The Count's Blackmail Bargain (11 page)

She only realised when the descent was completed that she’d been holding her breath most of the time.

Giacomo drove straight to the main square, and parked near the church. Pointing to the hands on his watch, he conveyed that she had fifteen minutes only to spend in Besavoro, and Laura nodded in resigned acceptance.

Well, that was the deal, she told herself philosophically as she set off. And she would just have to make the most of it.

She soon realised that Besavoro was in reality a small town, and not what she thought of as a village at all. The square was lined with shops, selling every sort of food, as well as wine, olive oil, hardware and clothing. It all had a busy, purposeful air, without a designer boutique or gift shop in sight.

But the little news agency she came to sold a few postcards, featuring mainly Assisi and the Majella national park, and she bought four, deciding to send one to Carl, her immediate boss at Harman Grace as well.

No one in the shop spoke English, but with great goodwill the correct stamps for Britain were offered, and her change was counted carefully into her hand.

A few doors away was a bar with tables on the pavement, and Laura took a seat, ordering a coffee and a bottle of mineral water.

She glanced across the square, checking the car, and then, carefully, her watch, before starting to write her cards.

At the same time she was aware that people were checking her, not rudely, but with open interest. English tourists were clearly a rarity here, she realised, turning her own attention back to the task in hand.

She was sorely tempted to put, ‘Having ghastly time. Glad you’re not here,’ but knew that would involve her in impossible explanations on her return. Better, she decided, to stick to the usual anodyne messages. To Gaynor alone could she eventually reveal the grisly truth, and wait for her to say, ‘I told you so,’ she thought ruefully.

Although there were things about her stay at the villa that she wasn’t prepared to talk about—ever. Not even to Gaynor.

Now all she needed was a postbox, she thought, rifling through her small phrase book for the exact wording. On the other hand it was probably quicker and easier to ask Giacomo.

She slipped her pen back into her bag, and felt for her purse, looking again towards the church as she did so.

But where the car had stood only minutes before, there was an empty space.

Laura shot to her feet with a stifled cry of dismay. It couldn’t have gone, she thought wildly. There were still minutes to spare. And if Giacomo had just looked across the square he’d have seen her. So why hadn’t he come across to her—or sounded his horn even?

Why—simply drive off?

The bar owner came dashing out, clearly worried that she was about to do a runner, his voice raised in protest.

Laura pointed. ‘My lift—it’s vanished. I—I’m stranded.’

The owner spread his hands in total incomprehension, talking excitedly. She became aware that people were pausing—staring.

Beginning to ask questions. Hemming her in as they did so.

Making her uncomfortably aware of her sudden isolation, in a strange country, and unable to speak a word of the language.

Then, suddenly, across the increasing hubbub, cut a drawl she recognised. ‘Ciao, bella mia. Having problems?’

Alessio had come through the small crowd, which had obediently parted for him, and was standing just a couple of feet away, watching her from behind dark glasses, hands on hips. The shorts he was wearing today were marginally more decent than the first pair she’d seen him in, but his dark blue shirt was unbuttoned almost to the waist.

And if she was pleased to see him, she was determined that he wasn’t going to know it.

She faced him furiously. ‘Actually—yes. The damned car’s gone without me.’ She almost stamped her foot, but decided against it.

‘Oh, God, I don’t believe it.’ She bit her lip. ‘I suppose this is your aunt’s idea—to make me walk back up that hill, in the hope I’ll die of heatstroke.’

He grinned. ‘Calm yourself, Laura. This time Zia Lucrezia is innocent. I told Giacomo to return to the villa.’

‘But why?’ She stared at him. ‘There was no need. We had a perfectly good arrangement…’

Alessio shrugged. ‘I felt you needed a break. Also, that Besavoro deserved more than just fifteen minutes of your time. Was I so wrong?’

‘Well, no,’ she conceded without pleasure.

‘Good,’ he approved lazily. ‘And when you have completed your sightseeing, I will drive you back in the Jeep.’

Laura suddenly realised that public interest in her activities had snowballed since the Count’s arrival. The fascinated circle gathering around them was now three deep.

She said stiffly, ‘I thought I’d made it clear. I don’t want you to put yourself to any trouble on my behalf.’

‘There is no trouble—except perhaps with Luigi here.’ He indicated the gaping bar owner. ‘So, why don’t you sit down and finish your drink before he has a fit, hmm?’

He turned to the nearest onlooker, and said something softly. As if a switch had been pressed, the crowd began to melt unobtrusively away.

Such is power, Laura thought mutinously as she obeyed. She watched him drop into the chair opposite, stretching long tanned legs out in front of him as he ordered another cappuccino for Laura, and an espresso for himself from Luigi.

He’d caught her totally on the back foot, she thought. And she resented that swift painful thud of the heart that his unexpected appearance had engendered. Especially when he’d practically ignored her for the past week.

But I should want to be ignored, she thought. I should want to be totally ostracised by him. Because it’s safer that way…

‘Please do not let me interrupt.’ He nodded to the small pile of cards. ‘Finish your correspondence.’

‘I already have done.’ She smiled over-brightly. ‘Just touching base with family and friends.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘The family that, according to my aunt, does not exist.’

Laura groaned inwardly. Paolo had reacted with ill temper to her confession that she’d deviated from the party line.

She made herself shrug. ‘I can’t imagine where she got that idea.

Perhaps it suited her better to believe that I was a penniless orphan.’

‘Which, of course, you are not.’

‘Well, the penniless bit is fairly accurate. It’s been a real struggle for my mother since my father died. I’m just glad I’ve got a decent job, so that I can help.’

The dark brows lifted. ‘Does working in a wine bar pay so well? I did not know.’

But that’s not the day job. The words hovered on her lips, but, thankfully, remained unspoken.

Oh, God, she thought, hastily marshalling her thoughts. I’ve goofed again.

She met his sardonic gaze. ‘It’s a busy place, signore, and the tips are good.’

‘Ah,’ he said softly. He glanced around him. ‘So, what are your impressions of Besavoro?’

‘It’s larger than I thought, and much older. I didn’t think I would catch more than a glimpse of it, of course.’

‘I thought you would be pleased that I sent Giacomo away for another reason,’ he said, leaning back in his chair, and pushing his sunglasses up onto his forehead. ‘It will mean that Paolo will get his medicine more quickly, and maybe return to your arms, subito, a man restored.’

‘I doubt it.’ She looked down at the table. ‘He seems set for the duration.’ She hesitated. ‘Has he always fussed about his health like this? I mean—he’s simply got a cold.’

‘Why, Laura,’ he said softly. ‘How hard you are. For a man, no cold is ever simple.’

‘Well, I can’t imagine you going to bed for a week.’

‘No?’ His smile was wicked. The dark eyes seemed to graze her body. ‘Then perhaps you need to extend the scope of your imagination, mia cara.’

I am not—not going to blush, Laura told herself silently. And I don’t care how much he winds me up.

She looked back at him squarely, ‘I meant—with some minor ailment, signore.’

‘Perhaps not.’ He shrugged. ‘But my temper becomes so evil, I am sure those around me wish I would retire to my room—and stay there until I can be civil again.’

He paused while Luigi placed the coffees in front of them. ‘But I have to admit that Paolo was a sickly child, and I think his mother plays on this, by pampering him, and making him believe every cough and sneeze is a serious threat. It is her way of retaining some hold on him.’

‘I’m sure of it,’ Laura said roundly. ‘I suspect Beatrice Manzone has had a lucky escape.’ And could have bitten her tongue out again as Alessio’s gaze sharpened.

‘Davvero?’ he queried softly. ‘A curious point of view to have about your innamorato, perhaps.’

‘I meant,’ Laura said hastily, in a bid to retrieve the situation, ‘that I shan’t be as submissive—or as easy to manipulate—as she would have been.’

‘Credo,’ he murmured, his mouth twisting. ‘I believe you, mia cara. You have that touch of red in your hair that spells danger.’

He picked up his cup. ‘Now, drink your coffee, and I will take you to see the church,’ he added more briskly. ‘There is a Madonna and Child behind the high altar that some people say was painted by Raphael.’

‘But you don’t agree?’ Laura welcomed the change of direction.

He considered, frowning a little. ‘I think it is more likely to have been one of his pupils. For one thing, it is unsigned, and Raphael liked to leave his mark. For another, Besavoro is too unimportant to appeal to an artist of his ambition. And lastly the Virgin does not resemble Raphael’s favourite mistress, whom he is said to have used as his chief model, even for the Sistine Madonna.’

‘Wow,’ Laura said, relaxing into a smile. ‘How very sacrilegious of him.’

He grinned back at her. ‘I prefer to think—what proof of his passion.’ He gave a faint shrug. ‘But ours is still a beautiful painting, and can be treasured as such.’

He drank the rest of his coffee, and stood up, indicating the postcards. ‘You wish me to post these? Before we visit the church?’

‘Well, yes.’ She hesitated. ‘But you don’t have to come with me, signore. After all, I can hardly get lost. And I know how busy you are. I’m sure you have plenty of other things to do.’

‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But today, mia cara, I shall devote to you.’ His smile glinted. ‘Or did you think I had forgotten about you these past days?’

‘I—I didn’t think anything at all,’ she denied hurriedly.

‘I am disappointed,’ he said lightly. ‘I hoped you might have missed me a little.’

‘Then maybe you should remember something.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I came to Besavoro with your cousin, signore.’

‘Ah,’ Alessio said softly. ‘But that is so fatally easy to forget, Laura mia.’

And he walked off across the square.

The interior of the church was dim, and fragrant with incense. It felt cool, too, after the burning heat of the square outside.

There were a number of small streets, narrow and cobbled, opening off the square, their houses facing each other so closely that people could have leaned from the upper-storey windows and touched, and Laura explored them all.

The shuttered windows suggested a feeling of intimacy, she thought. A sense of busy lives lived in private. And the flowers that spilled everywhere from troughs and window boxes added to Besavoro’s peace and charm.

‘So,’ Alessio said as they paused for some water at a drinking fountain before visiting the church. ‘Do you like my town?’

‘It’s enchanting,’ Laura returned with perfect sincerity, smiling inwardly at his casual use of the possessive. The lord, she thought, with his fiefdom. ‘A little gem.’

‘Sì,’ he agreed. ‘And now I will show you another. Avanti.’

Laura trod quietly up the aisle of the church, aware of Alessio following silently. The altar itself was elaborate with gold leaf, but she hardly gave it a second glance. Because, above it, the painting glowed like a jewel, creating its own light.

The girl in it was very young, her hair uncovered, her blue cloak thrown back. She held the child proudly high in her arms, her gaze steadfast, and almost defiant, as if challenging the world to throw the first stone.

Laura caught her breath. She turned to Alessio, eyes shining, her hand going out to him involuntarily. ‘It’s—wonderful.’

‘Yes,’ he returned quietly, his fingers closing round hers. ‘Each time I see it, I find myself—amazed.’

They stood in silence for a few minutes longer, then, as if by tacit consent, turned and began to walk around the shadowy church, halting briefly at each shrine with its attendant bank of burning candles.

Laura knew she should free her hand, but his warm grasp seemed unthreatening enough. And she certainly didn’t want to make something out of nothing, especially in a church, so she allowed her fingers to remain quietly in his.

But as they emerged into the sunshine he let her go anyway.

Presumably, thought Laura, the Count Ramontella didn’t wish ‘his’

citizens to see him walking hand in hand with a girl.

Or not my kind of girl, certainly, she amended silently.

She’d expected to be driven straight back to the villa, but to her uneasy surprise Alessio took another road altogether, climbing the other side of the valley.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

‘There’s a view I wish to show you,’ he said. ‘It belongs to a trattoria, so we can enjoy it over lunch.’

‘But aren’t we expected back at the villa?’

‘You are so keen to return?’ He slanted a smile at her. ‘You think, maybe, that Paolo’s medicine has already worked its magic?’

‘No,’ she said stiffly. ‘Just wondering what your aunt will think.’

‘It is only lunch,’ he said. The smile lingered—hardened a little.

‘And I do not think she will have any objection—or none that need trouble either of us.’

The trattoria was a former farmhouse, extensively renovated only a couple of years earlier. Among the improvements had been a long wide terrace, with a thatched roof to provide shade, which overlooked the valley.

Their welcome was warm, but also, Laura noticed, respectful, and they were conducted to a table at the front of the terrace. Menus were produced and they were offered an aperitivo.