A Taste Of Italy: Midwife, Mother...Italian's Wife. Fiona McArthur
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her sight. Couldn’t forgive herself for daydreaming her way to negligence. Such stupidity could have cost Jack his life. And Paulo his.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known of the possibility of danger. Even though Leon had said it was past. And what had she been doing? Daydreaming about a man. Following Louisa for titbits of gossip about his presence at the old residence. Anything to feed her growing fascination for Leon.
Well, it would all stop. Now. She would promise anyone who would listen that the risk of danger to her family far outweighed any fleeting attraction this dark Italian held over her.
A bargain.
Jack and Paulo back safe and she’d never think of the man again. Honest.
She should have learned that she was destined to be brought down by her heart, and the menace of these Mediterranean men, her nemeses. Now their sons had paid the price.
Unfortunately, at this moment, it was hard to keep those thoughts clear in her mind because her shattered emotions were torn—torn between guilt for her negligence, spiralling fear for the outcome and the gnawing need for comfort from the very man who caused it all.
Louisa had been gathered up from the residence by her stepson and whisked away. And Leon was here, the only barrier to the emptiness of this house.
It was eerie how she could imagine the outside of her empty house, dark and forlorn in the moonlight, and she glanced out the window to the shifting shadows in the street outside. Strained her ears for imagined sounds and then turned abruptly from the window and put the cup down.
She even ran her fingertips along the mantelpiece as if to catch dust and at least do something useful. Her mind was fractured into so many fear-filled compartments and what-ifs she couldn’t settle.
She wanted both boys asleep in Jack’s room, with Stinky’s head on his paws as he watched his master—glancing at her every time she went in as if to ask if he could stay.
But the blue room at the end of the hall stayed empty like an unused shrine.
And Leon watched her.
It had taken until midnight for Tammy to decide she couldn’t stay at her father’s house. She’d said she wanted to be near Jack’s things. Leon had refused to allow her to go alone and he was still glad he’d come. But as he watched her, she glittered like glass in moonlight with nervous energy. Every sound made her jump, every creak of the polished floorboards made her shiver, and Leon ached for the damage he’d caused to this sleepy town and to this woman.
He patted the sofa beside him and held out his hand. ‘Come. Sit by me. Let me help you rest for a few moments at least.’
She turned jerkily towards him. ‘I can’t believe he’s not here.’ Staccato words stabbed the air in the room like little knives, tiny steel-tipped blades of guilt that found their mark on him.
‘They will have them by morning. My men have promised me.’ Leon rose to slide his arm around her stiff shoulders and pull her down to sit beside him so their hips touched. She was so cold and stiff and he nudged more firmly against her hip, offering comfort to both of them, and a safe place to rest if only for a moment, and if only she could.
‘Your men?’ She sniffed. ‘If they were so good the boys would never have been taken at all.’
‘Nobody expected this here. We were lucky they were still with us.’ Leon had his own demons. Paulo gone and he didn’t know if he was alive. Or Jack. Surely they would get them back.
There had been no demand yet. Would they discard the boy they didn’t need? Would they leave him alive? It had been his choice to delay the police while his men followed the trail initially.
The trail Tamara had wanted to chase. His first sight of her face as she drove past him like a woman possessed still affected him. Her little car pushed to its limits to the point where his more powerful motor could barely catch her. His throat tightened. ‘I can’t believe you pursued them in your car.’
She brushed the hair out of her eyes impatiently. ‘Why would I not?’ Her eyes searched his. ‘I could still be chasing them if you hadn’t stopped me. What if they’ve disappeared and we never find where they went? What, then?’
He shook his head at the thought. No! It would not be like that. He had to trust what his operatives told him. Tomorrow in the early morning, it would be okay. ‘I was terrified for you as well. What were you going to do if you caught them?’
Her eyes burned. ‘Whatever I had to. They have my son.’
And mine. She had no idea. And he did and should never have brought this on these people. He knew what loss and guilt did to people. ‘What you did was too dangerous.’
Another swift scornful search of his face. ‘For them?’
‘For you and for the boys.’
She shook her head. ‘For the first time in a lot of years I don’t know what to do. You tell me to wait. But how long must I wait? I want him now.’ Her shoulders slumped and slowly, like the deflation of an overstretched balloon, all the fight leaked out of her and she sagged against him as she buried her face in his shoulder.
He smoothed her hair. Had to touch her and try to soothe her agitation as she went on. ‘There’s never been such hard waiting. I’ve never had such fear. Make me forget the horror I can’t shake. Talk to me. Tell me something that helps.’
He pulled her onto his lap and hugged her, still smoothing her hair and whispering endearments she wouldn’t understand. Assuring her the boys would be returned. That he knew she was scared. That he was scared.
His hand travelled over her hair and his mind seemed to narrow its focus, the room faded until only the sheen of silk beneath his fingers existed. Rhythmically he stroked as he murmured until suddenly he began to speak more easily.
In his own language, not hers. All the things he’d bottled up for years but never said.
He said he knew how scared she was. How scared one could be in that moment of loss. He could taste his first moment of absolute fear and horror, all those years ago on the ocean, at fourteen, not yet a man but about to become one.
The storm upon them before his father realised, the sudden wave that washed he and his brother overboard, and his father throwing them the lifebuoy just as the boom smashed him and his mother into the water after them.
He’d grabbed Gianni’s collar and heaved him against his chest so his head was out of the water. He could remember that frozen instant in time. Them all overboard, Gianni unconscious and only he with something to cling to. He couldn’t let go of his brother and, screaming out against God, he’d watched his parents sink below the surface.
So alone in the Mediterranean under a black sky. It had grown darker as the night came; Gianni awoke, and he’d had to tell him of their parents’ fate.
Such fear and swamping grief as they’d bobbed in the dark, imagining sharks and trying not to move too much, chilled to the core, fingers locked to the rope of the buoy. Knowing they would die.
Their rescue had been an anticlimax. A fishing boat pulled them in. Then the week in hospital alone and grieving, with visits from lawyers and one old aunt and her change-of-life son who’d hated them both.
He’d vowed that day he would be strong. And he had been.
He’d married Maria as his parents had betrothed them, and finally they’d had Paulo. His heritage safe again.
Then Maria had died and Paulo had been almost taken. He’d realised his life could fall apart again any moment and he’d needed to see his brother, his only family.
He, who’d never spoke of anything that exposed his soul, poured it all out to Tammy. It eased the burden of guilt he carried to tell her how he felt, without the complication of her knowing. From somewhere within it was as if the walls he’d erected around his emotions began to crumble, walls he’d erected not just since