THERE was no doubt that the last two days had been utterly dreadful, Antonia told herself with a heavy sigh, leaning back against her seat in the rear of the large black limousine and wondering just how long she was going to have to wait for Lorenzo?
Clearly absolutely furious at her decision to call a halt to their brief affair, the only word applicable to Lorenzo’s recent behaviour was horrendous!
Icy cold and remote, he’d hardly been able to bring himself to behave in a civilised manner—and he certainly hadn’t tried very hard. Locking himself away and concentrating on business, he’d kept as much distance from her as possible.
She had tried offering him her resignation, thinking that this would be an easy way out for both of them. But, for some perverted reason of his own, he was adamantly refusing to accept it. As was James Riley, his agency being at full stretch with so many summer visitors flying into the capital city.
So, realising that she was just going to have to tough it out, Antonia had gritted her teeth and got on with the job. Until last night, that was.
She had told Lorenzo—goodness knows how many times—that he must not, on any account, leave the hotel without telling her where he was going. And yet he’d done just that—suddenly disappearing into thin air, and practically giving her a heart attack, until she’d finally run him down to earth in a small bar, along the road from the hotel.
‘You blithering idiot!’ she had roared, her worry about his safety giving an edge to her massive loss of temper. ‘I don’t know why I bother trying to look after you. Surely…surely you can see that wandering off by yourself, into a low dive like this, would give any assassin the perfect opportunity to knock your block off?’
‘I’m sick and tired of being ordered around like a small child!’ he’d snarled back angrily. ‘Why should I have to account to you for my every movement?’
‘Because I’m trying to save your rotten skin—that’s why!’ she’d lashed back furiously, finding a perverse pleasure in at last being able to release some of the stress and tension which had left her feeling totally screwed up over the past few days. ‘But…hey! If you’re tired of life—that’s just fine by me!’ she’d added with a shrill, high-pitched laugh, before stomping angrily out of the bar.
Leaning against the wall by the entrance, grateful for the darkness which was hiding her flushed cheeks, and taking deep breaths of the damp night air, she’d done her best to calm down.
‘All you have to do is to tell me when you’re going out,’ she’d stated firmly, when he’d eventually emerged from the bar, some time later. ‘I won’t get in your way. I won’t be a nuisance. But, I must know where you are at all times.’
‘Yes, I understand,’ he’d told her stiffly, before striding off ahead of her back to the hotel.
Antonia was well aware that she had no excuse for so spectacularly losing her own temper last night. But Lorenzo had soon found a way of taking his revenge.
Deciding to exercise her stiff limbs, Antonia opened the door of the limousine, wishing she’d had the forethought to bring a newspaper and a hot Thermos of coffee with her, like the chauffeur sitting comfortably in the front seat of the large vehicle.
‘What time do you make it, Bob?’ she asked, sticking her head in through the window and squinting down at the clock on the dashboard.
‘It’s only eleven o’clock,’ he told her with a shrug, before taking another large bite from his thick cheese sandwich. ‘I don’t suppose your client will be out of there before two o’clock in the morning, at least. And we’re not the only ones twiddling our thumbs,’ he added, nodding to a long line of official, diplomatic limousines, parked nose to tail in the adjoining streets.
‘Yeah…I expect you’re right,’ she muttered, pacing slowly up and down outside the large building in Three Kings Yard, which contained the Italian Embassy.
Every window seemed to be lit by blazing chandeliers whose light spilled out on to the pavement surrounding the building; the noise of laughter and music echoed in the night air.
Well, at least Lorenzo was enjoying himself, she thought acidly, hugging her jacket more tightly about her slim figure and trying hard not to think about the flagons of champagne and delicious food which Lorenzo was undoubtedly consuming right this minute.
She’d been on plenty of stakeouts, of course. So sitting in a car and possessing herself in patience for hours on end wasn’t exactly a new experience. But she was only human. And the delight with which Lorenzo had greeted that stunning-looking girl, who’d so unexpectedly turned up to see him this morning, had left Antonia feeling sick with jealousy.
It was a terrible emotion. In fact, she was discovering, for almost the first time in her life, the utterly corrosive, destructive effect of jealousy’s slimy, acid-green bile, as the evil poison flooded through the veins of her trembling body.
The young girl had been absolutely gorgeous! Unfortunately, try as she might, Antonia had not been able to discern even the slightest flaw in that perfect skin and delicate, hourglass figure. And it was clear that Lorenzo had agreed with her assessment. In fact, he’d been enthusiastically throwing his arms around the girl as Antonia had quickly decided to leave the room.
However, calling her back into his suite some time later, Lorenzo had informed her coldly that the girl, the daughter of an old friend of his, had been there to deliver an invitation. And he would, therefore, be attending a reception at the Italian Embassy that evening.
Quite why she’d been so foolish as to imagine that she was included in the invitation Antonia had no idea. Except, of course, that Lorenzo must have planned it that way. Because, as the limousine had drawn up outside the porticoed entrance, he’d obviously taken great pleasure in informing her that there was no reason for her to be wearing that smart navy silk dress.
‘I really can’t imagine why you wasted your time deciding which garment to wear tonight. Since you were not, of course, included in the invitation,’ he’d drawled sardonically. ‘Oh, dear—poor Antonia! Quite the little Cinderella, hmm?’
What was more, the swine had been clearly enjoying the fact that, furious at having been made to look such a fool, she was itching to slap that highly irritating smile from his face.
‘I expect you to stay here—fully alert, observant and on guard, of course—just in case a dangerous “assassin” should happen to come by,’ he’d added, giving her a cold, triumphant smile, before strolling nonchalantly up the steps and into the building.
Well, she might have known that he’d think of some way of punishing her. Because no one liked being finished with, she consoled herself. And she supposed that his rotten behaviour should at least have been predictable. But, when terminating their relationship, she’d felt every bit as much pain as he had. She was still wretchedly unhappy. She had spent most of the past two nights pacing wearily up and down, unable to gain any rest—and longing, with every fibre of her being, to be safely clasped in his arms once again.
But the fact that she, too, was in torment clearly hadn’t even occurred to him. Lorenzo was totally self-absorbed in his own unhappiness at her rejection, and she could only hope and pray that it wouldn’t be long before he returned to Milan.
The chauffeur’s prediction was quite correct. It was just after two o’clock in the morning when Lorenzo eventually decided to leave the party.
Tired and weary, Antonia had just returned from a brisk walk around the block, in an effort to keep herself awake, and was seated on the rear seat of the limousine when she saw his tall figure leaving the building. And, of course, as she might have suspected, he was not alone.
For there, hanging on his arm and gazing adoringly up into his face, was the same girl who’d arrived at his suite with the invitation to the party.
Although she seemed to have made a mess of her life lately, that didn’t mean that she was entirely stupid, Antonia told herself grimly. And when, in the full glare of the overhead porch light, Lorenzo gathered the young girl into his arms—clearly enjoying a long and lingering goodnight kiss—she quickly realised that the scene had been partly staged for her benefit.
In fact, she was almost ninety-nine per cent certain that Lorenzo would have been severely disappointed if she hadn’t witnessed that long-drawn-out embrace.
But, however much it hurt—and it most certainly did—she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing that she cared one way or the other. After all, he was clearly convinced that she was a Hard-Hearted Hannah. So, why should she disappoint him?
‘Isn’t she a lovely young girl?’ Lorenzo drawled smoothly, directing Antonia’s attention to the figure blowing kisses in his wake as the limousine began drawing away. ‘I really must see a lot more of her!’ he added cheerfully, clearly gaining considerable satisfaction and pleasure from twisting the knife in Antonia’s heart.
However, she’d had a few minutes to prepare her defences, and was prepared to give as much as she got.
‘Yes, she really is extraordinarily beautiful,’ Antonia agreed in a light, bright tone of voice. ‘And clearly not a day over eighteen, either. Of course,’ she added sweetly, ‘if I was her father, I wouldn’t be too keen on my daughter getting involved with a man, who must be at least twenty years older than she is. But…hey! What do I know?’
‘Correct! You know nothing!’ he grated angrily in the darkness beside her. ‘You’re just jealous of her youth and beauty—that’s all!’
It had been a long night, and Antonia was bone-weary and fed up to the back teeth with the stress and strain of the last few days.
‘You’re quite right,’ she said with a heavy sigh, leaning back in the seat and staring dully up at the roof of the vehicle. ‘But then, that’s exactly what you intended, right? So, congratulations, Lorenzo—you finally managed to hit the bull’s-eye!’
‘Antonia…I…’
‘Oh—go to hell!’ she muttered, determinedly clamping her eyes shut against the weak tears threatening to fall any minute. She never cried—and certainly not in public! she told herself fiercely, desperately striving to pull herself together.
‘I fear that I am already there,’ he said quietly.
‘Yeah, well…that makes two of us,’ she sighed. ‘Only, of course, it hasn’t occurred to you to even think about how I feel, has it?’ she added bitterly. ‘Oh, no—you’re far too preoccupied with your own feelings and emotions to give two hoots about anyone else’s.’
Sharply turning his head to look at the woman sitting in the darkness beside him, he was startled to glimpse tiny beads of moisture slowly trickling down the side of her cheek from beneath her tightly closed eyelids—clearly visible in the bright lights as they arrived outside the entrance of his hotel.
But, before he could say anything, the driver was opening the door, and Antonia had leapt from the limousine, quickly running through the foyer and disappearing from sight.
After yet another sleepless night—most of which she’d spent wide awake, castigating herself for being so weak and feeble—Antonia was surprised when Lorenzo summoned her to his suite early the next morning.
‘I have some good news and some bad news,’ he drawled blandly, his voice empty of all expression. ‘The bad news is that the Rome police have apparently failed to apprehend the man who’s been making threats against my life. Giovanni Parini has apparently vanished into thin air—and is therefore still a possible danger, as far as I am concerned.
‘The good news,’ he continued smoothly, ‘is that, for various reasons, I find that I must immediately return to Italy.’
So, this is it…Antonia found herself thinking. This really is the last time that he and I will ever see each other. And it seemed to take the most enormous effort for her to keep standing on her feet, calmly waiting for her dismissal.
However, whatever she might have expected him to say next, she was totally astounded when he announced that he was intending to take her with him on his return to Italy.
‘But you can’t…’ she protested. ‘You don’t need me. In fact, the whole idea is simply and utterly ridiculous!’
‘I have already discussed my intentions with both the insurance company and Mr Riley of the Worldwide agency. They agree with me that your contract between us must be fulfilled,’ he told her firmly.
‘And so, Miss Simpson, I have to tell you that if you do not comply with the terms as outlined in that contract I will be immediately suing Mr James Riley and his agency for every penny they’ve got. As well as making sure, to the very best of my ability, that you never have an opportunity to act as a bodyguard ever again.’
Rigid with shock, Antonia could scarcely believe her ears. But, as she glared up into the bland, enigmatic blue eyes of the man whom, she now decided, she loathed with every fibre of her being, she realised that there was virtually nothing she could do about the situation.
Giving a heavy sigh, Antonia did up her seat belt, waiting for take-off as she leaned back in the wide, comfortable seat of the private aircraft, and wondering just what she’d done to deserve such a fate.
In fact, ever since having been assigned to act as Lorenzo’s bodyguard, her whole life seemed to have gone totally pear-shaped!
Actually, she corrected herself, it appeared to be more like one of those roller-coaster rides in a fairground. Swooshing up and down—one minute ecstatically happy, and the next thrust into the very depths of despair.
Giving herself a quick mental shake, she realised that she must do her best to try and think positively about her current situation. After all, there must be a silver lining to the heavy, dark clouds surrounding her. Although, for the life of her, Antonia hadn’t been able to find it over the past two days.
Ever since Lorenzo had insisted on her accompanying him on his return to Milan, it seemed as though she’d been consumed by his blazing anger and cold fury. Spending hours weeping in the privacy of her own bedroom at night, and feeling exhausted and jittery during the day, she was beginning to feel thoroughly disorientated, not knowing whether she was coming or going.
Although she’d always prided herself on being a rational, sensible human being, Antonia had never before found herself having to deal with such a maelstrom of deep, confused emotions. Could it be that despite her best intentions she’d fallen heavily in love with Lorenzo? Because, if so, as far as she was concerned, falling in love was the absolute pits!
She might have been able to cope better with the situation if Lorenzo hadn’t seemed to be positively enjoying her discomfiture.
When she glanced across the cabin of the small private aircraft, her lips tightened grimly as she viewed his tall figure seated at a table fixed to the bulkhead; he was already working his way steadily through a huge file of papers.
Under any other circumstances, she would have freely admitted her admiration for his ability, wherever he might be, to concentrate his full attention on the work in hand—to be able to swiftly master a complicated, intricate problem concerning his business which would take a lesser man much longer to achieve.
But she definitely wasn’t feeling fair or generous-minded towards him at the moment. And why should she, when he was clearly using his involvement in business matters to prevent all discussion of his arbitrary decision to drag her off with him to Italy?
What seemed to make matters ten times worse was the fact that Lorenzo, when he wasn’t buried deep in work, appeared to have had a mystifying, complete change of character. Never raising his voice, he’d been scrupulously polite at all times. And, apparently fully in control of his temper—an amazing fact in itself!—he’d given her no opportunity to release her pent-up feelings of anger and frustration.
He was calm, cool, taking no notice of her tight-lipped, barely controlled rage at the position in which she found herself; it was his blue eyes glinting with amusement and hidden laughter, in an otherwise bland, expressionless face, which was mainly responsible for driving her up the wall.
Arriving at Heathrow airport this morning, Antonia had done her best to feel positive about the trip to Italy.
After her experiences with the Middle Eastern clients, trailing around various high-class shops was now low on her list of priorities. However, it occurred to her that, while in Milan, it might be a good idea to restock her own wardrobe, by visiting the designer shops and small, trendy boutiques for which the city was famous.
It was a thought that had kept her feeling reasonably content through the brief airport formalities and on to this private plane, which Lorenzo had hired for the journey.
Walking across the tarmac, he’d explained that he’d become totally fed up with regular, scheduled flights, when he’d seemed to spend far more time on the ground than in the air. Which was why he was experimenting with the hire of a private jet. If it proved successful, he might well acquire one for his company.
She had no quarrel with his decision—who wouldn’t prefer to travel in comfort, rather than be squashed up like a sardine on a scheduled or chartered flight?—and it wasn’t until they were in the air that she finally realised the full extent of Lorenzo’s recent deceitful behaviour.
When the intercom between themselves and the pilot first crackled into life, a few minutes after take-off, she wasn’t taking much notice as he ran through a list of the height and speed at which the plane was travelling.
However, she was utterly shocked and stunned to hear the pilot explaining that, with a following tailwind, their arrival at the airport, just outside Florence, was likely to be twenty minutes earlier than the normal time for the journey.
‘Florence…?’ She turned to glare at Lorenzo, who was busy removing a large number of files from his black briefcase. ‘What on earth’s the pilot talking about?’ she demanded angrily. ‘I thought we were supposed to be landing in Milan?’
Lorenzo merely raised a dark, quizzical eyebrow. ‘Why should I wish to fly to Milan?’ he drawled smoothly. ‘I can’t imagine what gave you that idea.’
‘But…but you said…’
He gave a quick shake of his dark head. ‘I certainly told you that I was returning to Italy. However, I have no recollection of saying that Milan was my destination.’
She was silent for a moment, quickly reviewing in her memory his few references concerning his departure from Britain.
He was right. Now she came to think about it, he’d never actually mentioned the word ‘Milan’, had he? It was just that she’d, naturally assumed that he was returning to his office. And the swine had done nothing to correct her false assumption. So, what the hell was going on?
‘OK…so Milan is off the itinerary,’ she conceded grimly. ‘But why Florence? Have you got business there?’
‘No,’ he drawled coolly. ‘I am intending to take a few days off, to visit my old family home. And to see my mother too, of course.’
Antonia looked at him in surprise. That he should suddenly abandon his trip to England, returning as soon as possible to sort out a business problem, was perfectly understandable. But to suddenly alter one’s plans in such haste, purely to visit an aged relative, seemed very odd indeed.
However, Lorenzo explained that his mother had been a widow for many years, ever since his father’s unexpected and untimely death from cancer, when he’d been only a small boy. And, since she hadn’t been too well lately, he wished to satisfy himself as to her general health and well-being before returning to take up the reins of business in Milan.
All of which struck Antonia as quite understandable, and she realised that there was no more to be said.
Besides, she’d heard that many Italian men, even when they had families of their own, remained attached to their old mothers’ apron-strings. It was just, she mused, that she hadn’t quite seen Lorenzo in that light.
But then, what did she know? Because nothing about the man seemed to fit into a plain, straightforward pattern of behaviour. One moment he was cool, calm and collected, and the next he could erupt like Vesuvius, in a pyrotechnic display of rage and bad temper. Was this what people meant when they talked about the Latin temperament?
Since she had no way of answering the question, and Lorenzo was currently ignoring her as he concentrated on his work, there seemed no point in trying to find an explanation for the inexplicable. She’d be far better employed reading the magazine which she’d just had time to pick up at the airport, and should just wait and see what happened when they arrived in Florence.
After an uneventful flight, they landed at Amerigo Vespucci airport in the early afternoon. However, by the time they’d cleared Customs, Antonia was feeling tired, sticky—and, above all, hot!
That’s another thing he didn’t tell me about, she thought wearily. She could feel herself rapidly wilting from the totally unexpected, blazing heat of the sun as a porter carried their bags to where a uniformed chauffeur was standing beside a long black open sports car.
‘Thank you, Tommaso,’ Lorenzo murmured as the chauffeur handed him the keys, before stowing away their luggage. ‘At the moment, I’m intending driving myself back to Milan,’ he added, dismissing the man before opening the door and settling himself down in the driver’s seat.
Thanks to her job, Antonia was well used to the extraordinary way of life lived by the rich and famous. So, she wasn’t at all surprised to realise that Lorenzo’s chauffeur had driven the car up from Milan that day—simply to ensure that his boss could drive his own, private vehicle around the roads of Tuscany.
‘Well…’ Lorenzo barked, his voice abruptly breaking into her thoughts. ‘Are you coming—or not?’ he asked, switching on the engine.
‘It doesn’t look as if I’ve got any choice, does it?’ she grumbled acidly, her words perhaps fortunately drowned beneath the powerful roar of the open sports car’s high-performance engine.
Antonia was profoundly thankful that she’d remembered to pack her dark sunglasses. She was equally relieved to note that she wasn’t expected to drive his Ferrari. She definitely didn’t relish the prospect of handling this powerful vehicle on the ‘wrong’ side of the road, and in this searing heat.
She did up her seat belt as Lorenzo let in the clutch, the car almost seeming to leap through the air as they roared out of the airport. Quickly clamping her eyes shut, she leaned back against the head-rest, muttering a prayer that they would not only arrive where they were going in one piece, but that it wouldn’t be long before she was able to have a cool drink.
Lorenzo turned to grin at the girl beside him, who was looking unusually tired and weary. He, of course, loved the heat. But Antonia, with her blonde hair and fair skin, was clearly finding it a trial.
‘It won’t be long before we’re off the autostrada and up into the hills,’ he told her soothingly.
‘But I thought…’ She turned her head to look at him in surprise. ‘Aren’t we going into the city?’
‘No.’ He gave a quick shake of his head. ‘It’s much too hot and crowded with tourists at this time of year.’
Mentally waving goodbye to the idea of getting her hands around a long, cold drink, Antonia gave a heavy sigh. Goodness knows where they were going to end up.
However, as Lorenzo had promised, the scorchingly hot and humid conditions gradually gave way to cooler air and a welcome, light breeze as they climbed up through the hills, driving past large vineyards and olive groves.
‘This is lovely countryside,’ she breathed, leaning back against her head-rest, and relishing the feeling of cold, fresh air on her face. ‘And what’s that? It looks like an old castle,’ she said, shielding her eyes from the sun as she gazed at the passing scenery on their left.
He nodded. ‘It’s the castle of Nipozzano, owned by the Frescobaldi family, whose vineyards produce an outstanding Chianti Riserva. They also own many vineyards and property in the region,’ he explained. ‘Including a vineyard at Pomino—not so far away from here—which produces a really delicious white wine.’
‘I’m not a great drinker,’ she shrugged. ‘So I don’t really know anything about vineyards and wine.’
‘Never mind, Antonia…’ he laughed, before concentrating on passing a lumbering old truck, which was weaving all over the road.
‘As it happens, you are now in the prime wine-producing area of Italy,’ he continued, when all risk of danger was past. ‘So I will make sure that you have plenty of opportunity to learn more about the subject. Because I can assure you that the finest Tuscan wines are second to none!’
Antonia realised that she must have become somewhat shell-shocked by a surfeit of emotions over the past few days. Because it had taken her some time to realise that, ever since landing in Italy, Lorenzo seemed to have shrugged off the cold, icy personality with whom she’d had to deal recently. He was now once more the warm and friendly, highly attractive man with whom she’d fallen, she now realised, so deeply in love.
Was this change of heart due solely to the fact that he was back, in his own country? Or did he possess a chameleon type of personality, taking on the shades and colours of wherever he happened to be at any one time?
But, Antonia told herself ruefully, she’d been spinning around in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions ever since turning up at the London hotel to look after Lorenzo. And she no longer was certain of anything—let alone her usual good judgement, and ability to predict how people would act in any given situation.
In any case, she admitted to herself, she was sick and tired of fighting Lorenzo. If he was making an effort to be an amiable, friendly companion, she might as well respond in the same way.
‘Where, exactly, are we going?’ she asked.
‘We’re heading for my old family home in Vallombrosa, high up in the Pratomagno hills.’
‘Oh, yes—I remember you mentioned it. It isn’t far, is it?’
‘No. The whole journey is less than an hour by road from Florence,’ he told her with a smile. ‘It won’t be long before we are there.’
As the road appeared to climb more steeply, through beech, fir and pine woods, Antonia could almost feel the stresses and strains of the past few days slowly seeping out of her tired mind and body. The cooler mountain air was wonderfully refreshing, and she sat contentedly back in her seat as Lorenzo explained that the old house had been in his family for many generations.
‘Although, of course, my mother has a town house in Florence. But she likes to open up the old family home during the hot summer months. Both I and my two older sisters and their families like to take the opportunity of enjoying a summer holiday with her. With the added bonus, of course, of being able to enjoy a cool retreat from the heat of the city.’
Taking a narrow turn off the main road, and driving slowly through a dense beech wood, he smilingly admitted that there was nothing particularly extraordinary or special about Vallombrosa. Although there was, apparently, a small modern summer and winter sports resort, just over a mile away at Saltino.
‘But that’s just about it—other than the monastery, of course. You might find that interesting,’ he added. ‘I believe that your English poet, John Milton, stayed there for some time in the early seventeenth century.’
‘What…? You mean the man who wrote “Paradise Lost”?’ She turned to look at him in surprise. ‘I wonder what on earth he was doing here? I didn’t know that English travellers were wandering around Europe at such an early date.’
He shrugged. ‘That is not an early date, as far as we Italians are concerned. Marco Polo, for instance, who came from Venice, was a great traveller, and discovered China in the thirteenth century.’
‘OK…you’ve definitely won that round!’ she conceded with a smile, amused by the note of pride in his voice, before he slowed down, turning the car through a wide entrance guarded by stone gateposts.
As they drove down a country track, she gazed up at the large beech trees, arching like a church nave overhead, and then they were coming to a halt in front of a very large building.
‘Good heavens!’ she exclaimed, gazing up at the massive walls, painted a yellow ochre colour, surrounded by tall cedars and large, brilliantly coloured shrubs and flowers. ‘This isn’t a house—it’s practically a palace!’
He laughed and shook his head as he got out of the car, coming around to open the passenger door. ‘I can assure you that it is very far from being a palazzo, my dear Antonia. As you will very shortly find out,’ he added, before turning around to face what seemed to be a pack of noisy, barking dogs racing towards his tall figure.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! Get down, you horrid animals,’ a cool English voice called out.
Antonia, who thought that she’d already had quite enough surprises for one day, could only stare in open-mouthed astonishment as a tall, slim, very elegant-looking woman with pale blonde hair emerged from around the side of the house, smiling broadly at Lorenzo.
‘Darling! How marvellous—I wasn’t expecting you for at least another hour. Did you have a good flight?’ she was saying as Lorenzo stepped forward to give her a big hug.
It was moments before Antonia managed to get a grip on the fact that this woman—who had to be at least sixty years of age, but looked at least ten years younger—must be Lorenzo’s mother.
Well! So much for the white-haired, arthritic old mamma!
Feeling distinctly confused, Antonia found herself being introduced to Signora Foscari, who smilingly shook her hand and bade her welcome to their home.
‘I understand that you’ve been acting as bodyguard to my son,’ the older woman said, with what turned out to be three elderly dogs running before them, as she led the way through the open front door and into a large, marble-floored hall. ‘I do hope that he hasn’t given you too much trouble?’
Thinking about the incident later, Antonia could only assume that she was either suffering from jet lag—which didn’t seem likely—or her sluggish brain must still have been in a state of bewilderment and confusion. Because she was utterly appalled to hear herself giving a low, caustic laugh. ‘Not give me any trouble? You must be joking!’
‘Oh, dear!’ His mother turned to grin at her. ‘It sounds as if Lorenzo must have been extremely tiresome!’
‘That’s one way of putting it!’ Antonia agreed swiftly, before realising, to her horror, that she was being extremely rude about this woman’s son!
Hastening to make amends, she added quickly, ‘I’m so sorry, Signora Foscari. I really can’t think what’s come over me.’ She frowned and shook her head. ‘I must apologise for being so rude. Believe me, I never meant…’
‘My dear girl,’ the older woman said quickly, putting a hand on her arm, ‘there’s no need for you to apologise. I know my dear son—only too well!’ she added with a laugh.
Smiling weakly as the sound of his mother’s laughter echoed around the hall, Antonia could feel her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She desperately wished that she’d kept her stupid mouth shut. What on earth would this woman think of her?
But, as Lorenzo entered the hall with their suitcases, Antonia was amazed when, instead of appearing offended, his mother slipped a friendly arm through hers.
‘I’m sure you must be dying for a nice cool drink,’ she murmured, leading her visitor out of the hall and into a large sitting room.
‘Now, Antonia, I’m looking forward to getting to know you,’ she added, waving towards a comfortable chair. ‘So, I think we should make a start by calling each other by our Christian names, don’t you? Which is why I’d be very pleased if you’d call me Sara.’
‘Yes…er…Sara,’ she muttered, still feeling distinctly light-headed.
‘Ah, I see you two are getting to know one another,’ Lorenzo said, strolling into the room a few moments later.
‘Yes, indeed,’ his mother said, turning to smile at him as she handed Antonia a cool glass of ice-cold lemonade, while indicating his own drink, standing ready for him on a small marble table by one of the large windows.
‘I think you could even say,’ she added in an amused drawl, giving Antonia a slight wink, ‘that we’re already well on the way to becoming extremely good friends!’