'And now I really must be off. It would not do to be late,' he said, with that cool control that hid all expression.
'No, you mustn't keep her waiting.' She didn't know why she had said it. The only good thing was that her voice sounded bright, carefree, even, and not at all as though she was eaten up inside with jealousy and a longing to know who he was meeting and what she looked like.
'Quite.'
Game, set and match to him, Claire thought numbly as he smiled with that icy twist of his lips that didn't reach his eyes, before inclining his head and leaving the room. Well, he could see who he liked after all. He was a free agent—no strings, none of his hated commitments. She swore, once but with great intensity, in her mind, and was so shocked at the profanity that she hurried out of the room to find Grace or Lorenzo—anyone to stop her mind from following such a self-destructive path. She was going to get through this with mind and soul intact; she was. She wasn't too sure about her heart, but she would have to gather the pieces of that and deal with it once she was back in England.
The almost daily visits Romano had been making for the last few weeks became a thing of the past, and Claire didn't see him again until the day of the party.
It was the middle of June and the day was a hot one, the temperature creeping steadily upwards towards ninety degrees Fahrenheit. The careful sunbathing Claire had indulged in over the last few weeks had turned her clear skin a soft honey-gold, and the coppery tint in her silky chestnut hair was more pronounced, flattering the darkness of her eyes and making them appear enormous.
She and Grace had made several shopping trips into Sorrento over the last two weeks, the winding streets and fascinating alleyways providing everything from the very best fashionable clothes and exquisite jewellery to simple handicrafts and cheap souvenirs.
After an hour or two of serious shopping they had whiled away any remaining time before Grace had had to get back to feed the twins at sunny pavement cafes, where they had sipped coffee and nibbled at wickedly rich cream cakes whilst watching the world go by.
It should have been an idyllic interlude before her return to England, and Claire had worked hard to make it so for Grace, but all the time, whatever she was doing and whoever she was with, the tall, lean figure of a dark Italian intruded onto the screen of her mind.
Still, she thought now, as she glanced again at the beautiful cocktail dress in ivory brocade hanging in her wardrobe, at least she had found the perfect dress for the party. She had balked at the price at first—it had seemed outrageously expensive for a strapless, above-the-knee bit of nothing—but once she had tried it on she was hooked. The dress had fitted like a glove—tight, but not too tight—and the cut and design flattered her figure like nothing she had worn before.
'Oh, it's perfect, Claire, you've got to have it.' Grace had tried to buy it for her but she had insisted on paying for the dress herself, and she had known exactly why she was buying it. He wanted nothing to do with her— fine. He felt sorry for her—not so fine. But tonight she was going to go out of his life with a bang, not a whimper, or die in the attempt!
But all that would come later. For now she was going to go down to the pool with Grace and the children for the afternoon and relax—something she was finding harder and harder to do these days.
She turned from the wardrobe and walked over to the huge mirror by the window, there to gaze at the bikini-clad figure that stared back at her. She had bought the bikini on the same day she had bought the dress, and she recognised it was something of a statement—although she hadn't actually analysed what it was saying.
Her fingers moved slowly over the faint marks on her stomach as she mused into the big brown eyes looking back at her. This was her—good or bad, perfect or imperfect. It was her, and she wasn't going to hide from herself again. All over the world people coped with far, far worse, and they did it with integrity and courage too. Well, she might have lost her way for a time, concentrated too much on what had been spoilt rather than what she still had, but she wasn't going to do so again.
She was fortunate, very fortunate, and she was going to count her blessings every day, every hour, every minute, for as long as it took for this dense black cloud that enveloped her from morning to night to lift.
And what if it never lifted? the probing little voice in the back of her brainbox asked softly. Then she would cope with that too. She would have to.
The rich scent of summer was heavy on the warm, slumbering air as she walked down to the pool where Grace and the others were already in residence. Donato, Lorenzo and Attilio were in the cool, spotlessly clean water, thrashing about in a mad game of tag which seemed almost violent.
She was glad to see Lorenzo entering in with such gusto. The boy had been a little nervous for a few days after his close escape from drowning, but he was now as confident as ever, if a good deal wiser.
They had discovered that he had sidled into the kitchen and coaxed a huge supper out of Cecilia just minutes before the near fatal swim, and also that he hadn't bothered to keep up his fluid intake during a day of energetic exercise in the hot sun—something that Donato had warned him about time and time again.
A ten-minute lecture in Donato's study had ensured that neither mistake was likely to be repeated again.
In spite of the noise from the pool she must have fallen asleep on the big cushioned lounger under the shade of the trees, because when some sixth sense made her open her eyes it was to see Romano lying next to her, clad only in a pair of breath-stoppingly brief swimming trunks, his dark eyes narrowed on her face.
'Ciao, Claire,' he said softly, his tanned, muscled body turned fully towards her as he lay on his side, one arm supporting his raised head.
If she'd been fully compos mentis the sight of that near naked, perfectly honed male body just a foot or so away would have knocked her for six; after surfacing from a deep sleep she found the effect devastating, and she was frozen to the spot.
'Grace has taken the infants in to feed them and Donato and Lorenzo are helping to set up a marquee on the big lawn for your party. Grace thought it would be good to eat outside tonight,' he continued quietly. 'All is bustle and excitement.'
'Except here.' She sat up as she spoke, painfully aware that he had watched her as she slept, had been able to inspect every inch of her body as she had lain vulnerable and still. She didn't like that. She suddenly found that it was one thing to make brave new principles and wear her bikini for the rest of the world, and quite another to do so if Romano was around.
'Except here,' he agreed softly.
'Shouldn't…shouldn't you be helping Donato?' she said quickly. 'And I really must go and see if Grace—'
'I wanted to talk to you.'
'Oh.' It stopped her garbled panic as though cutting through it with a knife. 'Why?' she asked warily.
'I just wanted to know what your plans were, that is all,' he said calmly, 'and whether you intend to return to Italy in the near future—I know that Grace would like this.'