Lucy Gordon - The Italian's Passionate Revenge

‘Where the devil have you been?’ he snapped.

‘I beg your pardon?’

Her outrage startled him and he let his hand fall.

‘Don’t ever speak to me like that again,’ she said softly. ‘I’m not accountable to you for my movements.’

‘They said you’d checked out.’

‘I did. I paid my bill last night to speed things up this morning. Today I cleared out of the room and put my bags in the downstairs cloakroom. I just slipped out for half an hour to say goodbye to someone.’

Too late it dawned on him that she was talking about her father. He wanted to ask her about him, but controlled himself. Everything must wait until he’d got her to Italy. Then, and only then, could he be sure of arranging matters to suit himself.

And she wouldn’t be able to stop him. On that he was determined. He had waited too long for this to weaken now.

‘I thought you’d gone,’ he said harshly.

‘I told you I’d be here, and I’m here. Why are you acting as though it was the end of the world?’

He forced a smile. ‘If it seems that way I apologise. I have a strict sense of time.’

‘Then let’s stop wasting it and go,’ she said lightly.

Vincente’s chauffeur fetched her bags from the cloakroom and put them in the boot of the waiting car.

‘Only two bags?’ Vincente queried as they headed for the airport. ‘I thought you’d have more.’

‘You mean what about my wardrobes full of fancy clothes? I sold them for whatever I could get.’

‘Money has really been as tight as that?’

‘Yes, but that’s not the only reason. I didn’t want memories of my marriage. It’s as though I’m a different person, and I like it.’

‘You like living in that place?’

‘It’s peaceful,’ she said unexpectedly.

‘But doesn’t poverty come a little hard on you?’

‘I can pay for my air ticket,’ she said defensively.

‘There’ll be no need for that. I have my own plane.’

Of course! She should have thought of that.

The twin turbojet aircraft was waiting for them, engines running. Inside, it was more like a luxury hotel than a plane. The seats had safety belts, but in all else they were plush armchairs, upholstered in pale grey velvet. After take-off, a steward appeared from the well-appointed kitchen, bearing champagne, and contriving to give her a curious look without being too obvious. Amused, Elise wondered how many women had been invited on to Vincente’s plane, and how she compared to the others.

They clinked glasses.

‘To your new life,’ he said. ‘And your new freedom.’

‘Why do you say it like that?’ she wanted to know.

‘Like what?’

‘Freedom—you said it strangely, as though it had another meaning.’

‘But of course it does. Freedom means something different to everyone. Only you know what it means to yourself, but I think you’ll find that Rome is full of many things that you’d never thought of.’

Still she thought she could catch the echo of another meaning, but when she looked at his face his smile was like a mask.

At the airport in Rome a limousine was waiting to take them into the city. As they reached the outskirts, Elise began to watch for the places she’d known so long ago. It was easy because the car passed through Trastevere, the least expensive, most colourful part of the city. Here, she and Angelo had lived together in joy. Here, he’d seen her in Ben’s arms, and had died.

‘What is it?’ Vincente asked, looking at her with concern.

‘Nothing,’ she said quickly.

‘You closed your eyes, as if something had hurt you.’

‘Just a headache. I didn’t sleep last night.’ That was true.

‘Not much longer until you can take possession of your new home and rest.’

Soon they were in the beautiful Via Vittorio Veneto, a wide, tree-lined avenue where the luxury apartments could sell for millions. Elise had already gulped over the price Ben had paid, but when she saw it she had to admit that the reality was worth every euro.

The rooms were large, with high ceilings and tall windows. There were three bedrooms, including a master bedroom with an eight foot wide bed and its own bathroom in addition to the main bathroom. The floors were marble, the furniture largely antique, with much inlaid wood in designs of flowers and animals. The windows were hung with velvet and satin curtains.

Everywhere she looked she saw lavishness and costly beauty. She noticed too that the curtains, carpets and marble floors were fresh and brilliant, as though recently cleaned. Nor was there a speck of dust in the place.

‘The agent has maintained it beautifully,’ she observed.

‘I must admit that was my doing,’ Vincente said. ‘I sent in an army of cleaners.’

‘Would it be rude of me to ask how you got the keys to my property?’

‘It would certainly be ungrateful.’

She smiled. ‘Of course the agent just did as you told him. Knowing you as I do, I should have assumed that.’

‘Do you know me so well?’ he asked lightly.

‘You mean after one brief encounter months ago?’

‘Sometimes that’s all it takes.’

‘Don’t tell me you didn’t size me up as well. I’m just not sure why, unless—?’

‘Unless?’ he asked tensely.

‘I think you size up everyone you meet. There’s always a part of you standing back, calculating.’

‘I can’t help it. It’s the businessman in me.’

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