In the Italian's Sights (7 page)

‘
Si, si
—in a way,’ Sophia whispered, seeming quite different from the controlled young woman at the pool that afternoon. ‘I—I am in trouble, Cherry, and I have no one to speak to, to confide in. I am so frightened. At the pool—’ she sniffed and rubbed at her nose in a childish gesture ‘—you seemed to understand how I was feeling. But—but there is more.’

Hoping the thought which had immediately sprung to mind was way off beam, Cherry said gently, ‘Can’t you talk to Vittorio? He does love you, you know, even if he is a little over-protective. He feels responsible for you since your parents died and wants to do the right thing.’

‘Vittorio is the last person I can talk to about this.’

Oh, dear. When Sophia seemed unable to go on, Cherry took the plunge. ‘Are you pregnant, Sophia?’

Vittorio’s sister shut her eyes and then nodded, tears seeping from under her closed lids. ‘But it wasn’t Santo’s fault. Not that Vittorio will believe that. I—I knew what I was doing. He wanted to stop but I needed to belong to him, properly. I wouldn’t let him push me away like
he’d done before when things went too far. He was beside himself afterwards.’

‘And you? What were you like?’ Cherry pressed quietly.

Sophia opened her eyes, and although they were swimming with tears her voice was strong when she said, ‘I was glad. I still am. Although I didn’t expect… I didn’t think you could become pregnant the first time.’

Sophia had probably had a first-class education, but Cherry dared bet the young Italian girl had little idea of the birds and the bees. Or had had before. She was certainly more well acquainted with that side of things now, Cherry thought ruefully. Sophia had been so protected all her life, so carefully brought up, and perhaps in her culture such privileged young women were virgins on their wedding night, with only a basic knowledge of birth control and so on. Of course Sophia hadn’t had a mother to explain things, and as Vittorio still considered his sister as little more than a child…

What a muddle. Cherry passed Sophia a tissue. ‘And Santo? What does he say about this?’

Fresh tears welled up. ‘I haven’t told him yet. I wasn’t absolutely sure, but today when I was shopping with Margherita I pretended I wanted a lipstick from the chemist and bought a kit. You know—it tells you if you’re expecting a baby or not. After I’d talked to you by the pool I worked up the courage to do it.’ She gazed at Cherry helplessly.

‘So there’s no doubt?’

Sophia shook her head. ‘I’ve—I’ve missed two periods now. But I know as soon as I tell Santo he’ll come and see Vittorio and say he wants to marry me, and I’m so afraid of what Vittorio will do to him.’

And with good cause, Cherry thought grimly. She had only known Vittorio for a matter of hours, but she wouldn’t want to be in Santo’s shoes for all the tea in China. ‘You have to tell Vittorio, Sophia. You know that, don’t you? From all you’ve told me about Santo he isn’t the type to elope or suggest you disappear somewhere with him. He’ll come and see Vittorio, and it’s important your brother is told the full facts by you first. It will give him a chance to calm down.’

‘I cannot, Cherry.’ Real fear crossed Sophia’s pretty face. She said something in Italian and then, realising Cherry didn’t understand, said quickly, ‘He has the temper,
si
?’

‘But Vittorio has to know, Sophia.’ Cherry stared at the Italian girl helplessly. ‘You see that, surely?’

‘Would you tell my brother, Cherry?’ Sophia grabbed Cherry’s hands. ‘
Per favore
? Would you?’

‘Me?’ Cherry recoiled in horror.

‘
Si
. You are a guest in our home. Vittorio will respect this. But me…’ Sophia rolled her eyes. ‘I dare not.’

‘You don’t think your brother would harm you?’ Cherry said gently. Somehow she was sure Vittorio wouldn’t hurt Sophia.

‘
Si
. No.’ Sophia shook her head, confused. ‘I do not know. But if you tell him he will not lose his temper for sure. I know it is asking much, but I beg you.’

It
was
asking much—even without Vittorio’s apparent temper to contend with. She had only known them both a matter of hours.

‘We love each other, Cherry,’ Sophia said earnestly. ‘We always have. And I can move into the farmhouse with Santo’s family once we are married. Santo has a room all to himself. It will not be a problem. And his parents
like me. His
madre
—his mother—she is so sweet. Santo can continue working with his father, and I can help his mother in the house. I will be company for her. Santo has five sisters, but they are older than him and married with their own homes.’

Sophia had it all worked out. Cherry stared at the other girl.
Had
she fallen pregnant by accident, or was she not quite as ingenuous as she claimed? Whatever, the deed was done. A baby was on the way—the true innocent in this tangle—and was to be born to a couple who were little more than children themselves. But from what Sophia had said she and Santo would not be coping with a newborn by themselves, like some young people. With grandparents on hand, their lot would be easier.

‘Now you are sure you’re expecting a baby, you need to tell Santo, Sophia. He has a right to know before anyone else.’ Cherry stood up. ‘He is the father after all.’

‘
Si.
You are right.’ Sophia stood up too. ‘And if I do this will you tell Vittorio?’

Cherry felt she was between the devil and the deep blue sea—the devil definitely being Vittorio, she thought wryly. But in one way she could follow Sophia’s reasoning that the news coming from a stranger might keep the lid on Vittorio’s rage, and by the time he saw Sophia he might have calmed down a little. Two mights. Two too many, considering she was going to be in the firing line. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow once the car is delivered,’ she warned Sophia.

‘
Si
, but there is after dinner tonight, or maybe breakfast? Perhaps tonight is better, in case the car comes early, and Vittorio will be more relaxed, more mellow, having eaten dinner and drunk wine. I can disappear early, before coffee. I will say I have the headache. I can slip out
while Margherita is seeing to things in the kitchen and tell Santo. Then we come back to face Vittorio together. This is good, eh?’ Sophia smiled hopefully. ‘And you can tell him it is not Santo’s fault.’

Oh, hell. And all because some ne’er do well had syphoned off her petrol. She should be installed in a nice little
pensioni
up the coast by now, with nothing more important on her mind than what she was going to have for dinner. The last thing she wanted was to be embroiled in a situation like this, when it could well be a case of ‘shoot the messenger’. Flatly, she said, ‘What would you have done if I hadn’t turned up today?’

Sophia shrugged and then smiled again. ‘But you did, and I will always be glad of it,’ she said disarmingly. ‘I have been praying to Our Lady since I suspected I might be expecting a baby, asking her to help me, and now she has.’

It brought home to Cherry how very young Sophia was, in spite of her womanly appearance. She couldn’t let Sophia face her brother alone. Sighing, she said, ‘After dinner, then.’

‘Grazie, grazie.’
Sophia flung her arms round Cherry and hugged her. ‘I wish you could stay for a while and see me married. I have always wanted a sister.’

‘You’re going to acquire five shortly,’ Cherry said drily.

Sophia giggled, all tears gone. ‘This is true, and they have many
bambini
. My little one, he will not be lonely.’

Feeling things were again verging on the surreal, Cherry slipped on her sandals. Sophia had gone from desperation to delight in a couple of minutes, and she couldn’t help feeling Vittorio’s sister hadn’t embraced the enormity of the changes which were inevitably going
to occur in her life. She just hoped the wonderful Santo came up to scratch tonight. Sophia didn’t have a shred of doubt in her mind that he would offer to marry her.

They walked downstairs together, and once in the hall Sophia led the way into the drawing room where Vittorio was sitting with a drink. Sophia’s revelation had driven the events of the afternoon out of Cherry’s mind, but now all she could see was Vittorio as he’d been by the pool—practically naked and hugely aroused. Two spots of blazing colour stained her cheekbones as she met the cool grey eyes.

‘Every man’s dream,’ he murmured lazily, ‘to dine with
two
beautiful women. Come and have a drink.’

Somehow Cherry’s legs carried her across the room to sit beside Sophia on one of the sofas. Vittorio was wearing beautifully cut black trousers and a snow-white shirt open at the throat, and he looked sensational. He was the kind of man it was difficult to imagine had once been a small boy, but no doubt he’d had every little girl for miles around madly in love with him. When they’d been handing out sex appeal Vittorio must have stood in line twice. And then some.

‘Another cocktail, Cherry?’ he asked silkily. ‘I think you spilt most of the one by the pool. Or perhaps you would prefer wine or a sherry?’

So he had noticed her ignominious flight earlier. And of course he had to let her know. Cherry’s chin came up, and in spite of her pink cheeks her voice was as thin as steel as she said, ‘I don’t care for cocktails. Wine would be fine.’ She nodded to the open bottle on the coffee table in front of him. ‘Whatever you’re having.’

He bent forward and poured a good measure of the deep red wine into one of the two waiting glasses, handing
it to her before filling the other glass with an equal measure of wine and lemonade which he passed to Sophia. His sister grimaced. ‘For goodness’ sake, I am nearly seventeen, Vittorio. When are you going to start treating me as an adult rather than a child?’

Ignoring Sophia, he smiled at Cherry. ‘You have everything you need in your room?’

She had just taken a sip of the wine and almost choked as the grey gaze fastened on her, swallowing hard before she said, ‘Yes, thank you,’ with studied politeness.

He nodded, settling back in his chair and stretching his long legs in front of him. She had caught a whiff of clean, sharp aftershave as he’d handed her the wine, and now his maleness seemed to cross the space between them and surround her, making it difficult to breathe.

She was unutterably glad when Margherita appeared in the doorway in the next moment, the housekeeper’s face impassive when she said, ‘Dinner is ready, Signor Carella.’

‘Thank you, Margherita. We’ll bring our drinks through.’

The dining room was as gorgeous as the rest of the house; an enormous table in exquisite multi-coloured Indian wood was a thing of beauty all by itself, and complemented by the colour scheme of pale buttery yellow and warm ochre which gave an air of tranquillity to the surroundings. The lighting was subdued, the soft muslin drapes at the open windows were moving gently in the warm evening breeze, and the bowl of freshly cut roses in the centre of the table perfumed the air with their sweetness. In any other circumstances it would have been a magical place to sit and chat and savour food and wine. As it was, Cherry’s nerves were stretched as tight as piano wire.

Rosa and Gilda appeared with the first course—
antipasto
, which consisted of a small plate of olives, cold meats and anchovies—standing behind Vittorio, who was seated at the head of the table while he gave thanks for the meal, and then serving the food quickly and efficiently.

Sophia tucked in with gusto. Apparently the events which were going to unfold in a few short hours hadn’t affected her appetite, Cherry thought wryly. She glanced at Vittorio, who was still blissfully unaware of the bomb about to be dropped in his orderly, controlled world, and found his eyes were waiting for her. Her stomach fluttered nervously.

‘Eat,’ he said softly, ‘or Margherita will think you do not appreciate her food, which would be taken as a great insult.’

Before Sophia had come into her room she had been feeling quite hungry. Now it was an effort to pick up her cutlery. Nevertheless, once she began eating she found the food delicious, the sharp contrasts in taste awakening her tastebuds.

The next course was soup with little shapes of pasta in it which Vittorio informed her were
orecchiette
. ‘Little ears, in English,’ he said with a smile. ‘Puglia is a rich agricultural landscape, as I am sure you have noticed, and as such the local produce provides a cuisine which is among the best in Italy. The abundant wheatfields and the closeness of the coast mean we feast well; food is very important to us. Is this not right, Sophia?’ he added, including his sister in the conversation.

Sophia nodded. ‘Try some of Margherita’s bread, Cherry,’ she offered, passing the basket to her. ‘She makes it with black olives, onions and tomato, and our own olive oil.’

The bread was mouth-wateringly good. The best she’d tasted.

At this point in the meal Cherry made up her mind to forget about what was to come and enjoy her dinner. Margherita was clearly a fantastic cook, the wine was like nectar from the gods, and Vittorio had apparently decided to put the incident by the pool behind him and metamorphosed into the perfect host, amusing and attentive, with a dry wit that had her spluttering into her glass more than once.

The condemned man—or in this case woman—ate a hearty meal, Cherry told herself, as she gazed with delight at the main course of
carpaccio
—paper-thin slices of fillet steak garnished with fresh egg mayonnaise and finely slivered Parmesan. It tasted as good as it looked. She thought she had eaten well since she had arrived in Italy, but nothing measured up to Margherita’s cooking. Scary she might be, but hey, so what?

‘You eat like an Italian.’ Vittorio’s voice was soft and his voice had a rich smoky tinge to it as he held her eyes, which made her shiver inside.

To combat her reaction to him, she made her voice light when she said, ‘I take it that is a good thing?’

‘Of course. Italians know how to enjoy the good things in life,
si
? Life is a gift and not to be wasted. Not even for a moment. There are many pleasures to keep the heart glad, and some are even free.’