The Mediterranean Rebel's Bride

‘But they weren’t tigers at that track,’ she said. ‘They were your friends. And perhaps having to impress people all the time is also a sign of weakness.’

He looked alarmed. ‘Are you going to psychoanalyse me?’

‘That’s all for today. I’ll save the rest until you’re feeling better.’

‘I’m all right,’ he said in a dispirited voice. ‘Except that I don’t seem to have any energy.’

‘You’ve probably got a hangover as well as everything else. I want you to stay in bed for a while. Or are you going to fight me about that?’

‘No, ma’am. I’m sure you know best.’

She regarded him cynically. ‘You must be worse than I thought.’

There was no chance to say more, because Evie appeared with Polly’s breakfast, and after that the rest of the family came to say goodbye before returning to their distant homes. Ruggiero greeted them all boisterously, cracked jokes and generally acted the part of a man who was on top of the world. But when it was over his forehead was damp and he was full of tension.

‘That was quite a performance,’ she said sympathetically.

‘Sure—a sign of weakness, like you said.’

‘Not this time. You sent them off easier in their minds about you.’

He tried to shrug, but immediately winced, making a face and rubbing his shoulder.

‘You should let me look at that.’

She helped him off with the pyjama jacket, revealing a shoulder that looked inflamed.

‘I haven’t broken anything,’ he said, sounding mulish again.

‘Will you leave me to make the diagnosis?’ she asked lightly. ‘As a matter of fact I don’t think you have broken anything, because otherwise you’d be in a lot more pain than you are. But stop trying to take over.’

‘Yes, I’m wasting my time doing that with you.’ He sounded resigned.

‘That’s right,’ she told him. ‘I’ve seen off far more troublesome patients than you.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah!’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah!’

She was slowly working on his shoulder, feeling for injury, talking to distract him.

‘On the wards they call me Nurse Bossy-Boots. People scurry for cover at my approach.’

‘Think you can make me run?’

‘Right this minute nothing could make you run. You might manage a stagger, but even then I’d have to hold you up.’

He started to laugh, but ended with a sharp gasp. ‘Don’t make me laugh,’ he begged.

She eased herself behind him, one knee on the bed so that she could reach his shoulder from the best angle. He drew a deep breath of relief, muttering, ‘That’s better.’

For a while neither of them spoke while she worked on the shoulder, massaging it until it relaxed, then moved his arm gently in several directions. It was bruised and inflamed, but not dislocated. She finished by rubbing in some of the gel the doctor had left with her.

Studying him professionally, she saw that he was in superb physical condition, lean and muscular, as she would have expected from a man who lived an athletic life, and evenly tanned, as though he swam a good deal under the hot sun.

He carried so little weight that when he leaned forward for her to examine his spine she could easily make out its straight line, and the lines of his ribs.

‘It wouldn’t hurt you to gain a few pounds,’ she observed, flexing her fingers gently against his skin. ‘It might give you something to land on.’

‘I’d put on weight if I could. I eat like a horse but I stay like this.’

‘Lucky you. Lie back.’

She pressed him gently back against the pillows while she felt his ribs at the front.

‘A couple of cracks,’ she confirmed, ‘but you’ve got off very lightly, considering.’

‘You’re not going to drag me off to hospital to be strapped up?’

‘There’s no need. Strapping fixes your ribs, but it can make it harder to breathe. So just be careful how you move and it’ll heal naturally.’

The quiet authority in her voice seemed to ease his mind, and she felt him relaxing under her hands.

‘Let’s put your jacket back on,’ she said. ‘Then I’ll give you a couple more pills.’

He winced as she slid the jacket back over his shoulders, but at last it was done. He accepted the pills with a faint smile, and was soon asleep.

The house was quiet now that the guests had departed, and Hope, Toni and Francesco had travelled to the airport to see off the English party. Polly listened to the silence, which seemed to have an edgy quality, and thought she was being warned that this tranquil time could not last for ever. The moment was approaching.

She slipped next door and found the picture of Freda and the young man she now knew as Ruggiero. She studied his face a while, trying to reconcile its glowing joy with the dour, tense individual he had become. Then she put it in her pocket and returned to sit quietly with him until she heard a car return late in the afternoon.

Hope and Toni came in together, full of gratitude.

‘I will stay with my son for a while,’ Toni said, ‘while you go down for supper.’

Ruggiero was awake but drowsy as Toni slipped into the room.

‘All gone?’ he asked, yawning.

‘Their flight took off on time. How are you feeling?’

‘OK, I guess. I seem to be floating.’ Suddenly he remembered. ‘Poppa, do you know what Mamma did? She practically kidnapped Polly.’

‘Don’t blame me,’ his father said hastily. ‘I knew nothing about it until it was too late. You know your mother.’