Bianca was walking in the villa’s gardens. They were peaceful and secluded, though too formal for her own personal taste, with paved pathways, sculpted topiary, stone ponds and benches. She would need to go in soon. Matteo liked a pre-prandialaperitivo, and she looked forward to that special time with him. He wasn’t always well enough to come downstairs. He had his good days, and days that were not so good…
Her eyes shadowed. She had been granted so much, and yet it was coming at a price. Sadness filled her, and she felt a clutching at her heart. He had made her so welcome, embraced her into his life…just as he was preparing to take his leave of it.
But she would not think such sad thoughts. That time ahead would come—it must—but for now, for this wonderful time, shewould not let it spoil what she had been granted. Granted so miraculously.
Her boss, Andrew, was being wonderfully supportive. She was on an indefinite leave of absence, although she was using her spare time—when Matteo was resting—to work remotely, keeping in touch with what was going on back home.
Home? The word hovered in her head. Matteo had said this was her home now. Had pressed her hand and told her she must not think of leaving. She had given her assent willingly, whole-heartedly, and he had been reassured. As for what would happen after…?
Well, that was for then. This was for now. A special time in her life, and one for which she gave such thanks.
She wended her way back to the villa. She wanted to change—Matteo liked to see her looking nice, and she obliged him willingly. He had already insisted on sending her out in his car, chauffeur-driven, to the main town in the area, to avail herself of the fashionable shops there. To please him she had acquiesced in that too. It had seemed ungracious not to. Ungracious not to enjoy this luxurious, leisurely life here at the Villa Fiarante.
Memory rippled through her. Though she had never wanted Luca to buy her things, she had, all the same, enjoyed to the hilt the deluxe life he led. And in the time she’d been with him she’d led that life too—eating at fancy restaurants, drinking fine wines that she’d barely appreciated but enjoyed all the same, taking taxis everywhere, having the best seats in the theatre when he took her to shows.
Oh, she’d lived the high life with him all right.
But it had been borrowed from him—nothing more than that.
And now…
She walked inside the palatial villa, its resplendent rooms and décor cared for by staff—led by the stately Giuseppe—like a well-oiled machine. She never had to lift a finger. Matteo took it for granted, of course, but then this was his world, his birthright.
Disbelief shimmered through her. To think she’d grown up on a shabby council estate in the East End of London when all along—
No, best not to dwell on that. It was too sad to think of why that had come to be. Far too sad. But thanks to Matteo that sadness had found if not a happy ending—not when he was taking his leave of life—but a lining that was richly silver indeed.
He might never have found me and I might never have known that any of this existed. Never have known Matteo.
Her mood lightened and she ran up the grand sweeping staircase to her room. It was as large as her flat—if not larger—and beautifully appointed. It took her little time to get ready, changing out of cotton trousers and tee shirt—part of her own casual wardrobe—and exchanging them for a knee-length dress in pale blue. It looked deceptively simple, but the price tag had been hefty, and she had bought it only because she’d known Matteo would like to see her in it.
He did, too, when she went into the library a short time later. He was in his usual leather chair, dressed formally, but his top shirt button was undone, and he looked comfortable and relaxed. His colour, so often very pale, looked better too, and Bianca was glad of it.
She stooped to drop a kiss on his thin cheek. ‘How are you this evening?’ she asked, taking a seat opposite him.
‘All the better for seeing you,’ he said.
His English was accented, and memory struck her, as it always did. Luca’s accent when he spoke English had been to die for. Even the most unromantic statements in the world could sound sensuous and beguiling…
She pulled her thoughts away. Giuseppe was approaching in his customary stately manner, bestowing upon her the Campariand soda she liked to have as anaperitivo, while Matteo indulged in a well-watered-down martini. Alcohol was not forbidden to him, but it was allowed in very modest amounts only.
He made a face at the overly dilutedaperitivo.Then he brightened. ‘My dear, we are to have a visitor tomorrow.’
Bianca’s expression changed. Became one of concern.
‘Won’t it tire you?’ she asked.
She hoped she did not sound too fussing, because she knew Matteo did not like to be fussed over, but all the same she felt anxious for him.
‘I will be fine,’ he replied, with a touch of impatience. ‘I have promised Giuseppe—and my dratted nurse—that I will not stir all day tomorrow until the evening. He is coming for dinner, you see, our visitor, and will stay the night as well.’ His expression brightened again. ‘It is someone I particularly want you to meet,’ he said.
‘Who is it?’ Bianca asked.
She was still not sure about visitors. She had become very protective of Matteo, and she knew that she and his nurse and Giuseppe, and indeed all the staff, conspired to fuss over him without him realising it. Sometimes he co-operated, sometimes not. Sometimes it was up to her to persuade him, smilingly, that his wheelchair was not his enemy, and that using it from time to time would enable him to take a turn in the gardens.
In the cooler hours, she pushed him along the paved paths while he told her tales from the past. She drew him out, wanting to hear all she could, thirsty for it like someone who had been in a desert all her life…
A smile was playing about his mouth now, and his eyes were bright, less sunken into his thin face.