FRANCESCO paced the entrance hall at Galileo Galilei airport in Pisa, cursing himself for arriving so early. It would be a long, fraught wait before he knew whether Alicia had actually boarded the plane in the UK. Ignoring the constant ebb and flow of passengers around him, he thought, as he had done almost constantly since, of Alicia in their last meeting at her apartment. In her stark black, self-contained and sophisticated, she had looked so different from the shy, appealing girl he had fallen in love with in Florence. There had been no sign of her enchanting dimples, nor the freckles she had once hated so much.
Once he had finally ceased bombarding Bronwen Cross with demands to see his wife, his da Luca pride had ordered him to forget Alicia, to put her out of his mind and his life. And in minor ways he had succeeded. There were many beautiful women in Tuscany, and, with the safety net of an estranged wife to protect him from any possibility of commitment, he had allowed more than one of them to soothe the pride scarred by his bride’s desertion.
But life had taken a sudden, different turn with the death of his mother. This had not only brought him grief, but the surprise of the legacy left to her daughter-in-law. The ticket for the Italy v Wales match had arrived soon afterwards, with an invitation to lunch with some old rugby friends in Cardiff before the match, and he had taken this as a sign that fate was urging him to contact Alicia. And when he had come face to face with her he had been stunned by the change in her, amazed that a woman so desirable had no man in her life urging her to get a divorce. His jaw tightened. From that first moment the mere thought of other men in her life had enraged him. At the party he had exerted much self-control to hide his objection to the male attention Alicia had attracted in that seductive little dress.
Francesco checked the arrivals board again, and swore when he saw that the plane was delayed. He began his restless pacing again, thinking back to the halcyon days in Florence, when he had fallen deeper in love by the day with the shy young woman who for him had been the epitome of innocence and purity. His mother had long been urging him to marry, and in contrast to the more mature charms of the women he’d known at the time an innocent, virgin bride had strongly appealed to the primitive instincts concealed by the polished façade Francesco da Luca presented to the world.
His eyes softened. Alicia had been the quintessential virgin bride. The picture of her was as clear in his mind now as it had been when she walked down the aisle of the cattedrale on the arm of proud Huw Davies. In a slim column of satin, with the creamy tint of the roses she carried, the fiery gleam of her hair hidden by a froth of veil, Alicia had looked as pure and pale as one of the lilies wreathing the altar rail. Her ice-cold hand had trembled in his as she made her responses in a breathless little voice. She had been so obviously overwhelmed by the long nuptial-mass, and the even longer wedding feast that followed at the Castello, that he had allowed his exhausted bride to sleep in peace in his bed that night with no more than a kiss.
How nobly restrained he had been, he thought savagely. He had forced himself to wait for their true consummation until they reached the bridal suite of the hotel in Paris chosen for their honeymoon. As soon as they were alone, even though it was only late afternoon, he had seized his little bride so passionately she had been as eager as he to celebrate their marriage there and then. Francesco clenched his teeth at the memory of his anticipation when Alicia so sweetly coaxed him to wait a little while she got ready for him in their bedroom. He had resolved to take his time, to be gentle, slow, lead her step by step to the joy to be found between a man and a woman. But when she finally opened the door he had stared at her in horror.
She had let her curls loose in a wild aureole, and painted her face so thickly with cosmetics she was almost unrecognisable as his shy little Alicia. The vulgar black garment she wore barely covered her breasts, and ended only just below the apex of her thighs, the transparent chiffon showing all too plainly that she had even reddened her nipples. For a moment he had been speechless at the sight of his bride decked out like a whore—then, when the words came tumbling out at last in a harsh torrent of displeasure, his command of English had failed him in places. But by the stricken look on Alicia’s face she had understood every word, most of all the snarled puttana. With the twenty-twenty vision of hindsight he could see now that in his disgust and rampant sexual frustration he had been unforgivably cruel as he ordered his sobbing bride to scrub herself clean. He had stormed out of the room and down to the bar to wait until he’d calmed down. But, though remorse had soon replaced his anger, when he returned to their suite Alicia had vanished. She had taken none of the new luggage, and, instead of a note, as a graphic farewell message her wedding ring lay on the heap of tawdry black chiffon, along with the heirloom da Luca betrothal ring handed over by his mother.
Dio, how frantic he had been! Francesco felt an icy shiver even now as he remembered his frenzied appeals to the hotel manager, who had eventually learned that a young girl with a back pack had been seen entering a car outside the portico of the hotel. Francesco’s phone had rung soon afterwards, but his relief at hearing Alicia’s voice had been so intense he’d barely understood what the cold little voice was saying until it was too late.
‘I’ve taken my disgusting self out of your sight and your life forever. Goodbye.’
‘Alicia—’ But she had switched off her phone. He had immediately rung Bronwen Cross, praying she was already back in Blake Street after the flight home that morning, but his relief was short-lived when she answered. She had already heard briefly from Alicia, and refused to say another word until her daughter arrived home to say exactly why she’d run away. His incensed mother-in-law relented enough to promise a phone call as soon as Alicia got back, and early next morning, after a night of sleepless misery, Francesco received the call as promised. Alicia, her mother informed him with fierce hostility, was safe at home but in a state of deep distress.
‘I don’t know what unspeakable thing you did to make her run away, Francesco, because she won’t tell me. But on one subject she was very explicit—she refuses to see or speak to you again. Ever.’
Francesco came back to the present with a jolt when he saw Alicia’s flight appear on the monitor. He waited with mounting impatience until he spotted a bright head among the stream of disembarking passengers from the UK, and let out the breath he’d been unaware he was holding. She was here! But Alicia, casual in jeans and linen jacket, was not alone.
‘No, really, thank you just the same,’ Francesco heard her say to the man with her. ‘Please give me my bag. I can manage now.’
He strode forward to claim her with a kiss on each cheek. ‘Com’ esta, carissima? You had a good flight?’
‘Francesco!’ She smiled at him in such relief her dimples came into play, and just seeing them again evoked such a visceral rush of response he wanted to seize her in his arms and kiss her senseless. ‘Will you relieve this kind gentleman of my luggage?’ she asked.
‘With pleasure.’ He took the bag the man held out and smiled graciously. ‘Mille grazie; how kind of you to assist my wife.’
The man backed away, crestfallen. ‘No problem—only too glad to help.’
‘Thank you so much,’ said Alicia sweetly. ‘Goodbye.’
The greetings were over, and they were in the car speeding along the express route to Florence before Francesco spoke his mind.
‘So, Alicia, you came.’
‘I said I would.’
‘You look most charming, but a little tired. Have you been working hard?’
‘No more than usual.’
‘While you are here you must rest.’
‘I won’t be staying long enough for that,’ she said quickly. Though now she was actually here in the sunshine of Tuscany her urgency to leave it right away was fading fast.
‘I will try to change your mind,’ said Francesco, in a tone which won him a suspicious look.
‘Could I ask a favour, Francesco?’ she said, surprising him.
‘Of course.’
‘Could we make a stop somewhere on the way to Montedaluca so I can change my clothes and tidy myself up?’ She smiled wryly. ‘In the circumstances, I’d rather not arrive in jeans.’
‘Even though you look so delightful in them?’
She turned away, her face warm. ‘Even so.’
‘Va bene. Because I have a suggestion to make.’
‘What is it?’
‘Il notaio who is handling the will is not available until Thursday, therefore we can make this stop you desire in Florence and stay the night there before we travel on to Montedaluca.’ He slanted a wary look at her. ‘The apartment has two bedrooms.’
Instead of the instant refusal he expected, Alicia surprised him by giving the suggestion some thought.
‘Couldn’t the lawyer make it any earlier?’ she asked after a while. Bedrooms aside, she found she was not at all averse to seeing Florence again if it meant putting off the visit to Montedaluca a bit longer.
‘Unfortunately for you he cannot, Alicia. But for me this is good fortune, yes?’
‘I don’t know. Is it?’ She eyed his profile narrowly. ‘I noticed you referred to me as your wife back there.’
‘It most efficiently relieved you of your companion.’ He shot a gleaming look at her. ‘Or did you not desire that?’
‘Of course I did. The man sat by me on the plane and talked to me all the way, even suggested meeting in Florence for a meal. I couldn’t get rid of him.’
‘Why not tell him your husband was meeting you at the airport?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t think of you as my husband, Francesco. Besides, you could have been sending a driver to pick me up, as you did in Cardiff. Thank you for that, by the way,’ she added.
‘It was my pleasure. But, Alicia, surely you knew I would come to meet you myself?’ He touched a hand to hers.
Since Francesco was a fast driver, and she disliked travelling on motorways of any kind, British or Italian, Alicia begged him to keep both hands on the wheel and leave any further conversation until they arrived.
‘Scusi. I had forgotten you are a nervous traveller!’
‘Only as a passenger these days—I’m perfectly happy when I’m in the driving seat.’
Francesco did as she asked, and said no more for the remainder of the journey, while Alicia wondered if she was mad to even consider staying in Florence overnight with Francesco. But she wanted to. It was useless trying to delude herself that she felt nothing for him. From the moment of seeing him again at the Millennium Stadium, it had been obvious that whatever had attracted her in the first place was not only still alive and well but was something she had never found in any other man. And probably never would. Fool, she told herself angrily. Get a life, Alicia Cross. One without the spectre of Francesco da Luca hanging over it. But first, said a sly little voice in her mind, she might as well take advantage of this unexpected interlude.
She was deeply thankful when they arrived in the cool, raftered apartment at last, and the moment Francesco ushered her inside she made straight for the window in the main room to look down on the thronged Piazza dei Signoria.
‘Perseus is still there,’ Francesco assured her. ‘Come, I will take your suitcase to your room. After you unpack would you like tea?’
‘Yes, please.’ She followed him into a bedroom and halted, frowning. ‘This is obviously yours, Francesco. Can’t I just use the other room rather than put you out?’
‘No. Here you have your own bathroom, also the better view.’ He moved closer and touched a strand of escaping hair. ‘And you like views, Alicia, no?’
‘Yes.’ She tensed, very much aware that they were alone in Francesco’s bedroom, and he was looking at her with those long-lashed eyes that were such an improbable colour she had wondered at first if he wore tinted lenses. They had once made her heart hammer in her chest. And infuriatingly still did. This was a mistake. She should have insisted they go straight to Montedaluca. ‘Tea sounds wonderful,’ she said brightly. ‘But could I have a shower first?’
‘Of course. You may have whatever you wish, Alicia,’ he assured her, and left her alone with the view.
There was not much to unpack for an overnight stay, but it took longer than it should have when Alicia found her clothes had to share space with some of Francesco’s in a big armoire that, unlike the modern furniture in the living room, was a carved, antique piece of great beauty. In the bathroom it felt even more intimate to arrange her toilet articles alongside the Aqua di Parma items Francesco had always used. It was that same subtle, familiar fragrance that had struck her dumb in the taxi to her flat after the party.
She stripped off her T-shirt and jeans, wound a towel round her hair and showered quickly, then dried off at top speed and put on the fresh clothes she’d taken with her into the bathroom rather than help herself to Francesco’s towelling robe or, worse, venture out into the bedroom wearing only a towel. She made a few swift repairs, then joined Francesco in the living room, expecting to find a tea tray ready for her.
‘I thought you might like to go down to Rivoire for the tea,’ he said, surprising her. He surveyed her appearance with such pleasure Alicia was grateful, not for the first time, for her mother’s faultless taste. Her beautifully cut fawn linen trousers and ivory silk shirt had cost a lot, but by the look in Francesco’s eyes it had been money well spent.
‘You look most elegant, Alicia,’ he commented. ‘But tell me—what has happened to your freckles?’
She smiled wryly. ‘Nothing, unfortunately. They’re hiding behind concealing cream worth every penny of the fortune I pay for it.’
‘I miss them,’ he said simply as they went down in the lift. ‘And until you smiled at me so radiantly at the airport I had missed your dimples also.’
‘I was very relieved to see you,’ she admitted as they emerged into the soft evening sunshine. ‘That man was such a nuisance.’
‘If he made you smile at me I am grateful to him.’ Francesco led her to a table outside the café of their first meeting and held out a chair for her. ‘The sun is not fierce now, carina, so you need have no worry for your freckles.’
It wasn’t her freckles she was worried about. Alicia eyed him moodily as he gave their order to the waiter.
‘What is troubling you?’ Francesco demanded as he turned back to her. ‘You are frowning.’
She met his eyes frankly. ‘It occurs to me that staying here at the apartment with you might be looked on as co-habiting, and affect the divorce in some way. In which case I’d rather we went straight to Montedaluca tonight.’
‘You are expected there tomorrow. I did not mention that you were arriving at Pisa today. No one knows you are here at the appartamento.’ His eyes locked with hers. ‘But this obviously worries you. Are you are in such a hurry for a divorce?’
‘None at all,’ she said impatiently. ‘You’re the one who wants the divorce, not me.’
Francesco shook his head. ‘I have no desire for a divorce either. There are times when it is most convenient to have a wife in the background.’
Alicia raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘So you can have the bun without the penny!’
He frowned. ‘I do not understand, cara.’
‘Oh yes, you do, Francesco! If your current squeeze starts thinking about marriage you just give her a sad, regretful reminder about a wife who won’t set you free.’
‘Squeeze?’
‘Girlfriend.’
‘Ah.’ He nodded, lips twitching. ‘It is a very useful arrangement, no? Does it also work well for you?’
There was a pause while they were served with tea and coffee. Once they were alone again Alicia sipped some of the tea before she answered Francesco’s question.
‘I avoid the subject, but if pushed I say something vague about divorce. I never mention you,’ she added flatly.
He shot her a narrowed look. ‘I am the skeleton in the cupboard?’
‘You bet you are.’
Francesco downed his espresso quickly. ‘But there are people who know about me.’
‘If you mean Megan, Rhys and the rest of the Davies clan, of course none of them would ever say a word.’ Alicia looked at him levelly. ‘You are not a popular subject of conversation in my family.’
‘Because they think I was cruel to you?’
‘You were!’
Francesco’s eyes held hers. ‘And if I could erase the memory of my words from your mind I would do it, no matter what the cost.’
‘Too late now,’ she said dismissively, then eyed him in dawning suspicion. ‘Hold on. If you’re not in a hurry for a divorce, Francesco, why were you so insistent on getting me back here? I thought I had to sign documents of some kind.’
‘Davverro. But only those documents which refer to my mother’s will.’
She frowned. ‘Is this true? About the divorce, I mean?’
‘Yes.’ He leaned back in his chair with the negligent grace that was so much part of him. ‘Because I am Catholic.’
‘How could I forget?’ she said acidly.
‘Let me speak, per favore. I do not find it easy to explain this,’ he said, his eyes reproachful. ‘It is sometimes difficult for me in English.’
‘You know very well that your English is excellent. But I’m listening, so do go on.’
‘Grazie. Even though times have changed very much in Italy, as in the rest of the world, I, personally, find the prospect of divorce very difficult.’ He shrugged. ‘But if you wish for one I will not contest it, Alicia. Ask Huw Davies to help you.’
She stared at him blankly. ‘But I thought you wanted to marry again, to get heirs for Montedaluca.’
‘If I am ever fortunate enough to have a child,’ he said coldly, ‘I shall be delighted because I have a son or a daughter, not because I have fathered an heir for Montedaluca.’
Alicia’s eyes flashed. ‘My deepest apologies, Signor Conte. I was given to understand very clearly that my duty as your wife was to provide Montedaluca with an heir right away.’
For a moment their table was a small oasis of silence in the noise and bustle of the piazza. ‘My mother made many mistakes with you,’ said Francesco at last, and sighed deeply. ‘It is a miracle that you did not run away before the wedding, not after it. Did you ever consider this, Alicia?’
‘Every day.’
‘Yet you did not. Why?’
Her eyes met his. ‘I was madly in love with you, Francesco. Though right from day one in Montedaluca I began to have doubts about rushing into marriage so quickly. But in the end I just couldn’t bring myself to back out when your mother had worked so hard on all the preparations. I didn’t have the bottle.’
‘Bottle?’
‘Courage.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I was only a teenager, remember. And a very unsophisticated one, compared to the normal variety.’
‘You were enchanting. That is why I could not understand—’ He stopped, shrugging. ‘It is pointless to spend time in regrets. Instead let us try to enjoy this brief time we have together. Or,’ he added, looking into her eyes, ‘do you still hate me too much for that, Alicia?’
She turned away sharply and kept her eyes on the scene before her as it began to grow dark. The lights had come on in the crowded piazza. Neptune glistened among his nymphs, and David and Perseus held sway in their spotlights as Florence got ready to enjoy the evening. So she might as well do the same. Given the choice she wouldn’t have come back to Florence again to revive memories better left forgotten. But now she was here it would be silly to pretend that her surroundings failed to cast at least some of their original spell.
She turned to face him. ‘I don’t hate you, Francesco.’ Which was the truth. Her feelings had begun to change the instant she’d learned that he actually had come to Cardiff to look for her. Or even before that, when she first laid eyes on him again. Otherwise she would have refused to make the trip, no matter what legalities demanded it. ‘It was a good idea to break the journey here in Florence. I’ll be able to go on to Montedaluca in a far better frame of mind.’
Francesco touched her hand fleetingly. ‘I am happy that you do not hate me, Alicia.’
‘I did for quite a long time, because quite apart from anything else I thought you were glad to get rid of me. There was no way I could tell Bron what really happened, so she pictured a far worse scenario, sent you and the contessa away and swore the others to silence about your visit.’
‘I am relieved,’ he said somberly, ‘that she knows I did not beat you—or worse.’
‘No. You just broke my heart.’ Alicia smiled bleakly. ‘But, as I told you before, it mended. Eventually.’
They sat in silence again for a while. ‘If it is of any comfort to you, Alicia,’ said Francesco softly, ‘my heart suffered also.’
She thought about it, then nodded. ‘It is, a little. Just knowing that you and the contessa came to find me is a comfort too. It would have been an even bigger one if I’d known at the time. But let’s not dwell on the past any more, Francesco.’
‘Va bene,’ he said promptly. ‘Since we are together at last, in the place where we first met, I must take advantage of this. Who knows when it will happen again?’
‘True.’
‘So, instead of sad things, let us think of dinner.’
She laughed. ‘Spoken like a true Italian! Where are we eating?’
Francesco’s face took on the arrested expression she’d first seen long ago, right here at a table at the Caffe Rivoire. ‘It is so good to hear you laugh, Alicia.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Where would you like to eat?’
‘How about the restaurant with the wonderful frescoes?’
‘An excellent choice.’
Alicia wasn’t so sure about that as they strolled to Santa Croce later. Revisiting the scene of their first dinner together was a bit rash under the circumstances. And the restaurant couldn’t possibly be as magical as she remembered it. But this was a special occasion, and both of them were dressed for it. Francesco was wearing a suit very much like the one worn on that first evening, but the dress Bron had bought her to impress everyone at Montedaluca was very different from the simple little shift worn on her eighteenth birthday. It was so much warmer here than at home; it was the perfect evening for sleeveless, bias-cut layers of cotton voile in a muted shade of almost-pink called ‘ashes of roses’. And for once Alicia had released her curls from their knot, and caught them back with a silver filigree clasp at the nape of her neck.
‘You look very beautiful,’ said Francesco. ‘Did your mother make that dress?’
‘No. But she paid for it.’ Alicia smiled up at him. ‘Bron does very little actual sewing these days. When she married George she hired two managers, one for the shop and the other for the actual dress-making studio. She keeps an executive eye on both, and even lends a hand when things get busy. But now and again, if a friend pleads on behalf of a daughter, Bron still makes the occasional wedding dress herself.’
‘The gown she made for you was perfection.’
‘What happened to it?’
‘It is stored away very carefully at the castello.’ He arched an eyebrow. ‘Since it is your mother’s work, would you like to have it back?’
‘If you want me to take it back, I will,’ she said carefully.
He shook his head. ‘I would like very much to keep it, as a ricordo of what might have been, Alicia.’
‘Ricordo?’
He thought for a moment. ‘Keepsake—is that right?’
She nodded, so surprised to find a lump in her throat she resorted to flippancy. ‘Maybe you could recycle it for my successor.’
He looked down his aquiline da Luca nose. ‘Even if I could find a lady slender enough to wear it, I would never suggest such a thing.’
When they reached the palazzo which housed the restaurant it was a bittersweet experience to mount the dais at the back again, and sit at one of the tables for two. Alicia gazed nostalgically at the fresco of knights in the flickering candlelight, and sighed a little. The magic was still there. In spades.
‘You were lucky to get a table like this at such short notice,’ she commented.
‘I had already reserved it,’ he said casually as a waiter arrived with menus.
By the time they were left alone to make their choices some of Alicia’s irritation at his high-handedness had subsided. ‘How did you know I’d ask to come here again?’
Francesco shrugged. ‘I did not. I made the reservation because at this time of year it cannot be done at the last minute.’
‘And if I’d chosen to go elsewhere?’
‘There are many restaurants in Florence, cara, and most of them can provide a table at short notice, even this one. Though not at one of these special tables up here. What would you like to eat?’ he added.
She studied the menu. ‘I think I fancy the roast pork with rosemary.’
‘I shall join you.’ Francesco raised an eyebrow and the wine waiter instantly materialised at his elbow. ‘We shall drink some Rosso di Montedaluca with it.’
Even if the food had not been delicious, the surroundings, as before, were enough to put Alicia in a mood as mellow as the wine she was served. ‘I wondered if this place could possibly be as magical as I remembered, Francesco, but it is.’
‘I have never been back since your birthday dinner here,’ he said, surprising her.
‘Why not?’
‘Surely that is obvious? After you left me it would have been too painful.’ His eyes met hers, their glitter intensified by the candle flames. ‘Tonight it is not painful, just unbelievable. I did not expect—or even hope—to face you over a dinner table again, Alicia.’
‘I didn’t, either.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘How civilised we are.’
His eyes darkened. ‘You have attracted too much attention for me to feel civilised.’
‘Have I?’ she said, surprised, and tried to peer beyond the circle of light that enclosed them.
‘There were many men’s eyes on you as we walked to our table.’
‘How flattering.’
‘Such appreciation cannot be unusual for you, Alicia, when you work amongst rugby players!’
‘The ones I know give me no trouble at all—perfect gentlemen every one of them. But then,’ she added sweetly, ‘I’m talking about my fellow countrymen.’
‘You must surely have met players from other countries.’
‘Of course I have. Lots. In fact, I’ve been seeing one of them recently. Maybe you’ve heard of him—Jason Forrester, English ex-Saracens player?’
‘No, I have not.’ Francesco drained his glass. ‘He is your lover?’
‘Not any more.’ Or ever. ‘Due to our respective careers it was so difficult to arrange time together; he began hinting at a more permanent relationship, so I nipped it in the bud.’
‘Cosa?’
‘I ended it.’
‘Why?’
‘As I keep saying, marriage—or even a committed relationship—just doesn’t appeal to me.’
Francesco surveyed her moodily for a while. ‘Does a dolce appeal to you, Alicia?’ he said eventually.
She shook her head. ‘But it was a delicious meal. Thank you for bringing me here again.’
‘It was my great pleasure,’ he responded, equally formal.
They walked back in silence Alicia found hard to break. Yet they’d been enjoying the evening together until her remark about Jason had put Francesco into a bad mood. Could he really resent someone he’d never met? When they reached the Piazza della Signoria she felt tired as they went up in the lift to Francesco’s apartment; no surprise there. Since the shock of Gareth’s visit she’d hardly slept. The men in her life were giving her a lot of hassle at the moment. Because since they’d met up again Francesco da Luca was very definitely in her life again. It was pointless trying to pretend otherwise.
Once they were inside the apartment, Francesco spoke at last. ‘Would you like a drink, or tea or coffee, Alicia?’
She stifled a yawn, wanting nothing more than bed and oblivion for a few hours. ‘No thanks, Francesco.’ She smiled a little. ‘The insomnia of the past week is catching up with me. I desperately need some sleep.’
His eyes softened. ‘I told Giacomo we would arrive in Montedaluca for lunch tomorrow, so we need not start early. Sleep as long as you like.’
‘Thank you. Good night.’
‘Buona notte, Alicia.’ He smiled at last, and she smiled back, allowing her dimples to come into play as she left him.
Thankful that the going-to-bed bit had passed off reasonably well, Alicia’s tension lessened as she closed the bedroom door behind her. She hung her dress away, and after a short session in the bathroom stretched out with a sigh under the covers in Francesco’s beautiful antique bed. A good thing Gareth didn’t know where she was tonight, was her last thought as she went to sleep.