The Italian's Christmas Miracle. Lucy GordonЧитать онлайн книгу.
English, as are some of mine. We’re all bilingual in this family. Tina learned both languages side by side.’
‘Do you speak Italian?’ Tina asked her.
‘Not really,’ Alysa said, concentrating on her food so that she didn’t have to meet the innocent eyes that were turned on her. ‘I learned a little when I was researching someone on the internet.’
‘An Italian someone?’
‘Er—yes.’
‘Was that someone there today?’
‘No.’
‘Are you going to see them tomorrow?’
Her hand tightened on her fork. ‘No, I’m not.’
‘Will you—?’
‘Tina,’ Drago broke in gently. ‘Don’t be nosey. It isn’t polite.’
‘Sorry,’ Tina said with an air of meekness that didn’t fool Alysa. Even hidden away inside herself as she was, Alysa could see the enchanting curiosity in the little girl’s eyes, and understood why Drago was determined to protect her at any cost to himself.
That’s how I would feel, she thought, if I had a—She blanked the rest out, and fixed her attention on drinking her coffee.
CHAPTER TWO
FOR the rest of the meal Alysa forced herself to act the part of the ideal guest, assuring herself that it was no different from concentrating on a client. You just had to focus, something she was good at.
She became sharply aware of tensions at the table, especially between Drago and his mother-in-law, whom he always addressed as ‘Elena’. For her part she looked at him as little as possible, and talked determinedly about Carlotta, who had, apparently, been a perfect daughter, mother and wife. Drago had spoken truly when he’d said his mother-in-law had no idea of the truth—or, if she had, she’d rejected it in favour of a more bearable explanation.
‘My daughter’s clients had no consideration, Signorina Dennis,’ she proclaimed. ‘If they had not insisted on her travelling to see them, instead of coming to her as they ought to have done, then she would have been alive now.’
‘Let’s leave that,’ Drago interrupted quickly. ‘I would rather Tina forgot those thoughts tonight.’
‘How can she forget them after where we have been today? And tomorrow we go to the cemetery…’
Alysa saw Tina’s lips press together, as though she were trying not to cry. She put out her hand and felt it instantly enclosed in a tiny one. The little girl gave her a shaky smile, which Alysa returned—equally shakily, she suspected.
This was proving harder than she had expected, and the most difficult part was still to come.
When supper was over Elena said, ‘You’re looking sleepy, little one, and we have another big day tomorrow. Time for bed.’
She held out her hand and Tina took it obediently, but she turned to her father to say, ‘Will you come up and kiss me goodnight, Poppa?’
‘Not tonight,’ her grandmother said at once. ‘Your father is busy.’
‘I’ll come up with you now,’ Drago said at once.
‘There’s no need,’ the woman assured him loftily. ‘I can take care of her, and you should attend to your guest.’
‘I’ll be perfectly all right here for a while,’ Alysa said. ‘You go with Tina.’
Drago threw her a look of gratitude, and followed the others out.
While he was gone Alysa looked around the room, going from one photograph to another, seeing Carlotta in every mood. One picture showed her with a dazzling smile, and Alysa lifted it, wondering if this was the smile James had seen and adored. Did her husband still look on this picture with love?
She heard a step, and the next moment he was in the room, his mouth twisting as he saw what she was holding.
‘Let’s go into my study,’ he said harshly. ‘Where I don’t have to look at her.’
His study was a total contrast—neat, austere, functional, with not a picture in sight. After the room they had just left, it was like walking from summer into winter, a feeling Alysa recognised.
The modern steel desk held several machines, one of which was a computer, and others which were unknown to her, but she was sure they were the latest in technology.
He poured them both a glass of wine and waved her to a chair, but then said nothing. She could sense his unease.
‘I’m sorry you were kept waiting,’ he said at last.
‘You were right to go. I get the feeling that Tina’s grandmother is a little possessive about her.’
‘More than a little,’ he said, grimacing. ‘I can’t blame her. She’s old and lonely. Her other daughter lives in Rome, with her husband and children, and she doesn’t see them very often. Carlotta was her favourite, and her death hit Elena very hard. I suspect that she’d like to move in here, but she can’t, because her husband is an invalid and needs her at home. So she makes up for it by descending on us whenever she can.’
‘How would you feel about her moving in?’
‘Appalled. I pity her, but I can’t get on with her. She keeps trying to give my housekeeper instructions that contradict mine. Ah, well, she’ll ease up after a while.’
‘Will she? Are you sure?’
He shot her a sharp look. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I mean the way she tried to stop you going upstairs to kiss Tina goodnight. Tina needs you, and Elena wanted to keep you away. Are you sure she isn’t trying to make a takeover bid?’
‘You mean—?’
‘Might she not try to take her away from you—for good?’
He stared. ‘Surely not? Even Elena wouldn’t—’ He broke off, evidently shocked. ‘My God!’
‘Maybe I’m being overly suspicious,’ Alysa said. ‘But during supper I noticed several times, when you spoke to Tina, Elena rushed to answer on her behalf. But Tina doesn’t need anyone to speak for her. She’s a very bright little girl.’
‘Yes, she is, isn’t she?’ he said, gratified. ‘I noticed Elena’s interruptions too, but I guess I didn’t read enough into them.’ He grimaced. ‘Now I think of it, Elena keeps telling me that a child needs a woman’s care. It just seemed a general remark, but maybe…’
He threw himself into a chair, frowning.
‘You saw it and I didn’t. Thank you.’
‘Don’t let her take Tina away from you.’
‘Not in a million years. But it’s hard for me to fight her when she’s so subtle. I manage well enough with everyone else, but with her the words won’t come. I’m so conscious that she’s Tina’s grandmother—plus the fact that she’s never liked me.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m not good enough,’ he said wryly. ‘Her family have some vaguely aristocratic connections, and she always wanted Carlotta to marry a title. My father owned a builder’s yard—a very prosperous one, but he was definitely a working man. So was I. So am I, still.’
‘But your name—di Luca—isn’t that aristocratic?’
‘Not a bit. It just means “son of Luca”. It was started by my great-grandfather, who seems to have thought it would take him up in the world. It didn’t, of course. They say his neighbours roared with laughter. What took us up in the world was my father working night and day to build the business into a success, until he ended