An Elusive Desire. Anne Mather
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he pulled the Maserati off the road and into a narrow parking space.
‘Maybe forty kilometres,’ answered Rafaello carelessly, pushing open his door. ‘Come, we will have a drink at the café.’
Jaime got out of the car with some reluctance. Forty kilometres was not far – a matter of some twenty-five miles. Hardly a great distance. Wouldn’t it have been simpler to drive straight to the Castello? After what Rafaello had said, she couldn’t believe he had any desire to prolong this journey.
But it was too late now for misgivings. Rafaello was locking the car doors, and as her jacket was locked inside, Jaime had no choice but to accompany him as she was. Not that what she was wearing was in any way out of place in a town that catered frequently for tourists. But she was aware of Rafaello’s eyes upon her, and that was what troubled her most.
Santo Giustino was a pretty little town, made the more so by the strings of coloured bunting strung out across the narrow streets. It was very old, with shops and houses set close together, and backed by a beautiful little cathedral, also decorated with flowers.
‘It is carnival time,’ explained Rafaello, as they crossed the square to where several tables had been set outside the doors of a small restaurant. ‘Tomorrow there will be a procession of floats, and a festa with fireworks, celebrating the feast of Santo Gennaro.’ He grimaced ruefully. ‘In fact, the feast of Santo Gennaro should take place in January, but who can enjoy a festa when there is snow on the hills and a cold wind blows down from the Alps?’
Jaime smiled at him. She couldn’t help herself, and for a moment Rafaello shared her amusement. His lean, attractive features mirrored her enjoyment, and then, as if a barrier had dropped between them, he turned away, gesturing to her to take a seat while he went to find the proprietor.
They drank Campari and soda, sitting on opposite sides of the small table, with its blue and white chequered cloth. As the shadows lengthened, more people emerged to stroll in and out of the shops that edged the square, or joined them at the tables, to talk and share a bottle of wine. It was all very peaceful and civilised, but Jaime felt anything but calm. She was only conscious of Rafaello’s brooding preoccupation, and the knowledge that despite his concern for her welfare, he could not relax in her presence.
‘Could we—could we spend a moment in the cathedral?’ she ventured, when both their glasses were empty and it was obvious he was about to suggest going back to the car. ‘I adore old churches, and this one is very old, isn’t it? La Cattedrale de Santo Giustino—I read it on that notice over there,’ she added apologetically. ‘Please. I’d like to see inside.’
Rafaello glanced at his watch once again and got to his feet. ‘If you wish,’ he declared, without expression, and taking a deep breath, Jaime accompanied him round the square and up the four shallow stone steps that led into the candelit interior of the small cathedral.
It was not like any cathedral Jaime had seen before. Its size precluded any impressive displays of architecture, but its atmosphere was instilled with the generations of believers who had worshipped here. She noticed Rafaello crossed himself as they entered the nave, dipping his hand into the holy water and making a silent obeisance. Not having been brought up in any particular belief herself, Jaime nonetheless envied him his faith, and she bowed her head respectfully as she wandered up the aisle.
The altar was lit by two tall candelabra, and to one side there was a statue of the Virgin and child, with several unlit candles waiting to be used. ‘To light a candle for someone you love is an act of faith,’ remarked Rafaello behind her, stretching past her to put several coins in the collection box. ‘But faith is not something you know much about, is it, Jaime?’ he added, as she turned quickly to look at him.
He was close, too close, in the shadowy confines of the beautiful little church. The neck of his cream shirt was open, exposing the strong column of his throat, and from the opening she could smell the warm scent of his body. It was a disturbing scent, clean and essentially male, and her breath caught in her throat. ‘The last time I saw you was in a cathedral, did you know that?’ she asked huskily, her voice revealing a little of the strain she was under, and Rafaello looked at her from between narrowed lids.
‘You came to the church?’ he demanded. And then, with rough passion: ‘Why?’
Jaime forced a lighter tone. ‘I—was invited, remember?’
‘You said you would not come.’
‘I changed my mind.’ She shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘A woman’s prerogative.’
Rafaello’s breathing was ragged. ‘You would have made a beautiful bride,’ he said unsteadily. ‘So tall—so slender—so fair.’ In the flickering light from the candles, his dark face was taut with emotion, and because Jaime was wearing high-heeled sandals, their eyes were almost on a level. Compulsively, it seemed, he lifted his hand to slide its length against the curve of her cheek, and in the incense-laden atmosphere, Jaime’s senses spun away …
‘A che ora si parte, padre?’
The youthful voice of a boy, dressed in the robes of a novice and speaking to an elderly man attired in a priest’s hassock, broke the spell. One moment, Rafaello’s hand was against her cheek, his thumb brushing her lips, his cool fingers incredibly sensuous against her heated skin, his dark eyes moving over her face with something akin to hunger—and the next, he had turned from her and was striding down the nave and out of the cathedral, his long legs extending the distance between them, as if by doing so he could put her out of his life.
Jaime followed more slowly. Pausing for a moment to light one of the candles and secure it in place, she nodded diffidently to the elderly priest, who had watched Rafaello’s departure with evident perplexity. ‘Vada con Dio, signorina,’ he murmured, making the sign of the cross, and Jaime bowed her head respectfully as she emerged from the cathedral into the slanting sunlight of the evening.
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