The Mediterranean Rebel's Bride. Lucy Gordon
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was there—’
‘Do you mean the one by the track?’
‘You saw her?’
‘She was in the stand with me. When you crashed she rushed over and helped you.’
He stared at her, scarcely daring to believe what he heard.
‘Where is she?’
‘I’ll fetch her. By the way, she only speaks English.’
‘English?’ he whispered. His voice rose. ‘Did you say she was English?’
‘Yes. Ruggiero, do you think—?’
‘Get her here, for pity’s sake!’ he cried hoarsely.
Evie slipped out.
While he waited Ruggiero tried to stand, but fell back at once, cursing his own weakness. But inwardly he was full of wild hope. It hadn’t been imagination. She had returned, her arms outstretched to him, as so often in hopeless dreams. Now it was real. At any moment she would walk through that door—
‘Here she is,’ Evie said from the doorway, standing aside to usher in a young woman.
At first he saw only a tall, slender figure with long fair hair, and his heart leapt. In a movement that afterwards caused him agonies of shame, he reached out an eager hand, said her name. Then the mist cleared and he found himself looking at a face that was gentle and pleasant, but not beautiful—and not the one his heart endlessly sought.
‘Hallo,’ she said. ‘I’m Polly Hanson. I was watching, and I’m a nurse, so I tried to help.’
‘Thank you,’ he murmured, dazed.
The world was in chaos. He’d thought he’d found Sapphire. Instead, here was this prosaic female whose passing resemblance was just enough to be heartbreaking. Once more Sapphire was only a ghost.
He knew he’d spoken her name—but how loud? Had they heard him? He fell back, passing a hand over his screwed-up eyes, wishing things would become clearer.
‘Thank you,’ he said again, forcing his eyes to open.
Piero looked in to say, ‘The ambulance is here.’
‘What damned ambulance?’ Ruggiero roared. ‘I’m not going to hospital.’
‘I think you should,’ Polly said. ‘You have had a bad accident.’
‘I landed on my shoulder.’
‘Partly. Your head also took a thump, and I’d like it properly looked at.’
‘Signorina,’ Ruggiero said through gritted teeth, ‘I’m grateful for your help, but please understand that you don’t give me orders.’
‘Well, the ambulance is here now,’ she said, riled by his tone.
‘Then you can send it away.’
‘Signor Rinucci, your head may be injured, and I urgently suggest—’
‘You may suggest what you like,’ he snapped, ‘but I’m not getting into an ambulance, so spare me any more of your interference.’
‘Such pleasant manners,’ said a voice from the door. ‘It must be my son.’
Hope swept into the room.
‘Mamma,’ Ruggiero said painfully, ‘how did you—?’
‘Evie called my cellphone,’ Hope said, also in English, taking her cue from the others. ‘And as I was shopping nearby I had only a little way to come.’
‘You just happened to be shopping nearby?’ Ruggiero growled.
‘Yes, wasn’t it a fortunate coincidence?’ Hope said smoothly.
‘If you believe in coincidences.’
‘Be quiet and watch your manners,’ his mother said firmly. ‘You’ve now been rude to everyone—’
‘He hasn’t been rude to me,’ Evie observed mildly.
‘Give him time. He will.’
‘Especially if she mentions an ambulance,’ Ruggiero retorted.
They argued. He was obdurate. In the end his mother sighed and gave in. The ambulance was sent away.
‘I’ll go home and rest,’ Ruggiero conceded. ‘And I’ll be all right for the party tonight.’
‘Or you may have passed out completely by then,’ Polly said, with the faintest touch of acid in her voice.
Evie hastened to explain Polly’s professional qualifications, and what she had done for Ruggiero.
Hope’s response was to embrace Polly fervently and declare, ‘We are friends for ever. So now I ask you to do one more thing for me. You must come to our party tonight.’
Beside her, Polly sensed rather than felt Ruggiero make a gesture of protest, and she knew that he didn’t want her in his home. He wanted to get rid of her as soon as he could. And she could guess why.
But Hope seemed oblivious. ‘Tonight I can thank you properly, and perhaps you’ll also be kind enough to—’ She gave her son a baleful look.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him,’ Polly said.
‘You will not,’ Ruggiero snapped.
‘Indeed I will,’ she riposted at once.
‘I won’t have it.’
‘Try to stop me.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ Hope said, pleased. ‘And, Signor Fantone, I commend you for your good sense in having a nurse at the track. I wouldn’t have expected it of you.’
Having praised and insulted him in one breath, she turned her attention back to Ruggiero. With relief, Polly realised that for the moment she could avoid explanations. Sooner or later everyone would have to know why she was really here. But not yet.
Hope took charge, arranging for Ruggiero to be helped to her waiting car, and leaving Evie to give Polly a lift to her hotel.
‘It’s a big family get-together,’ Evie explained as they drove. ‘The Rinuccis tend to be scattered, but we all returned for Carlo’s wedding yesterday. And, since Hope loves giving parties, she’s going to have another one tonight, before we all disperse again.’
‘Was it really chance that his mother was shopping nearby?’
‘Of course not.’ Evie chuckled. ‘She does it whenever he’s testing, and she always makes sure she has her cellphone, so that she can be fetched quickly if something like this happens. Of course he guesses, although he won’t admit it, and it makes him grumpy. I’m sorry he was so rude to you. He isn’t normally like that.’
‘He was feeling bad,’ Polly said, unwilling to reveal that there could be another reason for Ruggiero’s hostility to her.
A few minutes later Evie dropped Polly at her hotel, promised that someone would fetch her at seven o’clock that evening, and drove off.
In her room, Polly discovered a problem. She had travelled light, wearing jeans and a sweater, and carrying enough basic clothes for a few days, but nothing that would be suitable for a party.
And I’m not turning up looking like a poor relation, she thought. I think I’ll prescribe myself some shopping!
Even in that less privileged area, the clothes shops had a cheering air of fashion. A happy hour exploring resulted in a chiffon dress of dappled mauve, blue and silver, with a neck that was low enough to be ‘party’ and high enough to be fairly modest. The price was absurdly low. Even more absurd were the silver sandals she bought in the market just outside the hotel.
Glamorous cousin Freda, once married