Sara Craven Tribute Collection

Later they anchored in a small bay and swam, then picnicked on board. Afterwards, Marco made love to her with slow, passionate intensity, his eyes fixed almost painfully on her face, as if asking a question he dared not speak aloud.

What is it, my love? her heart cried out to him. Ask me—please…

When they arrived back at San Silvestro Alfredo was waiting on the landing stage, grave-faced.

‘There has been a telephone call, signore—from the laboratories. They need to speak urgently with you.’

Marco cursed softly, then turned to Flora. ‘Forgive me, carissima. I had better see what they want.’ He set off up the path to the house, with Alfredo behind him, leaving Flora to follow more slowly.

She had showered and put on a slip of a dress, sleeveless and scoop-necked in an ivory silky fabric which showed off her growing tan, by the time Marco came into the room, his face serious and preoccupied.

He said without preamble, ‘Flora, I have to go to Milan straight away. We have been conducting tests on a new drug to help asthma sufferers, which we believe could be a real breakthrough, but there seem to be problems—something which I must deal with immediately.’

‘Oh.’ Flora put down her mascara wand. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

‘I think you would be too much of a distraction, mia bella.’ His tone was rueful. ‘Stay here and relax, and I will be back in a couple of days.’

‘Then shall I pack for you?’

He shook his head. ‘Alfredo has already done so. The helicopter is coming for me very soon.’

He came across to her and pulled her to her feet. ‘I hate to leave you, carissima.’ His tone thickened. ‘But this is important.’

‘Of course. And I’ll be fine.’ She smiled up at him, resolutely ignoring the ball of ice beginning to form in the pit of her stomach. Because this enforced absence would eat into the diminishing amount of time she had to spend with him. ‘Alfredo will look after me.’

‘You have won his heart.’ He raised her hand to his lips. ‘And that of everyone here.’

Apart from Ninetta. She thought it, but did not say it. Then Marco was kissing her, and she stopped thinking, offering herself totally the yearning demand of his mouth. Aware of nothing but the warmth and strength of him against her.

At last he almost tore his lips from hers. ‘I must go,’ he muttered huskily. ‘I have to change my clothes.’

Left alone, Flora could hear the steady beat of the helicopter’s approach. Coming, she thought, with a stab of anguish, to take him away. And it was ridiculous to feel so bereft—so scared—when he would be back so soon.

It must be the story about his parents which was weighing so heavily on her, she thought with a shiver.

When he emerged from his dressing room he looked almost alien in the formal dark suit. Flora looked across the room and saw a stranger.

Her smile was so forced it hurt. ‘Please—take care.’ Or take me with you.

‘My heart’s sweetness.’ He looked back at her with passionate understanding. He took half a step towards her, then deliberately checked. ‘I shall come back. And then I must talk to you.’ He paused. ‘Because there are things to be said. Issues, alas, that can no longer be avoided.’

He’s going to tell me it’s over, Flora thought, with a lurch of the heart. That all good things must end. That it’s time we returned to our separate worlds and got on with our lives.

With a courage she had not known she possessed, she lifted her chin, went on smiling. ‘I’ll be here,’ she said. ‘Waiting.’

She went out on to the balcony and watched the helicopter take off and whirl away over the trees. Stood, a hand shading her eyes, until it vanished, and the throb of the engine could be heard no longer.

Her hands tightened on the balustrade as she fought the tears, harsh and bitter in her throat.

Only a couple of days, she reminded herself as she turned and trailed desolately back into the room. She could surely survive that.

But her real dread was the nights that she would spend alone in that enormous bed, without his arms around her in the darkness, or his voice drowsily murmuring her name as they woke to sunlight dappling through the window shutters.

And all those other endless nights to come, when she returned to England…

She pressed a clenched fist fiercely against her trembling mouth.

She’d known the score from the first, yet she’d allowed herself to be seduced by the atmosphere at the castello. To drift into a dream world where she and Marco stayed together always. Which was crazy.

It felt so right for her, she thought, but that did not guarantee that he necessarily shared her view. He was looking for entertainment, not commitment. Besides, he was a wealthy man. When the time came he would be sharing his life with a girl from his own social milieu.

As for herself—well, she was back in the real world now, and she was not going to allow herself to fall to pieces.

And if there was heartbreak ahead, maybe it was no more than she deserved for what she’d done to Chris.

She’d betrayed him totally, and yet, she realised guiltily, this was the first time she’d even spared him a thought. He seemed to belong to some distant, unreal part of her life. But he was flesh and blood, would be hurting because of her, and he deserved to have his pain acknowledged.

I was unfair to him from the start, she thought sadly. And particularly when I said I’d marry him. But we’d been seeing each other regularly for months and it seemed the next, logical progression. And—somehow— I persuaded myself that I loved him enough for marriage.

Because I didn’t know what love could be—not then.

I should have known it couldn’t work—after that one disastrous night. I should have stopped it there and then.

She’d been trying for weeks to parry Chris’s growing insistence on making love to her. Finally she’d simply run out of excuses.

She couldn’t even explain her own reluctance. After all, she wasn’t a child, and it had been a natural stage in her relationship with the man she planned to marry. A man, moreover, who was good-looking, undeniably virile, and eager for her.

Yet the fact that she’d still been able to resist the increasing ardour of Chris’s kisses should have been warning enough that all was not well.

She’d felt paralysed with awkwardness from the moment she’d arrived at Chris’s flat and found the scene set with candles, flowers and music playing softly. There had even been a bottle of champagne chilling on ice.

Like something from Chapter Two of The Seducer’s Handbook, she’d thought, wanting at first to laugh, and then, very badly, to run away.

And that had been the only real desire she’d experienced. She’d felt only numb as Chris had undressed her almost gloatingly. He hadn’t been selfish. She knew that now. He had done his best to arouse her, holding his own excitement and need in check.

And she’d held him, eyes closed, and whispered, ‘Yes,’ when he’d asked if she was all right.

But it hadn’t been true. Because everything about it had been wrong. And the pain of his first attempt to enter her had made her cry out as her muscles locked in shocked rejection.

She’d pushed him away almost violently, her frozen body slicked with sweat. ‘No—I can’t—please…’

He’d been kind at first, understanding. Had even comforted her. But it had soon become evident that he was determined to try again.

And each time her mind had gone into recoil as her body closed against him.

And eventually he’d become impatient, then really angry, and finally sullenly accepting.

‘You have a real problem, Flora,’ he’d flung at her over his shoulder as he reached for his clothes. ‘I suggest you get yourself sorted, and soon. Maybe you should see a doctor—or a therapist.’