The Italian Millionaire's Marriage. Lucy Gordon
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vaguely. I know your father married twice, but naturally Olympia knows very little about his first wife.’
‘My mother loved him terribly and he just dumped her. I remember when I was five years old, finding her crying her eyes out. She told me he was throwing us out of the house.’
‘Your mother told you that?’ he echoed, genuinely shocked. ‘A child?’
‘She was distraught. I simply didn’t believe it. I adored my father and he acted as though he adored me. He used to call my name first when he came home. I thought it would always be like that.’
‘Go on,’ he said gently, when she paused.
‘Well, his girlfriend was pregnant and he wanted a quick divorce so that he could marry her before the child was born. We were out. Mum said he even forced her to go back to England by threatening to be mean about money if she didn’t.’
Marco thought of Guiseppe d’Estino, a fleshy, self-indulgent man of great superficial charm but cold eyes, as he now realised. He could well believe this story.
‘It must have been a sad life for you after that,’ he said sympathetically.
‘I kept thinking he’d invite me for a visit, but he never did. I couldn’t understand what I’d done to turn him against me. My mother never recovered. She grieved every day of her life. She only lived another twelve years, then she had heart trouble and just faded away. I thought he’d send for me then, but he didn’t. I was about to go to college and he said he didn’t want to interrupt my education.’
Marco murmured something that might have been a swear word.
‘Yes,’ Harriet said wryly. ‘I suppose I was beginning to get the picture then, very belatedly. I was rather stupid about it really.’
‘The one thing nobody could ever call you is stupid,’ Marco said, regarding her with new interest. ‘I know that much about you.’
‘Oh, things,’ she said dismissively. ‘Anyone can learn about things. I’m stupid about people. I don’t really know much about them.’
‘Or maybe you know too much about the wrong sort of people,’ he said, thinking of the father who’d selfishly cast her off, and the mother who’d made the child bear the burden of her grief. ‘Did your father totally reject you?’
‘No, he kept up a reasonable pretence when he couldn’t help it. I studied in Rome for a year. I chose that on purpose because I knew he’d have to take some notice of me. I even thought he might invite me to stay.’
‘But he didn’t?’
‘I was asked to dinner several times. His second wife sat and glared at me the whole time, but Olympia was always nice. We got quite friendly. After that my father sent me a cheque from time to time.’
‘Did he help you buy the shop?’
‘No, that was money I inherited from my mother’s father. I was able to buy the lease and some stock.’
‘Your father could have afforded to help you. He ought to have stood up to that woman.’
‘You mean his wife? Do you know her?’
‘And detest her. As do most people. Of course she was determined to keep you out. My poor girl. You never stood a chance.’
‘I guess I know that now. But at the time I thought I could win him over by doing well, learning languages, passing exams, being as Italian as possible.’
Marco was growing interested in her strange upbringing. He suspected it had moulded her into an unusual person.
‘Did you really think I was a bailiff?’ he asked curiously.
‘For a moment.’ She gave a gruff little laugh. ‘You’d think I’d know how to recognise them by now. I keep thinking things will get better—well, they do. But then they get bad again.’
‘But why? That shop should be a gold-mine. Your stock is first-rate. It’s true, you made a mistake about the necklace, but—’
‘I did not make—never mind. Sometimes I get on top of the figures, but then I see this really beautiful piece that I just have to have, and bang go all my calculations.’
‘Why not just sell up?’
‘Sell my shop? Never. It’s my life.’
He ran up a flag. ‘There’s more to life than antiques.’
She shot it down. ‘No, there isn’t.’
‘You seem very sure of that.’
‘It’s not just antiques, it’s—it’s the other worlds they open up. Vast horizons were you can see for thousands of years—’
She was away again. Recognising that it would be impossible to halt the flow until she was ready Marco settled for listening with the top part of his brain, while the rest considered her.
He’d grown more agreeably impressed as the evening wore on. She was an intriguing companion, intelligent, educated, even witty. It was a shame that she wasn’t beautiful—at least, he thought she probably wasn’t. It was hard to be sure when her hair shielded so much of her face. But her green eyes flashed fire when she spoke of the ‘other worlds’ that she loved, and in them was a kind of beauty.
Her lapses into gaucheness were hardly her fault. She’d been denied the chance to grow up in sophisticated society. A few trips to the discreetly luxurious shops on the Via dei Condotti would greatly improve her. He felt he had the basis for a deal that would be beneficial on both sides.
Harriet was bringing her passionate arguments to a conclusion. ‘You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?’ she asked anxiously.
‘You care passionately about your subject,’ he said. ‘That isn’t being crazy. It’s being lucky. So saving your shop means more to you than anything in the world, and perhaps I can help. How much would it take to extricate you from your difficulties?’
She named a large sum with the air of someone plunging into the deep end.
‘It’s a lot,’ Marco said wryly, ‘but not too much. I think we’re in a position to help each other. I can make you an interest-free loan that will solve your problems.’
‘But why should you?’
‘Because I want something in return.’
‘Naturally. But what?’
He hesitated. ‘You may find this suggestion a little unusual, but I’ve considered it carefully, and I assure you it makes sense for both of us. I want you to come to Rome with me, and be my mother’s guest for a while.’
‘Are you sure she’ll want that?’
‘She’ll be delighted. Your paternal grandmother was her dearest friend, and her hope is that our families can become united. In short, she’s trying to arrange my marriage.’
‘Who with?’ Harriet asked, not wanting to seem to understand too much too soon.
‘With you.’
She’d known that this moment was coming, but without warning she was embarrassed. Watching him sitting there in the corner, the candlelight on his face, he was suddenly too much; too forceful, too attractive, too like an irresistible gale storming through her life, flattening all before it. Too much.
‘Hey, hold on,’ she said, playing for time. ‘Things aren’t done like that these days.’
‘In some societies marriages are still arranged—or at least, half arranged. Suitable people are introduced and the benefits of an alliance considered. My parents’ marriage was created like this, and it was very happy. They were compatible, but not blinded by emotions too intense to last.’
‘And you’re asking me—?’
‘To