The Baby Gambit

Grace gulped. ‘You know nothing about me.’

‘Okay.’ But she sensed he was only humouring her. Dear God, she wondered, what had Julia been telling him about her? She’d never thought of that. ‘Bene, I suggest we get to know one another, as you say. You can’t have a problem with that.’

Couldn’t she?

Grace just wanted this conversation to be over, not just for her sake, but for Julia’s as well. She wasn’t sure what he meant, what he wanted, but as far as she was concerned he was off limits in a big, big way.

‘Look, I’ve got to go,’ she said, praying her friend wasn’t up in the apartment at this moment gazing down on this scene which would look decidedly suspicious from a distance. ‘Thank you for the lift.’ She swallowed. ‘I was tired. It’s been a long day.’

‘I would have taken you to Viareggio,’ he said softly, and although he hadn’t moved Grace could feel his eyes on her mouth like a palpable caress. ‘Tell me, have you found the time to visit the monastery of our local martyr, Sant’ Emilio di Falco?’

He must know she hadn’t, thought Grace crossly. She’d only been here a few days, after all. ‘Oh, I’ve got lots of sightseeing to do yet,’ she told him, trying to sound crisply positive. ‘And now I really must—’

‘Let me take you tomorrow,’ he broke in, as she’d half expected he would. ‘Or the day after. It’s not the easiest place to get to, but I can assure you it’s well worth the visit.’

‘I’m sure it is, but I don’t know what Julia’s got planned for the rest of the week,’ declared Grace, barely civilly, and, removing his fingers from her arm, she thrust open the car door.

When she was safely on the pavement outside the Villa Modena, she permitted herself one last salvo. ‘I intend to hire a car myself, signore. I’m sure it will be easier, in the circumstances.’

She thought he’d let her go then; she expected him to drive away without another word, but she hadn’t counted on his innate courtesy. As she waited, hands clutching her tote bag like a lifeline, he vaulted out of the vehicle, coming round to where she was standing rooted to the spot.

‘I’ll see you to the apartment,’ he said, and although she wanted to tell him it wasn’t necessary his expression now warned her that she had probably said too much already. So, without another word, she walked rather jerkily through the gates, entering the building through the arched doorway, and ascending the shallow staircase that rose on her right.

She heard rather than saw the old caretaker emerge from his apartment on the ground floor and gaze after them, but she didn’t stop to offer a greeting as she normally did. There were two flights of stairs to Julia’s apartment, and she climbed them without pausing, only aware that her knees were shaking when she reached the second landing.

It was necessary to find her key when she reached the door, but to her relief it came easily into her hand. Then, pushing it into the lock, she turned to face him, her fingers on the handle behind her supporting her quivering legs.

‘Thanks again,’ she said, brushing her braid back over her shoulder. ‘At least I’ve got a bit more time to make Julia a meal.’ She forced herself to go on. ‘Unless she’s going out with you, of course. Then I’ll only have to cook for one. But, in any case, I’ll find the time to tell her how—how kind you’ve been.’

‘Will you?’ He didn’t sound particularly interested in what she told his girlfriend. ‘If you take my advice, you’ll forget about running after Julia, and have a bath and then get into bed. We both know you’re exhausted. That’s why you can’t cope with how you feel But don’t insult me by pretending you harbour any gratitude towards me. Our association—short though it is—has progressed much too far for that.’

CHAPTER FOUR (#u43995f21-c241-5a6a-8949-208d318b1091)

IT WAS the following evening before Grace got a chance to talk to her friend again.

Julia had phoned the previous evening to say that she’d been asked to work an extra couple of hours and that Grace should expect her when she saw her. ‘You go to bed if you’re tired,’ she’d suggested kindly, knowing in advance how Grace had intended to spend her day. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

But in the morning Grace slept late, having spent most of the night fretting about her encounter with Matteo di Falco, and by the time she emerged from her bedroom Julia had gone.

Consequently, it was a good twenty-four hours before she could tell Julia what had happened and by then much of the resentment she had been feeling had dispersed. Perhaps she had overreacted, she brooded. He had only been civil, after all. And time had a habit of making the memory selective so that she was no longer so certain of the facts.

Her doubts weren’t helped by Julia’s reaction either. The other woman seemed to regard what had happened as characteristic of Matteo. ‘He’s like that,’ she declared carelessly. ‘He must have realised how beat you were. I’m sorry if you thought he shouldn’t have followed you. I guess he thought he was only being kind.’

Kind was not an adjective Grace would have used to describe Matteo di Falco, but Julia didn’t really want to hear about that. And, in the circumstances, there was no way Grace could have told her about his offering to take her to the monastery of Sant’ Emilio di Falco. She was afraid if she did so Julia might suspect she was trying to split them up, when in fact that was the last thing she wanted to do.

All the same, she had spent at least part of the previous night worrying whether Julia had any real grounds for believing that, just because she was carrying his child, Matteo would agree to marry her. The more Grace thought about him, the more convinced she became that he was unlikely to be coerced into anything, whatever pressure his grandmother might put upon him. He might deny it, for instance. He might even call Julia a liar. And even if a blood test eventually proved his paternity, who would look after Julia until the baby was born?

Grace found it all very unsatisfactory, and she knew that if she was in Julia’s shoes there was no way she’d be able to wait cold-bloodedly for several months before telling Matteo she was pregnant. In fact, she found the whole idea of Julia’s being pregnant rather repugnant, and she didn’t really approve of the underhanded way she was keeping it to herself.

That was why, when they were sitting on the balcony, having a glass of wine after supper, she felt compelled to bring the subject up again. However reluctant she might be to talk about Matteo di Falco, she told herself she had to try and understand Julia’s motives.

‘When—when did you find out?’ she asked. And then, seeing Julia’s blank expression, and realising she wasn’t privy to her thoughts, she added hurriedly, ‘About the baby? How long have you known?’

Julia shrugged. ‘Not long,’ she said offhandedly. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Well—for obvious reasons,’ murmured Grace awkwardly. ‘I mean, I just wondered when you intend to tell—Matt.’

Julia cast her a sardonic look. ‘I thought I already told you,’ she remarked drily. ‘When I’m sure the marchesa can’t do anything about it.’

‘But do you really think she’d suggest you have an abortion, anyway?’ Grace persisted. ‘She does have a Catholic background and I don’t think—’

‘You’d be surprised,’ Julia broke in. ‘These old aristocrats will do anything to protect their bloodlines, believe me.’

Grace sighed. ‘So when will you feel it’s safe to tell them? Two months, three months? Six months? How long do you think you can hide it? Babies show!’

‘Not all babies,’ retorted Julia. ‘Actually, I was reading a case the other day of a girl, a teenager, actually, who knew nothing about it until the baby arrived.’

‘You’re not a teenager, Julia.’

‘I know that. But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen to me.’ She sipped her wine. ‘I don’t know why you’re asking all these questions.’ Her brows drew together in sudden consternation. ‘You haven’t said anything to Matt?’

‘Of course not’ Grace was grateful that she could answer that question without restraint. ‘But—well, don’t you think you ought to tell him? You’re still working full time. He might want you to give up your job.’

‘And he might not,’ declared Julia flatly, raising one knee and examining a tiny red mark on her skin. ‘Dammit, I’ve been bitten. Let’s go back inside.’

Grace left the balcony with some reluctance. The insects didn’t bother her, and the night air was soft and seductive. She could smell the night-blooming flowers from the garden below, and somewhere close at hand a violin was playing. She could also hear the sound of laughter and the muted murmur of voices from a party someone was giving further down the street. For the first time in ages, she found herself wishing she was going out this evening. There was something about the atmosphere here, a sense of hedonism and sensuality, that was hard to ignore.

‘I think I’ll go to bed,’ said Julia as Grace entered the living room. She finished the wine in her glass and set it down on the counter in the kitchen with an audible clunk. Grace was surprised the stern didn’t break at such uncaring treatment, but it was evidently stronger than it looked. ‘You don’t mind, do you? I was fairly late last night.’

Grace shook her head. ‘Of course not,’ she said, feeling mean for even wishing Julia could change her mind. It wasn’t her friend’s fault that she’d chosen to spend the whole day in the apartment. She’d reputedly come here to have a rest. She had a good book to entertain her. Perhaps she should have an early night, too.

But, although she’d intended to use the bathroom as soon as Julia was finished, the water stopped running, Julia’s door opened and closed, and still Grace lingered in her chair. She was restless—a feeling that was unfamiliar to her, but clearly identifiable. She needed something, anything; the trouble was, she didn’t know what.

Getting up, she paced about the living room, stepping out onto the balcony, and resting her bare arms on the wrought-iron balustrade. Breathing deeply, she tried to calm the agitation inside her, but all she succeeded in doing was filling her lungs with the sensuous perfume of the flowers. Perhaps there was something in their scent, she mused wryly, but she couldn’t ever remember reading that jasmine or honeysuckle, or even the exotic oleander that grew in scarlet clusters round the crumbling fountain, possessed narcotic properties.

Perhaps she should go for a walk, she considered. It wasn’t late, only nine o’clock, and there were still plenty of people about. If she walked down to the harbour, she could always get a taxi back.

The idea took root and flourished. Why not? she asked herself again. She wasn’t the nervous type, and she had few fears for her own safety. She would have preferred to go with Julia, but in her absence she could go alone.

Straightening, she glanced down at what she was wearing. The slip dress with its pattern of orange lilies on a purple background was perfectly suitable for what she had planned, but she took a thin silk shawl to cover her shoulders, just in case it was cool down at the quayside. Then, after checking that the French braid she had fastened earlier was still in place, she left the apartment before she could change her mind.

The thick heels of her sandals clattered on the marble stairs as she descended, but she doubted anyone would hear her. It appeared as if Julia’s was the only apartment not hosting a social gathering of one sort or another that evening, and the mingled aromas of wine and pasta made Grace’s mouth water.

It seemed hours since she and Julia had eaten the cheese and salad that Grace had rustled up after her friend got home. Julia had come in, kicked off her shoes, and sprawled on the sofa with a magazine, and despite her assertion that she didn’t expect Grace to cook for her so far she had made no overtures in that direction herself.

Grace had thought Julia might bring something in with her. She’d told her friend she didn’t intend to go out today, but her words had evidently fallen on stony ground. In consequence, Grace had had to improvise, and although the meal had been tasty she now felt she knew where she stood. In future, she’d make sure they had plenty of food in the fridge.

Perhaps she’d treat herself to a gooey dessert, she reflected now as the caretaker, who never seemed to miss her comings and goings, emerged from his apartment as she reached the ground floor. Italians traditionally ate later than she was used to, and she wasn’t worried that the cafés might be closed.