A Proposal From The Italian Count

‘We’ll have to wait and see.’

She was right. Friendship was their only hope. Had she really feared lest he come to her door? After their argument the day before he could well believe that she didn’t want him. His own feelings for her were less clear.

Officially they were enemies, and his instinct to protect her was troublesome.

She was becoming important to him in ways that confused him. Perhaps soon he would understand them. For the moment he preferred to wait and see what fate had in store.

He lifted his glass of wine in her direction.

‘Here’s to you,’ he said. ‘You don’t know how much I’m going to rely on you.’

And it was true, he thought. She didn’t.

It was a quiet meal, with very little talk. Instinctively they both knew that for the moment enough had been said. Perhaps too much.

At the earliest moment they finished eating.

‘And now I really must get on with some work. I’ll head back to my room, but if you think of anything else you need today please call through.’

He bade her a polite good day, and left.

Returning to his room, he recalled something he’d meant to say to her, and hurried back to see her.

A surprise awaited him. He looked out into the corridor just in time to see her getting into the elevator and the doors closing.

Where on earth could she be going? he thought frantically. Surely not to talk to Rik?

There was no hope of catching up with the elevator. He went to his window and looked down. There she was, walking away along the road, and then turning through a large gate that he knew led to a church.

Every cautious instinct told him to stay where he was—not to follow her. But something about Jackie always overcame caution.

In a moment he was out of the door, hurrying until he reached the church gate.

Inside was a cemetery. As he watched she approached a tombstone and knelt before it. He was too far away to make out the name, but he could hear Jackie saying urgently, ‘I’m sorry, Daddy. I really am.’

So this was Benton’s grave, and she had come here to talk to him. Vittorio backed away, unwilling to invade her privacy, but he couldn’t help hearing her next words.

‘I don’t really trust him. I’d like to, but he doesn’t understand what a terrible thing was done to you, and that makes him almost as much of an enemy as his father. But I must go to Italy. I’ll come back, I promise. Only forgive me. Please, please forgive me.’

As watched she pressed her lips to the stone, then leaned against it, sobbing.

Torn by the instinct to comfort her, he took a step closer—but stopped just in time. Whatever happened, she mustn’t know he was there. He had an unnerving feeling...as though he’d been suddenly stranded on a desert island. He hadn’t expected this, and the sensation of being caught unprepared was alarming.

He backed off and hurried away, haunted by her words—

I don’t trust him... Almost as much of an enemy as his father...

If that was how she thought of him he supposed he couldn’t blame her. But it hurt more than he would have expected.

Back at the hotel, he returned to his room and went to the window, hoping to see her return. But hours passed with no sign of her and his heart sank. Where had she vanished to now? What trouble might she have fallen into? Had she changed her mind about accompanying him to Italy?

Then a noise from the corridor made him hurry outside. She was there, turning the key in her lock.

‘There you are,’ he said with relief.