The Sicilian's Passion (14 page)

Through the mists of pain she hesitated. Sometimes she and Lucy felt more like twins than sisters. She nodded. ‘Yes.'

‘And does she know? About the baby?'

‘What baby?' she cried hysterically. ‘There isn't going to
be
a baby, is there? But no, I haven't told her.' She hadn't told anyone, as if by not doing that could make it not seem real.

Lucy arrived at the same time as the paramedics, who were carrying a stretcher. She took one wild look of disbelief at Kate lying huddled miserably on the sofa, with Giovanni
stroking a cool cloth at her brow, and her mouth fell open in horror.

‘What's happened?' she demanded, her eyes flying accusingly to Giovanni. ‘What have you done to her?'

He flinched, but he stood up to face the venom on her face quite calmly. ‘Your sister is pregnant,' he said quietly.

‘You bastard,' hissed Lucy, so that only he could hear.

‘Lucy!' called Kate weakly, and she looked up into her sister's face, her green eyes swimming with the unbearable reality of what was happening to her.

She was losing Giovanni's baby.

‘Oh, Kate, darling! Darling! What is it?'

‘I think I'm having a miscarriage,' whispered Kate brokenly, and saying the hateful word made the first tears come—they slid freely down her cheeks and she made no move to dry them.

‘We'll lift you onto the stretcher,' said the paramedic.

She shook her head. ‘No, I'll walk.'

‘Kate, either you go on the stretcher or I will carry you out to the ambulance myself,' said Giovanni grimly. ‘Which is it to be?'

She heard the implacable note in his voice, and allowed herself to be lifted on.

‘And will your partner—' the paramedic looked at Kate, and then to Giovanni ‘—be coming in the ambulance with you?'

Kate stared up into the blue gleam of his eyes, unable to read any emotion in that shuttered expression. She thought about how babies
should
be conceived. Planned. With love. And preferably within the confines of a happy marriage. Not as the result of a matter-of-fact affair during a passionate weekend when contraception had somehow failed.

Giovanni did not want to be a father, nor her to be a mother. He certainly did not want her to carry
his
baby—so why subject him to the indignity of seeing this brief, precious
life come to a premature end? Why should he be witness to a heartbreak he would be unable to understand?

‘No,' she said huskily. ‘I want my sister with me.'

He flinched again at the ultimate rejection. ‘Very well, Kate,' he said flatly. ‘I will wait here.'

 

He kept a vigil, only just preventing himself from ignoring her request and tearing down to the hospital to sit there and wait, and to interrogate the doctors and the nurses until he had news that she was safe and out of danger.

But Kate had expressly said that she did not want him to accompany her, and he came from a culture which treated a pregnant woman as a jewel above all others.

Except, as he reminded himself bitterly, that the chances were that she was no longer a pregnant woman.

Resisting the urge to smash something, Giovanni sucked in a hot, dry breath of pain. She was losing his baby, he thought, unprepared for the wave of despair which rocked him.

He kept himself busy by clearing away the remains of their meal. He winced as he imagined her making his country's most famous dish. Imagined her shopping for all the ingredients, knowing all the while what she had to tell him.

And what an unforgivable bastard of a man he had been.

He lifted the wine-stained tablecloth from the table and put it in the laundry basket, and settled down to wait.

He waited all night and well into the next morning.

He rang the hospital to be told that she had been ‘taken to Theatre' and that her condition was ‘stable'. He had wanted to shout down the phone at that point, to ask what on earth such a bland word could possibly mean when applied to a woman who had had a new life torn from her body.

He assumed.

He allowed himself a brief fantasy. That her pain and the blood—for he had seen the hideous blush of crimson for himself—had all been some kind of false alarm. Nature's way
of warning her to take things easy. Perhaps the pregnancy was still viable.

But, in his heart, he feared the worst.

They would tell him nothing more. He was not a relative. She had not named him as her next-of-kin—that honour had gone to her sister. In the bureaucratic world of hospitals, he did not have a role in Kate's life.

She came home the following morning at eleven, accompanied by an even whiter-faced Lucy. The facts were stark and were spelt out to him by Lucy in the kitchen, whilst Kate slept fitfully.

There had been a baby, yes, but no more. The ‘spontaneous miscarriage'—more hospital jargon, he thought grimly—had been followed by a routine operation to remove all traces of the pregnancy from her womb.

‘
Routine?
' he questioned incredulously.

‘That's what they said,' answered Lucy.

He saw how much she disliked him, and perhaps in a way he could not blame her, but, whatever the hospital thought and whatever Lucy thought, he
did
have a role in Kate's life. If no longer as her lover, then certainly as the man responsible for bringing her to this.

‘I'll look after her now,' said Lucy fiercely.

He shook his head. ‘No.' His voice was implacable. ‘I will stay with Kate until she recovers.'

In the bedroom, Kate stirred and his words penetrated her consciousness.
Until she recovers.
Then she heard Lucy speaking.

‘You think it's that easy for her?' Lucy was saying. ‘To recover from something like this?'

Kate pulled the duvet over her head to blot out the sounds of their voices. She felt weak and bereft as it was; she couldn't even begin to contemplate that Giovanni was planning to leave her.

Giovanni looked at Lucy. ‘I will not share my thoughts
with you, Lucy—they are for Kate's ears and Kate's ears alone.'

‘And you really think that she
wants
you here?'

He looked deep into her eyes. ‘Has she told you she doesn't?'

‘How long will you be staying?'

He noted that she hadn't answered his question. ‘Until her physical strength is such that she can fly,' he said quietly.

Her sarcasm showed on her face. ‘What? Fly away from you?'

‘To Sicily,' he said in a voice which brooked no argument. ‘I intend taking her there to recuperate.'

Lucy stared at him. ‘Are you completely out of your mind?'

He was tempted to tell her that it was none of her business, but—of course—it was. Kate was her sister and she was simply being protective.

‘I appreciate your concern,' he said softly. ‘But I do not intend to discuss it with you, Lucy.'

‘I have never met a more stubborn man!' she exclaimed, shaking her head in frustration. ‘Well, I'd better go. Please tell Kate I'm here whenever she needs me.'

‘I'll tell her.'

After Lucy had gone, Giovanni went into the bedroom and stood looking down at her, and his face darkened as he saw her white features and shadowed eyes. He had done this to her!

Her eyes fluttered open as if she had sensed he was there. For a split-second she forgot why she was in bed at noon, with Giovanni observing her with such a tense, tight face, and then she remembered. ‘Oh,' she cried, and she felt the hot well of tears behind her eyes.

He wanted to reach out to her, but she looked like a hunted animal, and so he sat on the edge of the bed instead.

‘Kate,' he said softly, ‘we have to talk about it.'

‘Not now,' she said, and shut her eyes again, keeping them tightly closed, in a vain attempt to stop the tears streaming out.

K
ATE
woke early the following morning, with the warmth of sunshine piercing her senses, and the dull ache inside where her baby had been. She bit back the sob which had clawed at the back of her throat, and turned to stare at the wall.

‘Kate?'

The smell of coffee wafted into the room and drifted towards her nostrils, and Kate turned over to see Giovanni standing in the doorway, a tray of coffee in his hands.

‘Hello,' he said, but his voice was as sombre as his face.

‘Hello.' She sat up in bed, forcing a smile.

‘Here.' He put the coffee down on the dressing table and plumped up the pillows behind her back, and she settled against them comfortably.

‘Thank you.'

He wondered what she was thanking him for, when he…he… A muscle moved at his mouth as he poured two cups of coffee and took one over to the bed and gave it to her. He let her drink some and saw a corresponding colour creep into her cheeks before he spoke.

‘Kate, there is something I have to say to you.'

Through her mind shot a catalogue of statements she might expect now. Kate, it's over. Kate, it's been wonderful. Kate, Kate, Kate…

‘Kate.' He saw her give a ghostly glimmer of a smile and wondered why. ‘The miscarriage—'

‘Please, don't!' she winced on a whisper.

‘I caused it,' he said flatly. ‘It was my fault.'

She stared at him with bewildered eyes and put the cup down before she dropped the scalding remains of her coffee. ‘
What?
'

‘When I made love to you.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘Do you think….?' For the first time in his life he was having difficulty forming a sentence. ‘Do you think the fact that the…the…sex we had was quite—?'

Her pain made her want to hurt him, too. ‘Quite what, Giovanni?'

‘Quite forceful? Do you think that was what caused the miscarriage?
I need to know!
'

She stared candidly into his blue eyes, knowing that he was seeking absolution and knowing that she would have given it, had it been within her power. But it was not, and her own guilt overwhelmed her. ‘I don't know,' she said honestly, and he buried his face in his hands.

‘
Matri di Diu!
' he muttered hoarsely. ‘What have I done?'

Part of her wanted to reach out and comfort him, but how could she when she was so badly in need of comfort herself? She closed her eyes wearily and lay back against the pillows.

They stayed there in silence for a little time, and then Giovanni stood up.

‘I'll make you breakfast—'

‘I don't want any—'

‘Oh, yes,' he said grimly, ‘you do. Or rather your body does. You will grow no paler than you already are, Kate, and you will eat it if I have to mash it with a fork and feed you like a baby. Is that understood?'

And, whilst the normal Kate might have rebelled against such high-handedness, this frightened and hurting Kate was
glad to have him there, making her decisions and helping make her well again.

She ate breakfast, then soaked in the bath that he had run for her, and forced herself to dress—or, rather, she compromised at dressing. A long, silky caftan which Lucy had bought her for her twenty-first birthday, and the familiar light, loose garment was a little like wrapping herself in a security blanket.

When she walked into the sitting room Giovanni was sitting there and he stood up.

‘Come and sit down. What can I get you?'

She shook her head. ‘Nothing. You don't have to keep fussing over me, Giovanni.'

‘I want to.'

She remembered his words to Lucy. He would stay until she recovered—so presumably he wanted her recovered in the shortest time possible.

He noted her silence, her normally mobile face grown inert, as if the life had been sucked out of it. And it had, he thought with a sudden fierce pain. It had. ‘I want to take you back to Sicily with me,' he said suddenly.

How she had once longed to hear him say that! In her wildest fantasies she had imagined her clinging onto his arm, Giovanni's girl, the woman he had finally professed love to. ‘You can't do that,' she said tiredly.

‘Why not? You need to rest. You need the sun to warm your skin.'

She stared at him as though he was crazy. ‘What about your family?'

‘What about them?'

‘What will they think of you bringing an English girl to their home—?'

‘I have my own villa,' he interrupted gently, and, when he saw the expression on her face, added, ‘with my own live-in housekeeper, so your reputation will not be tarnished.'

‘Do they know about the baby?'

He shook his head. ‘How can they, when I only found out myself the day before yesterday?'

‘And what about Anna? Won't she want to come and find me and tell me exactly what she thinks of me?'

His shoulders tensed, the news which had seemed so important now totally insignificant in the light of what had happened. ‘Anna is still in Roma.'

But would his family hate her? See her as the reason why his relationship with Anna had come to an end?

‘Kate,' he said, in the gentlest voice she had ever heard him use, ‘my family do not interfere. They know that I am a man, and expect me to make my own judgements about my life. They will respect you as my guest.'

‘I don't know,' she said weakly.

‘Well, I do. I am taking you to Sicily. I will look after you.'

Until she recovered. And then?

But she had no energy left to fight him. Nor any inclination, if the truth was known—and in a way it was rather a relief to let him take over everything. She did not see herself as passive, merely weary—and he seemed to have strength enough for the two of them.

And Kate knew that her willingness to go with him was about more than Giovanni's tenacity. She needed someone to look after her—but Lucy's partner was back—and as he was so often away, how could she ask Lucy?

She certainly couldn't go to her parents without explaining the circumstances, and she wasn't prepared to put them through that kind of hurt and disappointment. And, although the doctors had said she could start working as soon as she felt like it, the fact was that she felt completely empty inside. As though she had been blasted clean of all feelings bar one—that, no matter how useless she knew it to be, her feelings for Giovanni still burned as strong as ever.

‘Well?' The blue eyes blazed into her.

‘OK,' she nodded, and drifted back into a fitful sleep.

He stood and watched her for a time, until her breathing grew more even and her strained expression had relaxed with the onset of deep sleep. And only then did he lean over her to plant the lightest of kisses on her forehead. Then he moved silently from the room, his face dark with loss and pain.

Giovanni hired a plane the following day. He would not countenance the thought of the noise and bustle of airports, with Kate having to change planes and wait for connections. She was still pale, he noted with a pang—and quieter than he had ever known her.

She forced a smile. ‘I'd better pack—'

‘No,
I'll
pack some clothes for you,' he said.

‘I'm not an invalid,' she protested.

Her wan little face made mockery of her words, and his heart clenched. ‘I know that,' he agreed quietly. ‘But I intend to look after you, Kate.'

It was ironic that the things she had always wanted to hear him say were now hers for the taking. Until she remembered that he didn't mean them—not long-term, anyway. He was falling into a role which he seemed to suit very well—that of macho protector. But it was only a temporary role, and one which he would relinquish once he was satisfied that she had recovered from her ordeal.

They flew out from the grey of a wintry English day and arrived to the warm, sensual air of a Sicilian spring. Kate hadn't known what to expect, and as the plane came in to land she could see hills awash with green—greener than she could ever have imagined.

He saw the surprise in her eyes. ‘It is springtime,' he explained softly as the plane kissed the runway. ‘And the very best, most beautiful time of all. You should see it in the summer when it gets diabolically hot, and the land becomes parched and brown and the harsh, unremitting wind they call the sirocco blows all around. Then Sicilians hide themselves indoors and away from the sun as much as they can.'

He had a car waiting, which he drove himself after carefully
settling her into the back seat, a light cashmere rug tucked around her knees.

‘But—'

‘I know. You're not an invalid. Just enjoy it, won't you, Kate?' he added in what came pretty close to a plea—and how could she ever resist that?

The car began to mount the hills outside Palermo, where wild flowers of every imaginable hue studded the green hills. It was as pretty as anything she had ever seen, and Kate felt a great tug of something like longing. The land of his birth, she thought, and bit her trembling lip.

Towards the very top of the hill the car passed through wrought-iron electronic gates which slid silently open and closed behind them, just as silently and a beautiful long, low villa awaited them.

They were greeted at the villa by an elderly woman, dressed in a plain black dress, her face openly curious as she opened the door to them.

‘This is Michelina, Kate.' He switched rapidly to Sicilian, and the woman inclined her head at Kate as Giovanni introduced them.

‘Michelina has worked for my family in some capacity for many years,' he explained as he showed her along a shady passageway and into a luxurious marble-floored bedroom. Its windows were shuttered against the light of the day, and a large bed covered with an exquisitely embroidered cover loomed large in her vision. She turned to look at him with a silent question in her eyes, knowing that here lay another potentially painful moment of truth.

‘This is where you will sleep,' he said abruptly, wondering if she was trying to test his resolve with that dewy-eyed look at him.

He felt the quickening of his heart. Was she trying to break him? To see whether he would repeat his outrageous behaviour of that terrible night when he had made such passionate love to her? Trying to break a man driven solely by his baser
instincts, who could not nurture the woman who carried his child within her?

‘And you?' she questioned, because she needed to know.

His mouth hardened. ‘I will be along the corridor.'

So that was that. Looking after her would not include holding her in the night, and she must force herself to recognise—and to
accept
—that that side of their lives had come to a natural end. Perhaps it was for the best—at least this way she would be able to wean herself off him slowly.

Kate dressed for dinner that evening, wondering if she could bear it, and questioning her own sanity. For how could she possibly make a complete recovery if inside her heart was breaking?

But Michelina's presence meant that outwardly, at least, she was forced to behave as the perfect guest, and it quickly became tolerable for her to actually
feel
that way. She praised the wonderful food—though it was rather ironic that the housekeeper had chosen to present her with
pasta con le sarde
for her first evening.

‘It is our national dish,' she told Kate with a smile, in her faltering English.

And Giovanni had glimmered a look across the table at her. ‘Kate has heard of it,' he smiled.

‘It's delicious,' she said, and it was. She had eaten barely anything of her own attempt at making the dish. She resolutely pushed that particular thought away, since looking back would not help her.

‘You have many gastronomic feasts in store for you, Kate,' murmured Giovanni as he poured her a glass of wine. ‘Sicilian food comes hotter, spicier and sweeter than the rest of Italy.' He gave a rueful smile. ‘For which we must thank our Arab conquerors.'

She was yawning over the coffee Michelina had left them, when Giovanni stood up with an air of determination.

‘You need to go to sleep now,' he instructed softly. ‘Come with me.'

Outside her door, she wanted him to touch her—not in a sexual way, but in a comforting kind of way, to enfold her in his strong embrace and take some of the aching away, but he kept his distance.

Their physical closeness seemed like a distant dream as he quietly shut the bedroom door behind him, and she heard him moving off down the corridor.

But the sun was shining the next day and he drove her through the mountains to a resort along the Tyrrhenian coast called Cefalú, which he promised her was spectacular, and from the moment she saw the fishing village, squeezed between a long, curving sweep of sand and a massive peak known as the Rocca, Kate fell in love with it.

Giovanni slowed the car down, and pointed to the Rocca. ‘What does that resemble?'

It was like one of those games you played with ink-spots, trying to make sense out of a random shape. Except that this shape seemed very clear to Kate.

‘It looks like a head?' she guessed.

He laughed in delight. ‘Clever girl! That's exactly what the ancient Greeks who came here thought, too. And kephalos is the Greek word for “head”—hence Cefalú.'

Kate sat back in her seat, pleased at her perception and even more pleased by his smiling praise. At times like this, it was easy to forget her reason for being here—and easy to imagine that they were just like any other couple, enjoying the sights and relaxing in each other's company.

But they weren't, she reminded herself. They weren't.

She turned her head quickly to look out of the window. Too often in the past had she wished for the impossible and now it was time to change the game-plan.

Side by side, they walked down to the Norman cathedral and Giovanni gave her his linen jacket to wear.