Rinaldo's Inherited Bride. Lucy Gordon
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art than food.
‘Definitely, I am not going home before I have to,’ she murmured. ‘He can say what he likes.’
CHAPTER THREE
ALEX decided to allow herself the next day for sightseeing. It beat sitting in her room waiting to see what Rinaldo would do next.
But as she descended into the foyer the bulky form of Signor Montelli darkened the door. Alex groaned at the sight of the oily, charmless man whom she remembered from the wake. Reluctantly she sat down with him at a table in the hotel’s coffee shop.
‘I have come to solve your problems,’ he declared loftily.
It was the wrong approach. Alex was immediately antagonised.
‘I’m sure that I have no problems that you could possibly know about,’ she replied coolly.
‘I mean that I’m prepared to pay a high price for your mortgage on the Farnese property. I’m sure we can come to terms.’
‘Perhaps we can, but not just yet. I must give the first chance to the Farnese brothers.’
He shrugged dismissively. ‘They can’t afford it.’
‘How do you know how much it is?’ she asked curiously.
‘Oh—’ he said airily, ‘these things become known. I’m sure you want to turn your inheritance into cash as soon as possible.’
Since this was precisely why she’d come out to Italy it was unreasonable of Alex to take offence, but she found her resistance stiffening. This man was far too sure of himself.
‘I’m afraid I can’t discuss it with you until I’ve discussed it with them,’ she said firmly.
He named a price.
Despite herself Alex was shaken. The money he offered was more than she was owed. The accountant in her spoke, urging her to close the deal now.
But her sense of justice intervened and made her repeat, ‘I must speak to them first.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘I’m not a patient man, signorina.’
‘I’ll have to take the risk of losing your offer, won’t I?’ she said lightly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me.’
As she rose Montelli’s hand came out and grasped her wrist.
‘We haven’t finished talking.’
‘Yes, we have,’ she snapped, ‘and if you don’t release me right now I shall slap your face so hard that your ears will be ringing for a week.’
‘Better do as she says,’ Gino advised. ‘Otherwise I’ll get to work on you myself.’
Neither of them had seen him come into the coffee shop. Montelli scowled and withdrew his hand.
‘Shall I thump him for you anyway?’ Gino asked her pleasantly.
‘Don’t you dare!’ she said firmly. ‘If there’s any thumping to be done I want the pleasure of doing it personally.’
Gino grinned. Then, glancing at Montelli, he said curtly, ‘Take yourself off.’
The transformation in him was astonishing. Instead of the smiling boy there was a hard, steely man. Then it was over, and the pleasant young man was there again. But for a moment Alex could see that this was Rinaldo’s brother.
Montelli saw it too, for he scuttled away.
‘My chance to rescue a damsel in distress,’ Gino said, laughing. ‘And you had to spoil it. Couldn’t you have pretended to be just a little bit scared for the sake of my male ego?’
‘Oh, I should think your male ego is in fine healthy shape, without me buttering it up,’ Alex observed, laughing with him.
‘Signorina, you understand me perfectly,’ he said.
He said ‘signorina’ differently to his brother, she thought, softer, almost with a caress, not grim and accusing. A natural flirt. A merry, uncomplicated lad. He would be excellent company.
‘Are you going out?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I thought I’d do some sightseeing. I’ve never been to Florence before.’
‘May I show you around? I’m at your service.’
‘That would be nice. Let’s have a coffee and discuss it.’
They found a small café near the loggia and drank coffee in sight of the bronze boar. Alex waited for him to tell her about the superstition of rubbing the beast’s nose, but he did not.
But of course, she thought, you know all about your brother’s visit to me last night, how we fought, and then came here. He told you everything. This meeting was no accident.
She smiled at Gino over the rim of her coffee cup, while her mind pursued her own thoughts.
He told you to come and find me, to see if charm worked any better than growling. Well, you are delightful, my friend, and I’m happy to spend the day with you. But you don’t fool me for a moment.
‘Did Montelli hurt you, grabbing you like that?’ Gino asked, taking her arm gently and studying it as though looking for bruises.
She barely felt his light touch. Nor could she recall the feel of Montelli’s hand, unpleasant though it had been. The grasp that lingered was Rinaldo’s, from the night before. Strange, she thought, how she could still feel that.
For a moment she saw his face again, intent, deadly, ready to do something desperate at any hint of a threat to what was his.
‘No, Montelli didn’t hurt me,’ she said.
Gino held onto her just a little longer than necessary, before dropping her hand and saying, ‘Let me take you to the Uffizi Gallery first. Here in Florence we have the greatest art in the world.’
Together they went around the vast gallery. Alex tried to look at all the pictures and show a proper appreciation, but it was too much for her. She felt as though great art was pursuing and attacking her.
They had lunch at a little restaurant overlooking the River Arno, with a perfect view of the Ponte Vecchio.
‘I can’t stop looking at the bridge,’ Alex marvelled. ‘All those buildings crowded onto it, making it seem so top-heavy. I keep thinking that it’ll collapse into the water, but it doesn’t. It’s miraculous.’
‘True,’ Gino agreed. ‘But then, all Florence is miraculous. Sixty per cent of the great art in the world is in Italy, and fifty per cent of that is in Florence. Because for the last few centuries—’
Alex hardly heard what he was saying. She was fascinated by him. Where else, she wondered, would a farmer lecture her about art?
But this was Florence, home of the Renaissance, which had produced men who were many sided, with subtle, wide-ranging minds.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said suddenly. ‘Am I becoming a bore?’
‘Not at all. You made me think of Renaissance man. I guess he’s still around all these generations later.’
‘Of course. That is our pride. Not that Rinaldo thinks so. He never raises his head from the land. But I think a man should have the soul of an artist even if he does get his hands dirty.’
She smiled, wondering exactly how dirty Gino’s hands ever were. With Rinaldo she could believe it. He seemed to be a part of the very earth itself.
Gino regarded her sympathetically. ‘I had thought to show you the Duomo after lunch, but—’
‘Could we do that another time?’ she begged. ‘I couldn’t cope with a cathedral just now.’
‘Fine, let’s find something less virtuous but far more fun.’