The Final Seduction

‘We need to talk.’

‘I’m all yours, Marco.’ She closed the catalogue and pushed it to the front of her desk.

‘Good.’ Seconds later he appeared at her door, almost as if he had been lingering outside in the corridor, like a person waiting to be interviewed.

Shelley stared at him. Something was different. ‘Is everything okay?’

He hesitated, thick black lashes shading the ebony glitter of his eyes. ‘I’m not quite sure how to answer that.’

She watched while he came into the dazzling light-filled room which she was lucky enough to call her office. Watched his air of distraction as he walked over to the window to gaze out at the lake beyond. The morning sun made the waters glitter and throw back the intense golden light—as if someone had scattered the surface with sequins.

He turned back to face her and, as always, Shelley derived intense pleasure just from looking at him. It was like looking at a beautiful painting or a perfect sky. She knew how lucky she was and how many people envied her—with her perfect job and her perfect boss.

‘Shall I make us some coffee?’

He shook his head. ‘No. Thanks.’

For the first time, she noticed the unfamiliar shadows beneath his eyes and deep in her subconscious little warning bells began ringing sounds of danger. Marco always slept like a baby. ‘Something is wrong, isn’t it?’ she said.

He sat down opposite her and spread his hands expansively, in a very Italian way. ‘Not wrong—just different. Something has changed.’

‘Don’t speak in riddles, Marco,’ she implored. ‘You know I can’t stand suspense! I’m the kind of person who reads the reviews of films before I go to see them, just so I can find out the ending!’

‘There is no easy way to say this, Shelley—’

And then she guessed. ‘You’ve met someone?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’ve fallen in love.’

‘Yes, again.’

‘It’s obviously serious.’

‘It… Yes,’ he admitted, and for a moment his face looked almost severe. ‘Yes, it’s serious. Very serious.’

‘Serious in that you’ve already shared breakfast in bed?’

‘Shelley!’ he protested, but he was smiling. ‘How can you ask me such a question?’

‘Because I’m a woman, and because I’m curious! Or did you imagine I’d find it painful?’

‘I guess I did. Well, not painful exactly. Difficult.’

‘Because I’ve lived with you for three years and every woman in Italy would like to scratch my eyes out because of that?’

‘Shelley!’ He hesitated. ‘You know—if I could change things I would.’

‘Fall out of love again, you mean?’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Rewrite history.’

‘Well, you can’t,’ she said flatly. ‘No one can.’

‘But I took you away,’ he said slowly, painfully. ‘I took you from Drew.’

Drew.

His name washed over her like the morning tide.

She had seen him in her dreams so often—especially at the beginning, when everything was still so raw, and so painful. But it was a long time since either she or Marco had spoken that name aloud and, oddly, it hurt more than it should have done. Even after all this time.

Shelley shook her head, mainly to rid herself of the face which had swum into her memory with pin-point clarity. Sapphire eyes and honey-tipped hair. The body of a labourer, with the face of an angel.

‘Please don’t say that you “took” me, Marco!’ she protested softly. ‘It makes me sound like a piece of merchandise to be picked up at the supermarket—a can of beans!’

‘But I did!’ he gritted. ‘You know I did!’

‘And you certainly didn’t take me from Drew!’ she contradicted. ‘That would imply that he owned me. And he didn’t—even if he thought that he did. No one can own another human being, however much they try.’

‘But you were engaged to him,’ he pointed out gently. ‘Weren’t you?’

‘I wore a cheap little ring on my finger!’ she cried. ‘A mark of possession—that’s all engagement rings ever are! A metal circle which said “Keep off—she’s mine! And I can do what I like with her because she wears my ring!”’

She blinked back the sudden and mysterious tears which had made her eyes go all blurry. She hadn’t thought about that ring for a long time, but now she had more important things to think about. Like doing the decent thing and leaving as quickly as possible. Not standing in Marco’s way. The way they’d always agreed. ‘Can you arrange an early flight for me, Marco?’

‘Of course. But where will you go?’ he questioned quietly.

‘Why, back to Milmouth, of course.’ She gave him a gentle smile. ‘Where else would I go?’

‘It will be—painful?’

‘Very probably,’ she agreed. ‘And difficult too, I expect. But Milmouth is my home. It’s where I grew up. More importantly, I have a house there—and I’ll need somewhere to live while I make up my mind what I want to do next.’

‘You’ll go and live there?’ he breathed in surprise.

‘You find that so strange to imagine?’ she asked. ‘Why—because it’s a tiny little place compared to the near-palaces I’ve lived in with you?’

‘I think you’ll find that you’ve outgrown what you had there.’

‘We’ll see.’

‘But more than that—aren’t you forgetting the one big difficulty of going back there?’

She met his eyes, knowing what he meant, but needing to hear him say it. ‘Like what?’

‘Why, Drew of course. Drew still lives there, doesn’t he?’