The Italian Match

Lucius came forward to greet her as she hesitated on the threshold of the room through which she had emerged, the look in his eyes as he scanned her shapely length tensing muscle and sinew. He was making no secret of the fact that he found her as much of a draw as she had to admit she found him. A man who might well be her cousin, she reminded herself forcibly. A first cousin, even.

The prospect of a family relationship was hardly enhanced by Donata’s open hostility. Her sister, Ottavia, was around twenty-seven or eight and married to a man some few years older named Marcello Brizzi. Their response to the introduction was courteous enough on the surface, but it was apparent that they too regarded her presence as an intrusion.

It was left to the matriarch of the family to show any warmth in her welcome. Skin almost as smooth as Gina’s own, the still luxuriant hair untouched by grey, she scarcely looked old enough to have a son Lucius’s age.

‘My son tells me you are half Italian yourself,’ she said. ‘I believe you never knew your father?’

Seated in one of the comfortable lounging chairs, the gin and tonic she had asked for to hand, Gina shook her head. ‘He died before I was born.’

Signora Carandente expressed her sympathy in a long, drawn sigh. ‘Such a terrible thing!’ She was silent for a moment, contemplating the girl before her. ‘You have older siblings, perhaps?’

Gina shook her head again, eliciting another sigh.

‘For a man to die without a son to carry on his name is a sad matter indeed! Should anything happen to Lucius before he produces a son, our own lineage will be finished too. You would think, would you not, that he would recognise such a responsibility?’

‘I am not about to die,’ he declared calmly.

‘Who can tell?’ his mother returned. ‘You must marry soon. You have a duty. And who better than Livia Marucchi!’

His shrug made light of the moment, but Gina sensed an underlying displeasure that such matters should be discussed in the presence of a stranger. She’d found the episode discomfiting enough herself. From what little she had seen of him, she judged him a man who would make his own decision about whom and when he should marry anyway. His choices, she was sure, would in no way be limited to one woman.

‘What was your father’s name?’ asked Ottavia, jerking her out of her thoughts and into sudden flaring panic. She wasn’t ready! Not yet!

‘Barsini,’ she said, plucking the name out of some distant memory without pause for consideration. ‘Alexander Barsini.’

She regretted the impulse the moment the words left her lips, but it was too late to retract.

‘Barsini,’ Ottavia repeated. ‘Which part of Italy did he come from?’

Having begun it, she was left with no option but to continue, Gina acknowledged ruefully. ‘Naples,’ she said off the top of her head.

‘He has family still living?’

This time Gina opted for at least a partial truth. ‘I don’t know. I came to Italy to try and find out.’

Ottavia’s brows lifted in a manner reminiscent of her brother, though minus any humour. ‘Your mother failed to maintain contact?’

Gina returned her gaze with a steadiness she was far from feeling. ‘My mother never met his family. They knew nothing of the marriage.’

‘I think that enough,’ Lucius cut in before his sister could continue the catechism. ‘Let the matter rest.’

Ottavia looked as if she found the command unpalatable, but she made no demur. Gina doubted, however, that her curiosity would remain contained. Catching Donata’s eye, she tried a smile, receiving a glare in return. There would be no softening of attitude there for certain. She was well and truly in the doghouse!

Dinner proved less of a banquet than anticipated, with no more than four courses. Gina drank sparingly of the free-flowing wines. She loved the reds, but they didn’t always love her. The last thing she needed was to waken with a hangover in the morning.

Lucius insisted that all conversation was conducted in English for her sake, which made her feel even more of an outsider. Marcello, she learned, was the estate comptroller, Ottavia a lady of leisure. The latter confined her questions this time to Gina’s present background, expressing astonishment on hearing she was a qualified accountant.

‘Such an unusual job for a woman!’ she exclaimed. ‘Do you not think so, Lucius?’

‘An admirable achievement for anyone,’ he returned, directing a smile that set every nerve in Gina’s body tingling. ‘Especially at so young an age.’

‘I’m twenty-five,’ she felt moved to respond. ‘Not that much younger than yourself, I imagine.’

The smile came again, accompanied by an unmistakable glint in the dark eyes. ‘Eight years is no obstacle, I agree.’

Obstacle to what, Gina didn’t need to ask. Neither, she was sure, did anyone else. That his interest in her was purely physical she didn’t need telling either. It could hardly be anything more.

Her cool regard served only to increase the glint. Opposition, it appeared, was an enticement in itself. More than ever she regretted the situation she had landed herself with. If she wanted to know the truth, not only was she faced with the prospect of explaining a lie she had no logical reason to have told in the first place, but the possibility of mortifying Lucius with the news that he had been making advances to a relative.

‘And what does your stepfather do for a living?’ Ottavia persisted, claiming her attention once more.

‘He’s in textiles,’ she acknowledged.

‘On his own account?’

‘His own business, yes.’ A highly successful one, Gina could have added, but saw no reason to go into greater detail—especially when said success was dependent on factors she found rather worrying at times.

Ottavia seemed content to leave it at that for the moment, but Gina sensed that the digging was by no means done. Plain nosiness, she assured herself. There was no way the woman could suspect the truth.

Midnight brought no sign of an end to the evening. Hardly able to keep her eyes open, Gina finally gave in.

‘I hope it won’t be taken amiss if I go to bed,’ she said. ‘I was on the road at seven this morning, and didn’t have all that good a night’s sleep before it.’

‘But of course!’ Signora Carandente responded. ‘You must feel free to do whatever you wish while you are our guest. Perhaps you would prefer to have breakfast served in your room?’

‘Not at all,’ Gina assured her. ‘I’ll be fine.’ She added impulsively, ‘Your hospitality is second to none, signora.’

‘Contessa,’ corrected Ottavia with some sharpness of tone.

‘You may call me Cornelia,’ her mother told Gina graciously.

Still grappling with the implications, Gina inclined her head. ‘Thank you.’

She took her leave with a general ‘Goodnight,’ avoiding any clash of glances with Lucius himself. If his mother was a Contessa, his father obviously had to have been a Count, which meant the title must have been handed down. It made the likelihood of her father having any connection seem even more remote. What would a son of such a family have been doing attending an English university as an ordinary student?

On the other hand, it was surely unlikely that either now or in the past another, entirely unconnected, Carandente family resided in Vernici.

She was going around in circles, Gina acknowledged. The only way to be sure was to do what she should have done several hours ago and tell the whole story. Concealing the name had been an idiotic gesture all round. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she would come clean. It was hardly as if she was after feathering her nest in any fashion. All she wanted was to know who her father had really been.

CHAPTER TWO

DESPITE her tiredness, Gina was wide awake at six. The early morning sunlight beckoned her out onto the balcony to view the beautifully landscaped gardens stretching to all sides. The vistas beyond were shrouded in early morning haze.

There was no one about that she could see from here. On impulse, she returned to the bedroom to don a pair of light cotton trousers and a shirt. Half an hour or so’s exploration would still leave her plenty of time to get ready for the day proper.

She could hear the muted sound of voices coming from somewhere towards the rear of the premises as she descended to the lower floor, but no one appeared to question her purpose. Not that any member of staff would do that in any case, Gina supposed. As a guest of the house she was, as Cornelia had assured her, entitled to do as she wished.

All the same she reduced the chances of running into anyone by using the front entrance. The Fiat was gone, the driveway clear of vehicles of any kind. There would be garages around the back somewhere, she assumed.