Leonetti's Housekeeper Bride

‘Where are you going?’ she mumbled.

‘I’m sleeping next door,’ he said wryly.

‘That’s not necessary.’ Poppy had to fight to keep the hurt note out of her voice. She had been looking forward to Gaetano putting his arms around her again and she was disappointed that it wasn’t going to happen.

‘I’m a restless sleeper. I don’t want to disturb you,’ Gaetano countered smoothly.

Poppy’s heart sank as if he had kicked it. Maybe if sex wasn’t on the menu, Gaetano preferred to sleep alone. And why would she argue about that? It was possible that Gaetano had already had all he really wanted from her. She had heard about men who lost sexual interest once the novelty was gone. One night might have been enough for him. Was he that kind of lover? And if he was, what did it matter to her? It wasn’t as if she were about to embarrass herself and chase after him, was it? Why would she do that when their eventual separation and divorce were already set in stone?

So, it didn’t make sense that after he had gone she curled up in the big bed feeling lonely and needy and rejected. Why on earth was she bothered?

* * *

‘You shouldn’t be down here keeping an old man company,’ Rodolfo reproved as Poppy poured his coffee and her own. ‘No cake?’

‘Cinzia’s putting it on a fancy plate to bring it out. You’re getting spoiled,’ Poppy told him fondly, perching on the low wall of the terrace.

His bright dark eyes twinkled. ‘Nothing wrong with being spoiled. You spoil me with your cakes but Gaetano’s supposed to be spoiling you.’

Poppy’s luminous green eyes shadowed. ‘He does but I’ve let him off the honeymoon trail for a few hours to work. It keeps him happy...’

‘You look well,’ Gaetano’s grandfather said approvingly. ‘On your wedding day you looked as though a strong breeze would blow you over, now you look...’

‘Fatter?’ Poppy laughed. ‘You can say it. I’d got too thin and I look better carrying a little more weight. Dolores has been feeding me up like a Christmas turkey.’

Hands banded round her raised knees, Poppy gazed out over the valley, scanning the marching rows of bright green vines. The property referred to as the guest house was a substantial building surrounded by trees and it had a spectacular view. It had always been Rodolfo’s favourite spot and when he had tired of his late son’s constant parties at the main house he had built his own bolt-hole.

Cinzia, who looked after the guest house and its elderly occupant, brought out the lemon drizzle cake that Poppy had baked.

Poppy and Gaetano had been in Tuscany for a whole month, days fleeing past at a speed she could barely register. As soon as she had regained her strength, Gaetano had begun taking her out sightseeing. Her brain was crammed to bursting point by magnificent artworks and architectural wonders. But the memories that lingered were of a rather more personal variety.

Her delicate gold earrings were a gift from Gaetano, purchased from one of the spectacular goldsmiths on the Ponte Vecchio in Florence. In Pisa they had strolled through the magical streets to dine after the daily visitors had left and he had told her that in bright light her red hair reminded him of a gorgeous sunset. In Lucca they had walked the city walls in the leafy shade of the overhanging trees and Gaetano had briefly held her hand to steady her. In Siena she had proved Gaetano wrong when he’d told her that climbing more than four hundred steps to the top of the Torre del Mangia would be too much for her and he had laughed and given her that special heart-stopping smile that somehow always rocked her world. And in the Grotta del Vento he had whipped off his jacket and wrapped it round her when he’d seen her shiver in the coolness of the underground cave system.

Personal memories but not the romantic memories of a newly married couple, Poppy conceded unhappily. There was no sex. There had been no sex since she had taken ill and he refused to take hints. And she refused to count as romantic all the many evenings they had talked long and late at the farmhouse after a beautiful leisurely meal because every evening had ended with them occupying separate beds.

Indeed, Gaetano only got close to her in his grandfather’s presence, clearly as part of his effort to keep up the pretence that they were a normal couple, and then he would close his arms round her, kiss her shoulder or her cheek, act as if he were a touchy-feely loving male even though he wasn’t. His determined detachment often made Poppy want to scream and slap him into a normal reaction. What had happened to the sex-hungry male who couldn’t keep his hands off her?

And while Poppy was lying awake irritating herself by wondering how to tempt Gaetano without being too obvious about it and scolding herself for being so defensive, another bigger worry slowly began to percolate in the back of her mind. At first she had told herself off for being foolish. After all, they had only had sex once and she had conscientiously taken the contraceptive pill from the first day it was prescribed to her. When her period was late she had believed that her illness or even the change of diet or stress could have messed up her menstrual cycle. As the days trickled past her subdued sense of panic had steadily mounted and she was very glad that she was visiting the doctor the following day for an official review following her release from hospital a month earlier. She would ask for a pregnancy test then just to be on the safe side. And of course she would soon realise that she had been foolishly worrying over nothing. There was no way she could possibly be pregnant.