She set aside her fork on her now empty plate. ‘What’s it to you?’ she countered. There was a note of belligerence in her voice.
He countered it with an acid expression. ‘On one issue, Matteo was right, Bianca. After his death you’ll be a wealthy woman. You’ll become a target for fortune-hunters, just as he fears.’
‘They won’t get far. And not every man insists on marrying for money…’ She smiled sweetly. ‘Or cares about where you were born and who to!’
His face tightened. He pushed his empty plate away, picked up his wine glass. ‘It’s the way of the world, Bianca,’ he retorted.
She went on staring at him. ‘It’s the way ofyourworld,’ she said.
A heaviness seemed to be filling her. She didn’t know why. Luca D’Alabruschi,visconteor whatever the hell he was, whatever title he ponced around with these days, was nothing to do with her any longer. He meant nothing to her—nor did she mean anything to him. She’d never meant anything to him other than a novelty bedwarmer…
So why this heaviness? It had hit her in that jeweller’s shop, taking that ring off her finger. As if it could ever have any significance to her! She’d turned away, and the heaviness had hit her like a slug, making her eyes water. Or something had…
The waiter was coming again, and she was glad of it. She’d agreed they had to put the past behind them—well, she must stick to that. Not let it back in.
Their finishedprimoplates were replaced by theirsecondos. Grilled fish for her, with green beans, and for Luca fish in a piquant sauce withparmentierpotatoes.
They made a start in silence. Maybe it was her turn to break it. There were details of their bizarre arrangement yet to be worked out.
‘Are you spending the night at Matteo’s again?’ she asked.
Luca shook his head. ‘I must get back home. I have to arrange some furlough from work. I can’t be away too long. Matteo will understand. When we get back this afternoon we’ll show him the ring, make it look convincing—put on the performance he needs to see to feel reassured.’
She cast him a suspicious look. ‘I’ll wear the ring, Luca—but that’s it as far as “performance” goes! I made that clear last night.’
He threw a look at her. An old-fashioned one that she did not like. Did not like one little bit. He paused in eating, reached for his wine glass again, leant back in his chair. Let his dark, expressive eyes rest on her.
‘I’ve never been slapped before,’ he remarked ruminatively, rubbing his cheek absently with his fingers.
His signet ring glinted in the light. The family crest visible. Did his sense of entitlement come with all that aristocratic lineage? she wondered. Thinking he could help himself to anything he wanted? Any woman he wanted…
He helped himself to me, all right. And I helped myself right back!
But not any longer.
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Try anything on with me again, and you’ll find you’ll be getting used to it!’ she bit back.
He gave a laugh. She didn’t like that either. Not even one little bit of a little bit.
‘Maybe, Bianca, I might just change your mind on that.’
His dark eyes glinted, and she liked that even less.
He went on contemplatively, ‘You know, you’ve become even more amazingly beautiful in the last six years.’ He spoke conversationally, as though he were merely passing the time or remarking about the weather. ‘And I have to concede this new look suits you.’
His eyes were resting on her in a way that made her determination to let the past go fall at the first fence. Suddenly she was all too conscious of the way her pale yellow cap-sleeved shift dress, so simple and yet so expensive, sheathed her body. It was a world away from her cheap, tight-fitting outfits six years ago—very modestly cut, with a round neck and a hemline skimming her knees.
His expression changed to a slight frown. ‘There’s something else different about you too,’ he said. ‘It’s not just your fashion sense that’s changed. It’s your voice. I only hear accents in English with difficulty. But yours has definitely changed.’
She looked at him. ‘RP—that’s what you’re hearing. Received Pronunciation. BBC English. Middle class.’ She gave her acid smile again. ‘Don’t worry—I don’t want to wreck your memories of me. I can still revert easily enough. I think sociologists even have a term for it when people have two different modes of discourse—one for the world, the other for at home. Probably it’s only people like you who don’t have any use for that, becausethe world is already the way you like it to be, designed for your benefit.’
She went on calmly eating her fish. She didn’t care what Luca thought of her—then or now. Didn’t care anything about him, period. End of.
‘It’s over, Bianca!’
It rang in her head again. It would always ring there. And not even this sad, pitiful charade they were embarked upon to please a dying man would change that.
Something seemed to tighten inside her chest, but she ignored it. Went on eating instead.