The Mediterranean Rebel's Bride

‘He hasn’t been rude to me,’ Evie observed mildly.

‘Give him time. He will.’

‘Especially if she mentions an ambulance,’ Ruggiero retorted.

They argued. He was obdurate. In the end his mother sighed and gave in. The ambulance was sent away.

‘I’ll go home and rest,’ Ruggiero conceded. ‘And I’ll be all right for the party tonight.’

‘Or you may have passed out completely by then,’ Polly said, with the faintest touch of acid in her voice.

Evie hastened to explain Polly’s professional qualifications, and what she had done for Ruggiero.

Hope’s response was to embrace Polly fervently and declare, ‘We are friends for ever. So now I ask you to do one more thing for me. You must come to our party tonight.’

Beside her, Polly sensed rather than felt Ruggiero make a gesture of protest, and she knew that he didn’t want her in his home. He wanted to get rid of her as soon as he could. And she could guess why.

But Hope seemed oblivious. ‘Tonight I can thank you properly, and perhaps you’ll also be kind enough to—’ She gave her son a baleful look.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him,’ Polly said.

‘You will not,’ Ruggiero snapped.

‘Indeed I will,’ she riposted at once.

‘I won’t have it.’

‘Try to stop me.’

‘That’s the spirit,’ Hope said, pleased. ‘And, Signor Fantone, I commend you for your good sense in having a nurse at the track. I wouldn’t have expected it of you.’

Having praised and insulted him in one breath, she turned her attention back to Ruggiero. With relief, Polly realised that for the moment she could avoid explanations. Sooner or later everyone would have to know why she was really here. But not yet.

Hope took charge, arranging for Ruggiero to be helped to her waiting car, and leaving Evie to give Polly a lift to her hotel.

‘It’s a big family get-together,’ Evie explained as they drove. ‘The Rinuccis tend to be scattered, but we all returned for Carlo’s wedding yesterday. And, since Hope loves giving parties, she’s going to have another one tonight, before we all disperse again.’

‘Was it really chance that his mother was shopping nearby?’

‘Of course not.’ Evie chuckled. ‘She does it whenever he’s testing, and she always makes sure she has her cellphone, so that she can be fetched quickly if something like this happens. Of course he guesses, although he won’t admit it, and it makes him grumpy. I’m sorry he was so rude to you. He isn’t normally like that.’

‘He was feeling bad,’ Polly said, unwilling to reveal that there could be another reason for Ruggiero’s hostility to her.

A few minutes later Evie dropped Polly at her hotel, promised that someone would fetch her at seven o’clock that evening, and drove off.

In her room, Polly discovered a problem. She had travelled light, wearing jeans and a sweater, and carrying enough basic clothes for a few days, but nothing that would be suitable for a party.

And I’m not turning up looking like a poor relation, she thought. I think I’ll prescribe myself some shopping!

Even in that less privileged area, the clothes shops had a cheering air of fashion. A happy hour exploring resulted in a chiffon dress of dappled mauve, blue and silver, with a neck that was low enough to be ‘party’ and high enough to be fairly modest. The price was absurdly low. Even more absurd were the silver sandals she bought in the market just outside the hotel.

Glamorous cousin Freda, once married to a multimillionaire, would have turned her nose up at such a modest outfit, but Polly was in heaven.

As she dressed that evening she considered her hair, and decided that it would be more tactful to pin it back.

Perhaps I should have done that this afternoon, but I never thought. He might have forgotten her—no, men never forgot Freda.

For a moment she was back by the track, watching him approach, his face unknowable behind the black visor. What had he seen? What had it done to him to bring him so close to death?

It had felt strange to hold him in her arms, the powerful, athletic body slumping helplessly against her. Vulnerability was the last thing she had expected from Freda’s description.

‘He had enough cocky arrogance to take on the world,’ her cousin had said. ‘It made me think, That’s for me.’

‘But not for long,’ Polly had reminded her quietly. ‘Two weeks, and then you dumped him.’

Freda had given an expressive shrug. ‘Well, he’d have dumped me pretty soon, I dare say. I knew straight off that he was the love-’em-and-leave-’em kind. That was useful, because it meant he wouldn’t give me any trouble afterwards.’

‘Plus the fact that you hadn’t given him your real name.’

‘Sure. I thought Sapphire was rather good—don’t you?’

What Polly had thought of her cousin’s actions was something she’d kept to herself—especially then, when Freda had been so frail, her once luxurious hair had fallen out and the future had been so cruelly plain.

That conversation came back to her now, reminding her of Ruggiero as she’d seen him first, and then later. Cocky arrogance, she thought. But not always.

He’d said Sapphire’s name and reached blindly out to her before he’d controlled himself and pulled back. For him, Sapphire still lived—and that was the one thing Polly had not expected.

A chauffeur-driven car arrived exactly at seven o’clock and swept her out of the city and up the winding road to where the Villa Rinucci sat atop the hill. From a distance she could see the lights blazing, and hear the sounds of a party floating down in the clear air.

Hope came out to greet her eagerly.

‘I feel better now you’re here,’ she said. ‘Our family doctor is also a guest, but he’ll have to leave soon.’

‘I’d better talk to him first,’ Polly suggested, and was rewarded with Hope’s brilliant smile.

Dr Rossetti was an elderly man who’d been a friend of the family for a long time. He greeted Polly warmly, questioned her about her impressions that afternoon, and nodded.

‘He’s always been an awkward so-and-so. Now, Carlo—his twin—if he didn’t want to do what he was told, he’d get out of it with charm, and it would be ages before you saw how he’d outwitted you. But Ruggiero would just look you in the eye and say, “Shan’t!”’

Polly chuckled. ‘You mean he doesn’t bother with any of that subtlety nonsense?’

‘Ruggiero wouldn’t recognise subtlety if he met it in the street. His head has a granite exterior which you have to thump hard to make him believe what he doesn’t want to believe.’

‘And under the exterior?’

‘I suspect there’s something more interesting. But he keeps it a secret even from his nearest and dearest. In fact, especially from his nearest and dearest. He hates what he calls “prying eyes”, so don’t make it too clear that you’re concerned for him.’

‘No, I think I gathered that before,’ she said wryly. She glimpsed Ruggiero across the room and added, ‘From the way he’s moving his left arm I think his shoulder’s hurting.’