The Italian's Wife

conceded with pained hindsight. For, while her parents had urged her to

aim at a college education, Holly had been more eager to find a job so

that she could have her own money and spend more time with her friends

who lived in the nearest town.

Working in a dead-end job that hadn't struck her as a dead-end job had

been fine the first couple of years when all that had been in her head

was buying the latest cheap fashions and finding a boyfriend. But,

although boys had made her plenty of offers, they had all come with the

price tag of casual sex attached. And, for all that she had liked to

pretend to be as cool in her outlook as her peers, Holly had been raised

in a home where that kind of behaviour was just not acceptable and had

shrunk from doing anything likely to distress her parents.

And then Jeff had come along in her eighteenth year, Jeff, with his

ancient sports car and cheeky grin and impressive aura of

sophistication. He had been a pool attendant at the local leisure

centre, much admired by all her friends and seven years older. So she

had been thrilled when he had asked her out and infatuated by the end of

the first week, but not so foolish as to jump into bed with him. In any

case, if she was honest, the sex side of things had never appealed to

her much, even with Jeff. She had liked the romantic stuff better,

holding hands, just listening to him talk about his plans to become an

instructor at some trendy fitness club in London and admiring the fact

that he had a goal and ambition.

'He's too flash,' her mother had said when she'd finally met Jeff.

'He's a big-head,' her father had sighed. 'He's a lot older

than you are too. You'd be better off with a boy your own age.'

Jeff had ditched her a couple of times and gone off with other girls.

Each time he'd come back to her, and she had been so grateful she'd

repressed her hurt and forgiven him. Then he had got the job he had

always wanted in London and, struggling to conceal her breaking heart,

she had gone out with him and his friends for a last-night celebration.

The drinks had been lined up in front of her and Jeff had kept on urging

her not to be a killjoy and drink up. He had talked about how she was

'his' girl and how he would send for her once he got a place of his own.

Hearing him talk like that, including her in his lofty plans, she had

almost cried with relief.

'I really do care about you, Holly,' he had said fondly. 'You're the

girl I want to marry, so surely you can come home with me tonight.'

And she had, and she had gritted her teeth in the darkness, tears

running down her face at the roughness, embarrassment and pain of the

experience. She had wanted to please him, had so wanted to prove that

she was not the silly little girl still tied to parental dictums he had

often accused her of being but a real adult woman capable of loving her

man and being loved.

True to his word, Jeff had phoned her while city life was still strange

to him. She had written great, long, adoring screeds to him and had been

four months pregnant before she'd even realised that she had conceived.

During his final phone call, she had begged him to visit for a weekend.

She had needed to see him face-to-face to share her news. But he had

complained that it would cost too much and he had not phoned again.

Weeks afterwards, when she had been climbing the walls with panic over

his silence and trying to conceal her changing shape from her parents,

one of her

36

many letters had been returned to her with 'Not known at this address'

written across it. She had not seen Jeff again until she'd finally

tracked him down in London many months later.

Emerging from those unwelcome memories, Holly felt cool air on her face

and only then realised that the passenger door was open. The chauffeur

was waiting for her to vacate the limo.

The most enormous house lay before her. It had a gravel turning circle

in front and tall shaped evergreen trees in fancy metal troughs.

'Miss Sansom...I'm Ezio Farretti.'

Holly focused shyly on the heavily built older man with his steady dark

eyes. 'Nice to meet you.'

Ezio engaged the employee positioned at the front door in a flood of

foreign speech, and motioned Holly into the house. Feeling like a third

wheel, Holly followed him inside and skimmed an intimidated glance round

the huge hall, the fantastic staircase and the big pictures adorning the

walls.

'Come this way, Miss Sansom,' Ezio urged.

'What's that language you speak?' she asked to fill the silence.

'Italian.'

He showed her into what appeared to be a drawing room. Well, she

adjusted, what she would call a drawing room, because the opulent sofas

and marble fireplace were way too grand to belong in a humble sitting

room. A fire glowed in the iron grate. Holly had not seen a real fire

since leaving home, and without warning her eyes smarted as she pictured

the cosy farmhouse kitchen where her parents sat by the fire on cold nights.

Ezio extended a notepad and pen. 'Will you make a list of supplies for

you and your son?'

'Supplies?'

'Anything you require.'

She reddened to the roots of her hair. 'I don't have any money.'

'That's not a problem.'

The waiting silence that followed embarrassed her into making up a list.

Nappies, a feeding cup and baby juice were really all she had to have.

She was down on her luck but she was not a freeloader, and she was sure

to get the chance to wash their clothes.

'You should put down a few more things.' Ezio's voice was gruff.

Holly shook her head. Having to put down even the necessities had hurt.

Rio Lombardi was putting them up and he would be feeding them as well.

The very last thing she wanted to do was cost him money into the bargain.

Ezio led her up the imposing staircase. The magnificent landing was

adorned with gilded furniture that looked as if it belonged in a palace.

But then, Rio Lombardi's home was just like a palace, Holly conceded in

a daze. She was shown into a fabulous guest room, complete with an

adjoining bathroom, and then into the smaller room next door which

contained a cot. The cot, which contained several very new-looking toys,

surprised her.

Belatedly it occurred to her that perhaps Rio Lombardi

was or had been married and had children. Tensing, tummy suddenly

feeling hollow, she asked Ezio right out.

'The boss is...single,' the older man stated after a slight hesitation.

'But he often has relatives with kiddies to stay. The Lombardis are a

big family and very close.'

As Ezio departed Holly glimpsed her reflection in a mirror and a

mortified gasp left her lips. The backside of her jeans was filthy,

probably from the road the night before. Fetching a couple of the toys

from the cot, she took Timmie

38

into the bathroom, set him down with them on a bathtowel and then

stripped down to her skin. Everything she wore went into the bath to

steep in hot water. She stepped into the separate shower cubicle but

could only run the water in bursts because she couldn't close the door

properly while she watched over Timmie. Her son could not yet crawl but

he could cover a surprising amount of distance by rolling.

It was such bliss, such utter bliss to feel truly scrubbed clean again.

Making use of the luxury toiletries in the corner shower compartment,

she shampooed her hair and then conditioned it for the first time in

many months. Having pounded her clothes back to cleanliness with soap,

she then realised in dismay that there were no radiators in which to dry

them. At that point, a knock sounded on the bedroom door.