Sara Craven Tribute Collection

But she couldn’t.

‘Fool,’ she lambasted herself. ‘Sad, pathetic idiot.’

She’d found a secluded bench under a flowering hedge a long way from the house, and she crouched there, her arms hugged protectively round her body, deathly cold in spite of the sun’s heat.

Telling herself that Guido would not repeat his ‘terrible mistake’ and that she’d be safe from any further advances from him was poor comfort. It would not save her from hungering for him, she thought drearily. But at least it might leave her with the tatters of her self-respect.

She glanced at her watch and got reluctantly to her feet. She’d been missing for nearly two hours, and lunchtime was approaching. She didn’t want search parties being dispatched for her.

She’d been in too much emotional turmoil to take note of the exact route to her refuge, but it hardly mattered as all the paths in the grounds would lead back to the villa.

But not necessarily to the part she knew, she discovered, as she emerged into a narrow cedar-lined avenue which took her only to a small Romanesque building with a campanile beside it, which she supposed must be the Bartaldi family chapel.

The house, she saw, was some distance away to her right, and she’d come out at the rear of it.

She checked, shading her eyes as she looked up at the elaborate stone frontage of the chapel. Some of the figures of saints that ornamented it looked as if they had seen better days, and some guttering was hanging loose.

Wondering what it was like inside, she tried the handle of the heavy wooden door, half expecting it to be locked, but it opened easily and she went in.

The interior was dark, most of the light coming from a round stained glass window above the altar which had been partly boarded up. The smell of incense lingered in the air, along with the more pungent odour of dust, but none of the candles were lit, and there was a down-beat air of disuse about the place which disappointed her.

She was turning to go when a door at the side of the sanctuary opened and Tonio Lerucci came into view, carrying a sheaf of papers.

He paused in obvious astonishment when he saw Clare. ‘Signorina Marriot—what are you doing here?’

Clare shrugged. ‘I like old churches. Am I trespassing?’

‘No, no,’ he said hastily. ‘At least not if circumstances were normal. But you see the chapel and, even more, the campanile were damaged during the last earthquake, and we cannot be certain how safe they are.’

‘But you’re here,’ Clare pointed out.

He laughed. ‘Yes, but I am not an honoured guest of the Bartaldi. I’m here to make a preliminary inspection before the architect comes next week to assess what will need to be done to restore the chapel again.’

‘So it’s going to be repaired.’ Clare looked round again. ‘I’m glad. It doesn’t look too bad. Just neglected.’

‘I hope not, but we cannot tell until the actual structure is examined. The campanile, I think, will have to be demolished, but perhaps the repairs here will not be too extensive.’ He grinned. ‘If they are, I can see Guido becoming very impatient.’

Clare followed him out, and waited while he locked the door. ‘I didn’t realise he was so religious.’ She tried to keep her tone light.

‘As to that, like most of us, he does his best,’ Tonio said, shrugging. ‘But the restoration of the chapel is close to his heart as he intends to be married there, and soon.’

‘Oh,’ Clare said in a hollow voice, as sudden pain transfixed her. ‘I—didn’t know.’

‘Not many people do. It is quite a recent decision.’

‘Does Paola know?’ Clare strove to keep her voice calm. ‘Because I’d have thought his bride should have some say in the matter.’

A couple of Tonio’s papers fluttered to the ground, and he bent to retrieve them. ‘No doubt he will choose his own moment for that,’ he said vaguely. ‘Maybe it would be best to mention nothing.’

‘Of course.’ Clare smiled tautly. ‘I hope she’ll find it a pleasant surprise.’

‘The Marchese Bartaldi’s wife will always have every reason for happiness,’ was the formal reply.

Oops, thought Clare. Avoid any hint of criticism when speaking of revered employer. I expect I already have a black mark for steaming in there this morning. It must have been obvious I was spoiling for a fight.

In a hurried change of subject, she asked how many people worked on the Bartaldi estates, and was shocked by his answer.

‘That many?’ She swallowed. ‘And do you know them all?’

‘I hope so. You must understand, signorina, that many generations of the same families have worked here.’

‘I see.’ Her tone was thoughtful. ‘So, if I said Marco’s cousin, you’d know who I meant?’

He frowned slightly. ‘I might not be able to put a face to him at once. Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, I came across him earlier today, working in the garden.’ She paused. ‘He’s quite—spectacular. You wouldn’t overlook him very easily.’

‘Then he does not resemble Marco, who is like a mouse,’ he said drily. ‘You disapprove of him, signorina?’

‘Oh, please, won’t you call me Clare?’ She smiled at him. ‘After all, we both work for the Marchese,’ she added with a touch of constraint.

He hesitated oddly, then made her a slight bow. ‘As you wish—Clare. But we were speaking of Marco’s cousin.’

‘Yes.’ She bit her lip. ‘He was hanging round the pool area, and there was just something—although I expect I’m being unfair, and he’s a very good gardener.’

‘Yet he does not feature on the estate roll,’ Tonio said musingly. ‘Perhaps the head gardener hired him as casual labour. I shall enquire.’

‘Oh, dear,’ she sighed. ‘I hope I haven’t got him into trouble.’

‘No, no,’ he soothed. ‘At busy times there are always extra people working for the estate. It is nothing.’

I hope so, Clare thought, as he stood back politely to let her precede him into the house. And now for the next ordeal…

‘Carissima,’ Violetta exclaimed reproachfully as Clare entered the dining room. ‘Where have you been? We were beginning to think you were lost.’

Clare coloured faintly, sharply aware of Guido’s unsmiling scrutiny fixed on her from the other side of the room.

‘I was—enjoying the garden, and lost track of time,’ she returned, bending to kiss her godmother’s scented cheek before sliding into the chair next to her.

‘And not alone, I see,’ Violetta whispered, giving her an arch look as Tonio took his place further down the table with a quiet apology. She looked Clare over approvingly. ‘What a beautiful dress, my dear. I don’t think I’ve seen it before.’

‘It—it’s the first time I’ve worn it,’ Clare returned, helping herself from the tureen of vegetable soup.

‘So, cara, how goes it with the little Paola?’ Violetta was eating her own soup with evident enjoyment. ‘Well, it seems. She looks—radiant.’

Surprised, Clare saw that the younger girl was laughing and talking vivaciously to Cesare di Mantelli.

‘She’s not going to be my easiest assignment,’ she returned quietly. ‘She simply hasn’t any wish to learn any of the things I can teach her. I think she plans to rely on charm to see her through.’ She paused. ‘If I can’t persuade her to buckle down soon, I’ll give up the job. Otherwise I’ll be taking the Marchese’s money under false pretences.’