The Forced Bride (23 page)

faint sound.

Raf heard it too, freezing instantly, his head turning sharply towards the open bathroom door, and, as Emily followed his

gaze, she saw Apollonia standing there, holding an armful of clean towels as she stared at them.

Raf’s hands fell away and he said something quiet and violent under his breath, before striding over to the girl, taking the

towels and dropping them to the floor, then grasping her elbow and marching her out of the room.

Emily could hear him speaking low furious Italian all the way across the bedroom until finally its door slammed and he

returned alone, his face still set and angry.

‘She goes,’ he said flatly. ‘As soon as her replacement can be found.’ He paused. ‘What was the name you said’

‘Apollonia.’ To her own surprise, Emily felt a pang of compunction for the girl whose dream job was over almost before

it had begun. ‘Raf—isn’t that a little hasty She made a mistake. It—it could have been worse.’

‘Why, yes,’ he said, with a touch of grimness. ‘She could have walked in without knocking five minutes later. And I have

no wish to find her standing over us while I am making love to you, Emilia.’

‘I think you already made that clear,’ she said ruefully. ‘But in the past she’s worked for old ladies who live alone. Maybe

she’s not used to—men in bedrooms.’

‘Particularly her own,indubbiamente ,’ Raf said sourly.

‘That’s not very kind,’ Emily rebuked him with severity.

‘She is hardly decorative,’ he said, frowning a little. ‘And it seems to me that I have thought that before, although I cannot

at present remember when or where.’ He slid an arm round her waist. ‘Perhaps I shall feel more charitable after dinner.’

They were sipping theiraperitivos in thesalotto when Gaspare came in looking glum. Preparations for dinner had

completely halted, he announced, because the girl Apollonia was weeping on Rosanna’s shoulder.

‘She is hysterical.’ He spread his hands. ‘She fears Your Excellency means to dismiss her.’

‘Her fears are justified,’ Raf responded curtly. ‘However, the Contessa has asked me to think again, so you had better

bring her to me.’

Red eyes and a pink nose had done nothing to enhance Apollonia’s appearance. When she saw Raf she rushed forward,

breaking into an impassioned flood of Italian.

He lifted a hand to check her. ‘In English,’ he instructed. ‘So the Contessa can understand what is being said. You are to

be given another chance, Apollonia, but there will not be a third.’

She tried to kiss his hand, but he stepped back out of reach. ‘It is my wife you must thank,’ he said crisply. ‘She spoke

for you. But remember this. In future, when the Contessa and I are alone together in our suite, we do not wish to be

disturbed.Capisci ’

‘I—understand,’ the girl muttered. She turned to Emily, her expression still sullen. ‘Grazie, vossignoria.I will work hard

for you.’

‘A look that would scare birds from fields,’ Raf commented tersely when the maid had been led away. ‘Are you sure you

wish to keep her,mia cara ’

Emily sipped her Campari. ‘She’ll mellow,’ she said, trying to sound confident. ‘And everyone deserves a second

chance—don’t they’

‘Do they’ Raf turned away, his face suddenly remote as he poured himself another whisky. ‘I hope you are right. But

somehow I doubt it.’ He raised his glass, his mouth twisting cynically. ‘To real life,’ he said, without looking at her, and

drank.

Leaving her to stare at him, feeling oddly chilled, as if an icy wind had just swept through the room. And wondering why.

As the days that followed melded into weeks, Emily found that Raf had not exaggerated about how hectic her life would

become.

Everyone, it seemed, wanted to meet the young Contessa Di Salis, and invitations poured in. If Emily had chosen, she

could have attended a ball, a reception or a party every evening. Instead, she left it to Raf’s discrimination to decide what

should be accepted and what politely declined.

She was aware, too, that when she appeared in public with Raf, she was the object of avid speculation. But, as he rarely

moved more than a few feet from her side, no one dared voice their curiosity out loud. And he firmly vetoed the requests

for interviews from editors of newspapers and glossy magazines.

She was also spared any immediate confrontation with Valentina Colona, having learned from a newspaper report that

the lady was in the USA promoting her newest cosmetic range venture.

It would happen eventually but, in the meantime, Emily set herself almost grimly to the task of enjoying herself, but soon

discovered it was not that difficult.

Having the right clothes helped, of course. Raf had been true to his word about choosing her initial wardrobe and she was

half-ashamed to acknowledge that she’d enjoyed being totally indulged in this way and that his eye for colour and style

were exemplary.

But then he’d had a good tutor, she reminded herself painfully, more than once, during their marathon shopping

expedition. And at least nothing he’d bought her held the Valentina X label.

The underwear he’d selected for her had surprised her the most, managing to be exquisitely pretty, astonishingly demure

and lethally expensive, all at the same time.

For his eyes only, she thought wryly. And not a thong in sight.

Life was progressing smoothly on the domestic front too, and she was learning to handle the day-to-day running of her

complicated household, largely, she admitted, through the unstinting goodwill of the staff, who clearly wished her to

succeed in her new responsibilities.

With one exception, of course. She still hadn’t won over the sullen Apollonia. Although she couldn’t openly fault her

discretion after that first evening, she still had the strangest feeling sometimes that she and Raf were not entirely alone.

That there was the odd footfall, not far away, or the occasional sound of a softly closing door.

Or perhaps she was just being paranoid, she thought. This was an old house, so there were bound to be creaks and small

noises.

But the girl’s efficiency and skill were undeniable. The first time Emily had attended a formal banquet, Apollonia had

dressed her hair high in a loose knot on top of her head, allowing a few graceful tendrils to fall round her face, softening

the look.

‘Did you like my hair’ Emily had asked Raf rather shyly when they’d returned late that night.

‘Very much,carissima . Because it means I can do—this.’ He’d removed the pins one by one, allowing the scented

auburn mass to spill down so that he could bury his face in it, before picking her up in his arms and carrying her to bed.

The occasions she really looked forward to were the long informal dinners at the homes of friends, or their own, filled

with wine, laughter and passionate debate about every subject under the sun.

She’d been self-conscious at first, but their acceptance of her seemed total, none of them, by a word or look, indicating

they found it strange that they’d only just met her after three years.

Sometimes she wondered what they would say amongst themselves when the divorce was announced and she

disappeared permanently back to Britain, but resolutely refused to allow herself to dwell on it.

When it happened, she would face it—somehow, although every day and every night she spent with Raf brought with it

the inevitability of eventual heartbreak.

The times with Marcello and his wife were especially relaxed and enjoyable and Emily soon found that Fiona was eager

to expand her horizons and involve her more deeply in the city’s life.

‘You can’t sit around all day, waiting for Raf to come home,’ she’d told her with mock sternness. ‘And you need to be

more than a lady who lunches. I’m on this international committee for children’s charities with a lot of other ex-pats, and

they’d love you to come on board too. Can I tell them you will’

But Emily had refused quietly, saying she didn’t feel ready for such commitment.

A decision that Raf had queried a few days later. ‘Fiona is disappointed that you will not help on hercommissione ,’ he’d

told her. ‘She has asked me to talk you round, if that is possible.’

‘I don’t think so,’ she’d returned stiltedly. ‘I don’t want to start something I may not be here to finish.’

There was a silence, then he’d said, his tone cool and remote, ‘As you wish,mia cara .’ And the subject had not been

raised again.

But such awkward moments were few. And the times Emily loved best were those that they spent at home together,

whether it was in the evenings when she sat curled up in the curve of his arm, talking or listening to music together, or the

weekends where they lazed in bed, eating long, delicious breakfasts, while Raf read the newspapers, muttering furiously

over the contents, until, of course, he saw her laughing at him and exacted appropriate retribution, all press reports

forgotten.

It was at moments like those that she really felt as if she was his wife, and knew she should ask all the still unanswered

questions fermenting in her mind, but she was afraid of spoiling the quiet intimacy of those times—or of revealing that they

were only an illusion.

Occasionally, as the days passed, she discovered Raf watching her, an odd intensity in his gaze that almost amounted to

sadness, and felt her heart thud uneasily, as if she’d received a silent warning that this was simply an interlude in the

scheme of things. And that, soon, the real life he’d spoken of would intervene.

In bed, he was still passionately, intuitively skilful, intent on exploiting to its fullest extent their mutual capacity for pleasure.

And Emily no longer pretended, even for a moment, that her ardour did not match his.

When he stops making love to me, she thought one heavenly night, just before she fell sated and drowning into sleep, then

I’ll know…

Only to find that reality was already hovering, casting its shadow over her fragile happiness.

She was lying on the sofa reading late one afternoon, when Gaspare came into thesalotto to tell her that Rafaele would

not be returning that night.

‘He has a deal that must be finalised this evening,signora , but negotiations are not going well.’ He paused. ‘Also there is

an early breakfast meeting tomorrow. So it will be more convenient for him to remain in the city.’

Emily scrambled to her feet, throwing her book aside. ‘Is he on the line I’ll talk to him.’

‘The message was from his secretary,signora .’

‘Oh, yes. Of course.’ She resumed her seat, feeling slightly foolish.

These things happen, she told herself, as she tried to get back into the plot of the thriller she was reading. But she couldn’t

concentrate.

Instead, she found herself thinking again about the apartment. This place she’d never seen as yet. Although, as it existed,

it was the obvious place for him to stay.

Also, she knew there was a major deal going down because he’d told her so only a couple of days before when she’d

mentioned he seemed preoccupied.

She was fussing over nothing.

At the same time she wished he’d telephoned himself—had spoken to her. And she’d have said—what Please come

home, however late it is. I miss you.

Which was one step away from the forbidden words, I love you, and therefore not very wise. So things were probably

best left as they were.

She ate a solitary meal, with Gaspare being extra solicitous and Rosanna sending up all her favourite dishes.

But there was no comfort for her in the wide empty bed and she spent a miserably restless night without him.

She felt heavy-eyed and at odds with herself the following day, even though she was waiting eagerly for a rapturous

reunion when he eventually returned.

But it did not happen. His kiss was almost perfunctory, holding none of its usual promise. And, although he said briefly

that the deal had been successfully concluded, his thoughts were clearly still elsewhere.

At the conclusion of dinner he got to his feet. ‘I have some work to do, Emilia. You will excuse me’

‘Of course.’ Another first, she thought, refusing to be dismayed. Instead, she stole a glance at him under her lashes. ‘I

might even have an early night.’

‘A good idea.’ He came round the table to her. Kissed her hand, then her cheek in a gesture that brought a stinging

reminder of their first, formal days of marriage. Days that she’d thought were behind them for ever.

He added with slight constraint, ‘You look tired,mia cara . I will make sure you are not disturbed later.’

Which was the exact opposite of what she’d intended. She felt bewilderment and the beginnings of fear as she watched

him walk away.

It was a long time later that she heard him come upstairs. She saw the light under the door of the adjoining room, as she’d

done every night of that long-ago and lonely honeymoon. Now, as then, she watched it go out. And heard the ensuing

bleak and lasting silence.

She released her held breath in a long shuddering sigh as she realised he was sending her the inevitable message that

they’d reached the beginning of the end to their marriage.

And she lay, staring into the impenetrable darkness, too frightened even to cry.

Emily applied a last coating of mascara to her lashes and sat back, viewing her reflection. Cosmetics were only a fragile

mask, she thought. They couldn’t completely hide the hollows in her cheeks or the shadows beneath her eyes. The

tell-tale signs that would signal her unhappiness to the world.

Although the world probably already knew, she acknowledged wearily. For the last fortnight, she’d been aware of