Wife in the Shadows (6 page)

‘For as long as it is necessary.’ He shrugged. ‘Believe me,
signorina,
you are not the only sufferer.’

He glanced past Ellie as the door opened to admit the Principessa, her smile a little fixed.

‘You must excuse me. I have been welcoming another guest. Silvia’s husband,
caro
Ernesto, has been able to join us. Such a pleasure.’ Ignoring Ellie’s gasp of disbelief, she paused, playing with the bracelet she was wearing, her glance flickering from one impassive face to the other, now flushed with anger as well as embarrassment.

‘And by now you have arranged everything between you, I am sure,’ she went on. ‘The Prince has telephoned to say he
will be here for lunch, so I suggest the announcement is made then.’

But nothing happened …

The same desperate words echoed and re-echoed in Ellie’s head, but remained unuttered. There was no point, she thought numbly. A course of action had been agreed, and would be adhered to. Ernesto’s sudden arrival had guaranteed that. But what had brought him? Had he come of his own accord, or had it already been arranged with Silvia? And had the important client who needed his advice ever existed?

She felt too weary to think any more, as she watched Angelo Manzini bow slightly, kiss her godmother’s hand then leave.

The Principessa came over to her, studying her with critical eyes. ‘You look a little worn, dearest girl. If you go to your room, my maid will bring you this wonderful concealer that I have discovered and show you how to use it. You must look radiant for your
fidanzamento.’

Ellie gave her an anguished look. ‘Godmamma—I.’

Lucrezia Damiano kissed her on the cheek. ‘And do not worry, my little one.’ She gave a determined nod. ‘All will be well. All will be very well. You will see.’

Consolata was deft and clever with cosmetics, Ellie was forced to admit. The face that looked back at her from the mirror was no longer as pale and strained as it had been. Her lashes had been darkened with mascara, and her mouth defined by a soft coral lipstick.

The older woman had frowned and sighed, however, over the limited choice of clothing in the wardrobe and reluctantly agreed that the skirt and top Ellie was already wearing would have to do.

But the
signorina
was not to go immediately to the
sala da pranzo,
she added. The
Principe
had returned and wished first to speak to her in the garden.

Ellie’s heart sank, but she supposed the interview with Cesare Damiano was inevitable.

She found him as usual in the walled garden among his
beloved roses, a tall man with iron-grey hair, treading slowly along the graveled walks, his gold-rimmed glasses on his nose as he scanned the beds for signs of disease or pests.

As Ellie reached him, he turned from his scrutiny of a magnificent display of blooms so deeply crimson they seemed almost black.

‘The
Toscana,’
he said meditatively. ‘As beautiful as when it was first grown here six hundred years ago. It gives one a sense of stability—of the rightness of things. Do you not think so, Elena?’

‘Yes, Your Highness.’

He studied her gravely. ‘Your godmother tells me that you and Count Manzini wish to be married, my child.’

That, thought Ellie, startled, is the last thing either of us wants.

Aloud, she said hesitantly, ‘We—we have agreed to become engaged, sir.’

He pursed his lips. ‘An engagement is a solemn promise and, in this case, made not before time, according to what my wife has told me.’ He sighed. ‘And while I deplore the way your courtship has been conducted, I believe I must give you both my blessing.

‘I have spoken to Count Manzini,’ he went on more briskly. ‘And he has assured me there will be no more unseemly incidents before the ceremony. Nevertheless, young blood runs hot, and the Principessa and I agree that you should at once take up residence in our house in Rome, and be married from there. That should remove temptation and at the same time dispel any unfortunate rumours.’ He allowed himself a faint smile. ‘I shall allow myself the privilege of giving you away, my dear child.’

The world seemed to recede to some far distance. She was aware of the sun beating down on her head, and the hum of bees. And from somewhere, her voice saying hoarsely, pleadingly, ‘But there’s no need for so much hurry—surely.’

The austere look returned. ‘I hope not indeed. But at the
same time there is also no reason to delay.’ He glanced past her. ‘As I am sure your
fidanzato
will wish to assure you.’

Ellie turned apprehensively to see Angelo Manzini approaching unhurriedly down the path.

Prince Damiano patted her shoulder. ‘I will leave you together. But first—this.’ He reached out and picked a long-stemmed red rose from a nearby bush. ‘A flower for lovers,’ he said, handing it to her, then, bowing slightly, walked off towards the house.

She watched him go, almost in despair, then turned to face Angelo, her slim body rigid, her eyes blazing accusation.

‘You seem disturbed,
mia bella,’
he commented coolly as he reached her.

‘I’ll say I’m disturbed,’ she said shakily. ‘This engagement is quite bad enough, but they seem to be planning our wedding as well. What the hell is going on?’ She drew a breath then added furiously, ‘And I’m neither yours, nor am I—beautiful.’

‘Not when you are glaring at me, perhaps. And your choice of clothing hardly does you justice either.’ He paused. ‘But you have possibilities, as I observed last night when you were wearing no clothes at all.’

For a moment she was lost for words, then she said chokingly, ‘How—how dare you?’

He shrugged. ‘You chose to turn on the lamp. And I am not blind.’

‘No,’ she said fiercely. ‘And you also have the power of speech, so go back to the house right now and tell them it’s all off. That I’ve turned you down.’

‘That would be foolish,’ he returned unmoved. ‘Particularly as we have the Prince’s approval—in addition to our other well-wishers.’

‘What do you mean?’ Ellie demanded huskily.

His smile did not reach his eyes. ‘Come,
signorina.
You cannot be that naïve. Or that stupid. You must know that Silvia is not the only conspirator at Largossa this weekend.’

She said, ‘And I tell you that I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. Now will you do as I ask?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Because it would solve nothing.
Infatti,
it would simply make matters infinitely worse. I have already explained to you why I need the Prince’s goodwill. Can you afford to have it withdrawn? You are fond of your
madrina,
I think. Do you really wish to be barred from her house and denied her affection? Because that would follow.

‘More than that,’ he added grimly. ‘How will you like being known as my discarded lover? Is that the kind of notoriety you desire? And do you truly want your cousin to enjoy her unpleasant victory and laugh at us both? Because I do not.’

‘But—marriage.’ She pronounced the word with something like revulsion.

‘Grazie,’
Angelo returned coldly. ‘However, I have no more wish than you to put my head in that noose. For the moment, there will be an engagement only.’ He paused. ‘But engagements can be easily broken. It happens every day. We have only to choose some convenient moment.’ His mouth curled. ‘And I will make certain that the fault is mine. Some flagrant act of infidelity, perhaps, to make the world think you have had a fortunate escape.’

Ellie took a breath. ‘Count Manzini, you have the morals of an alley cat.’

‘While you,
signorina,
have the tongue of a shrew. Shall we agree that we are neither of us perfect?
Nel frattempo,
in the meantime, I offer you this.’ He produced a small velvet-covered box from his pocket and opened it.

Ellie looked down at the square antique sapphire set amidst a blaze of diamonds and swallowed.

‘I—I can’t wear that.’

‘You are allergic to precious stones?’ He sounded mildly interested.

It would have been childishly rude to retort, ‘No, only to you,’ so she refrained.

‘I simply couldn’t accept anything as valuable,’ Ellie said, and frowned. ‘How come you’re carrying something that expensive around anyway?’

‘It belongs to my grandmother,’ he said. ‘She promised that
when I planned to marry, she would allow me to choose a ring from her collection for my
fidanzata.
I picked this one.’

‘But you did not pick me,’ Ellie said. ‘And you have no plans to marry—anyone. As the Contessa knows perfectly well. So this is sheer hypocrisy.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘It is part of our agreement. Now give me your hand.’ He met her defiant eyes, and added,
‘Per favore.’

She stood in silent reluctance as he slid the ring over her knuckle. She wore little jewellery at the best of times and none at all on her hands, and it felt heavy—even alien.

She was still holding the rose that the Prince had given her, and its fragrance, exquisitely sweet and sensuous, drifted upwards in potent contrast to the bleakness of the moment.

‘Do you have any further instructions for me?’ she asked bitterly.

‘Instructions, no,’ he said. ‘But perhaps—a suggestion.’ And took her in his arms. For a moment, sheer astonishment held her still as his lips plundered hers in a hard, draining kiss without tenderness or, she recognised with shock, any real desire.

Then, as she began to resist, he let her go. He said softly, ‘Your mouth is the colour of that rose,
mia bella.
At last you look as if you know a lover’s touch. So, now let us do what we must.’

A
FTERWARDS, IT WAS
the faces she remembered. The Contessa, impassive; her godmother beaming but with anxious eyes; Signor Barzado trying to hide his astonishment and his wife her disappointment that a potential scandal had been overtaken and diluted by convention; the Cipriantos, astonished too but pleased.

And above all Silvia, seated beside her clearly bemused husband, her lips stretched in a smile, but her eyes burning with anger as Prince Damiano made the announcement with grave pleasure, and Angelo took Ellie’s hand, glowing with the blue fire of his sapphire, and raised it formally to his lips.

The lunch had been sumptuous, but she’d eaten like an automaton, hardly tasting a mouthful. Then there’d been the toasts to be got through, her mouth aching in an effort to smile and acknowledge the good wishes, whatever their level of sincerity.

Standing rigidly to receive Silvia’s air kiss on both cheeks, then watching her turn to Angelo with the husky murmur, ‘Congratulations,
mio caro.
How truly clever you are.’

Being lost for words as Ernesto, after wishing her joy without the slightest conviction in his voice, had said, ‘This is very sudden, Elena. I wasn’t aware you were even acquainted with Count Manzini.’

And discovering Angelo at her side, smiling as he replied, ‘But I have you to thank, Signor Alberoni. I saw her first at a dinner party at your house. Now—here we are.’

Later, feeling her face warm in a blush of sheer embarrassment
as she again listened to Angelo courteously parrying the jovial demands to know when the happy day would be. Asking herself why she should be surprised, when talking himself out of dodgy situations was probably an everyday occurrence for him?

Now, at last, finding solitude in her room, with the shutters closed against the profound afternoon heat. And the door locked. An unnecessary but instinctive precaution. Because she was still trembling inside from the unexpected brush of Angelo’s lips on hers as he escorted her to the stairs and his whispered, ‘Soon we will be sharing the siesta,
mia carissima.’
And knowing his remark had been pitched at the world at large and that he didn’t mean a word of it hadn’t affected her reaction in the slightest. Which, in retrospect, worried her a little. Or rather more than a little.

Telling herself not to be stupid, Ellie turned restlessly on to her side and tried to relax. Her rose had been rescued from the lunch table by Giovanni and was now in a slim glass vase beside her bed. Something else she could have done without, she thought, as its evocative perfume reached out to her again, bringing with it unwanted and frankly dangerous memories.

Warning her that the coming days and weeks—she prayed it would be no longer—might well be some of the most difficult of her life.

Her most immediate problem, she realised sombrely, was the suggestion, fast turning into a decree, that she take up residence in the Damiano
palazzo
in Rome in order to prepare for her wedding. And, of course, to avoid any further sexual temptation before the legalised union of the wedding night.

It was almost funny, but she’d never felt less like laughing.

She could only hope that the Principessa would come to her rescue and use all her considerable powers of persuasion to convince her husband that such precautions were quite unnecessary, without stating precisely why this was so.

I just want my own life back, she told herself with a kind of desperation. My apartment, my work, my friends, and, more than anything, Casa Bianca, my house by the sea. If I’d only
stuck to my guns and spent the weekend there, I’d have been spared this nightmare.

But even this won’t last forever, and then I can start to be happy again.

And tried to ignore the small insistent voice in her head warning her that her life had changed forever, and, however hard she tried, nothing would ever be the same.

The dress she’d brought to wear for dinner that evening was new, ankle length in a dark blue silky fabric, with cap sleeves and a crossover bodice, the slenderness of her waist accentuated with a narrow band of blue and gold silk flowers. As she put it on, she realised, to her annoyance, that its colour matched the Count’s sapphire almost exactly. As if it had been planned in advance, she thought with an inward groan.

She wished with all her heart that she could change it for something crimson—or magenta, or even bright orange—but she didn’t possess as much as a scarf in any of those colours. Nor could she bring herself to wear the sunflower skirt two nights running.

The concealer that Consolata had left for her did its work again, and her freshly washed hair shone as it curved gently round her face, so, in spite of her inner confusion and anxiety, she looked relatively composed when she went down to the
salotto.

Giovanni was waiting in the hallway to open the door for her, and she paused, drawing a deep breath, feeling as if she was about to walk onstage without knowing what play she was in, let alone any of the lines she was supposed to say. But the major domo’s discreet smile and nod of approval helped launch her into the room, even if the sudden hush that met her appearance was disconcerting enough to induce a wave of shyness to sweep over her.

For a moment, she wondered if she was late, but one swift glance told her that she was not the last arrival. That neither Ernesto nor her cousin were yet present. No doubt Silvia was
waiting as usual to make a last minute entrance in something by Versace that would knock everyone sideways.

I just wish I could do the same to her, she thought grimly.

‘My dear.’ Prince Damiano walked towards her. ‘How charming you look.’ He turned to Angelo who had accompanied him. ‘You are a lucky man, Count.’

‘I am well aware of exactly how fortunate I am,’ Angelo returned silkily. His lips were smiling, but there was no accompanying warmth in the dark eyes as he took Ellie’s unresisting hand and kissed it lightly. ‘Mia
bella,
Nonna Cosima is anxious to be better acquainted with her future grand-daughter. May I take you to her?’

His choice of words made her heart miss a beat. ‘Yes,’ she said huskily, recovering herself. ‘Yes, of course.’

The Contessa was seated on a sofa, chatting to Signora Ciprianto, who rose to make a tactful retreat at Ellie’s approach.

‘I have brought you my treasure, Nonna,’ Angelo said lightly. ‘I am sure you will be as delighted with her as if you had chosen her yourself.’ He paused as the Contessa bit her lip and changed colour slightly, then turned, smiling, to Ellie. ‘May I get you something to drink,
mia cara?’

There was something going on here, Ellie decided. Something she didn’t know about, and probably wouldn’t like.

Sudden anger shook her, and with it a desire to be perverse. She met Angelo’s gaze limpidly. ‘Oh, just the usual, please.’ And being rewarded with a swift flash of annoyance in his eyes, she added, ‘Darling,’ as he turned to walk away.

The Contessa leaned forward and took her hand. ‘Elena—I may call you that, I hope, and you must say Nonna Cosima. We have met in difficult circumstances, but we must now put them behind us and look instead to the future, and to happiness. Do you agree?’

Ellie was taken aback. The Contessa was speaking as if there’d been a slight glitch, now sorted out to everyone’s satisfaction,
when she knew—she must know—that the contrary was the case.

She said quietly, but with emphasis, ‘The whole thing can’t be forgotten too quickly as far as I’m concerned. And please believe that is something I absolutely look forward to.’ She added stiltedly, ‘I hope that’s the reassurance you want.’

There was a glint in the dark eyes that struck Ellie as far too reminiscent of the lady’s grandson. ‘Not precisely,’ said the Contessa. ‘But it will serve for now.’

And then she began, with great charm, to ask questions. If Ellie had ever thought it was only the Spanish who had an inquisition, five minutes with Angelo’s grandmother would have convinced her that the Italians weren’t far behind.

She found herself speaking with total candour about her parents, her friends, her work at the publishing company, revealing, she realised, probably more than she wished. And, finally, she told the Contessa about her apartment.

When she mentioned she lived there alone, the Contessa’s delicate brows rose. ‘Then the sooner you accept the invitation to move to the Palazzo Damiano the better, dear child.’

Ellie sat up very straight. ‘I see no need for that. Besides I love my apartment. It’s my home.’

‘But not for much longer. After all, you are going to be married, and you will share your husband’s home.’

Ellie’s hands clenched together in her lap. ‘And—when I get married, I will do so.’
Or if …
‘But until then, I’ll stay where I am.’

‘Yet surely you must see that is impossible.’ The Contessa sounded almost coaxing. ‘Angelo could not be permitted to visit you there.’ She gave a resolute nod. ‘From now on, there must not be as much as another whisper of scandal about your relationship with my grandson.’

And as Ellie’s lips parted to tell her without mincing her words that visits from Count Manzini did not feature on her personal agenda, and that there was no relationship with him—neither past, present nor future—she heard Angelo’s voice
saying coolly, ‘Your drink, Elena
mia.
Campari with a splash of soda.’ Adding softly, ‘Just as you like it,
carissima.’

Of course, Ellie thought, almost grinding her teeth. He’d have asked Madrina. As I should have known.

Accepting the glass from him, with a murmured,
‘Grazie,’
she wished very much she could throw the drink at him, drenching the open mockery in the dark face and staining, perhaps irrevocably, his immaculate dress shirt as well. Before, that is, she left the room, screaming.

As it was, she took immediate refuge behind a wall of reserve, returning only monosyllabic replies to any remarks made to her, and thankful to her heart when the Prince, his wife and the rest of the party came to join them, and conversation became general.

It was when Giovanni announced respectfully that dinner was served that she realised that the group was not complete.

She said in an undertone to the Principessa, ‘But, Madrina, Silvia and Ernesto haven’t come down yet.’

‘They are not here,
mia cara.’
Her godmother conveyed the news almost casually. ‘Silvia felt that she was developing a migraine—so painful, so debilitating—therefore Ernesto took her back to Rome. Such a good and caring husband.

‘But do not concern yourself about your own return,’ she added brightly. ‘Cesare has already said that you will travel with us. At the same time, arrangements can be made to bring your things from your
appartamento.
Which makes everything so very convenient, don’t you agree?’

No, Ellie didn’t agree, but she knew, through experience, that there was no point in saying so. Not once Prince Damiano had spoken. And since when had Silvia suffered from anything like a migraine?

It’s like trying to find your way out of a maze, she thought bitterly as she made her way to the dining room. Every way you turn, you come up against a blank wall.

But later, when she looked up and found Angelo watching her across the silver and crystal of the polished dining table,
his dark gaze frankly speculative, it occurred to her that blank walls might be the very least of her troubles.

As an object lesson in discovering how the other half live, Ellie soon realised, residence at the Palazzo Damiano could hardly be bettered.

She walked on marble floors from one massive, high-ceilinged room to another. She slept on the finest linen sheets, and her delicious food was served on delicate porcelain.

Her little flat would have fitted easily into the bedroom she’d been given alone, quite apart from the small but comfortable sitting room which led to it, and the luxurious bathroom which adjoined it.

And her second-hand Fiat screamed ‘poor relation’ when parked beside the Prince’s limousine and her godmother’s elegant Alfa Romeo on the gravelled sweep in front of the
palazzo.

But when all this nonsense is over, she told herself staunchly, unlike so much else, it will be still around and still reliable.

And so, she hoped, would her job, even though her engagement had proved to be a nine day wonder at the office, to her acute embarrassment, while the sidelong looks from certain people had confirmed beyond doubt that rumours of Silvia’s affair with Angelo Manzini had indeed reached the public domain.

In addition, one of the directors had called her in and asked outright at what point prior to her marriage did she plan to resign. Totally taken aback, she had flushed and stammered that she loved her work, and had no intention of abandoning it, and been answered by sceptically raised eyebrows, and the comment that her
fidanzato
might have very different ideas.

If I have to go on biting my lip each time he’s mentioned, she thought savagely, I shall soon have no mouth left.

Even more galling was having to endure his actual physical presence at the
palazzo,
where he’d become a regular visitor, dining with them several times a week. And telling herself that his visits were only part of the pretence and that it was Prince

Damiano whom he really came to see made the situation no easier to bear.

He sent her flowers, too. Her sitting room was full of them.

And he kissed her. Mainly on the hand and the cheek admittedly, but sometimes on the lips—invariably when it was impossible for her to take evasive action.

Ellie supposed that nine out of ten women would have asked why on earth she would wish to avoid being kissed by one of the most attractive men in Italy, and found it difficult to explain, even to herself.

After all, she couldn’t say that it was because she knew his kisses were prompted by duty rather than desire, when the last thing she wanted was for Angelo Manzini to desire her. Those brief moments in bed in his arms when she’d suddenly turned into a complete stranger had taught her that. And the memory of them still had the power to dry her mouth and make her tremble in a way that was totally outside her experience.