Bedded For The Italian's Pleasure. Anne Mather
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afternoon, as you’d know if you spent more time at Tregellin.’
Cary didn’t bother answering him. Instead, he placed an arm about Juliet’s shoulders, causing a rather unpleasant shiver to ripple up her spine. He bent his head towards her. ‘How about you and me taking a walk in the grounds?’ he suggested. ‘I’d like to show you around.’
‘Oh—no.’ With some discretion, Juliet managed to ease herself out of Cary’s reach. ‘I—er—I was just thinking of taking a bath.’
She heard Rafe’s disbelieving exhalation of breath and determinedly avoided his gaze. It wasn’t anything to do with him if she chose to change her mind.
‘A bath, eh?’ Was Cary being deliberately provocative? she wondered. ‘Oh, yeah, that sounds like a plan. We could take a bath together, baby. Have you noticed how big the tubs are here? It makes you wonder what the people of Great-Grandmama’s generation used to get up to when Great-Great-Grandpapa used to throw those wild house parties between the wars.’
‘Not what you’re imagining, Cary,’ declared a cool, aristocratic voice from the direction of the morning room. Lady Elinor was standing in the open doorway, the little dog, Hitchins, tucked under her arm. ‘Rafe.’ She nodded towards her other grandson. ‘A minute before you leave, if you please.’
JULIET had a bath, but it was a fairly cold one. The only shower was hand-held, and she used it to sluice herself down before stepping out onto the marble floor. Fortunately, she’d laid a towel beside the bath before getting into it. She was already shivering, and imagining bare feet on cold marble didn’t bear thinking about.
There was no hair-drier, but she’d washed her hair that morning, so that didn’t worry her. Nevertheless, she wished she’d brought her own drier with her. She’d been spoiled, she thought. She was used to staying in hotels where every amenity was provided.
Not any longer, of course, she told herself, the spectre of the electricity bill briefly rearing its ugly head. And, however awkward it was for her here, at least it would provide her with enough money to pay it. If she could just ignore Rafe Marchese, it wouldn’t be all that bad.
With the knowledge that Lady Elinor was giving a dinner party for her grandson on Saturday evening, Juliet studied the clothes she’d brought with her rather critically. It wasn’t that she was short of clothes. On the contrary, until David had cancelled her credit cards, shopping had been something she enjoyed. But she hadn’t brought a lot of clothes with her. Cary’s complaint that his grandmother never spent any money hadn’t prepared her for the real situation at Tregellin. Although the old lady might not have a lot of money, she lived in some style. The upkeep of the house alone had to be excessive, but there seemed to be no question of her leaving it and moving to smaller premises.
Which meant Juliet had to save her little black dress until Saturday. It was the most formal thing she’d brought, and when she’d tucked it into her case back in London she’d had real doubts about bringing it. She was glad she had now. Cary would expect his ‘fiancée’ to wear something suitable.
That evening she decided to wear a pair of cropped trousers in aubergine silk, whose low waist exposed a generous wedge of creamy skin. She’d wear a mauve and green patterned top with the trousers, its smock style successfully covering the breach.
It was a little after seven when she went downstairs. Cary had told her before they’d parted in the hall that his grandmother usually had supper at half-past. Although she would have preferred to stay in her room until it was time to eat, that would have been impolite, and, hearing the sound of voices from the drawing room, she headed in that direction.
The housekeeper was on her way out as Juliet entered the room, and after wishing their guest a good evening she hastened on her way. Expecting to find Cary with his grandmother, Juliet was perturbed to find it was just the two of them, though the old lady was graciousness itself as she offered her guest a sherry before the meal.
‘Oh…’ Juliet had never liked sherry, finding it too sweet, usually, but good manners dictated that she accept Lady Elinor’s offer. ‘Thank you.’
‘Perhaps you’d help yourself,’ added the old lady, gesturing with her cane towards the tray on the nearby bureau. ‘I have a little arthritis in my hands and I don’t find it easy lifting the decanter.’
Juliet nodded and went to do as she’d been asked, grateful that she need only pour herself a small amount. ‘My father suffered from arthritis in his hands, too,’ she said, coming to sit on the leather sofa opposite the old lady’s armchair. ‘He used to say it was with holding a pen for so many years.’
Lady Elinor acknowledged this. She was looking particularly elegant this evening in an ankle-length black skirt and a cream silk blouse. Once again, a shawl was draped about her shoulders, a Paisley pattern this time in autumn shades.
‘Your mother died before your father, didn’t she?’ she remarked, and Juliet conceded that this was so.
‘She died just after I was born. My father was devastated, as you can imagine.’
‘Of course.’ Her hostess absorbed this. ‘And your father was considerably older than your mother, I believe,’ she went on, startling Juliet by her knowledge. ‘But at least he had you. You must have been very close.’
‘Yes, we were.’ Juliet felt a twinge of the distress she’d suffered when her father had died. Then, frowning, ‘Did you know my father, Lady Elinor?’
‘No.’ The old lady shook her head. ‘But I remember my son and his wife talking about Cary’s friendship with Maxwell Lawrence’s daughter. And I know Cary was dismayed when I removed him from all the friends he’d had in the village.’
Juliet took a tentative sip of her sherry and found it wasn’t as sweet as she’d anticipated. ‘That seems such a long time ago.’
‘Well, of course, it is.’ Lady Elinor sighed. ‘It’s easier to look back when you’re my age.’ She paused. ‘But you married someone else. Cary attended your wedding. Did you realise you’d married the wrong man?’
Juliet pulled a wry face. ‘You could say that.’
‘You’d prefer not to talk about it?’
‘No.’ Juliet bit her lip. ‘It was just a stupid mistake, that’s all. David never loved me. As Cary probably told you, he was only interested in my money.’
Lady Elinor’s brows drew together. ‘And your father didn’t insist that he sign some kind of agreement before you became his wife?’
‘My father died a year before I met David,’ explained Juliet ruefully. ‘And as I say, I believed him when he said that money didn’t matter to him.’
‘Money always matters,’ declared the old lady firmly. ‘Except perhaps to someone like Rafe.’ She paused. ‘You’ve met Rafe, haven’t you? He’s my daughter Christina’s son. Unfortunately she was never married to his father.’
‘Ah.’ Juliet pressed her lips together for a moment. ‘May I ask what you meant when you said Rafe wasn’t interested in money?’
It was a personal question, but happily the old lady didn’t appear to take offence. ‘Perhaps I should amend that to my money,’ she said, with a wry smile. ‘He does extremely well without it. The small gallery he’s just opened in Polgellin Bay has proved quite a success.’
Juliet’s eyes widened. ‘So he is a painter?’
‘He paints,’ agreed Lady Elinor consideringly. ‘He also teaches art at a comprehensive school in Bodmin.’
‘Really?’ Juliet realised Rafe had been deliberately vague on the subject. ‘How interesting!’
‘You think so?’