It Happened In Rome: The Forced Bride / The Italian's Rags-to-Riches Wife / The Italian's Passionate Revenge

She was packing to return to school when she eventually heard from him. Simon was back at High Gables just to collect his things, having found work with an import/export company in the City.

Over a snatched lunch at the village pub, Simon explained that, although he was starting at the lowest level, the job could be a stepping stone to real money.

‘And I could travel,’ he told her exultantly. ‘The company has branches all over the world.’ He paused, then put his hand over hers. ‘And in a few months I’ll be earning enough to come back for you.’

Emily smiled and tried to be thrilled for him, but there was a bleakness in her heart that she could not explain. It occurred to her that his words had a hint of afterthought about them. That maybe if he hadn’t had belongings to collect from his uncle’s house, she might not have heard from him at all.

Also, there seemed to be a tacit agreement between them not to mention the Boxing Night party, and although she was prepared to accept this, she still felt she deserved an explanation, if not an apology.

After all, Simon must know that he wasn’t the only one to suffer the embarrassment of an encounter with Raf Di Salis that night. Wasn’t he even curious?

But she swiftly told herself she was being unfair. His life was undergoing some sweeping changes, and part of the reason he was undertaking them was for her.

She watched him drive away, clinging to his promise to call her every weekend.

He will come back to me, she whispered to herself, as she waved to him. He will come back. I—I know it.

But clearly not immediately, because he was far too busy. And gradually the phone calls crammed with news of his successes at work, and the friends he was making, began to dwindle away until they stopped completely.

At Easter there was no sign of him, and Emily, hurt and bewildered, could not bring herself to ask for news when she met any of the Aubreys. And, a week or so later, she was completely devastated when the announcement of his engagement to a girl called Rebecca West appeared in The Times.

‘He’s done well for himself,’ her father commented curtly over breakfast. He passed the newspaper to Raf Di Salis, who was staying with them again. ‘Her father’s Robert West, of course, the South African media tycoon.’

The Count returned some non-committal reply, but Emily was aware that he was watching her across the table. Which made it utterly essential that she stayed in her seat, eating her toast as if it was all that mattered, when what she really wanted was to escape to her room and give way to the tears tightening in her chest.

But she could not—would not break down in front of Raf Di Salis, of all people.

I hate him, she thought childishly. I hate him for being here. For—knowing how I must feel, because he might just pity me, and that would be unbearable.

But when Simon eventually did return, he had no wife with him, tycoon’s daughter or not. It was Emily herself who had been married for over two years. And she was hesitant at first when Simon rang and asked if he could see her.

‘Nothing heavy, Em,’ he persuaded. ‘Just a chat about old times over a drink.’ He paused. ‘Unless your husband would object.’

She said curtly, ‘He’s not here to express an opinion,’ and the die was cast.

Simon had been frank about his engagement, which had been broken after only a few months.

‘It was never right with Rebecca,’ he said. ‘And I always knew it. Her father encouraged me because her previous fiance had a cocaine habit, and I seemed marginally more acceptable.

‘Plus it had also been made clear to me that your father had very different plans for you. That, all along, he intended you for his aristocratic Italian financier and I had no chance. By asking Rebecca to marry me, I was trying to prove to myself that I didn’t care. That I’d moved on. And when I heard you’d actually married Rafaele Di Salis, I felt almost justified.’

He shook his head. ‘But it was hopeless, because I knew in my heart that nothing would ever change the way I felt about you.’

He shot her a keen glance. ‘People in the village say that he’s hardly ever around. That you rarely see him.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Apart from the gossip columns and the pictures in glossy magazines.’

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘Doesn’t that hurt you?’

She shrugged. ‘No, why should it? I didn’t marry for love and, as soon as I’m twenty one, the trust will end and I can get a divorce.’

He was staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. ‘My God, Em.’ His voice was barely a whisper as his hand closed round hers. ‘Are you saying you’re going to be free quite soon—and that you and I might get a second chance?’

She disengaged herself gently. ‘I can’t possibly say that. It’s far too soon and too much has happened.’

He said quietly, ‘I want you back, darling. I should have stayed and fought for you, but I had so little to offer. But now I’ll move heaven and earth to get you back, so be warned.’

And now he has me back, Emily told herself. And we can consign the last three years to well-deserved oblivion, and—be happy.

Starting now, she thought, as she heard the chime of the front doorbell. She uncoiled herself from the chair, smiling in anticipation as she walked across the room and out into the hall, where Mrs Penistone was admitting the newcomer.

‘Simon, how nice.’ She offered her cheek for his kiss, aware of the housekeeper’s faint disapproval. In the older woman’s eyes, Emily was still a married woman even if her marriage had never been conducted on conventional lines. ‘Penny, we’ll have lunch in half an hour.’

‘Yes, madam,’ was the dour reply as Mrs Penistone retreated.

Simon followed Emily into the drawing room and closed the door behind them.

‘Darling,’ he said fervently and took her in his arms, kissing her passionately. As he raised his head at last, he smiled down at her. ‘All intruders dealt with?’ he asked breathlessly. ‘The divorce papers safely signed?’

Emily freed herself gently and moved to one of the sofas. ‘Not—exactly.’

‘But surely they brought them?’ Simon seated himself beside her.

‘Probably. I didn’t ask.’ She hesitated. ‘You see, I’ve decided against a divorce.’

‘What?’ The word seemed to explode into the air. ‘What the hell are you talking about? Are you saying you’ve changed your mind about marrying me?’

There was a sharpness bordering on anger in his voice that she’d never heard before.

‘Of course not.’ She stroked his cheek with a placatory hand. ‘It’s nothing like that. It just occurred to me that it would be much quicker and simpler if I got an annulment. So I opted for that instead.’

Simon drew a deep, unsteady breath. ‘And you told them this? You—actually said it to your husband’s lawyers?’

‘Naturally.’ Emily paused. ‘I can’t say they were best pleased, but I convinced them I was in earnest and they’ve now gone off to break the news to their lord and master.’

There was a silence, then Simon said hoarsely, ‘Have you gone mad? Are you completely off your bloody head? You’ve sent a message to a man like Raf Di Salis that you want rid of him on the grounds of non-consummation?’ His voice rose. ‘Tell me this is a joke—please.’

Emily’s brows snapped together. ‘I couldn’t be more serious. It’s a far more honest way of ending this travesty than a divorce—especially the no-fault variety Raf is pushing for.’ She lifted her chin. ‘He should think himself lucky. After all, I could be citing all the women that he has slept with since our marriage.’

‘Well, you certainly didn’t want him, so why the hell should you care how he spends his nights?’ Simon got to his feet and began to pace the room restlessly, his face like thunder. ‘For God’s sake, Em, call the lawyers back. Tell them you’ve had second thoughts, before it’s too late, and that you’ll sign anything they want.’

‘Why should I?’

He said bluntly, ‘Because when Di Salis hears you’re asking for an annulment, it will be like a red rag to a bull. And you don’t want him angry, Em. Really you don’t.’

For a moment Emily remembered Signor Mazzini’s warning about throwing down the gauntlet and felt chilled. But she rallied, saying with an assumption of lightness. ‘Poor Simon. What on earth did he do three years ago to scare you so?’

He flushed angrily. ‘He didn’t do anything, in the way you mean. He didn’t even say much—because he didn’t have to. It’s just—the way he is. Maybe you haven’t seen the ruthless side of him, Em’, he added. ‘But it’s there, just below the surface. And I wouldn’t deliberately upset him any more than I’d poke a sleeping tiger with a stick.’