Lucy Gordon - Rinaldo’s Inherited Bride

‘You dumped him?’ Gino cried joyfully.

‘No, he dumped me. I found out on the night of the festival that he’d vetoed my partnership and got engaged to his mousy secretary. I went back to England to have the satisfaction of telling him a few home truths, face to face.’

‘I’ll wager you did it in great style,’ Rinaldo observed.

‘Oh, I did. In front of everyone. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed that. My lawyer will go after the firm for a settlement. I’ve put my apartment on the market, and after that there was nothing left to do but come back here.’

‘You couldn’t have notified us that you were arriving, in a sensible, civilised manner?’ Rinaldo observed.

‘Where’s the fun in that? Actually, I didn’t mean to be so late, but I had to pick up the car I’ve bought on the way and that delayed me.

‘I didn’t mean to awaken you, so I arrived as quietly as I could. I didn’t slam the door when I got out, and I climbed in by that window over there, the one that doesn’t close properly.

‘So here I am. This is my home too now. Get used to me, gentlemen, because I’ve come to stay.’

SOME women would have splashed out on a new wardrobe. Alex had splashed out on a car that reduced both brothers to awed silence. It managed to be stylish, glossily expensive and ‘heavy-duty’ at the same time.

‘How much?’ Rinaldo murmured.

‘More than I could afford,’ Alex said happily.

‘I take my hat off to you.’

The car declared that she had come to stay, big time. She’d already said so in words, but this affirmed it.

‘I’m going to drive a lot over the next week or so,’ she said. ‘I want to see every single part of Belluna. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘I have no right to mind.’

His tone was impeccably polite, but she would have preferred the knockabout that she had become used to. Since her return both men seemed to be treating her with kid gloves. Gino’s manner was gentle, Rinaldo’s was wary.

She began to study Belluna at close quarters. The year was moving on and it would soon be time for harvest. Wherever she went she found people who knew about her through the grapevine, and who treated her with cautious respect until they discovered that she knew a little Tuscan. Then there were smiles, laughter at her mistakes, eagerness to teach her.

One of her most enjoyable moments came when she returned from a trip to find Rinaldo standing by the side of the road next to his broken-down car.

It was rare for him to dress ‘for best’. Old shirt and shabby jeans were his normal attire around the farm. But now he wore a charcoal suit that was both elegant and fashionable, plus a tie.

His hair was brushed and tidy, and he looked almost like a different man. A handsome man, with and ‘air’, an extra something that most men did not have. Combined with the authority that was natural to him, it made him startlingly attractive. Alex felt a soft thud in the pit of her stomach.

She drew up and sat waiting at the wheel as he approached.

‘If you dare laugh-’ he growled.

‘Nothing was further from my thoughts,’ she said un-truthfully. ‘Is the break-down truck on its way?’

‘No, because I came out without my phone today. I’m warning you-’ Her lips had twitched.

‘Don’t get stroppy with me,’ she advised him, ‘or I’ll drive off and leave you here.’

‘No, you won’t,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘You’d never sink that low.’

‘I could try and force myself,’ she said, getting out of the car and heading for the boot. ‘But I have towing gear, and it seems a shame to waste it.’

They recovered the equipment from the boot of her car.

‘You’d better keep back and let me do the work,’ she told him. ‘Or you might spoil your suit.’

His answer was to strip off his jacket and shirt.

He shouldn’t have done that, she thought, not when she was trying to concentrate on what she was doing. How was she supposed to keep her mind on work when he was standing there, the sun burnishing his torso?

She guessed he must work like this a good deal, for the tan was even all over his broad back, shoulders and chest. With his tall figure and powerful neck, he looked exactly what he was, a forceful, virile male. And she was supposed to think about towing gear. There was no justice in the world.

She forced her attention back to the work, managing to do her full share, moving deftly and skilfully.

‘I see you know what you’re doing,’ he said.

‘If you’d experienced as much prejudice about women drivers as I have, you’d make sure you could do things for yourself, as well,’ she informed him. ‘The garages are the worst. They assume you’re an idiot. One manager told me to bring my husband in and he’d explain it. In this day and age! Oh, heck!’

The exclamation was drawn from her by her hair flopping over her forehead. It was years since she’d needed to brush back her hair, but these days it seemed to happen all the time.

How long had it been since she’d visited a hair salon? Instead of being immaculately styled and coiffed, her hair had grown, becoming almost shaggy. When she finished work and stood up, the slight breeze made it blow about her face.

He replaced his clothes and got into the passenger seat.

‘Where shall I take you?’ she asked when they were on the road.

‘There’s a garage halfway to Florence that will repair the car. When we’ve dropped it there I need to go into the city to keep an appointment. I’ll get a taxi home.’

‘I don’t mind waiting for you. I can do some shopping.’

‘There’s no need,’ he said briefly.

‘Oh, I see. Like that.’

‘What do you mean, like that?’

‘You know what I mean. You don’t want me to know where you’re going. I expect it’s a secret assignation with a mystery woman-’

‘Why would it have to be a secret? I’m a free agent. I do as I please.’

‘Well, perhaps she isn’t the only one,’ she said, wishing he would deny it.

‘You could have a whole harem dotted around Florence,’ she persisted when he stayed silent. ‘Or maybe-’

‘I’m visiting the accountant.’

It took a moment to subdue the flicker of pleasure that he wasn’t visiting a woman. When she was sure she could speak steadily she said,

‘Ah! Yes, I understand. You’re afraid I’ll want to come too.’

‘And I’m sure you will,’ he said with a sigh of resignation.

‘Well, I might drop in, just to do you a favour.’

He ground his teeth. ‘Turn off here for the garage.’

He could be as grumpy as he liked, she thought. Nothing could quell the feeling that surged over her. She didn’t analyse it, but it felt alarmingly like joy simply because he was here. She tried to file it away to be examined later, but it wouldn’t be sidelined so easily.

When they’d delivered the car to the garage she swung back onto the road to Florence.

‘Where am I heading?’ she asked, as they entered the city.

‘The Via Bonifacio Lupi. His name is Enrico Varsi.’

‘Is it all right if I come in with you?’

‘You’re asking me?’

‘I’m asking you.’

‘And if I say no?’

‘Then I’ll wait meekly outside. But I’ll put arsenic in your soup.’

He didn’t reply, and she couldn’t take her eyes off the road, but she knew, with total certainty, that he was grinning.

It was the area of Florence where lawyers and accountants congregated, a place of sedate streets and decorum. Alex had to park a little way up the road and walk back, studying the plaques by the doors. One, in particular, caught her attention, causing her to stop and study it for so long that Rinaldo had to call out,

‘If you don’t come now I shall go in without you.’

She scurried to catch up. ‘You gave in,’ she teased.

She could have sworn he ground his teeth. ‘I did not give in, I merely recognise that you have certain financial rights, and I wish to behave properly.’

‘Same thing,’ she jeered.

‘Get in there before I strangle you.’

Signor Varsi’s offices were luxurious, the surroundings of a very successful man. He spoke well, covering complex matters without needing to refer to notes, and was clearly master of his material.

He behaved perfectly to her, showing the professional courtesy of one accountant to another. He did not talk down to her, and several times invited her opinion. She said as little as possible but her ears were pricked for anything she could learn.

Afterwards she and Rinaldo went for a coffee near the Duomo.

‘You’re very thoughtful,’ he said, glancing at her face.

‘I’m fascinated by the discovery that the Italian financial year runs from January the first to December the thirty-first.’

‘But of course it does,’ he said, puzzled. ‘What else could it be?’

‘In my country it’s April to April.’

‘And the British have the nerve to call Italians an illogical race?’

‘I know.’ She gave a brief laugh and went back to staring into her coffee.

‘Alex, are you all right?’

His unusually gentle tone made her look up. His was looking at her with grave concern that had no hint of irony or suspicion.

‘How do you mean-all right?’

‘You’ve lost the man you loved. You don’t let anyone see that you mind. You smile at Gino and me, you make jokes, and anyone who didn’t know you would think everything was fine in your world.’

‘Do you think you know me?’

‘As much as you’ll let me. And I know that you can’t really be as bright and cheerful as you seem. You’ve given me a shoulder to cry on in the past.’

Looking into his eyes she saw kindness, something she had never found there before. The sight was almost her undoing.

‘I’m not crying,’ she said huskily.

‘Most women would be after their fiancé dumped them for another woman.’