It Happened In Rome: The Forced Bride / The Italian's Rags-to-Riches Wife / The Italian's Passionate Revenge

‘But why should he be upset?’ Emily shrugged. ‘He certainly doesn’t want me either, so why the hell should he care how the marriage ends, just as long as it does?’

‘Because I don’t think it’ll be that simple. Not with him.’ Simon paused. ‘God—you didn’t mention me in all this, did you?’

Emily’s frown deepened at the anxiety in his voice. ‘Not by name, but I made it clear I planned to remarry. I’m not ashamed of that. Or of you, for that matter.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And I also think it’s time that Count Di Salis realised he can’t always have his own way.’

She paused. ‘And now let’s have a drink. I asked Penny to put some champagne on ice to celebrate the morning’s achievements, but maybe you’d prefer a large Scotch instead.’

‘Make it a treble,’ Simon said moodily. ‘And have one yourself. Because I’m telling you now, Em, before this business is finished you’re going to need it.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘I WON’T see him,’ Emily said stormily. ‘I will not.’

‘And just how,’ Simon asked, ‘do you plan to avoid him?’

‘I don’t know. But I’ll find some way.’ She looked at the piece of paper crumpled in her hand. ‘As soon as I received his letter I wrote back, making it perfectly clear that I wouldn’t meet him under any circumstances. That any discussion must be conducted only through our lawyers.’

‘Hell’s bells.’ Simon sounded startled. ‘Surely you don’t expect old Henshaw to handle this kind of thing? It would be the death of him.’

‘Of course not,’ Emily returned irritably. ‘He’s Raf’s cotrustee, for heaven’s sake. Thinks the sun shines out of him. No, I was planning to hire some big-hitter from London. Someone who won’t run scared of the great Count Di Salis.

‘And now—today—I get back from shopping,’ she added furiously, ‘to find this—this bloody telephone message, saying that he’s arriving in England in forty-eight hours time and I can expect to see him the following day.’

She swallowed. ‘What’s worse, he actually dared to tell Penny that he couldn’t wait to see me again, and now she’s being all arch and asking which room she should prepare for him, and what would he like for dinner?’

‘I didn’t know she was such a romantic,’ Simon muttered.

Emily glared at him. ‘He flirts with her,’ she said stonily. ‘Outrageously.’ She shook her head. ‘Oh, God, Simon, what am I going to do? And please don’t say “I told you so.”’

Simon was silent for a moment. ‘Have you called him back?’

She shook her head. ‘I came straight here to ask your advice.’

Simon chewed on his lip. He seemed, Emily thought, as much on edge as she was herself.

‘Why not get in touch with him?’ he said at last. ‘See if you can head him off by agreeing to his quickie divorce.’

‘Never,’ she said fiercely.

‘But what other solution is there—apart from running away, of course?’

Emily lifted her head and stared at him. ‘Simon,’ she said. ‘Darling, you’re a genius.’ She nodded, her eyes narrowing. ‘When he arrives, I just won’t be there. Penny can tell him quite truthfully that I’ve gone away for an indefinite period and left no forwarding address.’

Her mouth curled. ‘The world of finance is bound to collapse without him, so he won’t want to hang around, waiting for my return. Apart from anything else, it would make him look very silly,’ she added reflectively.

‘And, as soon as he’s out of the way again, I can get the annulment started.’ She gave a small exultant laugh. ‘Everything beautifully sorted.’

‘But where will you go?’ Simon asked. ‘You haven’t got long to decide.’

‘Somewhere that he won’t even dream of looking.’ She thought for a moment, her bottom lip caught in her teeth. ‘I can’t use my passport, of course. I’m sure he could trace me. So it will have to be some incredibly unlikely place in this country.’

There was another silence, then Simon said slowly, ‘Actually, I might be able to help you there. Some people I know have a weekend cottage in Scotland—a village miles from anywhere called Tullabrae. They rent the place out when they’re not using it.’

‘Scotland?’ Emily repeated. ‘I don’t suppose Raf even knows where that is.’ She looked at him, her eyes sparkling. ‘Is it empty at the moment?’

Simon looked towards the window, at the expanse of wintry sky, and pulled a face. ‘Almost certainly, I’d say.’

‘God, it could save my life.’ She thought rapidly. ‘I could rent it for two weeks. That will give Raf plenty of time to give me up as a bad job and go back to Paris or Hong Kong or wherever he’s operating from at the moment.’ She put an eager hand on his arm. ‘Could you contact them for me—make the arrangements? Tell them I’ll pay cash.’

He looked down at the carpet. ‘Yes—I suppose so.’ His tone sounded strange. ‘If that’s what you really want.’

‘Well, of course it is.’ She was puzzled. ‘It sounds ideal. And as you say, I haven’t much time.’

He made no reply and she looked at him, frowning a little. ‘Darling, is something wrong? You’ve been odd ever since I got here.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He summoned a smile. ‘It’s just—Scotland in January. The weather could be tricky.’

‘All the better,’ Emily said triumphantly. ‘Count Di Salis prefers his snow in the Italian Alps, designer style. The domestic kind won’t appeal to him at all.’

For a moment he hesitated, then got to his feet. ‘Then I’ll email them now. Make the deal.’ He paused at the door. ‘Shall I ask Tracey to bring you a hot drink? I won’t specify the flavour, as everything tastes like dishwater.’

Emily wrinkled her nose. ‘Thanks, my love, but no thanks.’ She hesitated. ‘Have you told your aunt and uncle yet that Mrs Whipple left? I bet they’re devastated after all these years. I know how I’d feel if Penny gave notice.’

‘I haven’t said anything yet. They’re having such a great time on their trip, I don’t want to spoil things. And I’ll hire someone else before they get back.’

Left alone, Emily looked around her. The drawing room at High Gables had always been a gracious room, with its beautiful Chinese carpet and pastel furnishings, but since the housekeeper’s departure it was beginning to look shabby and unloved. Bare too, she thought, with faint puzzlement. The Georgian candlesticks were missing from the mantelpiece and the bow-fronted cabinet containing Celia Aubrey’s prized collection of Meissen figurines seemed half-empty.

It still seemed incredible that Mrs Whipple should have left while her employers were on their holiday of a lifetime, visiting relatives and old friends on a leisurely trip that would take them all round the world.

And even worse that her place had been taken by Tracey Mason, even temporarily, who’d been sacked as a barmaid from the Red Lion for poor timekeeping and general laziness.

And with no one to keep an eye on her except Simon, who was house-sitting in the Aubreys’ absence and running his own import business from High Gables at the same time.

But, although he might jib at Tracey’s coffee, manlike, he probably didn’t notice unpolished furniture and smeared windows, or tally the amount of breakages.

I hope he does look for a permanent replacement for her soon, Emily thought with a sigh, because the house is beginning to look really sad now.

As though its pulse had stopped beating. And that wouldn’t have happened in Mrs Whipple’s day.

Much as Emily had grieved for her father, she’d been determined, after his death, to see that the Manor remained just as it had been, with all the gracious charm he’d loved, setting her face resolutely against any suggestions of further modernisation. And, although it galled her to admit it, Raf Di Salis had accepted her stance and allowed her to have her way.

She got up restively and went to the window. I don’t want to give him credit, she thought, but in this case I have to. He’s fulfilled his part of the bargain. And I—I haven’t made waves. Or, not until now.

She sometimes wondered if she hadn’t been pressured into becoming his wife—if he’d simply acted as her trustee—whether they could have managed some semblance of a working relationship.

In the months before the bombshell of her father’s terminal illness had burst on her, she might not have welcomed Raf’s visits but she’d almost become accustomed to them.

And when she’d been summoned home from school in the middle of the summer term to the news that Sir Travers had suddenly collapsed, she’d been almost glad to find him there and had come almost insensibly to rely on his quiet, almost impersonal kindness in the trauma of the weeks that followed.