Second Marriage. HELEN BROOKS
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evening,’ he said grimly.
‘What?’ She was aware that the other three had paused in the easy conversation they had been holding about future names for the babies, and that Donato and Grace at least were listening with some interest.
‘Dinner at my home on Saturday evening.’ It was said without the slightest pretence at an invitation. In fact the cool, harsh words carried more of a challenge than anything else, and it was one she had no intention of taking up.
‘I don’t think—’
‘Donato and Grace too, of course.’ There was a cold arrogance in the way he spoke that suggested he knew she wouldn’t dare accept an invitation by herself, but even that overt mockery wasn’t going to provoke her into agreeing to go to his home, she thought angrily, bristling in spite of herself. Who did he think he was anyway? Ordering her about as though she were some sort of stupid schoolgirl who wouldn’t say boo to a goose?
‘I’m sorry, Romano. It’s very kind of you, but I really would like a few days to acclimatise and get used to things,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m sure there will be other opportunities—’
‘A week on Saturday, then,’ he said immediately.
She knew a moment’s sheer panic at the fact that a will far stronger than hers was meeting her head-on, and then decided that she had made her point and that to refuse again would be both petty and rude.
‘That will give you enough time to...adjust?’ he asked with deceptive smoothness, one black eyebrow quirking in a manner that could only be called goading.
‘I should think so.’
She managed a bright smile, as though all the undercurrents had completely passed her by, but then stiffened when in the next instant Donato said, ‘That would work out very well, in actual fact. Grace and I have tickets for the opera on that night—you remember you bought them for my birthday, Romano? I was going to suggest that Grace and Claire used them instead, but if Claire is happy to have dinner with you we will know she is being looked after, and we could all go to the opera together another time.’
‘Of course, a week on Saturday is your birthday.’ There was something, just something in the silky soft voice that told Claire that Romano hadn’t forgotten the date of Donato’s birthday for a moment, or the treat he had arranged for his friend and his wife, and as she turned her head again to look him straight in the eye the black gaze was waiting for her. ‘I’m sure Claire would rather you and Grace enjoy the opera together,’ he continued pleasantly. ‘Is that not so, Claire?’
‘I...’ Game, set and match! Why, oh why, hadn’t she agreed to this Saturday, when Donato and Grace could have come with her? ‘Yes, of course,’ she said hastily as the black eyebrow rose still further at her hesitation. ‘There is no way I would dream of taking your ticket, Donato, you know that, but perhaps the week after that would do just as well?’
‘Nonsense.’ Romano’s voice was brisk now, signalling the end to a conversation he clearly considered had gone on long enough. ‘Donato and Grace will enjoy their evening all the more, knowing you are safe in my hands, Claire.’
The black eyes were wicked as they held hers, the message contained in the words for her ears alone, and then his face took on a benevolent expression that made her want to kick him as he turned to face the others. ‘That is settled, then, sì? A pleasant evening for all concerned, I am sure.’
I’m not. The words were so loud in her head she was surprised the others hadn’t heard them, but then, as Romano turned back to her, she knew he had, and had to force herself to say, in as normal a tone as she could muster, ‘Thank you very much, I’ll look forward to it.’
‘Good.’ He didn’t know how near he came to that kick again as he added, in an innocent drawl, ‘It will - be... nice.’
CHAPTER THREE
THIS was stupid. This was really, really stupid. Claire frowned ferociously at the girl in the mirror as she leant back against the small upholstered dressing table chair. The very last thing in the world she wanted was to have dinner alone with Romano Bellini, so why on earth was she preparing to do just that? She should have pleaded a headache, flu, mental collapse—anything!
She twisted restlessly on the chair, hating the glimmer of panic in her eyes but unable to do anything about it. She hadn’t seen him since that first night she had arrived but had been on tenterhooks every time the phone had rung or the doorbell had sounded—until Donato had mentioned casually at dinner on her third night with them that Romano was abroad for a few days on business. ‘He returns Friday night,’ Donato had added, as though to reassure her that the dinner date was still on. ‘OK?’
No, no it was not OK, but she couldn’t very well say so. Romano had tied her up tighter than a bale of hay, he knew it and she knew it, and the rest of them, to her intense irritation, thought he was merely being friendly and supportive to a stranger in his country.
She sighed, loudly and crossly, before leaning forward again and continuing to put the finishing touches to her make-up. She assumed, considering it would be just the two of them, that smart but casual would be the order of the day, and the long-sleeved waist-length jumper in soft white bobbly wool teamed with an ankle-length skirt in dense black denim seemed to fit the bill.
She had decided to wear her hair up, securing the silky chestnut strands in a high knot on top of her head and allowing just a few strands about her face and neck to combine with her thick fringe and soften the severe style.
A touch of grey eyeshadow on her eyelids and large gold hoops in her ears and she was ready. She fastened the second earring and gazed at her reflection critically. Not bad, quite passable, but nothing on the lines of the sort of women he was used to, she thought quietly. She and Grace had spent one afternoon browsing through old photo albums, and she had been interested to see Bianca had been as beautiful as a baby and child as she was as an adult—interested and dismayed, if she was honest, she amended weakly.
Not that she was interested in Romano. She wasn’t, not at all, but it was slightly disconcerting to be having dinner with a man who favoured tall, voluptuous modeltypes, as the old photographs of the girlfriends he had had before Bianca had borne evidence to, and who had been married for some years to one of the most gorgeous women she had ever seen.
‘Donato and Romano were the original playboys, I think.’ Grace had been smiling as she spoke, clearly totally undisturbed by her husband’s riotous past before he had met her, as her next words had qualified. ‘Before they settled down, that is.’
‘Umm.’ Claire couldn’t drag her eyes away from the dashingly handsome man in the photos, who looked almost boyish compared to now. Still, he had lost his wife, she thought soberly, that would be enough to make any man grow up fast.
‘Was he very affected by Bianca’s death?’ she asked Grace carefully, not really wanting to know the answer but having to enquire just the same. ‘It must have been an awful shock to you all.’
‘It was.’ Claire had noticed before that Grace didn’t like to talk about Donato’s sister, and reproached herself for not keeping quiet as her friend’s face changed. She, of all people, knew how traumatic the results of a bad car crash could be for relatives and friends even if the victim lived, and Bianca hadn’t. ‘But he coped,’ Grace continued quietly. ‘We all did. You just have to, don’t you?’
‘I guess.’ Claire nodded soberly, her face sympathetic as she reached across and squeezed Grace’s hand for a moment. ‘I’m sorry, Grace, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I know you and Bianca weren’t close, but being the same age and everything it must have been terribly difficult for you.’
‘Claire—’ Grace stopped abruptly, her face working as she stared into her eyes for a long moment. ‘I... There’s something...’
‘What’s the matter?’
But she had never found