Tall, Dark and Italian. Carol MarinelliЧитать онлайн книгу.
customers, one of whom actually bought a painting of the pretty resort of Portofino further up the coast. The other was a young Frenchman, who was evidently on holiday. His main interest was in flirting with Tess, and she guessed Ashley had enjoyed this aspect of her job.
But she didn’t. She was in no mood to be flattered and she became impatient when he refused to go. She eventually resorted to blackmail, picking up the phone and threatening to call la polizia. She wouldn’t have, of course, but thankfully her ploy was successful.
She closed the gallery early, not wanting to risk Silvio coming round to offer her dinner. She couldn’t help thinking she’d never been so popular in her life. Of course, at home her work kept her busy and the men with whom she worked were not her type. Those that weren’t married were often too boyish. Her friend, Maggie, always said they were like overgrown school kids themselves.
Tess had only had one real relationship and that had been with a boy she’d met at college. They’d kept in touch for a couple of years afterwards, but Tess’s moving to Derbyshire had put paid to their affair. He’d eventually written that he’d found someone else, and Tess remembered she had been more relieved than sorry. Maybe she just wasn’t cut out to find a partner, she thought as she drove back to Ashley’s apartment. The quintessential schoolmistress, that was her.
An image of herself and Castelli on the beach flashed into her mind, but she quickly pushed it away. Apart from the fact that she’d initiated that encounter, it was obvious he’d only been humouring her. He was a virile man and perhaps he’d been flattered at a younger woman coming on to him. Even if he’d felt sorry for her, and that was not an alternative she wanted to consider, it hadn’t been hard for him to fake a convincing response.
He’d certainly convinced her, she thought bitterly. Her stomach still quivered at the memory of the feelings he had aroused inside her. She could still taste his kiss, still feel the heat of his tongue in her mouth. She knew he’d been physically aroused. That was something he hadn’t been able to hide. Yet even so, he’d found it easy to pull away.
And that hurt. She couldn’t understand how he’d been able to turn off his emotions like a switch. Or perhaps his emotions hadn’t been involved. She’d obviously been wrong to think he’d been as eager as she had. While she’d been anticipating how exciting making love with him would be, he’d had an entirely different agenda.
But what agenda? If he hadn’t avoided the subject of Ashley all the way back to San Michele, she’d have suspected that finding her sister had still been his principal concern. He could have thought that seducing her might produce some hitherto unspoken confession. That she’d be so bemused by his lovemaking, she’d betray any confidence she’d been given.
But she’d been wrong about that, too. While she’d been aching with longings now suppressed, Castelli had spoken of his interest in wine, and the grape harvest, and how lots of people were leaving the towns to start a new life in the country. He’d behaved as if nothing untoward had happened, as if he was totally unaware of how she was feeling.
She was sure she’d never forgive him for that. Being rejected was one thing; being ignored was something else. But, with Ashley’s example to follow, what had she expected? Castelli didn’t want anything more from her than information. He didn’t care about her. He only cared about his son.
Chapter Nine
TESS bought some chicken and vegetables on her way home and stir-fried them for her supper. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but there was no point in starving because she’d made a fool of herself over a man. She wasn’t the first woman to do that and she wouldn’t be the last. And she at least had the satisfaction of knowing that Castelli hadn’t been totally indifferent to her.
She’d bought some wine, too, but, although she left it on the counter, she didn’t open the bottle. It was one thing making herself a decent meal for once. Drinking a whole bottle of Lambrusco on her own was something else. Instead, after making a gallant effort to enjoy the food, she made herself a cup of instant coffee and carried it out onto the balcony adjoining the bedroom to drink.
It was almost dark and already a string of lights had sprung up along the waterfront. She could smell the aromas of food cooking, of garlic and other herbs, and hear the sound of voices from the street below. Somewhere a saxophone was playing a haunting melody, bringing the unwilling brush of tears to her eyes. This should have been such a simple visit, she thought miserably. When had it all started to go wrong?
She knew the answer, of course. It had been wrong from the beginning. Andrea wasn’t ill; Ashley hadn’t been called home to look after her. Instead, she’d taken off with a boy who was far too young for her, causing embarrassment to her sister and distress to his family.
Tess caught her breath as another thought struck her. It was Friday tomorrow, and, remembering what Ashley’s mother had said, she was surprised she hadn’t heard from her again. She prayed it wasn’t because Andrea had decided to make good on her threat and come to Italy herself.
Oh, God, that was all she needed, for her stepmother to show up unannounced. Where would she stay? The apartment wasn’t really big enough for two people and Tess could well imagine that she’d be the one expected to find alternative accommodation.
A burst of laughter from the courtyard below was reassuring. Obviously some of her neighbours were having a party and she envied them their careless enjoyment. She thought if she’d lived here, like Ashley, she’d have made an effort to make friends with the other tenants. She’d noticed a couple of younger people going in and out of the building and they’d looked friendly enough. It would have been fun to brush up on her Italian, too. Fun, also, to invite someone in to share her supper. Someone who, unlike Silvio, would not expect anything more than good food and casual conversation.
She was considering opening the wine, after all, as a compensation for standing here all alone, when everyone else seemed to be having such a good time, when there was a knock on her door.
Tess froze for a moment and then took a swift look at her watch. It was after nine o’clock. Far too late for a casual caller. It had to be Andrea, she thought in dismay. Who else could it be?
She was tempted to pretend she wasn’t in. Ashley’s mother didn’t have a key, obviously, and she doubted the old caretaker would let a complete stranger into the apartment. But she would have to face her sooner or later and she didn’t have the heart to send her away. Depositing her empty coffee-cup in the sink, she composed herself and went to open the door.
It wasn’t Andrea. The man standing outside was probably the person she’d least expected to see, and she stared at him in total disbelief.
‘You should have checked who your caller was before you opened the door,’ Castelli said roughly, by way of a greeting. ‘Who were you expecting?’
‘No one.’ Tess was too shocked to lie to him. ‘I wasn’t expecting anyone.’ Then, in an attempt to regain the initiative, she added defiantly, ‘What are you doing here, signore? Slumming?’
Castelli’s mouth compressed. ‘I will not dignify that remark with a response,’ he declared harshly. Then, with a glance beyond her into the apartment, ‘Are you alone?’
Tess caught her breath. ‘What’s that to you?’ she retorted, in no mood to respect his feelings. The image of his regretful—no, pitying—expression when he’d pushed her away from him on the beach was still painfully acute. How dared he come here and behave as if he had any right to question her behaviour? Unless this visit was to get her to apologise for what she’d said to his mother. If it was, he was wasting his time.
He sighed now. ‘May I come in?’
‘Why?’
‘Because I wish to speak with you,’ he said patiently. ‘And I would prefer it if we could speak privately.’
Tess felt mutinous. ‘I don’t think I want to speak to you tonight, signore,’ she said, squashing the little spark of hope that he might