The Italian's Christmas Miracle

But it was the little girl’s adoring face that lingered in her mind, and instinctively she laid a hand over her stomach, thinking of what might have been.

Now they were driving through the city and out again, taking a country road leading to a village, then turning into a lane lined with poplar trees. After half a mile the house came into view, a huge, gracious three-storeyed villa stretching wide, surrounded by elegant grounds.

She knew little of Italian architecture, but even so she could tell that the building was several-hundred years old and in fine condition, as though Drago, the builder and restorer, had lavished his best gifts on his home.

The entrance to the house lay through an arched corridor where the walls were inlaid with mosaics, and the ceiling adorned with paintings. At first sight it was so impressive as to be almost forbidding, but as they went deeper inside the atmosphere became more homely, until finally they came to a large drawing-room where Alysa gasped.

Everywhere she saw Carlotta’s face. On one table stood a huge picture of her alone, while on the next table another picture showed her with Tina in her arms. The next one showed mother, father and child together. Various other pictures were dotted around the room, plus souvenirs, as Tina eagerly explained to her.

‘That was Mamma’s medal for winning a race at school,’ she said.

‘My wife was a fast runner,’ Drago explained. ‘We always used to say that she could have been an athlete if she hadn’t preferred to be a lawyer.’

‘She could run faster than anyone, couldn’t she, Poppa?’

Alysa saw Drago’s suddenly tense face, and realised how cruelly double-edged this remark would seem to him. But he gave his child a broad smile, saying, ‘That’s true. Mamma was better at everything,’ he said with a fair pretence of heartiness. ‘Now, we must entertain our guest.’

Tina set herself to do this, the perfect little hostess. If she hadn’t been functioning on automatic, Alysa knew she would have found her enchanting, for Tina was intelligent and gentle. When supper was served she conducted her guest to the table, and in her honour she spoke English, of which she had a good grasp.

‘How do you speak my language so well?’ Alysa asked, for something to say.

‘Mamma taught me. She was bi—bi—’

‘Bilingual,’ Drago supplied. ‘Some of her clients were English, as are some of mine. We’re all bilingual in this family. Tina learned both languages side by side.’

‘Do you speak Italian?’ Tina asked her.

‘Not really,’ Alysa said, concentrating on her food so that she didn’t have to meet the innocent eyes that were turned on her. ‘I learned a little when I was researching someone on the internet.’

‘An Italian someone?’

‘Er—yes.’

‘Was that someone there today?’

‘No.’

‘Are you going to see them tomorrow?’

Her hand tightened on her fork. ‘No, I’m not.’

‘Will you—?’

‘Tina,’ Drago broke in gently. ‘Don’t be nosey. It isn’t polite.’

‘Sorry,’ Tina said with an air of meekness that didn’t fool Alysa. Even hidden away inside herself as she was, Alysa could see the enchanting curiosity in the little girl’s eyes, and understood why Drago was determined to protect her at any cost to himself.

That’s how I would feel, she thought, if I had a—She blanked the rest out, and fixed her attention on drinking her coffee.

CHAPTER TWO

FOR the rest of the meal Alysa forced herself to act the part of the ideal guest, assuring herself that it was no different from concentrating on a client. You just had to focus, something she was good at.

She became sharply aware of tensions at the table, especially between Drago and his mother-in-law, whom he always addressed as ‘Elena’. For her part she looked at him as little as possible, and talked determinedly about Carlotta, who had, apparently, been a perfect daughter, mother and wife. Drago had spoken truly when he’d said his mother-in-law had no idea of the truth—or, if she had, she’d rejected it in favour of a more bearable explanation.

‘My daughter’s clients had no consideration, Signorina Dennis,’ she proclaimed. ‘If they had not insisted on her travelling to see them, instead of coming to her as they ought to have done, then she would have been alive now.’

‘Let’s leave that,’ Drago interrupted quickly. ‘I would rather Tina forgot those thoughts tonight.’

‘How can she forget them after where we have been today? And tomorrow we go to the cemetery…’

Alysa saw Tina’s lips press together, as though she were trying not to cry. She put out her hand and felt it instantly enclosed in a tiny one. The little girl gave her a shaky smile, which Alysa returned—equally shakily, she suspected.

This was proving harder than she had expected, and the most difficult part was still to come.

When supper was over Elena said, ‘You’re looking sleepy, little one, and we have another big day tomorrow. Time for bed.’

She held out her hand and Tina took it obediently, but she turned to her father to say, ‘Will you come up and kiss me goodnight, Poppa?’

‘Not tonight,’ her grandmother said at once. ‘Your father is busy.’

‘I’ll come up with you now,’ Drago said at once.

‘There’s no need,’ the woman assured him loftily. ‘I can take care of her, and you should attend to your guest.’

‘I’ll be perfectly all right here for a while,’ Alysa said. ‘You go with Tina.’

Drago threw her a look of gratitude, and followed the others out.

While he was gone Alysa looked around the room, going from one photograph to another, seeing Carlotta in every mood. One picture showed her with a dazzling smile, and Alysa lifted it, wondering if this was the smile James had seen and adored. Did her husband still look on this picture with love?

She heard a step, and the next moment he was in the room, his mouth twisting as he saw what she was holding.

‘Let’s go into my study,’ he said harshly. ‘Where I don’t have to look at her.’

His study was a total contrast—neat, austere, functional, with not a picture in sight. After the room they had just left, it was like walking from summer into winter, a feeling Alysa recognised.

The modern steel desk held several machines, one of which was a computer, and others which were unknown to her, but she was sure they were the latest in technology.

He poured them both a glass of wine and waved her to a chair, but then said nothing. She could sense his unease.

‘I’m sorry you were kept waiting,’ he said at last.

‘You were right to go. I get the feeling that Tina’s grandmother is a little possessive about her.’

‘More than a little,’ he said, grimacing. ‘I can’t blame her. She’s old and lonely. Her other daughter lives in Rome, with her husband and children, and she doesn’t see them very often. Carlotta was her favourite, and her death hit Elena very hard. I suspect that she’d like to move in here, but she can’t, because her husband is an invalid and needs her at home. So she makes up for it by descending on us whenever she can.’

‘How would you feel about her moving in?’