In the Italian's Sights (3 page)

The light, cool hall, with a marble floor and white walls hung with exquisitely framed paintings, was huge, its air scented with bowls of fresh flowers and several chairs and tables dotted about the vast expanse. And the staircase stretching in front of them was a thing of beauty in itself, made of the same pale green marble as the floor and curving upwards to two levels, giving the impression that the hall itself was an inner courtyard.

Speechless, she followed the maid up the stairs and halfway along a landing, whereupon the young girl opened a door, allowing Cherry to precede her into a vast bedroom. ‘Please to call if you need anything,
signorina
,’ the maid said in broken English as she walked across and opened the door to an
en-suite
bathroom. She waved at open basketwork shelves holding neatly folded fluffy towels and toiletries and then left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

‘Wow!’ Cherry breathed out softly as she stood surveying her surroundings. The cream, stone and taupe colour palette of the room was offset by the blaze of colour coming from the open full-length windows leading on to a balcony thick with purple, red and white bougainvillaea and holding a small table and two chairs. It was obviously a guest bedroom—there were no personal belongings of any kind when she furtively opened one or two of the doors of the wall-to-wall wardrobes and drawers. Imagine what the rest of the house must be like, Cherry thought weakly. She’d been right. He must be absolutely loaded.

She padded across to the balcony. It overlooked an enormous garden stretching away from the back of the
villa for what seemed like miles to her stunned gaze. It was bursting with tropical trees and shrubs and manicured flowerbeds, and the ancient walls which enclosed the garden from the olive groves were brilliant in places with cascade upon cascade of more bougainvillaea. An Olympic-size swimming pool glittered blue under the clear cerulean Italian sky, and orange, apricot, almond and fig trees lived in harmony in a small orchard at the very rear of the grounds. She had never seen anything like it.

Double wow! She breathed out slowly. Triple. What an oasis. How the other half lived!

As she continued to gaze out she noticed what must be Vittorio Carella’s gardener, tending a flowerbed next to a lush flower-covered bower, but otherwise the sun-soaked grounds were still, slumbering in the heat of the afternoon.

One thing was for sure, Cherry thought with wry humour as she stepped back into the bedroom. Vittorio Carella was no ordinary olive farmer. And she supposed if she had to be stranded anywhere for a few hours she could have picked somewhere a darn sight worse than Casa Carella.

Becoming aware she had been lost in contemplation when she should have been freshening up, Cherry hastily walked into the gorgeous
en-suite
bathroom of cream marble. The mirror which took up all of one wall showed her just how grubby and bedraggled she looked. She groaned softly. No wonder he’d thought she was a young kid playing at being grown-up. Urgent repair work was needed.

The bathroom held everything from hairbrushes and cosmetics—still in their wrapping—to male and female
perfume and other such niceties. Clearly the guests of Vittorio Carella had their every need met. But she wasn’t a guest. Not in the traditional sense anyway.

Cherry stood in front of the mirror, decorum warring with vanity. Vanity won. After washing her face, and brushing her hair until it shone like silk with one of the brushes she’d unwrapped, she opened a tube of mascara and a pot of eyeshadow. Not for the first time she blessed the fact she was a female and had make-up at her disposal. She might have entered the house as a little lost waif and stray. She certainly didn’t intend to leave as anything less than a full-grown woman!

CHAPTER TWO

W
HEN
she opened the door of the bedroom to go downstairs the little maid was hovering at the end of the landing, fiddling with the huge bowl of sweet-smelling roses on a small table under the magnificent arched window which flooded the space with light. Cherry smiled at her.

‘Ah,
signorina
. If you will come this way? The
signore
, he is waiting,’ the young girl said politely.

Cherry nodded and followed the immaculately dressed maid as she led the way down the stairs and across the hall. After knocking on a door the girl opened it and then stood aside for Cherry to enter. The drawing room was even more beautiful than she’d prepared herself for: the ceiling high, the light wood floor scattered with thick rugs, the gracious furniture and drapes clearly wildly expensive and the white walls covered with exquisite paintings. The huge French windows were open to the scents of the garden beyond, and on the patio immediately beyond the windows a fountain tinkled in the afternoon heat.

But all this was on the perimeter of her consciousness. Her senses were caught up with the man who had risen from an armchair at her entrance and was now saying, ‘Come and sit down and take some refreshment. Would
you prefer coffee or perhaps a cold drink? Orange juice? Pineapple? Mango?’

‘Coffee will be fine, thank you.’ He remained standing as he waved his hand at a chair opposite his. A coffee table was groaning with an array of cakes and pastries, and the aroma from espresso coffee was rich. His loose-fitting trousers and silver-grey cotton shirt were clearly expensive, and the way they sat on the lean male body was guaranteed to make any female heart beat a little faster.

He didn’t sit down again until she was seated, and then he poured her a coffee before gesturing at the cream, milk and sugar. ‘Help yourself.’

‘Thank you. I take mine black.’

‘It is the only way.’ He smiled in agreement.

Her heartbeat—which had just returned to normal—quickened again. He really was the man with everything, she thought weakly. It was a shame that included an ego to match.

He picked up the cakestand and offered it to her, and as she gazed at the sweet delicacies she found she was hungry. She selected one of the small iced sponge cakes filled with cream and jam which she knew were called
sospiri
—sighs in English—and sighed herself inwardly. What must it be like to enjoy such a privileged life, free from the cares and trials which afflicted most people? He only had to crook his little finger and his every need was catered for. Heady stuff to the uninitiated.

‘I spoke with the hire company while you were upstairs, but they will not be able to send another car for twenty-four hours.’

Cherry almost choked on the cake. ‘Twenty-four hours?’

‘This is not a great problem, surely? You had no pressing engagement?’ he asked with silky smoothness.

He knew she didn’t. ‘No, but—’ She paused, wondering how to say she had no intention of staying in this house for twenty-four hours—if that was what he was suggesting. ‘But I can’t impose on your hospitality—’

‘Please do not speak of it. You are more than welcome to stay for as long as you like. I am desolate you have had such a bad experience whilst visiting my beautiful country. Let me make amends by offering you the safety of my home until the new car arrives.’

Oh, hell. What could she say to that?

In the event she wasn’t called upon to say anything, because the drawing-room door opening with a flourish caused both their heads to turn to the voluptuous young woman standing in the aperture, her hands on her hips and her eyes flashing fire. Cherry didn’t need to speak the language to understand the thrust of the outburst in Italian which followed. For some reason the girl was furious with Vittorio, and not afraid to tell him so in spite of his darkening face. Cherry found she was beginning to enjoy herself.

He rapped out something in Italian which stopped the flow but still left the girl glowering at him. Then he turned to Cherry. ‘I apologise,’ he said with steely flatness. She could see he was hanging on to his temper by a thread. ‘My sister is not usually so bereft of manners. Let me introduce you. Cherry, this is my sister, Sophia. Sophia, meet Cherry, a guest from England who deserves more courtesy than you have shown.’

Cherry could see Vittorio’s sister was fighting for control but now she stepped forward, forcing a smile as she held out her hand and said, ‘I am sorry. I did not know
Vittorio had anyone with him or that we were expecting a guest.’

A little embarrassed now, Cherry smiled back. ‘You weren’t expecting me,’ she said awkwardly as she shook hands. ‘I’m afraid I strayed on to your property by mistake and my car broke down, so it’s me who should be apologising for intruding.’

Vivid green eyes set in a face which was quite outstandingly lovely surveyed her for a long moment. And then Sophia smiled—a real smile this time. ‘No, it is me,’ she said ruefully. ‘But you are most welcome, Cherry from England. Where is your car?’ she added. ‘I did not see it.’

Cherry waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the road. ‘Out there somewhere. I’m afraid it’s blocking the way to the house. Apparently my petrol was sy phoned off in the last town.’

‘The south road?’ Sophia enquired of her brother, who nodded, his face still grim. ‘It is of no matter, Cherry. We have more than one entrance to the property. You are staying for dinner?’ she added.

‘Cherry is staying overnight until the hire company can deliver a new vehicle.’ Vittorio’s voice was cold.

‘Then I will see you later. I am going to my room to rest.’ Sophia swung round, her hair—which hung in a glossy black curtain to her waist—rippling as she left the room.

Cherry sat down again, reaching for her coffee cup and not knowing what to say. Clearly brother and sister were at loggerheads over something or other. Aiming to relieve the crackling atmosphere, she murmured, ‘Your sister is very beautiful.’

‘And very wilful.’ It was almost a bark. And then he
raked a hand through his hair. ‘
Scusi
. Now it is I who has the bad manners,
si
? But Sophia—she tries my patience.’

Cherry had the feeling that patience was not one of Vittorio’s attributes at the best of times. He had the air of a man who was used to having people dance to his tune without question—a man who controlled his world absolutely. She found all her sympathies were with his sister, whatever the disagreement was about. Quietly, she said, ‘I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing for a woman to be strong and wilful. We are living in the twenty-first century after all.’

He looked at her. A hard look. ‘How old do you think my sister is?’ he asked expressionlessly.

Taken aback, Cherry hesitated. ‘My age? Twenty-five or thereabouts?’

‘Sophia will be seventeen on her next birthday in four months’ time,’ he said grimly. ‘And although she has the body of a mature woman I can assure you she has the mind of a sixteen-year-old—a reckless and obstinate sixteen-year-old. Our parents died when she was still very young and I have been her guardian since then, but over the last few years it has been a battle.’

Teenage girls. She could have told him it wouldn’t be an easy ride—not with rampant hormones and especially not with someone who looked like Sophia. The boys must have been after her in droves since she was out of nappies.

He confirmed this with his next words. ‘There is a boy,’ he ground out woodenly. ‘She has been meeting him secretly when she was supposed to be with schoolfriends.’

‘But that’s natural at her age.’

His mouth compressed. ‘Sophia is a Carella. She knows there will be no boys until she is eighteen, and
then only when she is chaperoned. To do such a thing is unforgivable.’

Cherry stared at him. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘In England, maybe. Not in Italy. Not among girls of good families. She has attended a select school where the girls are supervised at all times. When she is eighteen any suitors will come to me first. This is for her protection.’

He couldn’t be serious. What a dinosaur!

‘My housekeeper now has to accompany her when she leaves the house as I cannot trust her. It is an inconvenience.’

No power on earth could have stopped Cherry’s next words. ‘And what about her? Sophia?’ she asked indignantly. ‘She must be feeling so embarrassed if she has to see her friends with your housekeeper tagging along. That’s cruel.’

Stormy grey eyes turned thunder-dark. She watched him rein in his temper and gain control, and it was impressive. ‘You are a guest in my home,
signorina
.’ He was suddenly very much the aristocrat. ‘I must not burden you with my concerns. Suffice to say Sophia is a child and must be protected from herself. Now, if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to. Please make yourself comfortable and ring for anything you desire. The pool and grounds are at your disposal, of course, and dinner is served at seven o’clock.’

He had swept out of the room before Cherry could think of a reply. Although once the door had closed behind him a hundred acidic put-downs were there.

What a horrible, arrogant, chauvinistic pig of a man—and his poor sister, she thought angrily, her cheeks burning. Sophia was virtually kept in a cage here. Albeit a gilded one. He was still living as though it was two or
three centuries ago, when women had no rights nor voice of their own.

Cherry sat and brooded for another ten minutes, absent-mindedly eating three more of the delicious cakes and pastries, which were the best she’d tasted since arriving in Italy. The scents of a thousand flowers drifted into the room from the open windows. The patio area was bright with huge terracotta pots of lemon-scented verbena, pink begonia, brilliant red geraniums, salvias, pelargoniums and other flowers she didn’t recognise but which all added to the dazzling display of summer colour. Suddenly she wanted to be outside, despite the afternoon sun. A dip in that magnificent pool would be sheer heaven.

Decision made, she left the drawing room and found her way to her bedroom, where she changed into the modest black one-piece swimming costume she’d brought with her. She had also packed two brightly coloured bikinis, both of which were on the skimpy side, and she balked at wearing those here. It was silly, but somehow the thought of appearing half-naked anywhere within a ten-mile radius of Vittorio was out of the question. To that end she pulled on a brightly coloured sarong which went with one of the bikinis for good measure, feeling better once her legs were covered.