In The Italian's Bed

‘Ashley phoned me,’ she explained. ‘She said her mother was ill and was there any chance that I could come here and look after the gallery for a few days while she went to England. She said she wanted to leave immediately. That she was worried about her mother and she’d leave the keys with the caretaker of her apartment.’

‘So you crossed in transit?’

‘In a manner of speaking. But Ashley’s mother and I live in different parts of the country.’

‘Ah.’ He nodded. ‘So your sister had every reason to believe that she would not be found out in her deception.’

‘I suppose so.’ Clearly she didn’t want to admit it, but Rafe could see the acknowledgement in her face. She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe she’d think she’d get away with it. I could have phoned Andrea. I could have found out she wasn’t ill for myself.’

‘But you did not?’

‘No.’ Tess shrugged her slim shoulders and her hands dropped to her sides. ‘Ashley knows I was unlikely to do that, in any case. Andrea and I have never been particularly close.’

‘Yet you must have been very young when your mother died,’ he probed, and then could have kicked himself for his insensitivity. But it was too late now and he was forced to explain himself. ‘I assumed this woman—your father’s second wife—would have cared for you, too.’

Tess shook her head. ‘Andrea has always been a—a delicate woman,’ she said. ‘Having two young children to look after would have been too much for her. I went to live with my mother’s sister. She’d never married and she was a teacher, too.’

Poor Tess. Rafe made no comment, but it sounded to him as if Andrea Daniels was as unfeeling and as selfish as her daughter. ‘It seems we have both been deceived,’ he said, softening his tone deliberately. ‘It is a pity your sister does not carry a mobile. Marco’s is switched off.’

‘But she does,’ exclaimed Tess excitedly, animation giving her porcelain-pale features a startling allure. Her smile appeared and Rafe had to warn himself of the dangers of responding to her femininity. ‘Why didn’t I think of it before? She gave me the number when she moved to Porto San Michele.’

Rafe expelled a harsh breath. ‘You have the number with you?’

‘Of course.’ She swung about and headed back into the office where she’d left her bag. She emerged a few seconds later, clutching a scrap of paper. ‘Here it is. Do you want to ring her, or shall I?’

Rafe realised suddenly that, almost without his volition, they had become co-conspirators. She was now as anxious to know where her sister had gone as he was. But once again he reminded himself not to get involved with her, however innocently. She was still his enemy’s sister. In any conflict of wills, she would choose Ashley every time.

‘If you wish that I should make the call, then I will,’ he told her politely, but he could hear the formal stiffness in his tone. ‘Even so, perhaps it would be wiser for you to phone her. If she hears my voice…’

‘Oh. Oh, yes.’

He didn’t elaborate but Tess understood at once what he was saying. The animation died out of her face and she averted her eyes. It was as if she’d just remembered that she owed him no favours either. That however justified he felt, she had only his word that Ashley was to blame for his son’s disappearance.

With an offhand little gesture, she returned to the office, only to emerge again a few minutes later, her expression revealing she had had no luck. ‘Ashley’s phone is switched off, too,’ she said, and Rafe could see she was losing faith in her sister. She heaved a sigh. ‘It looks as if you were right all along. What are you going to do now?’

Rafe wished he had an answer. There was hardly any point in saying what he’d like to do. ‘Continue searching, presumo,’ he replied at last, choosing the least aggressive option. ‘There are many holiday resorts between here and Genova. It is possible that your sister hired an automobile at the airport. They could be anywhere. It will not be an easy task.’

‘Mmm.’ Tess was thoughtful. A pink tongue circled her lower lip and Rafe realised she didn’t know how provocative that was. ‘Will you let me know if you find them?’ she asked ‘I mean—find Ashley.’ Becoming colour scored her cheeks. ‘You know what I mean.’

Rafe knew what she meant all right. What he didn’t know at that moment was whether he wanted to see her again. She was far too young for him, far too vulnerable. Despite her being the older, he’d stake his life that Ashley was far more worldly than she was.

The notion annoyed him however. What in the name of all the saints was he thinking? She wasn’t asking to see him again. She was asking if he’d keep her informed about her sister. Va bene, he could get his assistant to do that with a phone call. Providing he found out where her sister had gone…

‘Si,’ he said abruptly, buttoning his jacket in an unconsciously defensive gesture and heading for the door. He turned in the doorway, however, to bid her farewell and was surprised by a strangely disappointed look on her face. With her slim hands clasped at her waist, she looked lost and lonely, and before he could stop himself he added, ‘Perhaps you could do the same?’

Her green eyes widened. ‘I don’t know where to reach you,’ she said, as he’d known she would. Maledizione, he hadn’t intended to give her his phone number. How easily he’d fallen into the trap.

He would have to give her his card, he decided, reaching into his jacket pocket. That way Giulio could handle it and he needn’t be involved. To give her his mobile number would have been kinder, obviously, but why should he put himself out for the sister of the woman who had seduced his son?

He took a few paces back into the gallery and handed the card to her. Her fingers brushed his knuckles as she took it and he couldn’t deny the sudden frisson of desire that seared his flesh. He wanted her, he thought incredulously. Combat boots and all, she attracted him. Or maybe he was feeling his age and seducing her would give him some compensation for what her sister had done to Marco. What other reason could he have for the feelings she inspired?

Whatever, he dismissed the idea impatiently. He was obviously having some kind of midlife crisis because girls like Tess had never appealed to him before. He liked his women young—well, reasonably so, but far more sophisticated. They wore designer dresses and heels, and they’d never dream of going out without make-up on their faces.

Vigneto di Castelli, his card read, and he watched Tess’s expression as she looked at it. ‘You have a vineyard,’ she murmured. ‘How exciting! I’ve never met anyone who actually owned a vineyard before.’

Nor had her sister, thought Rafe drily. He was too cynical to believe that Marco’s background hadn’t figured in Ashley’s plans. He still had no idea what her ultimate intentions were, of course, but he suspected that a pay-off would be part of it. He’d encountered the ploy before with his daughter. But fortunately Maria had been eighteen, not sixteen at the time.

‘It is a small operation, signorina,’ he said now deprecatingly. ‘Many families in Italy have taken to growing grapes with the increase in wine drinking in recent years.’

‘All the same…’ Her lips curved beguilingly, and Rafe felt the familiar pull of awareness inside him. Time to go, he thought grimly, before he invited her to visit the villa. He could just imagine his mother’s horror if he returned home with someone like Tess in tow.

‘Ci vediamo, signorina,’ he said politely as he retraced his steps to the door but she wouldn’t let him have the last word.

‘My name’s Tess,’ she reminded him, following him out onto the esplanade and watching as he strode away towards his car.

And, although he didn’t answer her, he knew that was how he would think of her. Somehow the name suited her personality. It was as capricious and feminine as she was.

As he’d half expected, his mother was waiting for him when he returned to the Villa Castelli.

A tall, elegant woman in her mid-sixties, she’d moved back into the villa six years ago when he’d divorced his wife. Rafe’s father had died almost twenty years before and he was sure that looking after Maria and Marco had given the old lady a new lease of life. Of course, she’d never forgiven him for divorcing Gina. In the Castelli family marriages were made to last and her strict religious beliefs rebelled against such secular freedom. Nevertheless, she had proved a tower of strength on many occasions and it was only recently that she had decided that the time had come to move back into the small farmhouse she’d occupied on the estate since Raphael’s father’s death.

Rafe knew her decision had been partly influenced by his son’s behaviour. Although Maria had had her own period of rebellion, she had been fairly easy to control in comparison to her brother. Marco was self-willed and headstrong—much as he had been at the same age, Rafe acknowledged honestly—but without the sense of responsibility his father had instilled in him.

‘You’ve seen her?’

His mother’s first words reminded Rafe that, as far as Lucia di Castelli was concerned, Ashley Daniels was still running the Medici Gallery. His main reason for visiting the gallery had been to find out if Ashley knew where Marco was hiding. Instead of which he’d met her sister and discovered he was not too old to make a fool of himself, too.

‘She’s not at the gallery,’ he said with contrived carelessness, strolling onto the loggia where his mother was waiting enjoying a mid-morning cappuccino. It was very warm on the loggia and Rafe loosened his tie and pulled it a couple of inches away from his collar before approaching a glass-topped table and helping himself to one of the thin, honey-soaked biscotti Lucia loved. ‘Verdicci appears to have been correct. They have gone away together.’ He glanced round as a uniformed maid came to ask if there was anything he required. ‘Just coffee, Sophia,’ he replied pleasantly. ‘Black.’ Then to his mother. ‘Her sister is looking after the gallery while she’s away.’

‘Her sister?’

His mother was sceptical, and Rafe guessed she’d jumped to the same conclusion he had. ‘Her sister,’ he confirmed, flinging himself into a cane-backed chair and staring broodingly out across the gardens below the terrace. ‘Believe me, she is nothing like this woman Marco has got himself involved with.’

‘How do you know this?’ Lucia’s dark eyes narrowed. ‘I thought you said you wouldn’t recognise the woman if you saw her.’

‘I wouldn’t.’ Rafe realised he had been far too definite. ‘But Tess is a schoolteacher. And, believe me, she’s as much in the dark as we are. Ashley had given her some story about going home to care for her sick mother.’

‘Tess!’ Lucia scoffed. ‘What kind of a name is that?’

‘It’s Teresa,’ replied Rafe evenly, thanking the maid who had delivered his coffee. He turned back to his mother in some irritation. ‘We won’t get anywhere by picking fault with one of the few people who might be able to help us.’

‘How can this woman help us? You said yourself she doesn’t know where her sister is.’

‘Ashley may get in touch with her. If she wants Teresa to go on believing the story she’s given her, she may feel the need to embellish it in some way.’

Lucia’s mouth drew into a thin line. ‘It sounds to me as if this—this sister of the Daniels woman has made quite an impression on you, Raphael,’ she declared tersely. ‘Why do you believe her? What proof do you have that she’s telling you the truth?’

None at all! ‘Believe me, she was as shocked as we were,’ he responded stiffly. ‘You can’t blame her for what her sister’s done.’