Authors: Unknown
The excitement and the anger came together in an explosion that shook her. Tears flowed down her face and she was suddenly too weary to hide them from him. 'I don't understand you at all! I don't understand
anything!
I suppose it's quite all right if
you
play with
my
feelings, knowing you don't care anything for me—not really! Why don't you leave me alone and go and kiss Alessandra!'
The forbidden name hung between them for fully a second. It was the longest second in Deborah's life. Then, as his words slowly came through to her, distress gave way to an open-mouthed surprise.
'I am not given to kissing Alessandra,' he said.
'Aren't you?' she said doubtfully.
He shook his head. 'She hasn't your talent for making me forget my better self until I don't know whether to thump you or make violent love to you!' Usually his English was as perfect as her own, with only the very faintest accent adding colour to his speech, but his 't'ump' was too much for her gravity.
'I think "t'umping" might be safer!' she said with feeling, trying not to laugh.
He shrugged his shoulders. 'It would end the same way. Deborah, may I kiss you again?'
Her amusement died. She looked back at him differently^ as unsure of herself as she was of him.
'Why me?' she asked. 'You must know many other women ' She came to an abrupt halt as her heart took off on a new flight of fancy, swooping, like some half-fledged bird caught in an unexpected gale, into the air and falling inelegantly back to earth as often as it made the attempt. Did it matter
why
he wanted to kiss her?
'And you have Michael!' he sighed.
'Michael?
Don't be silly!' she snapped.
To her disappointment he seemed to change his mind. He stood up over her, putting his hands in her armpits, and lifted her up on to her feet as easily as if she had been a child.
'Bene, signorina
, we had better go home,' he said. 'This is not the way I had planned for you to see Rome.'
She could have wept at his change of mood, or stamped her feet, or torn her pinny, but she was afraid that if she did he would guess something of what he had done to her. How dared he trifle with her affections? she demanded of herself, smiling a little at the old-fashioned thought. She raised her eyes to his and faltered in her step.
'But you hadn't planned for me to see Rome at all, had you?' she demanded.
He smiled. 'Hadn't I?' His hand grasped the point of her chin and he kissed her hard on the mouth. 'Prisoners shouldn't ask too many questions,' he said.
And with that she had to be content. She asked herself a dozen different questions all the way back to the Manzu palace, but she lacked the courage to try any of them out on him. She was still fretting at the possible answers when he drove in through the ornate gate beside the palace and reached across her to open her door.
'It will be all right, Deborah. Won't you believe that?'
She had no idea what she might have answered, for at that moment a man came out of a door in the building behind them and walked down the few steps into the courtyard. Her eyes widened and her blood froze within her.
It was her father!
'Father
! Whatever are you doing here?'
Her father came across the courtyard towards the car, made a gesture as if he were about to embrace her, and then changed his mind, looking mildly embarrassed instead.
'You look a mess!' he said. 'What have you been doing to yourself? The idea was to get you out of those abominable jeans I last saw you in, but, if possible, you look worse than ever.'
'Thank you, Father,' she murmured deeply. Then the import of what he had said came to her more slowly. 'You know about my new clothes!' she exclaimed.
'My dear child, how else did you suppose the shops let you go away with hundreds of pounds' worth of stuff?'
'I thought ' Deborah cast accusing eyes on Domenico. 'I suppose you knew I was staying here too?' She sounded defeated, but her father didn't seem to notice.
'I hope you have something else to wear,' he said with distaste. 'You'd better go and change, dear.' He dismissed her quite kindly, but just as though she were still the small girl he had known before he and her mother had gone their separate ways.
Deborah stiffened. 'I want to hear why you're here first!'
'When you look more the thing, Debbie, I'll be pleased to tell you anything you want to know, but not while you're looking such a mess. What have you been doing? You look as though you've been having a romp in a muddy field '
That was close enough to the truth to sting. 'I'm not a clothes-horse, nor am I like Agnes, with never a hair out of place and her stockings always straight!'
Her father's mouth compressed into a straight line. 'You could do worse than take Agnes as a model for your adult behaviour. Be careful that you don't try to remain a child all your life—like your mother!'
'I won't listen to a word against my mother!'
Her father sighed. 'No, of course not. Nor did I mean to criticise her. If we're to get to know each other better, my dear, perhaps we had better start with a clean slate. I shan't mention your mother again and you must try to be equally circumspect about Agnes —whom you don't really know at all, do you?'
Deborah was silent. She didn't like her father's attitude, nor did she like his implication that while she scarcely knew his second wife at all, she couldn't make the same statement about him. He had known her mother very well indeed—he must have done to have been married to her!—and yet wasn't it possible that he still saw her as she had been then, making no allowance for the changes that passing years must bring?
More even than that, he made her feel the impossible child he thought her thus, somehow, depriving her of the right to answer him back as an equal.
'I didn't ask you to buy me anything!' she pointed out. 'I'll pay you back every penny for them!'
He was as appalled as she by her outburst. 'My dear girl, I didn't come to Rome to quarrel with you,' he said awkwardly.
'No? Why did you come?'
Her father turned to include Domenico in the conversation. He looked more bewildered than she had ever seen him before.
'Signore
, wasn't my daughter expecting me?' he asked him.
Domenico looked amused. 'I think not,' he answered. 'She was rather a—reluctant guest in my house '
'He kidnapped me!' Deborah interrupted him.
Her father looked more confused than ever. Only Domenico remained completely calm. 'I had not expected you to get away so soon, Mr Beaumont. Your daughter and I are only beginning to get to know each other and I'm afraid it is my fault that
she
tumbled in the mud at the Roman Forum. You must not scold her for that! But I am neglecting my duties as host. You will want to speak to each other alone, no? You must make use of my study.' He glanced at his watch. 'I have another engagement in any case, so there will be no one to disturb you. Shall I show you the way?'
Deborah looked down at her muddy dress and coat. 'I'd better change first,' she muttered, the light of mutiny still in her eyes.
Domenico gave her an amused smile. 'Wear the greeny-grey dress,
cava.
It will give your father pleasure to see you in something that suits you so well.'
It was her turn to be uncertain. 'Where are you going?' she asked him. She didn't want to be alone with her father! Couldn't he see that?
'I shall be back this evening, Deborah. Entertain your father for me until then, and save your anger for me, if you can, as my shoulders are broader than his where you are concerned.'
Deborah frowned at him. 'Am I going to be angry?'
He tapped her cheek, still smiling. 'I think you might be, but not with your father. The crime, if crime it was, was all mine! And you will still be my prisoner whatever you may think, and so I warn you!'
'Warn me?' she repeated, immediately suspicious.
'A captor has whatever rights he chooses to take,' he informed her. 'Now you are no longer alone and at my mercy, I shall have no qualms as to what I can ask from you!'
She refused to meet the warmth of his regard. She was angry now, she told herself. There had to be some explanation for the fluttery feeling inside her and the delicious panic that raced in her blood whenever he came close to her.
'You have first to prove yourself my captor,' she said calmly. 'I'm not convinced that I have anything to fear from you,
signore
, now that my father is here.'
'If you want his protection you will have to be very nice to him! All he wanted was a chance to get to know his eldest daughter.'
'And you? What did you want?' she challenged him.
'I wonder,' he said. 'Go and change,
carina
. I will take your father to my study. If you want to offer him tea, or some other refreshment, you have only to ring the bell. I would ask my mother to act as hostess, but your father will want you to himself.' He touched a lock of her hair. 'You can fight all you want with me later!'
She would certainly have an explanation from him before she was much older, she vowed. Her father, she suspected, was as confused as she was herself. Yet he had known where she was and, apparently, he had ordered that she was to have new clothes—but not a new haircut! Surely that had been Domenico's own idea!
She put up a hand and her fingers touched his in her hair. She drew back as if he had stung her. 'You should have told me,' she reproached him.
'Would it have helped?'
'I don't know,' she admitted. 'It might have done.'
'Not really,' he contradicted her. 'If we went to the Mouth of Truth now, you still wouldn't put your hand inside and tell me you disliked being my prisoner. Think of that before you take me to task,
piccina!
Go now, your father is waiting!'
It simply wasn't fair that he should command her as if by right, she told herself as she mounted the stairs to her room. Life was unfair! If it weren't, she wouldn't go up in flames every time he looked at her. Not that he cared! And why should he? He had Alessandra, and she had no one, no one at all!
She wouldn't wear the sea-green dress. She told herself it was because she didn't want to, but it was more than that, it was a gesture of independence, to prove to herself that she was still in control of her own life.
Even so, she was more than a little shocked when she saw herself in the looking-glass. No wonder her father had asked what she had been doing with herself to get in such a state! Muddy grass stains marked her coat and her dress, which had been pristine when she had. donned it that morning, was crushed and the collar was torn. Standing in front of the glass and looking at herself, she felt hot all over, as she remembered how she had threatened Domenico with the cleaning bill for her clothes. Now all she could think of was the strength of his arms and the wonder of his kisses.
Did she look kissed? She peered at herself. Was that what her father had thought when he had looked at her? What would he think of her? She tried to imagine him kissing Agnes, as she supposed he must do however unbelievable she found it. Indeed her mind boggled at the thought, but at least it was better than dwelling on Domenico's easy mastery of herself.
She flung off her dress, impatient with her own stupidity. She should have known that she wasn't really his prisoner! Yet there had been so many things that she hadn't understood—didn't understand yet! She put on a cream dress with a gold belt and gold chain around the neck, struggling against an inclination to ignore every article that Domenico had bought her in favour of her own discarded jeans and shirt. But why annoy her father? If she wanted answers to the questions she was about to ask him, it was far better to look as much like he thought a woman should as she could. Certainly, in this dress she could have given points to Agnes, she thought. She looked as cool and as crisp as a cucumber, even to the icy look in her eyes. It was quite a transformation scene, seeing she had come in as hot and flustered as a schoolgirl, and she was pleased with the result. She looked more than capable of looking after herself—against all comers, and that included Domenico Manzu! And if she at last felt able to cope with him, why not her father too?
There was no reason that she could see and, as she entered Domenico's study and saw her father's anxious face across the room, she wondered why she had ever worried about holding her own with him.
'Why did you come, Father?' she asked him, smiling as she sat down on one of the leather chairs in front of the fireplace. 'Do you often come to Rome?'
'Not often.' He played with his lips, trying to make up his mind whether he should confide in her or not. 'It was Domenico Manzu's idea that I should come. I asked him to keep an eye on you, and he suggested I should keep an eye on you myself. It's been difficult in the past seeing anything of you, my dear. Agnes '
'It doesn't matter,' she said, immediately rendered uncomfortable by the mention of his wife's name.
'Because we're too far apart now, although we're father and daughter?' he countered quickly.
'Well, it would be silly to pretend that we've ever been close,' she answered.
'That wasn't the way I wanted it,' he told her. 'These things happen. That's what made me think I would come to Rome—it seemed a good idea for us to spend a few days together. You don't object to that, do you?'
'Of course not!' she hesitated. 'Is that all there is to it, Father?'
'Mostly. I didn't want you to come with things as they are just now. I don't much care for that young man of yours, though I realise I've forfeited the right to say so. If your mother likes him, I suppose there must be more to him than he allowed me to see.'
'Are you talking about Michael Doyle?' Deborah asked.