Reunited with Her Italian Ex
Lucy Gordon
Her real-life Romeo… Freelance journalist Natasha needs to find work—fast! When a job comes up in Verona she jumps at the chance. Her heart might have been broken by a charming Italian, but with few other options, promoting the city seems like a dream assignment. Until she meets her new boss—and ex!—Mario… Mario might not be the playboy she remembers, yet Natasha strives to keep their relationship professional. But in the city of Romeo and Juliet, pursuing their star-crossed romance is hard to resist…
Natasha found herself facing Mario.
‘You’ve danced with everyone else,’ he observed. ‘Will it ever be my turn?’
‘Not until you ask me.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to ask you.’
But as he spoke his arm went around her waist in a grip too firm for her to resist, even if she had wanted to.
Once before they had danced together. One night in Venice, when they had been having supper at an outdoor café in St Mark’s Square, a band had started to play and before she’d known it she’d been waltzing in his arms.
‘Is this all right?’ he’d whispered.
‘I’ll let you know later,’ she had teased.
It had lasted only a few minutes, and she had promised herself that one day she would dance with him again. But the next day they had broken up and it had never happened again. Until now.
It was unnerving to feel his arms about her, his hand on her waist, holding her close. Her heart was beating softly but fervently. She glanced at him, trying to know if he felt the same. Would he invite her to dance with him again?
Reunited with Her Italian Ex
Lucy Gordon
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
LUCY GORDON cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men. She’s had many unusual experiences, which have often provided the background for her books. Once, while staying in Venice, she met a Venetian who proposed in two days and they’ve been married ever since. Naturally this has affected her writing, in which romantic Italian men tend to feature strongly. Two of her books have won a Romance Writers of America RITA
Award. You can visit her website at lucy-gordon.com (http://lucy-gordon.com).
Contents
Cover (#udf91aff7-2de2-518d-80d3-a7452af1473d)
Introduction (#ub366d915-2d0e-59e6-84fa-bd2e647e8fe9)
Title Page (#uf596f6cc-1bef-5c8f-a43d-b328b202224b)
About the Author (#u7c7b6778-a058-58c1-94b4-fd8df59c89ff)
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#u45dcf476-a550-5dba-af63-dc012d1e4463)
VENICE, THE MOST romantic city in the world.
That was what people said, and Natasha was becoming convinced that it was true. Where else could she have met the man of her dreams within hours of arriving, and known so soon that she was his and he simply must become hers?
Sitting in a café by a small canal, she looked out at the sun glittering on the water. Nearby she could see a gondola containing a young man and woman, wrapped in each other’s arms.
Just like us, she thought, recalling her first gondola ride in the arms of the man who had changed the world in moments.
Mario Ferrone, young, handsome, with dancing eyes and a rich chuckle that seemed to encompass the world. She’d met Mario just after she’d arrived in Venice on a well-earned holiday. He’d insisted on showing her the city. As his brother owned the hotel where she was staying, she’d briefly thought this a professional service, but that idea soon changed. There was an instant attraction between them, and nothing had ever seemed more wonderful than the time they spent together.
Until then, there had been little in her life that could be called romance. She was slim, pretty, humorous, with no difficulty attracting admirers. But where men were concerned she had an instinctive defensiveness.
It went back to her childhood, when her father had abandoned his wife and ten-year-old daughter for another woman. Until that moment Natasha’s life had been happy. Her father had seemed to adore her as she adored him. But suddenly he was gone, never to get in touch again.
Never trust a man, her mother had told her. They’ll always let you down.
She’d been content to heed the warning until Mario came into her life and everything turned upside down.
Her own reactions confused her. Her heart was drawn to Mario as never before to any other man. Sometimes her mother’s voice echoed in her mind.
No man can be trusted, Natasha. Remember that.
But Natasha felt certain that Mario was different to all other men—more honest, more trustworthy, more faithfully loving.
Last night he’d kissed her with even greater fervour than before, murmuring, ‘Tomorrow I want to...’ Then he’d stopped, seeming confused.
‘Yes?’ she’d whispered. ‘What do you want?’
‘I can’t tell you now...but tomorrow everything will be different. Goodnight, mi amore.’
Now here she was in the café where they often met, waiting for him to appear and transform her world yet again.
She almost ached with the yearning to know what he’d meant by ‘everything will be different’. Was he going to propose marriage? Surely he must.
Oh, please hurry, she thought. How could Mario keep her on tenterhooks when it mattered so much?
Suddenly, she heard his voice call, ‘Natasha!’ Looking up, she saw him walking by the canal, waving to her from a distance.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said, joining her at the table. ‘I got held up.’
She had a strange feeling that he was on edge.
‘Is everything all right?’ she asked.
‘It will be, very soon,’ he said.
His eyes never left her and every moment her conviction grew that tonight they were going to take the next step—whatever it might be.
He took her hand. ‘There’s something I’ve been trying to tell you for days but—’
‘Trying? Is it so hard to tell me?’
‘It could be.’ His eyes met hers. ‘Some things just aren’t easy to say.’
Her heart was beating with anticipation and excitement. She knew what he was going to say, and she longed to hear it.
‘That depends how much you want to say them,’ she whispered, leaning close so that her breath brushed his face. ‘Perhaps you don’t really want to say this.’
‘Oh, yes, you don’t know how much it matters.’
But I do know, she thought happily. He was going to tell her how much she meant to him. In a moment her life would be transformed.
She took his hand in hers, sending him a silent message about her willingness to draw closer to him.
‘Go on,’ she whispered.
He hesitated and she regarded him, puzzled. Was it really so hard for him to reach out to her?
‘Natasha—I want to tell you—’
‘Yes—yes—tell me.’
‘I’m not good at this—’
‘You don’t need to be good at it,’ she urged, tightening her clasp on his hand. ‘Just say it—’
‘Well—’
‘Traitor!’
The screamed word stunned them both. Natasha looked up to see a woman standing by the table, glaring at them. She was in her thirties, voluptuous, and would have been beautiful but for the look of livid hatred she cast on Mario.
‘Traitor!’ she screamed. ‘Liar! Deceiver!’
Mario’s face was tense and pale as Natasha had never seen it before. He rose and confronted the woman, speaking angrily in Italian and pointing for her to leave. She screamed back at him in English. Then turned to Natasha.
‘It’s about time you knew what he is really like. One woman isn’t enough for him.’
She raved on until Mario drew her into a corner, arguing with her vigorously. Natasha could no longer hear the words but there was no mistaking the intensity between them. The dark-haired woman’s rage grew with every moment.
‘He’s a liar and a cheat,’ she screamed in perfect English.
‘Mario,’ Natasha said, ‘who is this woman? Do you really know her?’
‘Oh, yes, he knows me,’ the woman spat. ‘You wouldn’t believe how well he knows me.’
‘Tania, that’s enough,’ Mario said, white-faced. ‘I told you—’
‘Oh, yes, you told me. Traitor! Traitor! Traditore!’
For a moment Natasha was tempted to thrust herself between them and tell Mario what she thought of him in no uncertain terms. But then her impetuous temper flared even higher, driving her to a course of action even more fierce and desperate. While they were still absorbed in their furious encounter, she fled.
She ran every step of the way to the hotel, then up to her room, pausing at the desk to demand her bill. Nothing mattered but to get away from here before Mario returned. It had all been a deception. She’d believed in him because she’d wanted to believe, and she should have known better. Now she was paying the price.
‘You were right,’ she muttered to her mother’s ghost. ‘They’re all the same.’
The ghost was too tactful to say I told you so, but she was there in Natasha’s consciousness as she finished packing, paid her bill and fled.
She took a boat taxi across the water to the mainland, and from there she switched to a motor taxi.
‘Airport,’ she told the driver tensely.
Oh, Mario, she thought as the car roared away. Traitor.
Traditore.
CHAPTER ONE (#u45dcf476-a550-5dba-af63-dc012d1e4463)
Two years later...
‘I’M SORRY, NATASHA, but the answer’s no, and that’s final. You just have to accept it.’
Natasha’s face was distorted by anger as she clutched the phone.
‘Don’t tell me what I have to do,’ she snapped into the receiver. ‘You said you were eager for anything I wrote—’
‘That was a long time ago. Things have changed. I can’t buy any more of your work. Those are my orders.’
Natasha took a shuddering breath as yet another rejection slammed into her.
‘But you’re the editor,’ she protested. ‘Surely it’s you who gives the orders.’
‘The magazine’s owner tells us what to do and that’s final. You’re out. Finished. Goodbye.’
The editor hung up, leaving Natasha staring at the phone in fury and anguish.
‘Another one?’ asked a female voice behind her. ‘That’s the sixth editor who’s suddenly turned against you after buying your work for ages.’
Natasha turned to her friend Helen, who was also her flatmate.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she groaned. ‘It’s like there’s a spider at the centre of a web controlling them all, telling them to freeze me out.’
‘But there is. Surely you know that. The spider’s name is Elroy Jenson.’
It’s true, Natasha thought reluctantly. Jenson owned a huge media empire that until recently had provided her with a good living. But he’d taken a fancy to her and pursued her relentlessly, ignoring her pleas to be left alone. Finally he’d gone too far, forcing her to slap his face hard enough to make him yell. One of his employees had seen them and spread the story.
‘Everyone knows you made him look a fool,’ Helen said sympathetically. ‘So now he’s your enemy. It’s a pity about that quick temper of yours, Natasha. You had every right to be angry but...well...’
‘But I should have paused before I clobbered him. I should have been calm and controlled and thought about the future. Hah!’
‘Yes, I know it sounds ironic, but look at the price you’ve paid.’
‘Yes,’ Natasha said with a heavy sigh.
As a freelance journalist her success had been dazzling. Magazines and newspapers clamoured for her sassy, insightful articles.
Until now.
‘How can one man have so much power?’ she groaned.
‘Perhaps you need to go abroad for a while,’ Helen suggested. ‘Until Jenson forgets all about you.’
‘That would be difficult—’
‘It needn’t be. The agency found me a job in Italy, doing publicity. It would mean going out there for a while. I was about to call them and say they’d have to find someone else, but why don’t you go instead?’
‘But I can’t just... That’s a mad idea.’
‘Sometimes madness is the best way. It could be just what you need now.’
‘But I don’t speak Italian.’
‘You don’t have to. It’s an international thing, promoting the city all over the world.’
‘It’s not Venice, is it?’ Natasha asked, suddenly tense.
‘No, don’t worry. I know you wouldn’t want to go to Venice. It’s Verona, the city of Romeo and Juliet. Some of that story is real, and tourists love to see Juliet’s balcony and other places where different scenes are set. So a group of luxury hotel owners have clubbed together to create some publicity for the place. Of course, I know you’re not exactly a fan of romance—’
‘It doesn’t bother me,’ Natasha said quickly. ‘I’m not going into retreat just because one man— Well, anyway—’
‘Fine. So why don’t you take this job?’
‘But how can I? It’s yours.’
‘I really wish you would. I accepted it impulsively because I’d had a row with my boyfriend. I thought we were finished, but we’ve made up and it would really suit me if you went instead of me.’
‘But if they’re expecting you—’
‘I’ve been dealing with the agency. I’ll put you in touch with them and sing your praises. Natasha, you can’t let your life be ruled by a man you haven’t seen for two years. Especially when he was a cheating rogue. Your words, not mine.’
‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘I said that. And I meant it.’
‘Then go. Put Mario behind you and put Elroy behind you, too. Seize your chance for a fresh start.’
Natasha took a deep breath. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘Fine. Now, let’s get started.’
Helen logged on to her computer and contacted the agency. Moments later, Natasha was reading an email, written in efficient English, offering her the assignment and giving her instructions:
You will be dealing with Giorgio Marcelli. The hotel owners employ him to handle publicity. He looks forward to welcoming you to Verona.
‘You see, it’s a no-brainer,’ Helen said. ‘I’ll leave you to have a think.’
She departed.
Left alone, Natasha stared out of the window, trying to decide what to do. Despite what Helen said, it wasn’t easy to make up her mind.
‘Not Venice,’ she had asserted and Helen had reassured her, because she knew that nothing would persuade Natasha ever to go back to that beautiful romantic city where her heart had been broken.
Natasha thought back to herself as a very young woman, haunted by her mother’s warnings never to trust a man. She had pursued a successful career, devoting her time to her writing, avoiding emotional relationships. Of course she could flirt and enjoy male company. But never for very long. Eventually distrust would make her back away from any man who attracted her.
She’d been glad of it, sure that caution would protect her from suffering her mother’s fate. On that she had been resolved.
Until she’d met Mario.
He had affected her as no other man ever had. Together they had walked the streets of Venice, drifting by the canals. In one tiny alley he’d drawn her into the shadows for their first kiss. Despite her attempts to obliterate the memory, it still lived in her now.
Her whole body had responded to him, coming alive in ways she had never dreamed of before. She could sense the same in him, although every instinct told her that he was an experienced lover. Wherever they went, women had thrown admiring glances at him and regarded Natasha with envy. She’d guessed they were thinking how lucky she was to be sharing his bed. That day had never come, although several times Natasha had been on the verge of giving in to temptation.
As the day of her departure neared, Mario had begged her to stay with him a little longer. Blissfully happy, she had agreed.
Even now, two years later, remembering that happiness was the most painful thing of all, despite her frantic attempts to banish it from her memory, her heart, her life.
She imagined his face when he’d returned to the table and found her gone.
Vanished into thin air, she thought. As far as he’s concerned I no longer exist, and he no longer exists to me.
In fact, the man she’d believed him to be had never existed. That was what she had to face.
Bitterly, she replayed the scene. She’d been so sure that he was about to declare his feelings, but when he’d said, ‘There’s something I’ve been trying to tell you for days,’ he’d actually been planning to dump her.
He’d probably spent the afternoon with Tania, perhaps in her bed.
She thought he was being unfaithful to her with me. In fact he was being unfaithful to both of us. That’s the kind of man he is.
After fleeing from Venice, Natasha had done everything she could to disappear for ever, changing her email address and phone number.
But one email from him had just managed to get through before the old address was cut off:
Where did you vanish to? What happened? Are you all right?
Yes, she thought defiantly. I’m all right. I got rid of the only person who could hurt me. And nobody is ever going to do that to me again.
She’d never replied to Mario, merely instructing the server to block his emails. Then she’d moved in with Helen. If he came to her old flat he would find the door locked against him as firmly as her heart was locked against him.
At night she would lie awake, dismayed by the violence of her response. He had touched her emotions with an intensity that warned her to escape while there was still time. That way lay the only safety.
Oh, Mario, she thought. Traitor.Traditore.
Since then she’d devoted herself to work, making such an impression that she came to the attention of Elroy Jenson. The media magnate had propositioned her, certain that a mere freelance journalist would never refuse him. When she did refuse he couldn’t believe it, persisting until she was forced to slap his face and bring her successful career to a sudden end.
After that, her life had been on a downward spiral. Her income had collapsed. Now she could barely afford the small rent she paid on the room she rented from Helen.
The time had come for firm action. And if that meant leaping into the unknown, she would do it. The unknown had its attractions, and suddenly she was ready for anything.
She exchanged brisk emails with Giorgio, the publicity manager. He informed her that she would be staying at the Dimitri Hotel and a driver would meet her at the airport. Two days later she embarked on the journey that might lead to a triumphant new life, or a disaster. Either way, she was venturing into the unknown.
During the flight to Verona she kept her mind firmly concentrated on work. Romeo and Juliet was a story that had long touched the world: two young people who fell in love despite the enmity of their families. In the end, they chose to die rather than live without each other.
Legend said that Shakespeare’s play was based on real events. The lovers had really lived and died. It would be her job to immerse herself in the story and entice the world to join her.
The driver was at the airport, holding up a placard bearing the words ‘Dimitri Hotel’. He greeted her with relief, and ushered her into the car for the three-mile journey to Verona.
‘The hotel is in the centre of town,’ he said. ‘Right next to the river.’
Verona was an ancient, beautiful city. Delighted, she gazed out of the window, enchanted by the hints of another, mysterious age. At last they drew up outside a large elaborate building.
‘Here we are. Dimitri Hotel,’ the driver said.
As she entered the elegant lobby, a man came forward. He was in his sixties, heavily built, with a plump, smiling face. He greeted her in English.
‘The agency told me there had been a change of plan,’ he said. ‘Apparently the original candidate couldn’t make it, but they say you have excellent credentials.’
‘Thank you. I’m an experienced journalist. I hope I can live up to your expectations.’
‘I’m sure you will. I’m very glad you’re here. I promised the President the lady would be here for him tonight and it’s never good to disappoint him.’
He gave a comical shudder which made Natasha ask, ‘Is he a difficult man? Scary?’
‘Sometimes. Mostly he’s very determined. People don’t cross him if they can help it. He only bought this hotel just under two years ago and set about changing everything practically the first day. There’s been a massive redecoration, and the staff has been reorganised to suit him. Everything has to be done his way. Nobody argues.’
‘You called him the President.’
‘President of the Comunità. It was his idea that a group of hotel owners of Verona, the Comunità, should all work together. They thought it would be an easy-going organisation but he said it needed leadership. The others just did as he suggested and named him President.
‘A while back one of the other owners thought of challenging him for the top job, but he was “persuaded” not to. Nobody knows how, but neither was anyone surprised.
‘When he gives his orders we jump to attention, especially me, because he could fire me any time he likes. I’m only telling you so that you’ll take care not to offend him.
‘We’ll dine with him tonight and tomorrow you will meet all the Comunità members. They’re looking forward to having you spread the word about our lovely city.’
‘But isn’t the word already out? Surely Romeo and Juliet is the most famous love story in the world?’
‘True, but we need to make people realise how they can become involved. Now, I’ll show you to your room.’
On their way up they passed two men having a noisy argument. One was clearly in command, yelling, ‘Capisci? Capisci?’ so fiercely that the other backed off.
‘What does that word mean?’ Natasha asked curiously. ‘It really scared the other guy.’
‘It means “Do you understand?”’ Giorgio laughed. ‘It’s really just a way of saying “You’ll do as I say. Get it?”’
‘It sounds useful.’
‘It can be, if you’re trying to make it clear who’s in charge.’ He grinned. ‘I’ve had it said to me a few times. Here’s your room.’
Like the rest of the place, her room was elegant and luxurious. A huge window looked out over the river, where the sun shone on the water. The atmosphere seemed peaceful and she took a deep contented breath.
When she’d unpacked she took a shower and began work on her appearance. For this meeting she was going to look her best.
She was attractive so not too much effort was required. Her blue eyes were large and expressive. Her blonde hair had just a touch of red that showed in some lights but not in others.
Natasha pinned her hair high on her head, suggesting businesslike severity. Usually, she preferred to let it flow, curved and luscious about her shoulders in a more relaxed way.
But not tonight, she mused, studying herself in the mirror. Tonight I’m a businesswoman, here to earn a living.
She fixed her hair firmly away from her face until she felt it conveyed the serious message she intended. Giorgio had warned her that the owner was a man to be reckoned with, but she could deal with that. She’d meet him on his own ground, a woman to be reckoned with.
‘I did the right thing in coming here,’ she whispered. ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’
* * *
In Venice, a city where most of the roads were water, motor cars could only come as far as Piazzale Roma, the car park on the edge of town. In the glowing heat of a sunny day, Mario Ferrone went to collect his car, accompanied by his brother Damiano.
‘It sounds like your hotel is doing really well,’ Damiano said. ‘You’ve got a great future ahead of you.’
‘I think I just might have,’ Mario said, grinning.
‘No doubt,’ Damiano said cheerfully. ‘After all, look who taught you.’
This was a reference to Damiano’s successful career as the owner of several hotels. Mario had learned the trade working in many of them and had finally become ambitious for his own establishment.
‘That’s right, I learned from the best,’ Mario said. ‘And having a place in Verona is a help. Several of us hoteliers have got together to promote the Romeo and Juliet angle.’
‘The city of lovers,’ Damiano said wryly. ‘That should suit you. You’d hardly believe some of the tales I’ve heard about you.’
‘Not recently,’ Mario said quickly.
‘No, you’ve settled down these last couple of years, but before that I remember you gave a whole new meaning to the term “bad boy”.’
‘Most of us do before we find the right woman,’ Mario pointed out.
‘True. I wasn’t a saint before I met Sally. But you haven’t met your “Sally”, so what made you suddenly become virtuous?’
‘Virtuous? Me? No need to insult me.’
Damiano grinned. ‘So is it just a smokescreen?’
‘No. I really have changed, not necessarily for the better.’
‘Don’t say that. You’re much improved—quieter, more serious, more grown-up...’
‘More suspicious and demanding, nastier sometimes,’ Mario said quietly.
‘Hey, why do you put yourself down?’
‘Perhaps because I know myself better than anyone else does. I’m not the nice guy I used to be—if I ever was.’
‘So what made it happen?’
Mario clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t ask me. It’s a long story, and one that—well, that I don’t care to think of too often. Let’s leave it. I’d better be going. Giorgio has hired a journalist he says will be brilliant at promoting the Romeo and Juliet angle. I’m meeting her for dinner when I get back tonight.’
‘Best of luck. Goodbye, brother.’
They embraced each other. Damiano stood back, waving as Mario turned out of the car park and across the causeway that led to the mainland.
From Venice to Verona was nearly seventy-five miles. During the journey Mario reflected wryly on his brother’s words. Damiano didn’t know that one of the turning points in Mario’s life had been Damiano’s marriage to Sally, four years earlier. Mario had been strongly attracted to Sally, something he’d had to fight. He’d fought it by working in Damiano’s hotels in Rome, Florence, Milan, only rarely returning to Venice.
Until then his life had been free and easy. He was young, charming and handsome, with no trouble attracting women. He’d had many girlfriends. Too many, he now realised.
He’d returned to Venice for the birth of his brother’s son and found, to his relief, that Sally no longer attracted him, except as a sister. He’d settled into a life of work and pleasure.
Then had come the other great turning point in his life, when he’d met the one woman who could make a difference, drive away the loneliness and give his existence meaning.
Fantasy dictated that she should feel the same and throw herself into his arms. The bitter reality was that she had walked out on him, slamming the door in his face, condemning him to a bleak isolation that was all the worse because he had glimpsed a glorious future, and come so close to embracing it.
Buying the hotel two years ago had been a lucky chance. The owner was eager to sell and accepted a discounted price, and now Mario felt that he was headed for success and independence. If he did nothing else in his life he would triumph in this, he vowed to himself. With that hope to guide him he could banish the pain and bleakness of the last two years.
At last he reached the hotel. Giorgio came to the entrance to greet him.
‘It’s all set up,’ he said.
‘Has the lady arrived?’
‘Yes, an hour ago. She’s not who I was expecting. The agency made a last-minute change, but she seems serious and professional.’
‘I can’t wait to meet her.’ As they walked across the elegant lobby, Mario looked around him at the place he was beginning to regard as his kingdom. ‘You know, I have the best possible feeling about this,’ he said. ‘We’re on the right road, and we’re going to reach a great destination.’
‘One where the money is,’ Giorgio supplied with a grin.
‘Of course, but that’s not the only thing. Somehow, everything is beginning to feel right.’
‘That’s the spirit. Get settled in and then I’ll introduce you to... Mario? Mario, is something wrong?’
But Mario didn’t hear him. His attention had been drawn to the great staircase that led to the next floor. He was staring at it like a man stunned. A young woman was walking down the stairs. She moved slowly, pausing to look at the paintings on the wall, so that at first she didn’t seem to notice Mario standing by the bottom step.
When her eyes came to rest on Mario she stopped suddenly, as if unable to believe her eyes.
* * *
A terrible stillness came over Natasha as she looked down the staircase, trying to understand what was happening. It was impossible that Mario should be standing there, staring up at her with a thunderstruck expression.
Impossible.
And yet it was true. He was there, looking like a man who’d seen a nightmare come to life.
She tried to move but the stillness enveloped her. Now he was climbing the stairs slowly, as though unwilling to approach her too quickly or come too close. When he spoke it was uneasily.
‘I believe...we’ve met before.’
A dozen answers clamoured in her head, but at last she heard herself say, ‘No, never.’
That took him off-guard, she could see. While he struggled for a reply, Giorgio’s voice reached them from the bottom of the stairs.
‘Aha! I see you two are getting acquainted.’ Waving cheerfully, he climbed up to join them.
‘Natasha, let me introduce Mario Ferrone, the owner of the hotel and President of the Comunità. Mario, this is Natasha Bates, the lady who’s going to tell the world about Verona.’
Mario inclined his head formally. ‘Buongiorno, signorina. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
‘How do you do?’ she said, nodding towards him.
‘Let’s go and eat,’ Giorgio said, ‘and we can have a good talk.’
Downstairs, a table was laid for them in a private room overlooking the river. Giorgio led Natasha to the chair nearest the window and drew it out for her.
A waiter hurried in, eager to serve the hotel’s owner. His manner was respectful and she was reminded of Giorgio’s words:
‘When he gives his orders we all jump to attention...’
She’d known him as a cheeky playboy, always ready to laugh and use his charm. It was hard to see the man he’d been then as the stern authoritarian that Giorgio described now. But his face had changed, growing slightly thinner, firmer, more intense. Even his smile had something reserved about it.
Turning her eyes to him briefly, she caught him glancing at her and realised that he was studying her too. What did he see? Had she also changed, becoming older, sterner, less relaxed? Probably. Perhaps she should be glad, for it would make her stronger. And she was going to need strength now.
Giorgio claimed her attention, filling her wine glass, smiling at her with an air of deferential admiration. He had probably been handsome in his youth, and still had the air of a practised flirt.
‘How much were you told about this job?’ he asked her.
‘Only that some Verona hotel owners had got together to promote the city’s connection with Romeo and Juliet,’ Natasha said.
‘That’s right. It’s already well promoted by the council, which works hard to bring tourists here. But the hotel owners wanted to enjoy a bit more of the spotlight, so they formed the Comunità di Verona Ospitalità so that they could make the most of being in the town that saw the greatest love story in the world.
‘Shakespeare didn’t invent Romeo and Juliet. There really were two families called Montague and Capulet, and they did have children who fell in love, and died. It happened in the early fourteenth century. In the next two hundred years the story was told and retold, until finally Shakespeare based his play on the legend. Tourists come here to see “Juliet’s balcony” and imagine the balcony scene happening there.’
‘Which it didn’t,’ Mario observed drily. ‘The house belonged to a family called Capello, but the council added the balcony less than a hundred years ago.’
‘But if everyone knows that—’ Natasha mused.
‘They know it but they ignore it,’ Giorgio said cheerfully. ‘People are often tempted to believe only what they want to.’
‘How true,’ Natasha murmured. ‘That’s why we’re all so easily taken in.’
She didn’t look directly at Mario as she said these words, but she had a sense that he was watching her with an air of tension that matched her own.
‘And that’s what we can make use of,’ Giorgio said. ‘Juliet’s balcony, Juliet’s tomb, where Romeo killed himself because he couldn’t bear life without her, and where she killed herself for the same reason. Is it true? It is if we want it to be.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Natasha mused. ‘True if we want it to be—until one day we have to face the fact that it isn’t true, however much we want it.’
‘But that’s show business,’ Giorgio said. ‘Creating a fantasy that makes people happy.’
‘And what more could we want than that?’ Mario asked.
He raised his glass and drank from it, seemingly oblivious to her. But the next moment he said, ‘Tell us something about yourself, signorina.’
She turned her head, meeting his eyes directly. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said I’d like to know about you. I’m sure there is much you could tell us. What are your family obligations? Are you free to live in Verona for several weeks, or is there someone at home who will be missing you?’
‘I suppose there must be,’ Giorgio said. He assumed a chivalrous air. ‘This is a lovely lady. She must have crowds of men following her.’
‘That doesn’t mean that I let them catch up,’ Natasha teased.
‘Some women are very good at keeping out of sight,’ Mario said.
‘Of course,’ Giorgio agreed. ‘That’s the secret. Let them chase after you, but don’t let any of them get close enough to know what you’re thinking and feeling.’ He kissed her hand gallantly. ‘Signorina, I can see you’re an expert in keeping your admirers wondering.’
‘But just what are they wondering?’ Mario asked. ‘Will any of them arrive here to assert his “rights”?’
‘What rights?’ Giorgio demanded. ‘She’s not married.’
‘That’s irrelevant,’ Mario observed. ‘You have only to study Romeo and Juliet to see that men and women make that decision within a few moments of meeting. And nobody dares get in their way.’
‘When people fear betrayal they can get violent,’ Giorgio agreed.
Natasha nodded. ‘And if they know for sure that they’ve been betrayed, there’s no knowing how far they’ll go to make someone sorry,’ she mused, letting her glance rest on Mario.
She was glad to see that he understood the silent message. Before her eyes he flinched and averted his gaze. When he spoke again it was in a voice so defiantly businesslike that it told its own story.
‘So we can expect a jealous lover to follow you out here?’ he said curtly.
She faced him, reading the chilly hostility in his eyes, answering it with her own.
‘On the contrary. You can be certain that nothing will make me leave before my work is finished,’ she said calmly. ‘Unlike some people, I’m honest about my intentions. I don’t make promises and break them.’
‘That’s not exactly what I asked.’
No, she thought. You asked whether I’d had the nerve to replace you with another man.
She gave him her most confident smile, as though his questions merely amused her.
‘Let me assure you that I am free,’ she said. ‘No man tells me what to do, and if anyone tried—’ she leaned closer to him ‘—I would make him regret that he ever knew me.’ She added significantly, ‘I’m good at that.’
‘I believe you,’ he said.
Giorgio glanced at them curiously. ‘Hey, do you two already know each other?’
‘No,’ Natasha said quickly, before Mario could speak.
‘Really? I feel like I’m watching a fencing match.’
‘It’s more fun that way,’ she said lightly. ‘Go on telling me about Verona. Unless, of course, Signor Ferrone has decided he doesn’t wish to employ me. In which case I’ll just pack up and go. Shall I?’
She made as if to rise but Mario’s hand detained her.
‘No need for that,’ he said harshly. ‘Let’s get on with the job.’
‘Yes, that’s the only thing that matters,’ she said, falling back into the chair.
For a moment he kept his hand on her arm. ‘So we are agreed? You will stay?’
‘I will stay.’
CHAPTER TWO (#u45dcf476-a550-5dba-af63-dc012d1e4463)
MARIO RELEASED HER. ‘As long as we understand each other.’
Natasha drew a tense breath as the bitter irony of those words swept over her. They had never understood each other. Nor could they ever, except on the lines of mutual defensiveness and mistrust.
She turned to Giorgio, assuming her most businesslike tone.
‘So it’s time I consulted with the Publicity Manager. Tell me, what are my instructions?’
‘We must go on a trip around Verona,’ he said, ‘studying all the significant places. Especially the balcony. These days you can even get married in Juliet’s house. And afterwards the bride and groom always come out onto the balcony for the photographs.’
‘Useful,’ she said, taking out her notebook and beginning to write. ‘The balcony scene is the most famous part of the story.’
‘Yes, people love to imagine Juliet standing there, yearning for her lover, saying, “Romeo, Romeo, where art thou Romeo?”’
‘She doesn’t say “where”,’ Natasha objected. ‘She says “Wherefore”. It means “Why?” She’s saying “Why did you have to be Romeo, a Montague, and my enemy?” In Shakespeare’s time, if you wanted to know why someone had behaved in a certain way, you’d say—’ she assumed a dramatic attitude ‘“—Wherefore did thou do this, varlet?”’
‘Varlet?’ Giorgio queried.
‘It means rascal. You’d say it to someone who’d behaved disgustingly.’
Giorgio gave a crack of laughter. ‘I must remember that. Rascal—briccone.’
‘Or traditore,’ Natasha observed lightly.
‘Aha! So you know some Italian words?’ Giorgio said eagerly.
‘One or two,’ she said with a fair assumption of indifference.
‘I’d give a lot to know how you learned that particular one,’ he said cheekily.
‘You’ll just have to wonder,’ she chuckled.
Mario wasn’t looking at her. He seemed completely occupied with his wine.
A man appeared in the doorway, signalling to Giorgio.
‘I’ve got to leave you for a moment,’ he said. ‘But I’ll be back.’ He laid a hand on Natasha’s shoulder. ‘Don’t go away. I have a very good feeling about this.’
‘So have I,’ she said. ‘I’ll be right here.’
When Giorgio had gone, Mario refilled her wine glass.
‘Be cautious about Giorgio,’ he said. ‘He turns on the charm as part of his trade.’
‘But of course,’ she said cheerfully. ‘It’s a form of show business. No harm in that.’
‘As long as you’re not taken in.’
‘I’m not. These days, nothing and nobody manages to deceive me.’
He raised his glass to her in an ironic salute.
‘This is quite a coincidence,’ he said. ‘I wonder which of us is more shocked.’
‘We’ll never know.’
‘Just now you were very determined to say we didn’t know each other.’
‘Would you have said differently?’ she asked, watching him.
‘No, but I doubt I’d have said it so fast or emphatically. You denied knowing me as though your life depended on it.’
‘But we didn’t know each other. Once we believed we did but we were both wrong. You thought I was easy to fool or you wouldn’t have wasted your time on me. You never reckoned on Tania turning up and showing me what you were really like.’
‘I admit I once had a relationship with Tania, but it was over.’
‘Was it? I don’t think she believed that. She still felt you were hers. That’s why she felt so betrayed when she saw us. No, it was me you were planning to leave. That’s why you kept hinting about something you wanted to tell me. You said it wasn’t easy, but then it’s never easy to dump someone, is it?’
He turned very pale. ‘Isn’t it? You dumped me without any trouble.’
‘Dumping you was the easiest thing I’d ever done, but that’s because you gave me cause.’
‘But the way you did it—vanishing so that I could never find you. Can you imagine what I went through? It was like searching for a ghost. I nearly went mad because you denied me any chance to explain—’
‘Explain what? That you were fooling around with both of us? If you’d been the man I thought you— Well, let’s leave it there. You weren’t that man and you never could be. It’s best if we remain strangers now.’
‘Remain?’ he echoed sharply. But then his voice changed to wry, slightly bitter acceptance. ‘Yes, we always were strangers, weren’t we?’
‘Always were, always will be. That’s a very good business arrangement.’
‘And you’re a businesswoman?’
‘Exactly. It’s what I choose to be. Capisci?’
He nodded. ‘Capisco. I understand.’
‘From now on, it’s all business. The past didn’t happen. It was an illusion.’
‘An illusion—yes. I guessed that when you vanished into thin air. And now you’ve reappeared just as suddenly.’
‘Another illusion. I’m not really here.’
‘So if I look away you’ll vanish again?’
‘Perhaps that’s what I ought to do.’
‘No,’ he said with a hint of suppressed violence. ‘No! Not again. You could never understand how I— Don’t even think of it. Capisci?’
‘Capisco. I understand very well.’
‘Promise me that you won’t leave.’
‘All right.’
‘On your word of honour.’
‘Look—’
‘Say it. Let me know that I can trust you this time at least.’
‘Trust me this time? As though I was the one who deceived— You’ve got a nerve.’
‘He’s coming back,’ Mario said hurriedly, glancing to where Giorgio had appeared. ‘Smile.’
She tried to look at ease but it was hard, and as soon as Giorgio reached the table she rose.
‘I’m going to bed,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long day for me, with the flight.’
‘You’re right; get some rest,’ Mario said. ‘We’ll all meet here tomorrow morning at nine.’
They shook hands and she departed at once.
Giorgio watched her go, then eyed Mario wryly.
‘What’s going on with you two?’ he queried. ‘You’re on edge with each other. For a moment I really thought there’d been something between you.’
‘Not a thing,’ Mario assured him. ‘And there never could be.’
‘Pity. Romeo and Juliet were “star-crossed lovers”. It could have been interesting to have them promoted by another pair of star-crossed lovers. After all, if a couple is meant for each other but just can’t get it together—well, it’s not in their hands, is it? They just have to enjoy it while they can, but then accept that fate is against them.’
‘Isn’t that giving in too easily?’
‘It’s what Romeo and Juliet had to accept.’
‘And then they died.’
‘They died physically, but it doesn’t usually happen that way. Sometimes people just die inside.’
‘Yes,’ Mario murmured. ‘That’s true.’
‘I’ll call the other members of the group and fix a meeting. They’ll just love her. We’ve found the right person. Don’t you agree?’
Mario nodded and spoke in an iron voice. ‘The right person. Not a doubt of it. I must be going. My work has piled up while I’ve been away.’
He departed fast, urgently needing to get away from Giorgio’s sharp eyes that saw too much for comfort.
Upstairs, he headed for his bedroom, but paused before entering. The room allocated to Natasha was just across the corridor and he went to stand outside, looking at her door, wondering what was happening behind it.
The evening had torn his nerves to shreds. The woman he’d met had been as unlike the sweet, charming girl he remembered as steel was unlike cream. His heart told him it was impossible that they should be the same person, but his brain groaned and said it was true.
This was the heartless creature who had vanished without giving him a chance to defend himself, leaving him to hunt frantically for weeks until he’d realised that it was hopeless. And her manner towards him had left no doubt that she was enjoying her triumph.
A sensible man would have sent her away at once. Instead, he’d prevented her leaving, driven by instincts he didn’t understand, nor want to face.
From behind her door came only silence. He moved closer, raising his hand to knock, then dropping it again. This wasn’t the right moment.
Instead of going into his room, he turned away again and went downstairs into the garden, hoping some time in the night air would clear the confusion in his mind. But also doubting that anything would ever be clear again.
* * *
Natasha paced her room restlessly. After such a day she should have been ready to collapse into sleep, but her nerves were tense and she feared to lie awake all night, thinking the very thoughts she wanted to avoid.
Mario had blamed her for disappearing without giving him a chance to defend himself, and in so doing he’d touched a nerve.
Perhaps I should have let him say something, she thought. Why didn’t I?
Because I’m my mother’s daughter, said another voice in her mind. And I can’t help living by the lessons she taught me. Never trust a man. Don’t believe his explanation because it’ll be lies and you’ll only suffer more. In fact, don’t let him explain at all. Never, never give him a second chance.
She’d fled Mario because she feared to listen to what he might have to say. Thinking the worst of him felt safer. That was the sad truth.
But now, meeting him again and getting a sense of his torment, she felt uneasy about her own actions.
‘No,’ she said. ‘No, I’m not going down that road. What’s done is done. It’s over.’
In the last year she’d often suffered from insomnia and had resorted to some herbal sleeping pills. She took them out now, considering.
‘I’m not lying awake fretting over him. This is war.’
She swallowed two pills but, instead of going to bed, she went outside for a few minutes. The tall window opened onto a balcony where she could stand and look down on a narrow strip of garden. There were flowers, a few trees and beyond them the Adige River, glowing in the evening light. Now it was easy to slip into the balcony scene and become Juliet, yearning over the man who’d captured her heart before she knew who he was. When she’d realised that she’d fallen in love with an enemy, it was too late.
‘Too late,’ she murmured. ‘The last thing I wanted was to meet him again. I came here to start a new life. Mario, Mario, wherefore art thou, Mario? But it had to be you, didn’t it? When I’m looking forward to meeting new people, you have to pop up. Wherefore did thou do this, varlet?’
In her agitation she said the words aloud. Alarmed at herself, she retreated through the window, shutting it firmly.
* * *
Outside, all was quiet. Darkness was falling, and there was nobody to notice Mario standing, alone and silent, beneath the trees. He had come straight into the garden after leaving Natasha’s door, wondering if some light from her room would reassure him. What he had seen stunned and confused him. Her whispered words seemed to float down, reaching him so softly that he couldn’t be sure he’d actually heard them.
To believe what he longed to believe was something he refused to do. That way lay danger, disillusion—the things he’d promised himself to avoid in future. So he backed into the shadows, his eyes fixed on her window until the light went out and his world was full of darkness.
* * *
Promptly at nine o’clock the next morning Mario appeared at the breakfast table, frowning as he saw only Giorgio there.
‘Where is she?’ he demanded. ‘I told her nine o’clock.’
‘Have a heart,’ Giorgio begged. ‘It’s only a few minutes after nine. She’s not a machine, just a lovely lady.’
‘She is an employee being paid a high salary, for which I expect punctuality and obedience to my wishes. Kindly call her room.’
‘I’ve been calling it for half an hour,’ Giorgio admitted. ‘But there’s no reply. Perhaps she doesn’t want to talk to us.’
Or perhaps she can’t, said a voice in Mario’s mind. He remembered the woman she had been the evening before, bright, completely at ease, ready to challenge him every moment.
Yet there had been something else, he realised. Beneath her confident manner he’d sensed something different—troubled, uneasy. Their meeting had taken them both by surprise. His own turmoil had startled and shaken him, making him struggle not to let her suspect his weakness, the more so because she had seemed free of any weakness.
But then he’d seen a new look in her eyes, a flash of vulnerability that matched his own. It had vanished at once, but for a brief moment he’d known that she was as alarmed as he was.
He remembered how he’d stood under her balcony last night, watching her, sensing again that she was haunted, but resisting the impulse to reach out to her. Her disappearance now hinted at new trouble. If he went to her room, what would he find? The confident Natasha, laughing at his discomfiture? Or the frail Natasha who couldn’t cope?
Abruptly he took out his mobile phone, called her room and listened as the bell rang and rang, with no reply.
‘If it was anyone else you’d think they’d vanished without paying the bill,’ Giorgio observed. ‘But we’re not charging her for that room, so she’s got no reason to vanish.’
‘That’s right,’ Mario said grimly. ‘No reason at all.’
‘I’ll go and knock on her door.’
‘No, stay here. I’ll see what’s happened.’
Swiftly, he went to his office and opened a cupboard that contained the hotel’s replacement keys. Trying to stay calm despite his growing worry, Mario took the one that belonged to Natasha’s room and went upstairs. After only a moment’s hesitation, he opened her door.
At once he saw her, lying in bed, so still and silent that alarm rose in him. He rushed towards the bed and leaned down to her, close enough to see that she was breathing.
His relief was so great that he grasped the chest of drawers to stop himself falling. Every instinct of self-preservation warned him to get out quickly, before he was discovered. But he couldn’t make himself leave her. Instead he dropped onto one knee, gazing at her closely. She lay without moving, her lovely hair splayed out on the pillow, her face soft and almost smiling.
How he had once dreamed of this, of awakening to find her beside him, sleeping gently, full of happiness at the pleasure they had shared.
He leaned a little closer, until he could feel her breath on his face. He knew he was taking a mad risk. A wise man would leave now, but he wasn’t a wise man. He was a man torn by conflicting desires.
Then she moved, turning so that the bedclothes slipped away from her, revealing that she was naked. Mario drew a sharp breath.
How often in the past had he longed to see her this way? He had planned and schemed to draw her tenderly closer! The night of their disaster had been meant to end like this, lying together in his bed, with him discovering her hidden beauty. But then a calamity had descended on him and wrecked his life. How bitter was the irony that he should see her lovely nakedness now.
She moved again, reaching out in his direction, so that he had to jerk away quickly. She began to whisper in her sleep, but he couldn’t make out the words. Only escape would save him. He rose, backed off quickly and managed to make it to the door before her eyes opened. Once outside, he leaned against the wall, his chest heaving, his brain whirling.
At last he moved away, back to the real world, where he was a man in command. And that, he vowed, was where he would stay.
* * *
Giorgio looked up as Mario approached. ‘No luck finding her?’
Mario shrugged. ‘I didn’t bother looking very far. Try calling her again.’
Giorgio dialled the number, listening with a resigned face.
‘Looks like she still isn’t—no, wait! Natasha, is that you? Thank goodness! Where have you been? What? Don’t you know the time? All right, I’ll tell Mario. But hurry.’ He shut off the phone. ‘She says she overslept.’
Mario shrugged. ‘Perhaps the flight tired her yesterday.’
Giorgio gave a rich chuckle. ‘My guess is that she was entertaining someone last night. I know she’d only just arrived, but a girl as lovely as that can entertain anyone whenever she wants. I saw men looking at her as she came down those stairs. Did you expect such a beauty?’
‘I didn’t know what to expect,’ Mario said in a toneless voice.
‘Nor me. I never hoped she’d be so young and lovely. Let’s make the best of it. Juliet come to life. Oh, yes, finding her was a real stroke of luck.’
A stroke of luck. The words clamoured in Mario’s brain, adding more bitterness to what he was already suffering. He didn’t believe that a man had been in Natasha’s room last night, but the sight of her naked had devastated him. He could almost believe she’d done it on purpose to taunt him, but the sweet, enchanting Natasha he’d known would never do that.
But was she that Natasha any more?
Had she ever been?
‘I just know what she’s doing right this minute,’ Giorgio said with relish. ‘She’s turning to the man next to her in the bed, saying, “You’ve got to go quickly so that nobody finds you here.” Perhaps we should have someone watch her door to see who comes out.’
‘That’s enough,’ Mario growled.
‘With a girl as stunning as that, nothing is ever enough. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. You were fizzing from the moment you saw her.’
‘Drop it,’ Mario growled.
‘All right, you don’t want to admit she had that effect on you. After all, you’re the boss. Don’t let her guess she’s got you where she wants you—even if she has.’
‘I said drop it.’
‘Steady there. Don’t get mad at me. I was only thinking that if there’s an attraction between you, we can make use of it.’
‘And you’re mistaken. There’s no attraction between us.’
‘Pity. That could have been fun.’
* * *
Slowly, Natasha felt life returning to her as she ended the call from Giorgio.
‘Nine-fifteen!’ she gasped in horror. ‘I was supposed to be downstairs at nine. Oh, I should never have taken those sleeping pills.’
The pills had plunged her into a deep slumber, which she’d needed to silence her desperate thoughts of Mario. But at the end he’d invaded her sleep, his face close to hers, regarding her with an almost fierce intensity. But he wasn’t there. It had been a dream.
‘I just can’t get away from him,’ she whispered. ‘Will I ever?’
She showered in cold water, relishing the feeling of coming back to life. Dressing was a simple matter of putting on tailored trousers and a smart blazer and fixing her hair back tightly. Then she was ready to go.
She found Giorgio and Mario downstairs at the table.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to be late but I was more tired than I realised.’
‘That’s understandable,’ Giorgio said gallantly.
Mario threw him a cynical look but said nothing.
‘Where’s that waiter?’ Giorgio asked, frowning. ‘I’ll find him and he can bring you breakfast.’
He vanished.
‘I’m glad Giorgio’s gone,’ she said. ‘It gives us a chance to talk honestly. Last night you stopped me getting out of my chair, and told me to stay. But is that really what you want? Wouldn’t you be better off without me?’
‘If I thought that I’d have said so,’ he retorted.
‘But think of it, day after day, trying not to get annoyed with each other, pretending to like each other. Surely you don’t want that? I’m giving you the chance to get rid of me, Mario.’
‘What about you? Do you want to make a run for it?’
‘I can cope.’
‘But you think I can’t. Thanks for the vote of confidence. We’re business professionals and on that basis it can work.’
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘Shake.’
‘Shake.’ He took her extended hand. ‘Perhaps I should warn you that Giorgio has some rather fancy ideas about you. He thinks you had a lover in your room last night and that’s why you overslept.’
‘What? I’d taken some herbal pills to get to sleep after a strenuous day. A lover? I’d only been here five minutes.’
‘Giorgio sees you as the kind of woman who can attract men as fast as that.’
‘Cheek!’
‘In his eyes it’s a compliment.’
She scowled for a moment, then laughed. ‘I guess I’ll learn to put up with him.’
Giorgio reappeared with her breakfast.
‘Eat up and we’ll get to work,’ he said. ‘I’ll get you a map of Verona.’
‘I’ve got one,’ she said, drawing it from her bag. ‘I bought it at the airport so that I would be ready. The more you plan, the simpler life is.’
‘True,’ Mario murmured, ‘but there are some things that can never be planned.’
‘And you can’t always anticipate what they might be,’ she agreed. ‘You can try, but—’ She shrugged.
‘But they always take you by surprise,’ he murmured.
‘Not always. Just sometimes. It’s best to be ready.’
Giorgio looked from one to the other as if his alarm bells had sounded again.
‘It’s time we were making plans,’ he said. ‘I’ve called the others in the group, and they’re dying to meet you. We’re all invited to dinner tonight at the Albergo Splendido.’ He beamed at Natasha. ‘It’ll be your big night.’
‘Then I’d better prepare for it,’ she said. ‘I’ll look around Verona today so that I can sound knowledgeable at the dinner. Otherwise they’ll think I’m an amateur.’
‘Good thinking,’ Giorgio said. ‘I’ll escort you, and we’ll have a great time.’
‘Now, here—’ Natasha pointed to a street on the map ‘—this is the Via Capello, where I can visit Juliet’s house. I’d like to go there first, then the house where the Montagues lived. Finally, I’d like to see the tomb. Then I can work out my plans.’
‘We’ll leave as soon as you’ve finished breakfast,’ Mario told her.
CHAPTER THREE (#u45dcf476-a550-5dba-af63-dc012d1e4463)
THE CHAUFFEUR-DRIVEN CAR was waiting for them, and soon they were on their way around the city.
Natasha already knew a good deal about Verona, having read about it on the plane. It was an old city, much of which went back to Roman times, two thousand years ago. Several places survived from that era, including a huge arena where gladiators had once slain their victims, but now was used for musical performances.
The streets were lined with historic buildings, many hinting at mystery and romance, all seeming to come from a more intriguing and beautiful age. She kept her eyes fixed on them as they drove through the town, trying to absorb its atmosphere.
‘We’re just turning into the Via Capello,’ Mario said. ‘We’ll reach Juliet’s house at any moment.’
A few minutes later the car dropped them at the entrance to a short tunnel. They joined the crowd walking through to the courtyard at the far end, where the balcony loomed overhead. Natasha regarded it with shining eyes.
‘It’s lovely,’ she said. ‘Of course I know it was put up less than a hundred years ago, but it looks right. It fits the house so perfectly that you can almost see Juliet standing there.’
‘She’s actually over there,’ Giorgio said, pointing at a figure standing a little ahead, beneath and to the side of the balcony. It was a bronze statue of a young woman.
‘Juliet,’ she breathed.
As she watched, a woman walked up to the statue and brushed her hand against its breast. She was followed by another woman, and another, then a man.
‘It’s a tradition,’ Mario explained. ‘Everyone does it in the hope that it will bring them good luck. That’s why that part of her is shining, because it’s touched so often. People like to make contact with Juliet because they see her as a woman who knows more about love than anyone in the world.’
‘Perhaps that’s true,’ Natasha murmured. ‘But she knows tragedy as well as love.’
Intrigued, she went to stand before the statue. Juliet’s head was turned slightly to the side, gazing into the distance as though only in another world could she find what she sought.
Natasha watched as a woman touched Juliet, closed her eyes and murmured something. At last her eyes opened and she stepped back with a smile, evidently feeling that she had received an answer.
If only it was that simple, Natasha thought. If Juliet really could give me advice I’d ask her about the way my head is whirling, about how I’m feeling, and how I ought to be feeling. But she can’t help me because she doesn’t exist. She never really did, not the way people believe in her. That kind of love is just an illusion.
She turned away to find Mario waiting. He moved closer, leaving Giorgio at a distance, and speaking quietly.
‘Were you consulting Juliet?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow.
‘No,’ she said. ‘She’s a fantasy. Nothing more.’
‘How very prosaic.’
‘I am prosaic, and I’m glad. It’s useful.’
‘But if you’re going to promote the romantic fantasy, shouldn’t you believe in it?’
She surveyed him with her head on one side and a faint ironic smile on her face.
‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘It isn’t necessary to believe something to persuade other people that it’s true.’
‘I wonder if you’re right.’
A flash of anger made her say quickly, ‘You know I’m right. We all know it at heart.’
‘So—’ he hesitated ‘—you’re telling me that you’ve toughened up?’
‘By a mile. So beware.’
‘No need to tell me that.’
‘So I’ve got you worried already? Good.’
For a wild moment he was tempted to tell her of the confused reactions that had rioted in him when he first saw her on the stairs. There had been an incredible moment of pleasure that the sight of her had always brought him, and which even now remained. But it had collided with a sense of alarm, as though a warning bell had sounded, letting him know that she would bring fear and darkness into his life.
But he suppressed the impulse to speak. How satisfied she would be to know that she could still throw him into confusion.
‘Don’t tell me I’m the only one who’s toughened up,’ she challenged him. ‘Haven’t you?’
‘No doubt of it. It’s called survival.’
She nodded. ‘Right. As long as we both understand that, there’s no problem.’
For them there would always be a problem. But there was no need of words.
‘Now, I have a job to do,’ she said briskly.
‘Yes, let’s look around further.’
Suddenly there was a cry from the far side of the courtyard.
‘Buongiorno, amici!’
‘Amadore!’ Giorgio exclaimed, extending his hand in welcome.
The three men exchanged greetings in Italian, until Giorgio said, ‘Signorina, this is Amadore Finucci, a fellow member of the Comunità. Amadore, this is the Signorina Natasha Bates, who doesn’t speak Italian.’
‘Then it will be my pleasure to speak English,’ Amadore said, seizing her hand.
She gave a polite response and he carried her hand to his mouth.
‘Miss Bates,’ he said.
‘Please, call me Natasha.’
‘Thank you—Natasha. When did you arrive?’
‘Yesterday,’ Giorgio said. ‘Your father has invited us to dine at your hotel tonight.’
‘Yes, he told me. I must leave now, but I look forward to seeing you this evening.’
He departed. Natasha eyed Mario curiously, puzzled to find him frowning.
‘You’re not pleased about this invitation?’
‘That’s because his hotel is one of the most luxurious in town,’ Giorgio said. ‘Mario’s jealous.’
‘I’m not jealous,’ Mario said firmly. ‘I admit I envy him having a bottomless pit of money to spend on the place.’
‘His ballroom has to be seen to be believed,’ Giorgio told her.
‘Ballroom,’ she echoed. ‘Romeo and Juliet met in a ballroom.’ She turned to Mario. ‘Does your hotel have a ballroom?’
‘No. None of the other hotels do.’
‘Then that gives me an idea. Can we return to the hotel now? I need to get to work.’
‘Aren’t we going on to Romeo’s house?’ Giorgio asked.
‘I’ll do that tomorrow. Today, I have urgent things to do.
‘Could you please provide me with a list of every member of the Comunità, and their hotels? Then I can check their locations and assess their requirements.’
‘I’ll see to it as soon as we arrive.’
As they walked back to the car, Giorgio murmured to Mario, ‘A woman who knows her own mind. Perhaps we should beware.’
‘There’s no perhaps about it,’ Mario replied grimly.
On the way back to the hotel Natasha took out her notebook and wrote in it swiftly and fiercely. Ideas were coming to her in cascades and she needed to capture them fast. This was the part of any project that she liked best. So absorbed did she become that she was unaware of the journey, and looked up suddenly when the car stopped.
‘We’re here,’ Mario said. He’d been watching her silently.
‘I need something to eat,’ Giorgio declared. ‘Suppose we meet downstairs in half an hour, for a feast?’
‘Not me, thank you,’ Natasha said. ‘Perhaps you could send something up to my room?’
‘But we could all celebrate together,’ Giorgio protested.
‘We can celebrate when I’ve made a success of this job. Let’s hope that happens.’
‘It’ll happen,’ Giorgio said. ‘You’re going to be just fantastic, isn’t she, Mario?’
‘No doubt of it,’ he said bleakly.
‘You’re very kind, both of you. Now, excuse me, gentlemen.’
Giving them both a polite smile, she headed for the lift.
Upstairs, she plunged into work, making more notes about the morning before things went out of her head. She was so immersed in her work that at first she didn’t hear the knock on the door. It had to be repeated louder to capture her attention.
‘Sorry,’ she said, pulling it open, ‘I got so—’ She checked herself at the sight of Mario standing there with a trolley of food.
‘Your meal, signorina,’ he said.
She stared at the sight of the food. Someone had taken a lot of trouble preparing this meal, which Mario laid out for her with care.
‘Giorgio told the kitchen to produce their best, to make sure you stay with us,’ he said. ‘So you have chicory risotto, followed by tiramisù, with Prosecco.’
Her favourite wine. How many times had he ordered it for her in Venice? And he had remembered.
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