An Elusive Desire. Anne Mather
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at the kerb and setting down her case. His dark eyes raked her flushed cheeks and tumbled hair before moving lower to denounce the unbuttoned neckline of her shirt. His scornful appraisal made her want to put up her hand and fasten the neck of her shirt, but she refused to succumb to so obvious a condemnation. Instead, she faced him proudly, uncaring that the wind was exposing the smooth curve of her breast, and with a silent imprecation, he strode abruptly away.
In Italy, all men enjoy looking at a beautiful woman, and in the five minutes or so before Rafaello returned with the car, Jaime quickly got used to countering their amorous glances. Even so, she was immensely relieved when Rafaello did return. She would not have been entirely surprised if he had chosen to abandon her after all.
The car, a sleek red Maserati, nosed to the kerb beside her, and Rafaello sprang out to stow her suitcase in the boot. ‘Get in,’ he directed, swinging open the door, and with a gesture of acquiescence Jaime obeyed. She noticed that when Rafaello came to join her, he made sure his thigh did not brush hers as he levered himself behind the wheel, and the car moved away smoothly, without any further need for conversation.
For a time, Jaime was content to remain silent. Indeed, Rafaello’s attitude was such that she was tempted to let him nurture his ill-humour all the way to Vaggio. But concern for Nicola, and the awareness that for seven days, at least, she was expecting to enjoy his hospitality, inevitably aroused her own feelings of compassion. Even so, she waited until the hilly suburbs of the city were behind them, but once they were on to the anonymous autostrada, that connected Pisa with Florence, Jaime endeavoured to recover the situation.
‘I assume you know that Nicola rang me,’ she ventured, wishing for once that she smoked so that she had something to do with her hands, and then flinched when his lean face turned aggressively in her direction.
‘She rang you?’ he stated disbelievingly. ‘You expect me to believe that?’
Jaime gasped. ‘It’s the truth. Why else would I be here?’
‘You tell me.’ Rafaello’s thin mouth compressed as he turned back to the road.
Jaime felt more than a little indignant. ‘I didn’t ask for this invitation,’ she said tautly.
Rafaello’s brown-fingered hands tightened on the wheel. ‘Then why have you come here? I would have thought an invitation to the Castello di Vaggio was the last thing you might accept.’
‘And you’d be right.’ Jaime was stung into retaliation. ‘I knew you wouldn’t approve.’
‘Would you expect me to?’
Jaime found she was breathing shallowly and took a deep gulp of air. ‘I came because Nicola asked me to come,’ she declared tersely. ‘I had hoped she would meet me, and that any conversation between the two of us would be in the company of other people. I didn’t know Nicola was not going to be well enough to drive so far, or that you might see this as an opportunity to re-open old hostilities!’
Rafaello cast a mocking look in her direction. ‘How cold you are, Miss Forster!’ he observed scornfully. ‘How controlled! I can hardly conceive that I once believed you were a warm human being, a creature of flesh and blood! It was a weakness on your part, no doubt, and one which you have evidently succeeded in destroying. Forgive me for reminding you of times you would prefer to forget.’
Jaime’s nostrils flared. ‘Why do you persist in calling me Miss Forster? Don’t you think that’s a little petty?’
‘Petty?’ He lifted his shoulders uncomprehendingly. ‘What is petty?’
‘Mean—small-minded.’ Jaime’s fists clenched. ‘And insulting me is rather childish, isn’t it?’
‘Was I doing that?’ Rafaello’s tone had hardened nevertheless. ‘I am sorry. I keep forgetting you are still a woman.’
Jaime’s fingers itched to strike the arrogant expression from his face, but the autostrada was not the place to indulge her temper. Besides, he should not know he could get under her skin so easily, and she steeled herself to ride his abuse without exhibiting any obvious reaction.
‘You are the assistant to the company director now, are you not?’ he remarked, a few minutes later, and she forced herself to look at him.
‘Is there anything wrong with that?’
‘No.’ He paused. ‘You have flown high and wide since those early days. The humble typist becomes the sophisticated business executive. Tell me, have you found your job as satisfying as you thought it would be?’
‘Completely,’ replied Jaime crisply, concentrating on the curve of the road ahead, though she was aware of Rafaello’s eyes upon her.
‘In all ways?’ he persisted, the tenor of his voice deepening as he spoke, and Jaime’s resentment grew at the deliberate way he was attempting to disrupt her self-possession.
‘In all ways,’ she assured him, meeting his scornful gaze. ‘There’s more to life than meekly accommodating a man’s sexual instincts, if that’s what you mean. A woman should learn to use her head as well as her body.’
‘As you have?’ snapped Rafaello harshly, and Jaime nodded.
‘Why not?’
His jaw hardened. ‘I take it you don’t regret—anything.’
‘No. Why should I?’ She paused. ‘Do you?’
Rafaello’s thick lashes narrowed his eyes as he turned back again to the road. ‘What have I to regret?’ he stated bleakly. ‘I never knew you.’
There was silence for a time after that, while Jaime endeavoured to recover her composure. Much to her dismay, Rafaello’s last words had scraped a nerve, and she found to her chagrin that her hands were shaking and her knees felt disturbingly weak. She had thought that nothing he could say would disconcert her, but she had been wrong. His final denunciation had left her feeling raw and vulnerable, and she wished with all her heart that Nicola had not abandoned her to her husband’s less than tender mercies.
About thirty kilometres east of Pisa, Rafaello drove off the autostrada on to the narrower country roads that led up into the Tuscan hills. All about them now was the rolling Italian countryside, with its patchwork of green fields interspersed with silvery-green olive groves and acres of vines. Thickly-wooded hills overlooked valleys where the wheat was already turning golden in the heat, and as the late afternoon sunlight shimmered hazily over church spires and cast shadows across the glistening curve of the river, Jaime forgot her misgivings in the sheer delight of being there.
‘It’s beautiful!’ she breathed, as the Maserati crested a rise and the whole panorama of a milk-and-honey valley was spread out below them. ‘I didn’t know—I never dreamed it would be like this!’
‘Would it have made any difference?’ asked Rafaello flatly, and then, as if prepared to meet her halfway, he added: ‘They say nature outdid herself in Tuscany. I love it, of course. It is my home, my land, my heritage! I could never give it up.’
Jaime shook her head. ‘I can understand that.’ She lifted her eyes. ‘Is that a monastery up there?’
Rafaello followed her gaze. Clinging to the hillside several hundred feet above them, the white walls of an ancient building stood out in sharp relief, and his lips curved in a wry smile. It was the first time she had seen anything close to humour soften his stern features since they had met at the airport, and the difference it made was amazing. Gone were the grim lines that bracketed his mouth; gone, too, was the frowning cleft between his dark brows; and the parting of his lips revealed the uneven attractiveness of strong white teeth.
‘It was,’ he conceded, turning his attention to the road again, as they descended a sharp series of bends into the little town of Santo Giustino. ‘It is an hotel now; small and spartan, it is true, but capable of accommodating perhaps a dozen people.’
‘I’d like to stay there,’ said