Second Marriage

'Sì.' He smiled, a warm, adoring smile, and she wondered, for the umpteenth time that night, why she couldn't have fallen in love with the handsome young tutor instead of Romano. Everything would have been so simple then—so straightforward, so easy.

On reaching the dance floor he took her immediately into his arms, fitting her close against him as they began to dance—and he danced very well, she realised ruefully. He probably did everything very well, but he wasn't Romano.

'Claire, you will come back soon, sì?' he asked softly, after a few moments. 'Here to Casa Pontina?'

It was the same question he had asked her a hundred times in the last two weeks and she gave the same reply as she always did, 'No, I don't think so.'

'But, Claire…'

And then she saw him, a flash of white catching her eye as she looked over Attilio's shoulder. Romano, re­splendent in a white dinner jacket and dark trousers, was leaning lazily against the trunk of an old magnolia tree at the perimeter of the lawn, his lean body relaxed and still as he stared her way. The dim light, and the dis­tance, made it impossible for her to see his expression but she knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that the black eyes were cold and condemning as he watched her dance with the other man.

She faltered, missing her step, and suddenly realised that she hadn't heard a word Attilio had been saying for the last minute. 'I'm sorry?' With a great effort she dragged her eye

s away from the figure across the lawn. 'I was dreaming—what did you say?' she asked dazedly.

'I said—' He broke off as her eyes flickered from him again and half turned, following the direction she had been looking. 'That is Romano over there?' he asked quietly as he took in the remote, stationary figure in the distance.

'Yes—yes, I think so.' She had frozen at first, but now found a rising anger was beginning to take hold of her senses. How could he? How could he act with such in-sensitivity? she asked herself bitterly. What had he come here for? A civilised goodbye? A neat tidying of the messy ends? Well, he was in for a shock because she didn't think she was capable of either tonight, right or wrong as that might be.

She loved him. She had laid her heart bare before him and told him exactly how she felt. Didn't he realise how painful this was?

'Ah, I see. Now much that has puzzled me becomes clear,' Attilio said thoughtfully, his eyes sad as they left Romano and came back to rest on her face. 'This is the reason that you leave Italy so abruptly, Claire?'

She thought about evading the question, even about downright lying, but somehow she couldn't, and so she nodded slowly. 'Yes.' She looked straight into Attilio's eyes now. 'Yes, it is.'

He nodded in turn. 'So we both have the broken hearts? I am sorry, Claire, I would not wish that it was so. It would be a convenient thing if love could be turned on and off—like the tap, you know? But it is not pos­sible, is it.'

'No.' His understanding and sympathy was too much in her vulnerable state, and as the tears flooded into her eyes he pulled her close, his voice soft. 'I am sorry, I did not want to make you cry,' he said quietly into the shining silk of her hair.

'I know.' Her voice was muffled as she spoke into his chest. 'It's just that I'm so sorry I've made you unhappy. I didn't want to,' she added chokingly. 'Really, Attilio.'

'You do not have to tell me that. You are one of the most gentle, kind—'

'I hate to interrupt this somewhat public embrace, but I need to speak with you, Claire.' If ice particles had formed in the air around them she wouldn't have been surprised, so cold was Romano's voice.

Her head sprang up at the same time as Attilio's arms tightened still further round her, and when she looked into Romano's dark face at the side of them she saw his eyes were blazing with an emotion that was hot and caustic, his mouth set in a straight, grim line.

'Perhaps Claire does not wish to speak with you.' For a moment she couldn't believe Attilio had dared to take such a stance with Romano, and it was clear that Romano was taken aback—but only for a moment.

His eyes narrowed into thin, glittering slits that threat­ened to annihilate the slightly smaller man on the spot, and as he took a step forward Claire jerked herself free from Attilio's hold, her face flushed and distressed. 'It's all right. I'll come.'

'Claire, you do not have to speak to him—'

'The hell she does not,' Romano growled darkly.

'It's all right, Attilio, really.' She tried to dredge up a reassuring smile but it was beyond her. 'I…I need to talk to him. I'll be back soon. Please, people are look­ing.'

As the three of them left the group of people dancing Romano took her elbow in a firm grip, only to swing round violently as Attilio said from just behind them, 'You had better not hurt her—'

'It will not be Claire who feels my fist—'

'Romano.' She hung onto his arm and cast an ago­nised glance of appeal at Attilio. 'Please, Attilio, just leave it—please.'

As Attilio nodded and turned away Romano swore softly and savagely under his breath, and then she was being whisked across the garden by the bruising hand under her elbow so fast she was sure she was going to fall. She couldn't believe the ferociousness with which the two men had confronted each other. To her knowl­edge they had never before had a cross word, and yet for a minute back there it had looked as though they were going to kill each other.

'You think I am a fool, is that it?' His words were a low snarl as they reached a clump of sweet-smelling bushes and entered a different part of the garden, hidden from view for the party revellers. 'Embracing in full view of everyone with that…that clown?'

'We weren't embracing.' She jerked herself free so suddenly that he let her go, and then she turned to face him like a small tigress and spat, 'And what's it to do with you, anyway? Attilio is a friend—'