Sara Craven Tribute Collection

She swallowed convulsively. ‘Oh, Mutt,’ she whispered. ‘I think I could be in real trouble.’

As if in confirmation, Mutt flattened his ears, threw back his head, and began to howl.

Time became a blur of cold, and thin rain, and Mutt’s distress. She tried several times to get up, but the pain in her ankle invariably sent her wincing back to the ground. She was sure it wasn’t broken, but it could be badly sprained, which was just as inconvenient.

She became aware that she was drifting in and out of consciousness, and knew that this was the biggest danger. Mutt was quiet too, as if he’d decided his efforts were in vain, and she loosened his lead and whispered, ‘Home, boy,’ praying that the sight of him would speed up the search.

Unless, of course, he got sidetracked by a stray cat, or some other legitimate prey, she thought as she heard him in the distance, bursting into a frenzy of excited barking.

But that wasn’t the only noise. There were voices, she realised, and bobbing lights.

Or was she just delirious with the cold and imagining it all?

Because it seemed as if Marco was beside her, his voice saying brokenly, ‘Flora—mia carissima. Ah, Dio, my angel, my sweet love. What has happened to you?’

She knew that was impossible, because Marco was miles away in Milan, and anyway he didn’t care about her enough to say things like that.

Only his arms were strong around her, and she was breathing the familiar scent of his skin, listening to him murmuring the endearments in his own language that he had once whispered to her when they were making love. And somehow this surpassed every moment of rapture she had ever known with him.

But as he tried to lift her she cried out, ‘My ankle,’ and fell back alone into the darkness.

When she opened her eyes again there was light so bright that it was almost painful. And there was a soft mattress under her aching body, a sharp hospital smell in the air, and tight strapping round her throbbing ankle.

There was also Marco, his face haggard, until he turned into a bearded man in a white coat, who smiled kindly and asked how she felt.

‘Like one big bruise,’ she said, her voice husky. And then, with sudden fear, ‘My baby?’

‘Still in place, Signora Valante, and waiting for a proper birthday. You are a strong lady, and your child is strong too.’

‘Thank God,’ she whispered, and lay back against the pillow, tears trickling down her face. When she could speak, she said, ‘I thought—my husband…’

‘He is here, signora. I will let you talk to him, then you must rest, and in the morning, if all is well, he can take you home.’

‘Everything will be,’ she said.

‘But first I must ask what happened to you. How you came to be lying by the road in such weather.’

She frowned, trying to remember. ‘There was a car,’ she said slowly. ‘Going too fast. I tried to get out of the way, and fell.’

‘Do you know what kind of car—or did you see the number plate?’

She shook her head. ‘It all happened so fast.’

‘Then we must thank God it was not worse,’ he said gravely, and left her.

When she opened her eyes again, Marco was sitting by the bed.

He said hoarsely, ‘I thought I had lost you, my love, my dearest heart. Santa Madonna, I was so frightened. When I saw you lying there on the grass…’

‘But I’m safe,’ she told him softly. ‘And your baby is safe too.’ She pushed aside the covers and took his hand, placing it under the hospital gown on the bare mound of her abdomen. The baby moved suddenly, forcefully, as if woken from a sound sleep, and Flora looked at her husband and smiled, and saw his face transformed—transfigured.

He bent his head and put his cheek against her belly, and she felt his tears on her skin.

He said, brokenly, ‘Flora—oh, Flora mia, I love you so much. These last months have been a nightmare. I could not reach you. I thought I never would. That you would never want to be my wife, no matter how I longed for you. That even when our child was born you might not turn to me.’

He took a deep breath. ‘Mia cara, can you ever forgive the wrong I did you and let me be your husband in truth? I swear I will spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy.’

She ran a caressing hand over his dishevelled hair. ‘I think I might.’ Her voice trembled into a smile. ‘If you’ll kiss me, and tell me again that you love me.’

He raised his head sharply, his eyes scanning her face. He said her name, then his mouth was on hers, passionately, tenderly, in a kiss that was also a vow.

A long time later, she said, ‘Why aren’t you in Milan?’

‘What a question, mia bella,’ Marco said lazily. ‘Anyone would think you were not pleased to see me.’ He’d managed somehow to squeeze himself on to the narrow bed beside her, and was lying with her wrapped in his arms and her head on his chest.

‘I am,’ she said. ‘But I’d still like a straight answer.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘Cara, I have thought about you every day we have been apart, but today it was different. From the moment I awoke this morning I had this strange feeling that you needed me, that I should come to you. And then Alfredo telephoned me, as usual, and told me that Tonio and Ottavia had returned and were staying at the villa. I knew my instinct was right and I should come home at once.’

Ottavia, thought Flora in horror, remembering that briefly glimpsed face at the wheel of the car.

She must have tensed, because he said at once, ‘Is something wrong?’

It might have been, she thought. But it wasn’t. Because if Ottavia had been tempted to run her down she’d pulled out at the last moment. Perhaps it was enough for her to know that the girl she hated had taken a dive into the mud.

Whatever, she thought, it’s because of her that Marco is here with me now. And because of that I can forgive her anything. So I’ll keep her secret. Because she has caused enough trouble and I only want to be happy.

Aloud, she said, ‘I didn’t know Alfredo phoned you each day.’

‘I needed to ask about you, mia cara. To make sure you were well, and perhaps happy. All the questions I dared not ask you.’ He sighed. ‘Every time we were together I wanted to fall on my knees in front of you and beg for another chance, but I was afraid I would just make you angry, and that you would use that as an excuse to leave me again.’