Wife By Arrangement. Lucy Gordon
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enough,’ Baptista said imperiously, tapping his hand. ‘You’ll have plenty of time to play the fool, my son. Go away now, and let me get to know your bride.’
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN Lorenzo had vanished, and Bernardo was showing Angie the garden, Baptista refilled Heather’s glass. ‘Renato told me how your prompt action saved his life,’ she said. ‘You and I have been friends from that moment.’
‘You’re very kind,’ Heather said, ‘but didn’t he also tell you that it was my fault he was ever in danger?’
‘I think he was largely to blame. He made you angry with his high-handedness. I’ve spoken to him very severely.’
Heather concealed a smile. The idea of the domineering Renato being alarmed by anything his frail mother might say was charming, but unconvincing.
‘You are going to be very important to this family,’ Baptista continued. ‘More important than perhaps you can imagine. Lorenzo says you have no family of your own.’
‘I was an only child. My mother died when I was six. My father couldn’t cope without her.’ Heather paused. She seldom talked about this because it seemed a betrayal of the sweet-natured, confused little man who’d longed only to follow his wife. But suddenly she wanted to confide in Baptista. ‘He drank rather more than he ought,’ she said. ‘In the end he couldn’t keep a job.’
‘And so you looked after him,’ Baptista said gently.
‘We sort of looked after each other. He was kind and I loved him. When I was sixteen he caught pneumonia and just faded away. The last thing he said to me was, “Sorry, love.”’
She’d sobbed over her father’s grave, unable to voice the real pain: the knowledge that she hadn’t been enough for him. The practical difficulties had followed—lack of money, the abandonment of her dream of college, seizing the first job she could find. She explained in as few words as possible, and had the feeling that Baptista understood.
They talked for an hour, and each moment Heather felt herself grow closer to this regal but kindly woman. When Lorenzo poked his head out through the net curtains with a questioning look on his face, both women welcomed him with a smile. Laughing, he joined them, bringing fresh cakes.
From inside the house they heard Renato’s voice, and suddenly he appeared through the long white curtains. When she’d seen him and Lorenzo off at the airport in England he’d looked pale, his arm in a sling. Now he moved freely and his look of vibrant health had returned.
She felt a slight shock. She had forgotten his massiveness, the heavy muscles of his neck, his air of being about to charge. Here in his native land, amid the fierce sun and the bright colours, that effect was reinforced.
Renato went first to his mother, greeting her with a mixture of affection and respect that caught Heather’s attention. Then he turned to her.
‘Welcome to my sister,’ he said, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder and kissing her cheek. She had a moment’s intense awareness of his spicy male scent. Then he moved away and greeted Lorenzo with a mock punch to the chin. Lorenzo returned the compliment and for a moment the two brothers engaged in a light-hearted tussle, as lively as young stallions, their voices rich with laughter. It ended with them thumping each other on the back in a way that suggested their mutual affection.
Baptista met Heather’s eye, inviting her to share her pride and pleasure in her magnificent sons. Heather nodded, thinking that one day it would be her turn. At least, she hoped so.
At last Renato seated himself opposite her, smiling self-consciously. He was dressed informally, in fawn trousers and a short-sleeved shirt. Against the white material his skin, tanned to dark brown, showed up sharply. His black hair was tousled, and grew more so when he ran his hand through it after brushing the damp from his forehead. Heather had the feeling that everything else had grown pale. Just by being there, leaning back, half sprawled in his chair, he made everything revolve around him.
The light was fading. Someone asked where Bernardo and Angie were, and Lorenzo went to find them, amid good-natured laughter. Heather recalled Angie’s laughing words on the plane, and hoped her friend hadn’t been carried away by her impulsive romantic tendencies.
When it was time to get ready for dinner Heather went to her room and Angie appeared a moment later, her eyes shining. ‘Have a nice time?’ Heather asked.
‘Lovely, thank you,’ Angie said with suspicious innocence.
Just as they finished dressing there was a knock on the door and Baptista swept regally in, carrying a black box.
‘Perfect,’ she said, smiling at the wedding dress which Heather had set up on a stand near the window. ‘And this will go with it.’ She opened the box, revealing a tiara made of flawless pearls. ‘Legend says that it once adorned the head of Queen Marie Antoinette,’ she said. ‘Later it passed to the Martelli family, and for generations it has been given to a bride for her wedding veil.’
‘But—it’s kind of you—but this is too much for me. What about when Renato marries? Won’t he expect—?’
‘That is no matter,’ Baptista observed imperiously. ‘If he’s so stupid and stubborn about marriage he has only himself to blame. Come, try it on.’
The tiara was perfect when set on Heather’s luxuriant fair hair, but best of all was the way Baptista accepted her. She thanked her but was relieved when Baptista offered to keep the jewels in her safe until the wedding.
Seeing the glories of the Residenza, Heather was glad she’d splashed out on some expensive clothes—or, at least, they would have been expensive if she hadn’t bought them at Gossways, heavily discounted. She was popular, and friends on many floors had slashed prices to the bone for her.
As a result she was able to appear in the medieval dining room in an off-the-shoulder pale yellow silk that followed the contours of her body without being obviously seductive. For sheer splendour she was outdone by Angie, a sizzling peacock in blues and greens that seemed almost to flame. But Lorenzo had eyes only for her, and Renato too seemed struck by the sight of her.
Baptista took her by the hand and led her forward, saying, ‘Here is our guest of honour,’ to be introduced to some local dignitaries. Then she was seated at the head of the table, between Lorenzo and Baptista, becoming uneasily aware that everyone was deferring to her, like a queen.
It was delightful but it made her nervous to have every dish presented for her approval. The meal was practically a banquet, and Baptista explained that the kitchen was practising for the wedding reception. The finest Sicilian cuisine was on offer. To start with, a choice of stuffed baked tomatoes, orange salad, stuffed rice ball fritters, bean fritters. Then the rice and pasta dishes, Sicilian rice, rice with artichokes, pasta with sardines, pasta with cauliflower, and the main dishes still to come.
By the time they reached the braised lamb, stuffed beef roll, and rabbit in sweet and sour sauce Heather was running out of appetite. But she knew that to say so would cause offence to those who had laboured to bring forth this feast in her honour, so she ploughed on valiantly.
‘Perhaps you would rather have no more,’ Baptista suggested gently, seeming to understand.
‘But I must try those sweet dishes,’ Heather said. ‘They look so delicious.’
Watermelon jelly, fried pastries with ricotta cheese and candied fruit, pistachio cakes, nougat—she took a mouthful of each, and was rewarded by the looks of approval from every direction.
But the reward that touched her heart the most was when Baptista whispered, ‘Well done, my daughter.’
She couldn’t help being struck by the three brothers. All elegantly dressed in dinner jackets, they made an impressive sight: Lorenzo, the tallest, the most handsome; Bernardo, lean and dark with a gravity that made his rare smiles breathtaking—and Renato, dour, forceful, with his air of giving no quarter and asking