I’m doing what I want, had been her silent thought.

‘Ferne, I can’t go on representing you if you’re going to act like this.’

‘That’s your decision, Mick, and of course I respect it.’

They had parted bad friends.

Now she was on the road with a man who’d promised ‘just friendly’, and who seemed infuriatingly determined to keep his word.

There was no justice.

But one thing had changed—now she understood the true reason for Dante’s restraint. He wouldn’t make advances to her because his personal code of honour forbade him to ask for love when he might die without warning.

Here was the explanation for the way he slipped quickly in and out of relationships, never getting too close to any woman. It was his way of being considerate.

And he was right, she assured herself. If she wanted more from him, that was her problem.

‘Where do we go next?’ she asked as they turned north again, leaving Calabria behind.

‘A place near Rome that I’ve promised to take a look at. There are some two-thousand-year-old ruins, plus a huge villa that the owner insists on calling a palazzo, that’s “only” six centuries old. It may not be easy to shift.’

‘If it’s antique and historical, won’t the atmosphere of romance help to sell it?’

‘An atmosphere of romance is all very well in theory, but people tend to want decent plumbing as well. I know the owner, Gino Tirelli, and he assures me that it’s in a good state of repair—but he might, just possibly, be biased. Luckily I’m not due there until next week, so we can give ourselves a few days by the sea.’

‘That sounds lovely. This heat is really getting to me.’

‘Of course, we could always go sight-seeing in Rome. There are some really interesting historical buildings.’

‘The sea, the sea,’ she begged faintly.

He laughed. ‘The sea it is, then. Let’s go.’

A few hours’ driving brought them to the Lido di Ostia, the beach resort about fifteen miles from Rome. It was a sunny place of level, pale-yellow sands that were adorned not only with umbrellas and loungers but the other trappings of civilization: wine bars and cafés.

Their hotel was close to the sea with a view over the ocean.

‘They’ve got single and double rooms available,’ Dante told her after a talk at the desk. ‘A double room’s cheaper.’ In reply to her raised eyebrows, he said, ‘How long can a man behave perfectly?’

‘I think I can afford a single room.’

‘You don’t give an inch, do you?’

‘You’d better believe it,’ she said, laughing.

Not for the world would she have admitted her relief that his defences were finally crumbling.

The hotel had a shop that sold beach items. She lingered over a bikini that—for a bikini—was relatively modest, and a respectable one-piece. Dante eyed her hopefully as she hovered between them.

‘Why don’t you try it?’ he suggested, indicating the one-piece.

She was slightly surprised that he urged her to try the modest garment rather than the revealing one. Afterwards, she realised that she should have been more suspicious.

In the dressing-room she donned the costume, regarded herself in the mirror and sighed. It was elegant and showed off her figure, but didn’t do her total justice. No one-piece could have done that. But, until she was sure how far along this road she was going to let Dante whirl her, she couldn’t risk being a tease. That wouldn’t be fair to him.

Nor was it fair on her, she realised, trying to calm the pleasure that fizzed through her as she thought of his eyes dwelling on her nearly naked body. It wasn’t the only pleasure she was denying herself right now, and soon she must decide why.

She dressed again and went out, handing the costume to the assistant for wrapping. ‘I’ll take this.’

‘I’ve already paid for it,’ Dante said, whisking it out of her hand and putting it into a bag he was carrying. ‘Now, let’s be off.’

‘I can’t let you pay for my clothes,’ she said as they crossed the road to the beach. ‘It wouldn’t be proper.’

‘If we’re going to have another discussion about propriety, I’d rather do it later over champagne.’

‘Oh, all right.’

The sand was glorious, soft and welcoming. He hired a hut, two loungers and a huge umbrella, then handed her the bag with her purchase and stood back to let her enter the hut first.

When she opened the bag, she was reminded that this man was a talented schemer.

‘They’ve given me the wrong costume,’ she said, going outside again. ‘Look.’ She held up the bikini. ‘But I don’t see how it happened. I saw you put the other one into the bag.’

‘I guess this one must have already been in there,’ he said, eyes wide and innocent.

‘But how…?’ Light dawned and she stared at him indignantly. ‘You didn’t?’

‘If you’ve learned anything about me, you know that I did,’ he said unanswerably. ‘I bought the bikini while you were in the changing room.’

‘But how dare you?’

‘A case of necessity. You were going to buy that middle-aged thing that doesn’t do you justice, so I paid for them both and slipped the bikini into the bag before you came out.’

‘But what about the one I chose? Where is it?’

‘No idea. It must have escaped.’

‘You—you devious—’

‘No such thing. Just a man who doesn’t like wasting time. Now, are you going to get in there and change, or are you going to stand here all day talking about it?’

‘I’m going to get in there and change,’ she said promptly. And vanished.

It might not have been modern and liberated to let a man make her decisions, but that was a small sacrifice in return for the look in his eyes. He’d behaved disgracefully, of course, but all things considered she would forgive him.

The mirror in the hut promised everything to the beauty who gazed back, wearing just enough to be decent. Restrained as the bikini was, it didn’t hide the way her tiny waist developed into curved hips, or the fact that her skin was perfect. Turning, she studied her rear view over her shoulder, noting that perhaps her behind was a fraction too generous.

Or, then again, perhaps not.

At last she was ready to make her grand entrance. Throwing open the door, she stepped out into the sunlight, only just resisting the temptation to say, ‘Ta-Da!’

He was nowhere to be seen.

Oh, great!

‘Ah, there you are,’ he said, appearing with cans of liquid. ‘I’ve been stocking up on something to drink. We can keep these in the hut until we’re ready.’

‘Do I look all right?’ she asked edgily.

‘Very nice,’ he said in a courteous voice that made her want to thump him.

But his smile as he studied her told another story, so she forgave him.

While she waited for him to emerge, she let her eyes drift over the other men on the beach. Sandor had once told her that there were few men who appeared at an advantage in bathing trunks. He’d spoken with self-conscious grandeur, from the lofty heights of physical perfection.

But when Dante appeared she forgot everything else. He didn’t show off; he didn’t need to. His tall, lean figure was muscular without being obvious, and he seemed to have the tensile strength of whipcord.

Ferne’s brief contacts with his body had hinted at power, not flaunted but always in reserve. Now she saw the reality and it pleased her, especially the long legs that moved with a masculine grace that hinted at his ability as a dancer.

For a moment she was back in his arms as they danced across the floor, feet between feet, spinning and twirling with never an inch out of place, because his control had been perfect. Watching him now, his body almost naked, she felt again the excitement of that night begin in the pit of her stomach and stream out to her fingertips.

‘Shall we go in?’ he asked, reaching out.

She took his hand and together they ran down the beach, splashing into the surf. She yelled aloud with ecstasy as the water laved her, and joined him in a race out to the horizon.

‘Careful,’ he said. ‘Don’t go too deep.’

But she was beyond caring. The feel of the water was so good that she wanted more and more.

‘Yee-haa!’ she cried up to the sky.

He laughed and plunged after her, keeping close, ready for the moment when she pulled up, treading water and puffing.

‘All right now?’ he called. ‘Got it out of your system?’

‘No way. Here goes!’

Kicking hard, she projected herself up as high as she could go, then dropped down deep into the water, down, down, until at last she kicked to start rising again.

But she was deeper than she’d guessed, and she didn’t seem to be climbing fast enough. She became alarmed as her breath began to run out.

Suddenly there was an arm around her waist and she was being yanked up to the surface fast, until mercifully her head broke free and she could breathe again.

‘All right, you’re safe,’ came Dante’s voice. ‘What were you thinking of, you crazy woman?’

‘I don’t know—I just wanted to—Oh, goodness!’

‘Steady. Relax. I’ve got you.’

He trod water while keeping her well above the surface, holding her tight against him, his hands almost meeting about her waist.

‘All right?’ he said, looking up.

‘Yes, I—I’m fine.’

It was hard to sound composed when the sensation of her bare skin against his was so disturbing. Her thighs were against his chest, his mouth was just below her breasts, and the waves were moving them about so that their contact constantly shifted; with every new touch the tremors went through her.

‘I’m going to let you down,’ he said. ‘You can’t touch the ground, but don’t worry. Just hold onto me. Down—easy.’

She knew he meant only to be gentle and reassuring by lowering her slowly, but the feeling of her flesh gliding against his was just what she didn’t need right now, she thought frantically. Control. Control.

‘Ouch!’ he said.

‘What?’

‘You’re hurting me, digging your nails into my shoulders.’

‘Sorry!’ she said wildly. ‘Sorry—sorry.’

‘OK, I believe you. Let’s get back to shore. Can you swim, or will you hold onto me?’

‘I can manage fine,’ she lied.

They made it back to the shore without incident, and she set her feet down on the sand with relief.

‘All right?’ Dante asked.

‘Yes, thank you. You can let me go now.’

‘I’ll just support you until we reach the lounger. You had quite a shock.’

Her legs felt weak, but that was natural after her alarm. It surely couldn’t have anything to do with her burning consciousness of his left hand about her waist while his right hand clasped hers?

What happened next was really annoying. By sheer ill-luck an unevenness in the sand made her stumble so that Dante had to tighten his grip to stop her falling.

‘Let’s do it the easy way,’ he said, lifting her high into his arms and carrying her the rest of the distance.

This was even worse. Now she had no choice but to put her arms about his neck, which positioned her mouth close to his and her breasts against his chest, something a sensible woman would have avoided at all costs.

At last he eased her down onto the lounger and dropped on one knee beside her.

‘You gave me a fright,’ he said. ‘Vanishing below the water for so long. I thought you’d gone for good.’

‘Nonsense,’ she said, trying to laugh it off. ‘I’d have been bound to float up eventually.’

‘Yes, but it might have been too late.’

‘Then it’s lucky for me that you were there. You do the “rescuing damsels in distress” thing really well.’

‘It’s my speciality,’ he said lightly. ‘And, just to show you how good at it I am, let me dry you off.’

He tossed the towel around her shoulders and began to dab.

‘I can manage, thank you,’ she said in a strained voice.

‘All right. Do it properly, and I’ll get you something to drink.’

He poured her some wine in a plastic container.

‘Sorry it’s a bit basic, but the wine is good,’ he said.

She drank it thankfully, wishing he’d move away and not kneel there, so kind, so sweetly concerned, so nearly naked.

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I feel better now. You don’t need to hover over me.’

‘Am I being too protective? I can’t help it. I keep thinking what it would have been like without you, and I don’t like that thought at all.’

‘Really?’ she asked quietly.

‘Of course. How could I manage without your brilliant pictures?’

‘My pictures?’

‘You really enhance my work in a way that nobody else has managed to do. We make a great team, don’t you think?’

‘Fantastic,’ she agreed dismally.

‘So I’ll just keep on watching out for you.’

Her head shot up. ‘What—what did you say?’

‘I said I’m watching out for you. You obviously need someone being protective. Hey, careful. You’ve spilled wine all down yourself.’

She seized the towel out of his hands and dabbed at her bare torso. Her head was in a whirl, and her senses were in an even worse whirl.

‘Did you say you’re keeping a protective eye on me?’ she said.

‘I think I need to, don’t you? And it’s what friends do, isn’t it?’

‘Oh yes, of course they do,’ she babbled.

‘It’s time you had a rest.’

‘Yes,’ she said with relief. ‘I think that’s what I’ll do.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

SHE was glad to escape by stretching out and closing her eyes. His words had unnerved her, reminding her that it was she who was supposed to be watching out for him.

She dozed for a while and awoke to find herself alone. Dante was further down the beach, kicking a rubber ball around with some boys. For a while she watched him through half-closed eyes, unwillingly admiring the lines of his body, the athletically graceful way he moved.

She was no green girl; Sandor hadn’t been her first lover. At twenty-eight, she knew her own body well, knew how it could be most totally satisfied, knew exactly what it wanted.

But that could be a problem when it couldn’t have what it wanted.

It would have been easier to observe Dante leaping about the beach if she didn’t have to listen to the voice inside whispering how well he would move in bed, how subtle and knowing his caresses would be.

How fine would his tall body feel held close against her own long body? When she saw him give a mighty kick, she thought of his legs between hers. When he reached for the ball at an impossible angle, she could almost feel his hands against her skin, exploring her tentatively, waiting for her with endless patience, knowing exactly how to…

She sat up, trembling and annoyed with herself. What was the matter with her?

‘Just friendly’. That was the matter.

When Dante returned, he found her fully dressed.

‘I’ve had enough of this,’ she said fretfully. ‘I think I’ll go into town.’

‘Great idea,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you the shops, then we’ll go to dinner.’

She ground her nails into her palm. Why couldn’t he at least show some ill temper, like any other man, thus giving her the chance to feel annoyed with him?

But the wretch wouldn’t even oblige her in that.

Because he wasn’t like any other man.

At least she’d made him put his clothes on.

They spent the rest of the day sedately, buying the odd garment, and also buying computer software. In one shop she discovered a superb programme that she hadn’t expected to be available for another month, and snapped it up. Over dinner, she enthused about it to Dante, who listened with genuine interest. It was the high point of the day.

On reflection, she thought that said it all.

Afterwards he saw her to her door but made no attempt to come in.

‘Goodnight,’ he said. ‘Sleep well.’

She went in, restraining herself with difficulty from slamming the door.

Furiously she thought of the signals he’d sent out that day, signals that had said clearly that he wanted her and was controlling it with difficulty. But the signals had changed. Now he might have been made of ice, and it was obvious why.

He was scheming. He wanted her to be the one to weaken. If either of them was overcome with desire, it must be her. In his dreams, she succumbed to uncontrollable lust, reaching out to entice him.

Hell would freeze over first!

Next day they promised themselves a lazy time in the sun.

‘I could happily stay here for ever,’ Dante said, stretching out luxuriously. ‘Who cares about work?’

It was at that exact moment that a voice nearby called, ‘Ciao, Dante!’

He started up, looked around, then yelled, ‘Gino!’

Ferne saw a man in his fifties, dressed in shirt and shorts, advancing on them with a look of delight on his broad face.

‘Is that…?’

‘Gino Tirelli,’ Dante said, jumping up.

When the two men had clapped each other on the shoulder, Dante introduced Ferne.

‘Always I am pleased to meet English people,’ Gino declared. ‘At this very moment, my house is full of important English people.’

‘So that’s why you asked me to delay my arrival,’ Dante said. ‘Who’ve you got there? Members of the government?’

‘A film company,’ Gino said in an awed voice. ‘They’re making a film of Antony and Cleopatra and shooting some scenes in the ruins in my grounds. The director is staying with me, and of course the big star.’

‘And who is the big star?’ Ferne asked, suitably wide-eyed.

Before Gino could reply there was a squeal from behind them, and they all turned to see a young man of about thirty with curly, fair hair and a perfectly tanned body strolling along the beach in a careless way, suggesting that he was unaware of the sensation he created.

But he was fully aware of it, as Ferne knew. Sandor Jayley always knew exactly what effect he was creating.

‘Oh no!’ she breathed.

‘What is it?’ Dante asked her in a low voice. ‘Good grief, it’s—?’

‘Tommy Wiggs.’

The young man came closer, pulling off a light shirt and tossing it to a companion, revealing a muscular body sculpted to perfection, now wearing only a minuscule pair of trunks. Regarding him grimly, Dante was forced to concede one thing: as Ferne had said, he did have magnificent thighs.

‘I’ve got to get out of here before he sees me,’ she muttered. ‘That’ll really put the cat among the pigeons.’

But it was too late. Sandor had seen his host and was starting up the beach towards him, doing a well-honed performance of bonhomie.

‘Gino,’ he called. Then, as he saw Ferne, his expression changed, became astonished, then delighted. ‘Ferne! My darling girl!’

Arms open wide, he raced across the sand and, before she could get her thoughts together, she found herself enfolded in a passionate embrace.

It was an act, she thought, hearing the cheers around them. For some reason he’d calculated that this would be useful to him so he was taking what he wanted, selfishly indifferent to the effect it might have on her. For she was terrified in case she reacted in the old way, the way she now hated to remember.

Nothing happened. There was no pleasure, no excitement. Nothing. She wanted to shout to the heavens with joy at being free again!

‘Tommy—’

‘Sandor,’ he muttered hastily. Then, aloud, ‘Ferne, how wonderful to see you again!’ He smiled down into her eyes, the picture of tender devotion. ‘It’s been too long,’ he said. ‘I’ve thought of you so often.’

‘I’ve thought a few things about you too,’ she informed him tartly. ‘Now, will you let me go?’

‘How can you ask me to do that when I’ve got you in my arms again? And I owe you so much.’

‘Yes, those pictures didn’t do you any harm, did they? Let me go!’

Reluctantly he did so, switching his attention to Gino.

‘Gino, how do you come to know this wonderful lady?’ he cried.

‘I’ve only just met her,’ Gino said. ‘I didn’t realise that you two were—are…’

‘Let’s say we’re old friends,’ Sandor said. ‘Close friends.’

Ferne became awkwardly aware of Dante standing there, arms folded, regarding them sardonically. After everything she’d told him about Sandor, what must he be thinking?

A little crowd was gathering around them as news went along the beach that the famous Sandor Jayley was among them. Young women sighed and regarded Ferne with envy.

‘Sandor,’ she said, backing away from him, ‘Can I introduce you to my friend, Signor Dante Rinucci?’

‘Why, sure.’ Sandor extended his hand. ‘Any friend of Ferne’s is a friend of mine.’

Dante gave him an unreadable smile.

‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘Then we’re all friends together.’

‘Let’s all sit down.’ Sandor seated himself on her lounger and drew her down beside him.

He was in full flood now, basking in the warm glow of what he took to be admiration, oblivious to the fact that one of his audience was embarrassed and another actively hostile.

‘Just think,’ he sighed. ‘If that house where we were going to shoot had come up to scratch, we’d never have moved to Gino’s palazzo and we—’ he gave Ferne a fond look ‘—would never have found each other again.’

‘There were rats,’ Gino confided. ‘They had to find somewhere else fast, and someone remembered the Palazzo Tirelli.’

‘Why don’t you join us?’ Sandor said suddenly. ‘That’s all right with you, isn’t it, Gino?’ Asking the owner’s permission was clearly an afterthought.

Far from being offended, Gino nearly swooned with delight.

‘And it will give Ferne and me the chance to rekindle our very happy acquaintance,’ Sandor added.

‘Sandor, I don’t think—’ Ferne protested quickly.

‘But we have so much to talk about. You don’t mind if I take Ferne away from you for a few days, do you?’ he asked Dante.

‘You mean Dante isn’t invited too?’ Ferne asked sharply. ‘Then I’m not coming.’