The Italian Doctor's Mistress

CASA Di Musica was situated at the top of a very steep hill leading up from the promenade. The owner spoke English about as well as Danielle spoke Italian, but opera, she discovered, was universally understood, regardless of language. She had no difficulty making her needs known, and left the shop with a CD player and enough disc recordings of the world’s favorite operas to keep the most ardent fan happy.

By then it was well past noon and the delicious aroma of food wafting from a small sidewalk trattoria reminded her how long it had been since she’d enjoyed a good meal. Settling herself at an umbrella-shaded table, she ordered a large bottle of San Pellegrino water and a plate of linguine with clam sauce.

The weather again was perfect, the scene around her delightful. Her side of the street was lively, with people hurrying in and out of the shops. But across the street, couples strolled arm-in-arm along the shaded paths of yet another of Galanio’s many parks, while young mothers pushed baby carriages or watched their children feeding breadcrumbs to the birds.

Of course, her father’s precarious condition was never far from Danielle’s mind, but just for a little while, it was nice to relax and enjoy the ambience surrounding her. Below, a ferry chugged its way across the blue lake. Above, the Alps soared against the cloudless sky.

Small wonder tourists flocked to the area for its year-round attractions. Skiing, mountain climbing, hiking, boating, swimming—Galanio had it all. The town was so picture-postcard pretty, so vital and alive, that it was easy to forget those same attractions were the cause of accident victims being rushed through the doors of L’Ospedale di Karina Rossi on a daily basis, and placed under the skilled care of Carlo Rossi.

Lifting her face to the sun, Danielle closed her eyes. Immediately, he swam to the forefront of her mind: Carlo Rossi of the beautiful hands, the stormy gray eyes, and a mouth that made her own run dry and sent a surge of excitement shooting to the pit of her stomach. What did he look like naked? Were the parts hidden by his hospital greens as sensational as the rest of him?

“Ciao! Farà caldo eggi, si, signorina?”

Startled by the proximity of the sweet, girlish voice, she bolted upright in her seat and found Anita Rossi standing on the sidewalk, regarding her curiously.

“Oh, hello…ciao!” Danielle stammered, embarrassed to be caught in such an outrageous fantasy by the daughter of the man occupying altogether too much of her attention. “It’s nice to see you again, but I’m afraid I didn’t understand you just now.”

“I said that it is hot today, yes?”

“Very.”

“Were you sleeping?”

Danielle laughed. “No. Just daydreaming.”

“I do not know that word.”

“It means I was thinking—with my eyes closed.”

“About your father?”

“Among other things, yes. He’s very ill.” Anxious to change the subject, she hooked her finger around the strap of the leather satchel swinging from the child’s shoulder. “What about you, Miss Anita? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

The girl flashed a dimpled smile. “School is done for today. We begin lessons very early so that we finish early and have time to play. I was walking home through the park when I saw you, and I came to say ciao.”

“I’m very glad you did.” Danielle glanced around. “But do you usually walk home alone?”

“I was with my friends, but they have gone now.”

I hope you didn’t come here by yourself, her father had said, when she’d burst into his office that first day. He surely wouldn’t be pleased to know she was breaking the rules now.

“Perhaps I’d better walk the rest of the way with you, just to be sure you get home safely.”

“There is no need.” Anita shook her head and sent her long dark braids swinging. “I am almost eight. I know the way, and Calandria comes every day to meet me at the gates.” She pointed to the iron gates marking the entrance to the park, half a block down the street. “She is already there. I can see her.”

“Then you’d better not keep her waiting.”

“No, I must hurry. Bianca will have missed me. You must come and see her babies, signorina. They are most beautiful.”

And so are you, Danielle thought. In fact, you’re adorable! “Perhaps before I leave, I’ll do that,” she said. “Now off you go before you get us both into trouble. Ciao, Anita!”

“Ciao!” the little girl chirped merrily, turning to wave before she stepped off the curb into the road.

She wasn’t looking where she was going. And the driver of the car barreling down the hill wasn’t paying attention. Couldn’t have been, or he’d have seen the child blithely running into his path. But Danielle saw and felt sheer horror rising up to choke her.

She tried to leap out of her chair, to streak across the few feet separating her from Carlo Rossi’s beloved daughter. Yet although her heart was racing, her limbs seemed encased in molasses so thick and heavy that she moved in slow motion.

She heard the blare of a car horn, the shriek of brakes applied too late, the stifled cries of witnesses, and her own scream of warning bursting from a throat so filled with terror that she could hardly breathe. With a superhuman effort, she launched herself at the child, grasping roughly at that tender, slender body with desperate hands, and shoving it aside at the same time that she used herself as a shield.

And then…nothing but a searing pain in her side that crushed the breath from her lungs…and blackness rising up to swallow her whole…

“I saw Danielle Blake again this morning,” Zarah said, joining him in the staff lounge for a quick cup of coffee before they started afternoon rounds together. “It’s only the second time since she arrived here. I think she goes out of her way to avoid me.”

Annoyed at the way his flesh tightened at the mention of Danielle’s name, Carlo scowled at his espresso. So much for ridding her from his system!

There’d been women since Karina died. Of course there’d been women. They, though, had been the kind he could love for a night, and leave for a lifetime. But Danielle Blake…? Without even trying, she’d worked her way under his skin. He’d seen her once, and never forgotten her, much though he’d wished he could. Without knowing the first thing about her, he’d wanted her, and never mind if she was bad or good for him.

“You’re being ridiculous, Zarah. Why would she avoid you?”

“Because she knows I disapproved that she put you to the trouble of arranging hotel accommodation for her.” She sifted her fingers through her hair, a frequent habit when she was perplexed. “I confess I’m surprised by your actions, Carlo. It’s not like you to take such a personal interest in a non-patient.”

It wasn’t like him to wake up in the middle of a too-short night and find himself so aroused that he almost embarrassed himself, either, but he wasn’t about to admit that to his chief resident. “There was nothing personal about it,” he replied mildly. “At the time, she was clearly at the end of her rope, and I didn’t want her collapsing on the ICU floor.”

“Are we talking about the same person? I find her oddly unaffected by her father’s condition, despite her claims of concern.”

Her assessment coincided so exactly with his initial impressions that he was at a loss to explain his next comment. “Appearances can be deceiving, Zarah. I suspect what you interpret to be indifference might be more accurately described as rigid self-control. It’s not in her nature to show her emotions, but that’s not to say she’s incapable of feeling.”

“I have to disagree. I don’t think she cares whether the patient lives or dies.”

You should have let him die! He’d be better off!

“You may be right. I don’t pretend to know her well.” Carlo drained his coffee cup and brushed his hands together, dismissing the subject of Danielle Blake from the conversation and from his mind. “Let’s get started. I promised Anita I’d try to make it home early for a change.”

They were entering the ICU wing when he was paged. “Looks as if you’ll be taking rounds by yourself,” he told Zarah. “I’m needed in Emergency.”

He had no premonition of what awaited him. None of the prickling anticipation of disaster he so often experienced when an accident victim was brought in barely clinging to life. Not even when he pushed open the swinging doors to the Emergency Unit and saw the troubled faces of his staff turned his way, did it occur to him that their concern was directed as much at him personally as it was for the patients awaiting his care.

“What do we have?” he asked his E.R. resident, Gino Ferrari, noting curtains drawn around two cubicles. “Another auto pileup in the mountains?”

“No, Carlo,” Gino said somberly. “This time, it happened here in town, and I’m sorry to tell you your daughter is one of those involved.”

“Anita? You’re mistaken!” Disbelieving, he shook off the statement. It was absurd. For at least the last half hour, Anita had been at home, working on her after-school assignments. A glance at the clock on the wall assured him of that.

Then the absolute silence of those around him struck, and insidious tendrils of doubt tried to take hold. “Anita?” he said again, and felt his disbelief dissolve into formless dread.

“Afraid so, Carlo.”

“Where is she?”