The Baby Gambit

The bus to Viareggio was waiting near the ferry terminal and Grace handed over her carta arancio, or orange seven-day pass, to be stamped as she climbed aboard. She’d learned that these bus tickets were sold in advance, and she felt a sense of pride at the speed with which she’d adapted to the arrangements. It was true that many of the people who were already on the bus looked like tourists, but there were locals, too, and she had learned to accept their curiosity about her travelling alone without embarrassment. What was new, after all? she reflected wryly. It was her choice, and she was stuck with it.

But, once again, as the bus set away up the winding road that led out of Portofalco, Grace found her thoughts returning to the conversation she had had with Julia just a couple of nights ago. She still found it hard to accept that her friend had been reckless enough to get herself pregnant in the first place, let alone that she believed it would result in Matteo di Falco’s asking her to marry him. Somehow Grace doubted that anyone could force the man she knew to do anything he didn’t wish to, and she was very much afraid that Julia had placed too much store in the Italians’ love of family.

Of course, she could be wrong. But why then had Julia stated that she intended to wait until there was no chance of her having an abortion before confessing what had happened to the man she loved? If she loved him. Given his Italian heritage, surely he’d never agree to it anyway. It was a gamble, and Grace hoped her friend would not be too devastated if things didn’t work out the way she’d planned.

Yet Grace’s doubts persisted, doubts which had not been dispelled by the phone call she had received this morning. Had Julia known he intended to contact her? Had it been done with her approval and support? Or, as Grace suspected, had it been all Matteo di Falco’s idea? The man was a perfect jerk, she thought irritably. He obviously hadn’t believed that she might turn him down.

She was getting edgy, and that annoyed her even more. She hadn’t come to Italy to get involved in Julia’s love life, and she forced herself to look out of the window and concentrate on the view. They were high above the ocean now, with a fantastic vista of sea and cliffs stretching away into the distance on either side. Closer to, the scent of myrtle and wild thyme drifted in through the open windows. If the bus had air-conditioning, the driver didn’t use it, and Grace decided that she preferred the warm breeze that fanned her face.

Despite its uncertain beginnings, she enjoyed her visit to Viareggio. Unlike Portofalco, it was famous for its beautiful sandy beach, and she walked along the promenade to the pier, before taking refuge from the sun in the palm-shaded Piazza d’Azeglio. Lunch was a spinach and egg-filled pasta to die for, and by the time she boarded the bus back she felt it had been a day well spent.

It wasn’t late when the bus deposited her at the terminal. But it had been a fairly strenuous day, and she was unwillingly aware that she was feeling the effects of doing too much, too soon. She wasn’t used to the heat, or to so much activity, and the next day she intended to take her own advice and do nothing at all.

Deciding she needed a drink before tackling the walk up to the villa, she entered the nearby gelateria and ordered an ice-cream soda. Italian ice cream was so delicious, as she’d discovered the previous day, and served with fresh lemonade it made a really delightful drink.

She took a table in the window instead of sitting outside, glad of the comparative coolness out of the sun. Happily the spreading awning protected the window, and she set her drink down in front of her and sucked greedily at the straw.

And that was when she saw him. He was sitting behind the wheel of a sleek, dark green convertible that was parked across the narrow street, and if it hadn’t been so incredible she’d have said he was staring straight at her.

But he couldn’t be.

Nevertheless, Grace’s eyes went wide with a mixture of confusion and dismay, and she drew back abruptly so that the straw left her mouth. But her lips were still parted, her pink tongue unknowingly provocative as it explored the corners of her mouth. Oh, God, she thought weakly, what was he doing here?

She wished she’d taken any table but this one now. She felt so exposed; so obvious. But the idea of getting up and moving back into the shadows on the off chance that he might have seen her was ludicrous. He didn’t intimidate her. Or, if he did, he must never become aware of it

Dumping her tote bag on the chair beside her, she determinedly clamped both hands about her glass and resumed drinking. The coldness of the drink was invigorating, the chilled condensation on the glass a boon to her moist palms. He’d go away soon, she told herself, deliberately not looking in his direction. He’d said he was coming to Portofalco, and he had. Her seeing him now was just a coincidence. She was tired, that was all. That was why she felt so threatened by his presence.

But he didn’t go away. She drank as much of the lemonade as she could before glancing in his direction again, but he was still there. She thought of ordering another soda, but it would have looked odd when there was still some left in the glass she had. She had no choice but to leave the ice-cream parlour. She just wished for once that she could fade into the crowd.

She had crossed the street and started up the steep slope of the Via Cortese when she heard the car behind her. She knew it was his car. The engine was purring gently at the moment, but there was still an underlying deep-throated roar that spoke of the power that was presently being controlled. Much like the man himself, thought Grace, with a reluctant twinge of irony. She doubted he’d appreciated being put down by a foreigner.

She wished she could quicken her step, but apart from anything else the incline didn’t encourage reckless gestures like that. Particularly not in her present condition. Besides, however fast she walked, he could always overtake her. So, instead of pretending she hadn’t noticed him, she chose a place that was practically smothered with scarlet bougainvillaea, and leaned back against the wall to wait for him.

At least she’d surprised him, she thought as he brought the powerful car to a halt a few yards down from where she was standing. But that didn’t prevent an instinctive tightening in her stomach when he opened his door and got out, or suppress the quiver of apprehension she felt as he climbed the hill towards her.

It annoyed her that she should feel any kind of reaction towards him. He was just another man, after all, and she was usually perfectly capable of dealing with them. But, despite the harshness of his dark features, he was undeniably sexy, and, although his black jeans and matching tee shirt were quite ordinary, on his lean, muscled body they acquired a sensual appeal.

‘So,’ he said, propping his hips against the wall beside her. ‘Did you need a rest?’

Grace’s lips tightened. Beyond his relaxed form she could see the busy waterfront and the blue waters of the bay. She doubted there could be a more perfect spot for a rendezvous, the lengthening shadows redolent with the perfume of the flowers. But this was not a rendezvous, she thought irritably. It wasn’t even a meeting she had arranged.

‘Why are you following me?’ she asked, determined not to lose the initiative, but whatever advantage she’d thought she had was quickly disposed of.

‘You looked tired,’ he said lazily, the sidelong glance he gave her spiked with malice. ‘Perhaps I felt sorry for you. It’s a long walk back to the villa.’

Grace’s hand tightened round the strap of her tote bag, her nails digging painfully into her palms. ‘How kind,’ she said, refusing to let him see that his words had in any way affected her. ‘But I’m sure a man of your—importance has better things to do.’

‘Straight to the point, as always,’ he remarked, pressing his palms down on the warm stones at either side of him. ‘Did you enjoy your trip to Viareggio?’

‘How did you—?’ Grace began to ask the obvious question and then broke off abruptly. He had evidently seen her get off the bus, and if he was familiar with the timetable he would know which bus it was. She took a deep breath. ‘Very much, thank you.’

He straightened then, and for a taut moment she thought he was going to touch her. But all he did was push his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans, arching his back reflexively, before turning to face her.

His eyes swept over her, from the top of her bare head—she had stowed her hat in her tote earlier—to the toes of her scuffed trainers and all points in between. Then he said, ‘Come on,’ when her cheeks were pink and she was intensely conscious of her sunburned knees and the untidiness of her braid. ‘Get in the car. I’ll give you a lift.’

Grace took a deep breath. ‘I don’t want a lift.’

‘Yes, you do.’ He glanced about him dispassionately. ‘Come along. I’m parked in a no-waiting area. You wouldn’t want me to have to pay a fine, would you?’

Grace tilted her head. ‘I couldn’t care less,’ she answered, and his mouth compressed with impatience.

‘What is your problem?’ he demanded. ‘Did I bruise that fragile ego of yours? It’s no sin to admit you need a rest.’

‘I didn’t need a rest,’ said Grace, clenching her teeth, but she could tell by his expression that he didn’t believe her. For God’s sake, she wished she’d kept on walking. She’d have been almost at the villa by now.

‘As you say,’ he declared dismissively. ‘But I still insist that you get into the car. Now, do you want to do it without my assistance, or would you rather I picked you up and slung you in myself?’

Grace’s jaw dropped. No man had ever threatened to pick her up before. With her height, and not entirely sylphlike form, she had always been too daunting a prospect, and she stared at him as if she didn’t believe a word he said.

‘It’s not necessary,’ she said at last, annoyed to find that he had disturbed her. Not in a sexual way, she assured herself, but there was no doubt that he’d made her look at him in a different light.

‘But practical,’ he pointed out reasonably. His lips twisted. ‘Do you want Julia to think that you don’t trust me?’

Grace straightened. Of all the things he could have said, that was the one most likely to persuade her to do as he asked. She most definitely did not want Julia to think she didn’t trust him. To do so could create a rift between them she feared might never be breached.

‘Oh—if you insist,’ she muttered ungraciously, and pretended she didn’t see the mocking smile that crossed his face. Striding to the car, she jerked open the passenger-side door before he could do so, curling her long legs beneath the dashboard and wishing she’d been wearing anything else but shorts.

He joined her moments later, the gear console providing a welcome barrier between them. But Grace was still uneasily mindful of his nearness and the not unpleasant scent of his clean male sweat. It was infuriating, she thought as he flicked the ignition and the engine came to life again. It wasn’t as if she was lacking in experience where men were concerned, yet his sensuality and casual sophistication left her feeling strangely immature.

‘I trust you’re using a sun-block on these outings,’ he remarked as he put the car into gear, and Grace immediately spread her tote bag to cover as much of her burning knees as possible.

‘Of course,’ she said, although in truth she hadn’t put any of the cream on her legs. ‘I’m not stupid.’

‘But you think I am?’

Grace looked quickly at him and away. ‘I didn’t say that.’

‘You didn’t have to.’ He shrugged. ‘But I have to wonder what Julia has said to you about me for you to have such an unfavourable opinion of me.’

Grace’s breath caught in her throat. ‘Julia hasn’t given me an unfavourable opinion of you.’ She swallowed. ‘You must know she thinks you’re—’ She found it difficult to find a suitable word. ‘Marvellous!’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’ She looked at him again, convinced now that he was simply baiting her. ‘What is it with you, signore? I can’t believe you’re so desperate for compliments that you need to hear them from me.’

His short laugh lacked humour. ‘As I said before, you don’t believe in pulling your punches, do you, cara?’ He slowed to accommodate an elderly couple who were crossing the street in front of them and received a wave of acknowledgement in return. ‘And if it’s not something Julia has said, then I can only assume that you have taken an instant, and inexplicable, dislike to me. Am I right?’

Was he right?

Grace looked down at her bag, smoothing her long fingers over the folds of canvas, trying desperately to find an answer. She could hardly tell him why she’d taken such an aversion to him. Not without betraying Julia’s confidence, at any rate, and she couldn’t do that, however tempted she might be to explode his myth of superiority.

‘I don’t know you, signore,’ she said at last, and earned a slightly disbelieving glance from those deep-set dark eyes. ‘I don’t,’ she insisted, feeling some relief at having found a reasonable explanation. ‘And I’m not used to being familiar with men I only know by reputation.’

‘By reputation?’ He groaned. ‘Heaven protect me from women who judge me by my reputation!’

He was laughing at her now, and Grace was overwhelmingly relieved to see the gates of the Villa Modena up ahead. She realised she had no idea how to deal with him, and she was seriously worried that he was having far more of an effect on her than she would have ever dreamed possible. Indeed, she was afraid that half the antagonism she felt towards him stemmed from her own unwilling attraction towards him, and it was obviously wiser for her to ensure that she was never in this position again.

‘Anyway,’ he said now, his voice deepening to a softness that stroked her tortured nerves, ‘we can easily remedy that.’

Remedy what?

For a moment, Grace’s mind was blank, but then comprehension dawned. ‘I think you’re making fun of me,’ she said, avoiding a direct answer. ‘Oh—’ As if she was surprised! ‘Here we are.’

‘Just a minute.’ His hand closed round her arm, and although it was the last thing she wanted to do she was forced to turn and look at him.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Grace...’ The way he said her name caused the hairs on the back of her neck to prickle in sympathetic response. ‘Look, I’m not making fun of you.’ He paused. ‘It’s obvious we’ve got off on the wrong track—’

‘Foot.’

‘What?’

‘It’s foot,’ said Grace awkwardly, wishing she’d never interfered. ‘People get off on the wrong foot,’ she added, her face burning. She shook her head at his expression. ‘It’s not important.’

‘If you say so.’ His thumb rubbed distractingly against her sensitive flesh. ‘Whatever—you’ve obviously got the wrong impression of my intentions.’ His eyes darkened with disturbing warmth. ‘I’d like us to be friends, no?’

No!

For a moment, Grace thought she’d said the word out loud, but his face hadn’t changed so she knew she hadn’t done anything so foolish.

‘Um—well, of course,’ she began, wondering how she could bring Julia into this without giving him the impression that her friend had warned her off. ‘Perhaps when we all get to know one another better—’

‘I know Julia very well,’ he said flatly. ‘And that’s not what I mean and you know it. I’d like to think you and I could spend some time together without you treating me like last week’s bad news, hmm?’ He looked down at where his fingers were caressing her arm and grimaced. ‘You’ve obviously got a poor opinion of my sex, yes? Well, I’d like to try and change that.’

Grace gulped. ‘You know nothing about me.’

‘Okay.’ But she sensed he was only humouring her. Dear God, she wondered, what had Julia been telling him about her? She’d never thought of that. ‘Bene, I suggest we get to know one another, as you say. You can’t have a problem with that.’

Couldn’t she?

Grace just wanted this conversation to be over, not just for her sake, but for Julia’s as well. She wasn’t sure what he meant, what he wanted, but as far as she was concerned he was off limits in a big, big way.

‘Look, I’ve got to go,’ she said, praying her friend wasn’t up in the apartment at this moment gazing down on this scene which would look decidedly suspicious from a distance. ‘Thank you for the lift.’ She swallowed. ‘I was tired. It’s been a long day.’

‘I would have taken you to Viareggio,’ he said softly, and although he hadn’t moved Grace could feel his eyes on her mouth like a palpable caress. ‘Tell me, have you found the time to visit the monastery of our local martyr, Sant’ Emilio di Falco?’

He must know she hadn’t, thought Grace crossly. She’d only been here a few days, after all. ‘Oh, I’ve got lots of sightseeing to do yet,’ she told him, trying to sound crisply positive. ‘And now I really must—’

‘Let me take you tomorrow,’ he broke in, as she’d half expected he would. ‘Or the day after. It’s not the easiest place to get to, but I can assure you it’s well worth the visit.’

‘I’m sure it is, but I don’t know what Julia’s got planned for the rest of the week,’ declared Grace, barely civilly, and, removing his fingers from her arm, she thrust open the car door.

When she was safely on the pavement outside the Villa Modena, she permitted herself one last salvo. ‘I intend to hire a car myself, signore. I’m sure it will be easier, in the circumstances.’

She thought he’d let her go then; she expected him to drive away without another word, but she hadn’t counted on his innate courtesy. As she waited, hands clutching her tote bag like a lifeline, he vaulted out of the vehicle, coming round to where she was standing rooted to the spot.

‘I’ll see you to the apartment,’ he said, and although she wanted to tell him it wasn’t necessary his expression now warned her that she had probably said too much already. So, without another word, she walked rather jerkily through the gates, entering the building through the arched doorway, and ascending the shallow staircase that rose on her right.

She heard rather than saw the old caretaker emerge from his apartment on the ground floor and gaze after them, but she didn’t stop to offer a greeting as she normally did. There were two flights of stairs to Julia’s apartment, and she climbed them without pausing, only aware that her knees were shaking when she reached the second landing.

It was necessary to find her key when she reached the door, but to her relief it came easily into her hand. Then, pushing it into the lock, she turned to face him, her fingers on the handle behind her supporting her quivering legs.

‘Thanks again,’ she said, brushing her braid back over her shoulder. ‘At least I’ve got a bit more time to make Julia a meal.’ She forced herself to go on. ‘Unless she’s going out with you, of course. Then I’ll only have to cook for one. But, in any case, I’ll find the time to tell her how—how kind you’ve been.’

‘Will you?’ He didn’t sound particularly interested in what she told his girlfriend. ‘If you take my advice, you’ll forget about running after Julia, and have a bath and then get into bed. We both know you’re exhausted. That’s why you can’t cope with how you feel But don’t insult me by pretending you harbour any gratitude towards me. Our association—short though it is—has progressed much too far for that.’

CHAPTER FOUR

IT WAS the following evening before Grace got a chance to talk to her friend again.

Julia had phoned the previous evening to say that she’d been asked to work an extra couple of hours and that Grace should expect her when she saw her. ‘You go to bed if you’re tired,’ she’d suggested kindly, knowing in advance how Grace had intended to spend her day. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

But in the morning Grace slept late, having spent most of the night fretting about her encounter with Matteo di Falco, and by the time she emerged from her bedroom Julia had gone.

Consequently, it was a good twenty-four hours before she could tell Julia what had happened and by then much of the resentment she had been feeling had dispersed. Perhaps she had overreacted, she brooded. He had only been civil, after all. And time had a habit of making the memory selective so that she was no longer so certain of the facts.

Her doubts weren’t helped by Julia’s reaction either. The other woman seemed to regard what had happened as characteristic of Matteo. ‘He’s like that,’ she declared carelessly. ‘He must have realised how beat you were. I’m sorry if you thought he shouldn’t have followed you. I guess he thought he was only being kind.’

Kind was not an adjective Grace would have used to describe Matteo di Falco, but Julia didn’t really want to hear about that. And, in the circumstances, there was no way Grace could have told her about his offering to take her to the monastery of Sant’ Emilio di Falco. She was afraid if she did so Julia might suspect she was trying to split them up, when in fact that was the last thing she wanted to do.

All the same, she had spent at least part of the previous night worrying whether Julia had any real grounds for believing that, just because she was carrying his child, Matteo would agree to marry her. The more Grace thought about him, the more convinced she became that he was unlikely to be coerced into anything, whatever pressure his grandmother might put upon him. He might deny it, for instance. He might even call Julia a liar. And even if a blood test eventually proved his paternity, who would look after Julia until the baby was born?

Grace found it all very unsatisfactory, and she knew that if she was in Julia’s shoes there was no way she’d be able to wait cold-bloodedly for several months before telling Matteo she was pregnant. In fact, she found the whole idea of Julia’s being pregnant rather repugnant, and she didn’t really approve of the underhanded way she was keeping it to herself.

That was why, when they were sitting on the balcony, having a glass of wine after supper, she felt compelled to bring the subject up again. However reluctant she might be to talk about Matteo di Falco, she told herself she had to try and understand Julia’s motives.

‘When—when did you find out?’ she asked. And then, seeing Julia’s blank expression, and realising she wasn’t privy to her thoughts, she added hurriedly, ‘About the baby? How long have you known?’

Julia shrugged. ‘Not long,’ she said offhandedly. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Well—for obvious reasons,’ murmured Grace awkwardly. ‘I mean, I just wondered when you intend to tell—Matt.’

Julia cast her a sardonic look. ‘I thought I already told you,’ she remarked drily. ‘When I’m sure the marchesa can’t do anything about it.’

‘But do you really think she’d suggest you have an abortion, anyway?’ Grace persisted. ‘She does have a Catholic background and I don’t think—’

‘You’d be surprised,’ Julia broke in. ‘These old aristocrats will do anything to protect their bloodlines, believe me.’

Grace sighed. ‘So when will you feel it’s safe to tell them? Two months, three months? Six months? How long do you think you can hide it? Babies show!’

‘Not all babies,’ retorted Julia. ‘Actually, I was reading a case the other day of a girl, a teenager, actually, who knew nothing about it until the baby arrived.’

‘You’re not a teenager, Julia.’

‘I know that. But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen to me.’ She sipped her wine. ‘I don’t know why you’re asking all these questions.’ Her brows drew together in sudden consternation. ‘You haven’t said anything to Matt?’

‘Of course not’ Grace was grateful that she could answer that question without restraint. ‘But—well, don’t you think you ought to tell him? You’re still working full time. He might want you to give up your job.’

‘And he might not,’ declared Julia flatly, raising one knee and examining a tiny red mark on her skin. ‘Dammit, I’ve been bitten. Let’s go back inside.’