CHAPTER EIGHT

THE next twenty-four hours were a living hell for Sofia.

From her parents’ castle she phoned the Palazzo Verde countless times requesting to be put through either to her son or his nanny. But each time she met the same implacable response. The Duke had given orders that she was not to be put through, but she could rest assured that her son was well and happy. And when she tried to speak to Damiano it was a similar story. He did not wish to speak to her. If she wished, she could leave a message. Suddenly she had become an outcast. She felt broken in two.

Her mother, to whom she had confided more or less the whole story, was sympathetic but sensibly told her, ‘You made a very foolish mistake to believe that Damiano would ever allow you take his son away.’ And she frowned at Sofia. ‘I thought you knew your husband better than that.’

‘But I was desperate!’ Sofia knew that what her mother said was true, but why couldn’t she understand what had driven her to do it? ‘I couldn’t bear to go on with the ghastly charade he was forcing on me and I was terrified he’d stop me seeming Alessandro if I refused.’

Though, of course, by what she’d done she’d only made that fear come true and her mother was right: Damiano would never have let her take Alessandro. Even if she’d made it to her parents’ home with him, Damiano would only have come after her. Nothing in the world was surer than that.

Her mother was watching her now with kindly, wise blue eyes. ‘You know you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you want, and it’s probably a good idea to stay at least until you calm down—and until Damiano has a chance to calm down too. Then you can go back to him and just get on with doing your duty, even if that does involve what you call a charade.’

At Sofia’s defiant look, she laid a loving hand on her daughter’s arm. ‘It is your duty, you know. You’re the wife of the Duke. It’s part of your job to put on a show.’ She sighed a sympathetic sigh. ‘And maybe things will get better. I pray that they will. I just want you to be happy.’

Sofia did not argue. Maybe her mother was right and she ought to stay put until she’d calmed down a bit. Certainly she sensed that her mother had definitely been right to talk her out of her original plan to drive straight back to the Palazzo Verde and force some kind of showdown with Damiano. All that would have done was make the situation even worse. And maybe during her absence, as her mother had predicted, Damiano would actually calm down too.

- yes, her mother was a wise woman, full of good and sound advice, but there were some things that Sofia understood better than .she did.

Things would never get better, she would never be happy and her mother was just wasting her breath with her prayers.

 

 

‘Tell the Duke I have to speak with him. Tell him it’s urgent. Tell him I’ll wait in my office until I hear from him.’

Sofia was back at the Palazzo Verde just twenty-four hours after she’d left it. For that was all the time she’d needed to get her head straight and figure out precisely what it was she had to do.

It was really very simple. She had to get back to Alessandro, for she simply could not bear the way she’d been cut off from her son. And if the price for that was the resumption of her charade with Damiano, then she would accept that and play her part as best she could. She would apologise for what she’d done, beg his forgiveness, and she would promise on her honour never to do such a thing again.

As she waited now in her office for him to come to her, she was feeling perfectly composed and emotionally distanced. Damiano could no longer reach her. She was quite sure of that now. He had driven out her love for him in that confrontation in the courtyard.

Sofia waited for more than an hour before he finally appeared. And though her heart jolted at the sight of him, just as it always had, she felt no pleasure at all as she looked into his face, just a steadily bubbling brew of anger and dislike.

Just inside the doorway he stopped. ‘I’m told you wish to speak to me?’

No ‘hello’. No ‘how are you?’ Not even a smile of greeting. It was clear that he hated her every bit as much as she hated him.

Sofia, who had been standing by the window, gazing down into the garden in the hope of maybe catching a glimpse of Alessandro, tilted her chin at him as she turned round fully to face him. That’s fine by me, she was thinking. At least there’ll be no more false gestures of affection.

In a clear voice she told him, ‘I’ve come to apologise for what happened. What I did was wrong. It’ll never happen again.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, I already know it’ll never happen again.’ Damiano’s tone was hard enough to split concrete. ‘You’ll never have the opportunity to do anything like that again. You can take my word on that absolutely.’

And what was that supposed to mean? Sofia’s grey-blue eyes flashed at him as something close to panic flickered inside her. ‘I hope you’re not trying to tell me you have any intention of keeping up this ban? You have no right to do that, you know—to keep me from my son. And I won’t allow you to get away with it. Don’t think that I will.’

Damiano straightened slightly and slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, his dark eyes unhurriedly scouring her face. ‘Did you invite me here in order to tell me what you plan or do not plan to allow?’ He smiled a contemptuous smile, expressing his opinion on that folly. ‘If so, I’ll go now. We’d both be wasting our time.’

He was so damned superior. She felt an angry bitterness fill her. Instead of standing here apologising to him, she felt like wringing his arrogant neck! And she opened her mouth to tell him so, but as he made a move to leave the room she quickly snapped herself to heel. Did she really want to risk not seeing Alessandro even for another hour?

‘No,’ she said quickly, ‘I didn’t ask you here for that. I asked you here to tell you that, for the sake of my relationship with my son, I’m prepared to fall in with your demands about us appearing together in public. I accept that it’s my duty and I’ll never complain again.’ She bit her lip. ‘Now please say that I can see Alessandro.’ And she waited, heart beating, to hear his answer.

Damiano said nothing for a moment, just continued to watch her. Then he told her, ‘I’m glad you came to your senses so quickly. Was that your own decision or did your parents talk you into it?’

‘It was my own decision. ’ Her eyes flashed with annoyance. ‘I am capable, you know, of making decisions for myself. I don’t need to be told what to do by my parents.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He regarded her steadily. ‘Even though, I have to say, your decisions are occasionally a little rash.’

Sofia could scarcely deny that. ‘We all make mistakes.’ She flashed him another look and added cuttingly, ‘I’m sure even you manage to make the occasional one.’

‘You reckon, do you?’

As he said it, he smiled, taking Sofia totally by surprise. He was watching her with a strangely soft expression, the dark eyes gently humorous, uncensorious, even warm. It was almost as though he had reached out and touched her.

Sofia could not help it. As she looked into his face, she felt a wave of emotion rise up inside her that was frighteningly close to yearning and a very long way from hate. And for a moment it was as though her closed heart had suddenly opened, exposing all the fragile, hurt emotions that she had so carefully locked away. She felt like turning her face away and weeping slow tears.

Instantly horrified, she struggled to pull herself together. How could she allow herself to be so easily seduced after the unspeakable way he had treated her?

In a cool tone, carefully distancing herself again, she remarked, ‘Well, you didn’t make any mistakes yesterday, did you? You knew exactly where and when to pounce.’ She narrowed her eyes at him and asked him a question she’d asked herself. ‘How did you know I was planning to take Alessandro?’ For she was quite sure he hadn’t intercepted her by chance. ‘Do you have someone watching me? One of your paid spies?’ And she looked at him with all the contempt she could muster.

‘Perhaps I do.’ The warmth in his eyes had gone now. ‘And perhaps it’s just as well, since you seem to have so much trouble behaving in an acceptable and appropriate manner. So you’d do well to bear that in mind in future.’

He started to turn away and it looked for a moment as though he was about to leave without giving her the answer she was really waiting for. But then he paused.

‘I’ve decided that you may see Alessandro. But not alone. Only in the company of a third party such as Alice. It’ll be some time, I fear, before I can trust you to be with him on your own again.’

Then, with a final black look, he turned and left the room.

 

 

‘Let’s take it again from just before the Fairy Godmother appears!’

From her seat in the front stalls, with a rap of her silver-topped cane Madame Ulana brought the ballet troupe instantly to order. ‘Positions!’ she called. ‘Vite! Vite, mes enfants!’ Then, ‘Music!’ she commanded with another rap of her cane, and at once the little theatre was filled to the gods with the sweet, piercing strains of Prokofiev’s Cinderella.

It was a dress rehearsal and Sofia was feeling a tiny bit nervous, though mainly she was just thrilled at the excitement of it all. And for once she wasn’t even thinking of all her personal problems as she stood in the wings waiting to go on. All she was thinking of was delivering the very best performance she was capable of.

It was two weeks now since Sofia had moved back into the palace and during that time things had returned more or less to normal. She was back into the swing of work and spending as much time as she could with Alessandro, in spite of that hateful restriction Damiano had imposed.

That stuck in her throat, but she would accept it for the moment, for in a way she could see why he had imposed it. But once she’d proved she could be trusted and that she really meant what she’d promised she would start working on him to persuade him to allow her to see her son on her own again.

In the meantime she was just grateful that she saw very little of Damiano, for luckily there had been no joint functions to attend and their paths rarely crossed within the palace. They had become strangers once again, as though London had never happened.

On a happier note, she’d been busy with rehearsals for the ballet, though she had warned Madam Ulana without going into details that there was a possibility she might be obliged to pull out at short notice so it was essential that her stand-in be well up to scratch. For Damiano, she well realised, might force her to withdraw at any moment. She was even a little surprised that he hadn’t already done so and had decided it could only be because he had temporarily forgotten.

And that didn’t surprise her either. She was probably the last thing on his mind.

But in thinking that Sofia could not have been more mistaken. And she was also wrong to believe he had forgotten about the ballet. In recent days, as it happened, both she and the ballet had been occupying a large chunk of Damiano’s mind. And at this precise moment they were occupying all of it.

For if Sofia had been a little less bound up in what she was doing she might have noticed the figure who had just slipped into the darkened auditorium and seated himself inconspicuously in one of the rows at the back. A figure in a black coat with the collar turned up and a wide-brimmed borsalino which shadowed his features. But she hadn’t noticed, of course—something about which Damiano was immensely glad.

This wasn’t the first time Damiano had dropped in on a rehearsal. The other time, a few days ago, having learned quite by chance that a rehearsal was currently in progress, he had made the decision on the spur of the moment as he was being driven past the theatre on the way to an appointment. Having a few minutes to spare, he’d instructed his chauffeur, ‘Drop me off here and wait across the street.’ Then he had slipped into the darkened theatre without a soul noticing that he was there.

And what he had seen had had the most powerful and unexpected effect on him.

He sat back in his seat now, waiting for Sofia to step on stage. It was hard to know why he had come that first time. Curiosity, perhaps. Though he hadn’t just been checking up on her. He could easily have got someone else to do that. No, she had taken him aback a little that time in London when they had argued about her involvement in the ballet and she had accused him, with such composure, of treating her like an irresponsible child and told him he ought to try giving her the benefit of the doubt. And he’d wanted to see for himself if she’d been justified in that.

On stage, Cinderella was sinking despondently into a corner as her wicked stepmother and the ugly sisters went off to the ball. And Damiano was aware of sitting forward in his seat. This was the point at which Sofia appeared.

She stepped on stage with all the grace of a true professional, dressed in a long white dress, a sparkling wand in her hand, her glorious red-gold hair tied in a knot on top of her head. And she made the most beautiful, most dignified Fairy Godmother ever.

Yes, she had been right. He had judged her unfairly. There was no tutu. No leaping about. Nothing he could even remotely object to. For her part did not actually require her to dance, only to move about the stage with perfect poise and grace, and that she did looking every inch a royal duchess.

Damiano watched her now, entranced, feeling a piercing sense of loss. He had thought he could just shrug her off after that angry débâcle over the Geneva trip. He had thought he could turn back the clock to the way things had been before London. But something had happened to him. Something had changed. He missed her dreadfully, in a way he had never missed any woman. And to be honest he was still trying to work out what to do about it.

He had to do something. That was becoming increasingly clear to him. Why, he had really only come here this afternoon because he was so desperate to see her and there seemed no other civilised way of doing it. If he met her face to face they would only end up quarrelling, and he had had enough of quarrelling. He didn’t want any more.

But he did want her, with a constant, throbbing ache.

The Fairy Godmother scene over, Sofia began to move off stage and was surprised to hear a burst of applause from the back of the auditorium. Curious, she frowned and peered into the darkness. But she was too late to see anything, for the tall figure in the borsalino was already disappearing through the exit.

Sofia’s secretary had a message for her when she stepped into her office just after eight-thirty the following morning.

‘His Grace the Duke phoned. He wishes you to accompany him to a formal drinks reception at the French embassy tomorrow evening, followed by an informal dinner in town.’

Oh, no. Sofia felt her heart sink into her boots. Her brief reprieve was over. The finger of duty beckoned and there was absolutely nothing she could do but comply.

But she kept her dismay to herself. ‘Thank you, Nina,’ she nodded. Then, suddenly curious, she added, ‘Did you say the Duke phoned personally? He didn’t make this request through his secretary?’

‘No, Your Grace. He called himself and asked to speak to you. When I told him you weren’t here he instructed me to give you the message. And he said that if there was any problem you should let him know.’

Sofia raised a surprised inner eyebrow. What was the meaning of all this courtesy? If he was planning on getting intimate again, it wouldn’t work this time. She had been taken in once, but she’d learned her lesson. There was no way he would trick her a second time.

At the appointed hour the following evening Sofia was dressed—in a stunning vivid green silk gown—and mentally ready to do her royal duty. This was a cross she had agreed to bear and she would bear it as best she could.

She stepped into the Lily Room where it had been arranged that they meet and found him waiting for her, facing the door, smiling at her in welcome, as though he was genuinely pleased to see her. And for a moment her treacherous heart was filled with a sense of sheer joy at the sight of him. But she did not smile back. She forced herself not to. She would smile in public, if that was her duty, but they were not in public now.

‘You’re looking beautiful.’

‘Thank you.’

She found it hard to meet his eyes. They were filled with an intense look that was making her nervous. She had the very clear impression that he had something on his mind. And he seemed to confirm that a few minutes later as he was climbing into the car behind her.

‘After the reception,’ he confided, ‘I have a surprise for you.’

Sofia did not ask him to elaborate. She did not even wonder what the surprise might be, though she assumed it was bound to be something unwelcome. But she wanted to know nothing, for she had already decided that the only way for her to get through this evening was to take it one minute at a time. She would deal with his surprise when the time came for her to deal with it. Until then, she would simply concentrate on putting on a show.

As usual, she played her part marvellously. Though perhaps she was a little out of practice, it occurred to her at one point as she stood chatting with a group of diplomats while flashing the occasional warm smile at her husband, and had to acknowledge that, unlike on previous occasions, she was finding it all a bit of a strain. She kept wishing she could sit down. She felt strangely light-headed. And it definitely wasn’t the drink. She’d only had one glass of champagne.

But the feeling soon passed and at last it was time to leave. With Damiano at her elbow, she was bidding farewell to hosts and fellow guests and climbing back into the waiting car.

‘And now that surprise I told you about.’ Damiano turned to smile at her as they set off. And then, to her dismay, he reached out and took her hand.

‘No, Damiano.’

Sofia pulled her hand away, though she had half wanted to leave it there, had come within a hair’s breadth of doing so. For it was so long now since she had felt the physical warmth of him, his virile strength, and the effect it had on her. And just that fleeting touch had sparked something in her. A yearning, deep and fierce, that had caused her breath to catch. But there was absolutely no way she would ever succumb.

At least he did not insist. She was aware of him smiling and moving away. Good, Sofia thought; the further the better.

After a brief drive through the city, suddenly they were drawing up outside Da Mario, the chicest restaurant in town.

‘We’re having dinner here?’ Sofia turned a questioning look on him. ‘And who, might I ask, are we going to be dining with?’

‘You’ll see.’ He was smiling, evidently enjoying the mystery. Then he was climbing out of the car as the chauffeur pulled open the door for them and offering his hand to her as she climbed out behind him.

A moment later Mario himself appeared through the restaurant doorway, greeting them effusively and leading them inside. But not to the main part of the restaurant, which was packed as usual, but to a private room at the side where, to Sofia’s surprise, there was a table lit with candles and set for two.

She looked at the table and then at Damiano. What the devil was he up to? Well, whatever it was, he was wasting his time.

‘As you can see, we’re dining alone.’ As the dark eyes fixed on her, Sofia could see again that same intense look of before. ‘It’s been rather a long while,’ he told her, ‘since we spent time alone together.’

Sofia looked back at him. I was right, she was thinking. This surprise is really most unwelcome. And she was about to protest, to demand that he allow her to leave, but she really didn’t feel at all up to a fight tonight, so instead she just sat down as a waiter pulled out her seat for her. She would go along with him and just pray that her torment would be brief.

Damiano was watching her carefully as he sat down opposite her. He must play this by ear. For he could sense the hostility in her. And he must accept that he was unlikely to achieve very much this evening, though even a couple of hours without discord would be a step in the right direction. Something to build on for the future.

But he would not push her, for she was looking a little tired, her cheeks paler than usual, a smudge of shadow around her eyes. Indeed, there had been a worrying moment earlier at the reception when he had caught sight of her across the room and feared she might be about to faint.

As he handed her a menu, he leaned towards her across the table. ‘Are you feeling OK?’ he asked with a frown.

‘I’m feeling fine, thanks.’

Sofia took the menu and did not look at him. She had no wish to discuss her physical state with him and give him an excuse to feign tenderness and concern for her. As it was, he was being too solicitous by half. And, besides, now that she was seated, she was feeling perfectly OK.

They ordered scallops to start, with rack of lamb to follow, though Sofia wasn’t really feeling terribly hungry. Still, the scallops were delicious and Sofia was able to relax a bit as Damiano took charge of the conversation, entertaining her with a string of light-hearted stories about various things that had happened to him recently.

That was a double relief. He was obviously planning to keep things pleasant and by doing most of the talking he was saving her the effort, for she really wasn’t feeling very chatty this evening. As she watched him, she began to wonder if she’d been mistaken. Maybe, after all, he wasn’t up to anything. Maybe he’d just felt like a quiet evening out. Though why he should have chosen her to spend it with, of course, was a mystery.

It was as the waiter brought their main course that he looked across the table and told her, ‘By the way, you make an exceptionally good Fairy Godmother.’

Sofia blinked at him. ‘I beg your pardon? What do you mean?’ Was this it? she was wondering. Was this why he had brought her here—to put the boot in on her taking part in Cinderella?

But it didn’t look that way, for he was salting.

‘I came to see you at rehearsal. Twice, as a matter of fact. And I must say I thought you were really terrific.’

‘You came to see me at rehearsal?’ Sofia wasn’t sure if she believed him. ‘When?’ she demanded. ‘I didn’t see you:

‘I came yesterday. And a couple of days before that as well: Then suddenly he frowned. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that your part in the ballet isn’t a dancing part? That you don’t wear a tutu? That it’s all very dignified and proper?’

So he had been to see her. Unless someone had simply reported back to him, of course, though something in his expression said that that wasn’t the case. How extraordinary, Sofia thought, astonished, as he asked her again, ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you just let me believe the worst?’

Sofia looked at him for a long, thoughtful moment before answering. Then she told him, ‘I didn’t tell you because it shouldn’t have been necessary for me to explain something like that to you. You should have known I wouldn’t do anything undignified or improper, anything to embarrass you or your position. But you jumped to the worst conclusion, just as you always do. I suppose I didn’t tell you because I was just so angry and insulted.’

‘Even at the risk that I might forbid you to take part in the production? Wasn’t that rather a case of cutting off your nose to spite your face?’

‘If it had come to that, then of course I would have told you. The only reason I agreed to take part in the ballet was because the proceeds of all three performances will be going to charity and my presence will obviously help to sell tickets. But to be honest I was pretty sure that, even if you knew the truth, it probably wouldn’t make a jot of difference. You would still have disapproved. Everything I do seems to displease you.’

She looked steadily into his eyes, simply stating a fact, in perfect control of her emotions. ‘In your eyes I’m incapable of doing anything right. I felt I simply couldn’t win.’

‘Is that really how you feel?’ A pained look touched his eyes. ‘Surely not?’ He shook his head. ‘Lord, what have I done to you?’ He reached across the table and took hold of her hand. ‘I have an awful lot to make up to you,’ he said.

Sofia very nearly didn’t snatch her hand away, but then at the very last moment she did. Dropping it into her lap, she sat back in her seat as he continued, ‘Sofia, I really do want to make things up to you. I’m beginning to realise I’ve made a lot of mistakes in the course of our marriage. But I’m sure it’s not too late to start putting those wrongs right.’

He leaned towards her across the table, the dark eyes urgent. ‘Will you give me a chance, Sofia? Even though I don’t deserve it.’

Sofia was staring back at him in total speechless astonishment. Were her ears deceiving her? Was this really Damiano saying these things? Apologising? Admitting he’d made mistakes? Asking her to give him a chance? Suddenly the world was spinning backwards.

He was still leaning towards her with that intense look in his eyes. ‘You know, I was so proud when I saw you on stage,’ he told her. ‘Though I must say it’s not the first time you’ve made me proud recently. I’ve felt privileged on quite a few occasions to have you as my wife.’ He smiled. ‘And you really do make a wonderfully regal Fairy Godmother.’

Sofia could feel her heart pumping erratically inside her. He wasn’t fooling her. This was for real. She could see it in his eyes. And she could see something else there that she had never seen before: a warmth and a tenderness that looked very close to love.

He was reaching out his hand again, silently asking for hers. ‘Will you give me a chance? Let me try and make it up to you? Will you, Sofia? I really hope you’ll say yes.’

‘I don’t know.’ She wanted to say yes, but all at once she felt frightened. She glanced down at the white tablecloth. ‘I don’t know,’ she said again.

There was a pause, then she heard him say, very softly, ‘Please, Sofia.’ She looked up at him and felt her heart jolt. It was hopeless. She could not resist as the dark eyes seemed to swallow her. With a small shiver she reached out her hand and let him enfold it in his.

‘We have a lot of ground to make up.’ Gently, he squeezed her fingers. ‘A lot of talking to do. And a lot of setting the record straight. But not tonight,’ he added, frowning a little as he watched her. ‘You look tired. What you need is an early night. In fact, I think we should cut this dinner short and get you home to bed straight away.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Besides, it’s later than I thought.’

Sofia did not argue. ‘Yes, I am a little tired.’ For she was vaguely aware of that light-headed feeling again—though this time it was probably shock as much as tiredness! ‘I’ll just make a quick visit to the Ladies,’ she told him, ‘then we can go.’

‘I’ll wait for you here.’ As she stood up, Damiano stood up too, drew her towards him and kissed her softly on the lips. ‘I’m glad we had this dinner. I think we’ve straightened a few things out.’

Sofia headed off to the Ladies feeling as though her feet were barely touching the ground. Was this really happening? Now, when she’d decided it never would? She felt hope light up inside her and happiness lap at her heart, and though there was still a small reserve of caution and fear inside her it was growing smaller by the minute. What she had seen in his eyes was real. She was almost completely sure of it.

When she emerged a few minutes later there was a smile on her lips. She couldn’t wait to get back to him, to climb into the car and go home with him. She couldn’t wait to see that warm, tender look in his eyes again.

But her smile vanished on her way past the open doorway to the main restaurant as, for no reason at all, she cast a quick glance inside. She stopped in her tracks, the blood freezing in her veins.

For sitting at one of the tables with a group of companions was the ever ravishing-looking Lady Fiona. And as Sofia stared at her unseen Fiona glanced quickly at her watch, then, murmuring something to her companion, began .to rise to her feet.

For a moment Sofia could not move. What was going on? she was asking herself. For all at once she was recalling how Damiano had looked at his watch too, and his sudden desire to leave, saying it was later than he’d thought. Did he and Fiona have a secret appointment? Was he planning to pack her off home so he could meet up with his mistress? Was that what this was all about? Suddenly, she was certain it was.

Her stomach churning inside her with anger and betrayal, Sofia headed for the room where Damiano was waiting for her, bursting through the door, so that he sprang to his feet, frowning.

‘Sofia,’ he demanded, ‘are you OK?’

Sofia walked up to the table, feeling like a robot, snatched up one of the wine glasses and threw the contents in his face.

‘No, as a matter of fact, I’m not OK,’ she said.

Then she collapsed in a dead faint on the floor.