Jess's Promise

‘But I don’t need a new car!’ Jess protested.

‘There it is—the blue one parked out front,’ Cesario informed her as smoothly as if she hadn’t spoken.

It was a brand-new, top-of-the-range Range Rover, ten times more expensive then her elderly four-wheel drive and embellished with the most sumptuous cream leather upholstery Jess had ever seen. ‘I gather this is part of my new swanky image,’ she said tartly, turning her head to look at him after she had walked all the way round the luxury car.

‘No, not in this case. I didn’t think that wreck you were driving was very safe and I didn’t want it breaking down and stranding you somewhere lonely late at night,’ Cesario contradicted silkily, making her feel ungracious.

Jess was on the brink of protest about his interference until she registered that she actually liked the fact that he was concerned about her safety. It was a satisfyingly husbandly concern and allowed her to feel more like a real wife than she usually dared to feel. ‘It’s not going to look clean and perfect for very long with me and the dogs using it,’ she warned him ruefully.

As Tommaso appeared beaming at the front door a canine flood surged out to acknowledge their arrival with a flurry of barks and scrabbling paws. Cesario strode off towards the garages after telling Jess that he had an urgent appointment to keep. Weed raced round the corner in his wake—the skinny lurcher, whose confidence had grown by leaps and bounds in Italy, had become her husband’s shadow, and Magic bounced along after them.

Jess changed into more comfortable clothing and went out to keep her medical appointment at the local surgery. Thirty minutes later she had the confirmation she had sought and, feeling somewhat shaken by the news that she would have a child by the following spring, she went to visit her mother.

‘Cesario called in an hour ago,’ Sharon Martin told her daughter when she arrived. ‘He spoke to your father at work and then came here to ask me some questions about your uncle Sam.’

Jess fell still and grimaced at that information. ‘What’s he up to?’

‘Your husband wants his painting back and he’s determined to get it,’ her mother confided ruefully. ‘He told your father that he would try to keep him out of things but that he can’t guarantee it—’

‘That’s not fair!’ Jess gasped in consternation. ‘I have an agreement with Cesario…’

‘And he wants the agreement and he wants his painting back. Typical man,’ Sharon Martin quipped. ‘He wants it all and sees no reason why he shouldn’t have it.’

Jess breathed in deep. ‘You’re going to be a grandmother again next year.’

Initially taken aback by the change of subject, her mother stared at her and then, with an exclamation of pleasure, she rushed forward and gave her daughter a warm hug. ‘My goodness, that didn’t take long! Are you pleased?’

Squashing her doubts and insecurities about Cesario and keen to ensure that her mother didn’t worry about her, Jess fixed a smile to her lips. ‘I’m over the moon! I haven’t told Cesario yet, so keep my secret for me.’

Before returning to the hall, Jess called in at the

veterinary surgery to check the work rotas. She went straight to talk to her boss because her pregnancy would mean there had to be a good deal of reorganisation at the practice. She would have to take extra safety precautions and consider the kind of jobs she took on. She thought it said a lot for Charlie that, even after taking all that approaching hassle into account, he was still able to offer her his hearty congratulations and happily reminisce about his early days as a new father.

When she got back to Halston Hall, Tommaso was in the hall supervising the placement of a very large canvas of what looked like a desiccated tree twisting in a storm. Rigo Castello, a heavily built older man, was poised nearby wearing a large approving smile. Jess gaped at the painting and recognised it at once from Cesario’s description of it. She asked where Cesario was and raced breathlessly into his office with her dogs accompanying her. ‘You got it back? How on earth did you do it?’

Cesario straightened his long, lean, powerful body fluidly from his lounging position on the edge of the desk and made a hand signal to Magic, which made the deaf and excitable terrier sit down and stop barking. ‘Your Uncle Sam is a sensible man.’

And then without any warning at all, and as if someone had suddenly pulled a rug from beneath him, Cesario lurched sideways and crumpled down into a heap on the floor. ‘Tommaso!’ Jess shouted in shock, dropping to her knees by Cesario’s side and noting that he was ashen-faced, with perspiration gleaming on his brow.

His security chief, Rigo, joined her first. ‘Let me deal with this, signora.’

‘I’ll call the doctor!’ Jess exclaimed because Cesario appeared to be unconscious.

‘That won’t be necessary, signora. Mr di Silvestri is already coming round.’

Jess watched Cesario’s lashes lift on dazed dark golden eyes. He blinked several times. Her heart was pounding with adrenalin inside her ribcage. Rigo addressed his employer in rapid low-pitched Italian and, raking a trembling hand through his cropped black hair, Cesario responded.

‘I’ll call the doctor,’ Jess said again.

‘No—I don’t want a doctor!’ Cesario asserted with what struck her as quite unnecessary force. As he struggled to get up she noticed that he leant heavily on Rigo’s arm.

Jess was concerned enough to argue with her husband. ‘You’re obviously not well! You need to see a doctor…’

‘I tripped on the corner of the rug and I must’ve struck my head,’ Cesario countered, dismissing Rigo, who shot him a troubled look before leaving the room.

Her brow indented as she glanced at the rug, which seemed to be lying perfectly flat. She had only seen him fall and it had looked more like a collapse or a faint to her than a moment of clumsy inattention. Not only did his interpretation not make sense, she could think of no reason why he should lie about it. She studied him worriedly, grateful to see that he had regained colour and looked more like himself. It shook her to recall that just months ago he had meant very little more to her than a stranger in the street, while now he meant the whole world to her.

‘You said you had spoken to my uncle?’ she prompted, her curiosity about the painting overtaking her concern now that he seemed to have made a recovery.