Husband By Necessity. Lucy Gordon
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Angie was daintily built, barely five foot three, with blonde hair and deep blue eyes. Her nature was romantic and impulsive. She became easily infatuated and, since she looked, according to one besotted admirer, ‘Like the fairy on the Christmas tree,’ she had no trouble inspiring infatuation in return. The result had been a string of intense, short-lived relationships which had caused Heather to describe Angie as a serial flirt.
But appearances were deceptive. Dr Angela Wendham’s love affairs were brief because her true, enduring love was her work. Her ethereal look concealed a brain that had carried her through medical school with honours. She’d gone on to four exhausting years post-graduate training, including stints in Accident and Emergency departments, coping not merely with casualties but with drunks and vicious louts. She was skilled at dealing with both kinds of crises.
But now she planned only to enjoy herself. Heather was about to marry Lorenzo Martelli, a young Sicilian. Angie was to be the bridesmaid, and since it was her first real holiday since she-couldn’t-remember-when, she was going to make the most of it.
It was still raining when they reached the airport. They got quickly into the main hall, pushing a trolley piled high with bags, most of which were Angie’s. Her petite figure and striking beauty repaid good dressing, and she happily gave them their due.
As they were waiting to check in there was a strangled cry of, ‘Angie!’ from the crowd, and a damp young man appeared beside them. In his hand he bore one perfect red rose.
‘I couldn’t let you go without saying goodbye,’ he said soulfully, offering it to her. ‘You won’t forget me, will you?’
‘Of course I won’t,’ Angie said, deeply moved. ‘Oh, Fred—’
‘Frank,’ the young man said edgily.
‘Frank, you’ll be in my thoughts every moment I’m away.’
Frank seized her hand and kissed it. Luckily they reached the head of the queue and in the check-in formalities he was forced to retreat. Angie couldn’t meet her friend’s eye.
‘The sooner I get you safely out of the country the better,’ Heather said with feeling.
It was raining even harder as their plane took off, climbing into the clouds. But then they broke through into light, and they both pressed eagerly against the window until the air hostess brought them a snack.
‘I can’t get my head around you being swept off your feet,’ Angie told Heather. ‘Much more my crazy style than yours.’
‘Yes, it’s not like sturdy, dependable me, is it?’ Heather mused. ‘Dashing off to live in another country, practically another world.’
Angie was diplomatically silent but she couldn’t help wondering about Peter who had been Heather’s fiancé for a year before dumping her a week before the wedding.
‘I’m not on the rebound,’ Heather said, reading her un-spoken thoughts. ‘I love Lorenzo, and we’re going to make a wonderful life together in Sicily.’
‘You’re right. New horizons. Lovely.’ Angie’s face assumed a look in which mischief and innocence were evenly matched. ‘You did say Lorenzo had two brothers, didn’t you?’
‘I’ve only met one of them, Renato.’
‘Yes, you told me. I can’t believe that any man would behave like that, actually coming to your counter at Gossways, pretending to be a customer, just so that he could look you up and down.’
Gossways was the most luxurious department store in London, and Heather had been working there, selling perfumes.
‘I don’t blame him for wanting to meet the woman his brother was courting,’ Heather said now. ‘It’s just the way he did it. Not a hint about who he was, and then, when Lorenzo took me to meet him at the Ritz that night, there he sat, just waiting for me to walk into his lair.’
The meeting had been dramatic. Renato Martelli had approved of Heather, but in such a high-handed manner that she’d stormed out of the Ritz, nearly killing both of them under the wheels of a taxi. In the high drama of that evening Lorenzo had begged her to marry him, and she had relented. Now, barely a month later, she was on her way to Sicily for the marriage. She had, as Angie said, been swept off her feet.
‘Tell me about the other brother,’ Angie said now.
‘His name’s Bernardo, and he’s their half-brother. Their father had an affair with a woman from one of the mountain villages, called Marta Tornese, and Bernardo was their son. They died together in a car crash, and Lorenzo’s mother took the boy in and raised him with her own sons.’
‘My goodness! What a woman!’
The plane was banking, showing them the triangular island of Sicily, golden and beautiful against the blue of the sea. In another moment they had started the final descent to Palermo Airport.
As they came out of Customs, Heather broke into a smile and waved at two men standing apart. From Heather’s description Angie knew that the glamorous young giant with light brown curly hair was Lorenzo, her friend’s fiancé. She glanced at the other and felt a smile begin deep inside her.
He wasn’t a tall man, something which the petite Angie greatly appreciated. She hated getting a crick in her neck. So it was a mark in his favour that he was only five foot eight. His shape earned him a good review too. Ten out of ten, she thought, for lean wiriness, narrow hips and a look of hard, compact maleness that sent an uncompromising message to the woman who knew how to read it.
So far, so enjoyable.
It was when she got closer and saw his dark, serious eyes that her inner smile faltered a little. There was something about this man that she couldn’t smile at, something that sent a shiver of excited anticipation up her spine.
As Heather and Lorenzo threw themselves into each other’s arms the young man approached Angie, smiling very slightly. ‘I am Bernardo Tornese,’ he said in a deep voice.
Tornese, she noticed, not Martelli.
She took the hand he was holding out, and felt the whipcord strength of him, even in that light grip. ‘I’m Angela Wendham,’ she said.
‘It is a great pleasure to meet you, Signorina Wendham.’
She could have listened to his voice forever. It was dark, resonant and beautiful. ‘Just Angie,’ she said, smiling.
‘Angie, I am very glad to meet you.’
She sensed that he was studying her, just as she was doing with him. That was fine. She knew she didn’t have to fear being looked at, even when she’d just got off a plane.
The lovers had finished their greeting and disentangled themselves, a little self-consciously. Heather introduced Angie to her future husband, who then said, ‘This is my brother, Bernardo.’
‘Half-brother,’ murmured Bernardo at once.
The drive to the Martelli house just outside Palermo took half an hour. There was so much beauty about Sicily to be taken in that Angie became dazed by the profusion. The hot streets of Palermo soon gave way to the countryside with its riot of flowers and the gleaming blue sea that came more into view as they climbed higher. At last a great three-storied building came into sight, and Lorenzo, from the back seat, called, ‘There it is.’
The Residenza stood on an incline overlooking the sea. It was a magnificent mediaeval edifice of yellow stone. In their own way the Martellis were princes and they lived appropriately.
‘That’s your home?’ Angie gasped.
‘That’s the Residenza Martelli,’ Bernardo replied. He was concentrating on the road, and didn’t seem aware of the quick look Angie gave him.
A moment later they had swung into the courtyard, and there was Baptista Martelli just emerging onto the great steps to wait for them. She was a small, frail-looking woman in her sixties, who looked as though