CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER NINE
L YME R EGIS WAS just as Siena had said. They walked along the Cobb, with Siena pointing out the steps that featured so dramatically in the Jane Austen novel. Out at the far end the sea breeze was stronger, buffeting them both. Vincenzo put his arm around Siena’s shoulder to steady her. He’d made the gesture without thinking about it, but the moment he did he almost drew back. She’d stiffened, tensed.
‘I don’t want you blown into the sea,’ he said.
‘It is definitely windier here,’ she allowed.
He felt the tension in her shoulders subside fractionally. All the same, as soon as the gust passed he lowered his arm.
They stood awhile, braced against the buffeting wind, watching it whipping up the water. The sun was bright, turning the sea to scintillating diamonds.
‘We could take another boat trip if you like,’ Vincenzo said.
They’d done so a few days ago, cruising sedately along the shoreline and back again. It had been pleasant, sitting against the gunwale, watching the other passengers taking photographs of the shore passing them by.
‘It looks a bit too bumpy today,’ Siena said. ‘That’s quite a strong swell. I think.’
‘Then we shall pass,’ Vincenzo said. ‘Perhaps we could try our hand at fossil-hunting after lunch?’ he asked. Fossils, he had learnt, were something Lyme Regis was famous for.
‘That might be fun,’ Siena said.
She was still being careful with him, Vincenzo could tell. But then he was being careful with her. Scrupulously polite, courteously conversational.
They stepped off the Cobb and headed towards the town, choosing a pub that served fresh-caught fish for lunch, eating indoors this time, as the wind was so brisk. The low-pitched, smoke-darkened beams were atmospheric, and although the place was designed to cater for tourists, the fresh fish was indeed very tasty.
Afterwards they ventured along the start of the Undercliff, having purchased a guide to Lyme’s fossils from a handy souvenir shop. The raised beach was strewn with boulders, and difficult walking terrain, so Vincenzo kept his eyes fixed on Siena, who took her steps carefully. They spotted a large rounded rock, suitable for perching, and did so. Vincenzo opened the fossil guide and they discussed the fossils the place was famous for, and what might yet be found.
‘As it’s called the Ammonite Pavement,’ Siena commented, ‘I guess that’s what we’ll see most of.’
It was—and quite spectacularly so.
‘It makes one realise,’ Vincenzo said slowly, ‘how brief a span of time we occupy on this earth...how short a lifetime is...’
She was silent a moment. Then: ‘Some are very short indeed...’
He could hear a strange note in her voice—something that made him look at her.
‘What is it?’ he asked quietly.
But she only shook her head and changed the subject.
They went on, strolling carefully, but not going too far, before turning and retracing their steps. There were plenty of other fossil-hunters along the way, or just walkers—a good few with dogs in tow. One dog—a large one, rushing around off its leash—came bounding up to them, jumping at Siena.
Vincenzo thrust it away ungently, speaking sharply to him in Italian. The dog gave a bark and bounded away again.
‘Are you all right?’ Vincenzo asked Siena.
She looked a little shaken, for the dog had been large, and had taken her by surprise.
‘Yes, fine... I think he was more friendly than anything.’
‘Uncontrolled,’ said Vincenzo sternly.
The dog was careering towards them again, clearly over-excited. As it approached, Vincenzo held out an arm, simultaneously warding it off Siena and giving it another order in Italian. The dog stopped, then sniffed at his outstretched hand. It gave another bark. Then licked Vincenzo’s hand and bounded off, hearing its owner calling belatedly to it.
The woman came up to them. ‘He’s just being friendly,’ she said.
‘But not everyone loves dogs,’ Vincenzo pointed out severely. ‘And you—’ he addressed the dog directly now, which was licking his still outstretched hand again ‘—are a fearsome beast!’ His voice was severe but the dog knew perfectly well that he was being praised, and barked happily again.
Siena, beside him, held out her own hand for him to sniff. ‘But no jumping!’ she admonished.
The fearsome beast’s owner smiled apologetically. ‘I’m sorry...he does get over-enthusiastic. But he mustn’t jump up, I know—especially when you are in your condition.’ She smiled again. ‘When’s it due?’
Siena looked taken aback.
‘I’m a midwife,’ the woman said with another smile. ‘I’d say...’ she cast a professional eye at Siena ‘...you’re around sixteen weeks.’
‘Seventeen,’ confirmed Siena.
The woman’s smile broadened—her dog had gone bounding away over the beach now, clearly done with them.
‘Your first? How wonderful for you both! You must be so happy and excited! I know it will seem like ages and ages yet, but believe me...’ her voice warmed ‘...when it finally happens you’ll both be over the moon. I promise!’ Her smile included them both. ‘I wish you all the very best—this is such a special time of your lives, so enjoy every moment!’
‘Thank you,’ said Vincenzo with difficulty.
Siena said nothing.
The woman moved to go, pausing only to say, ‘I’ll keep my dog well away from you, but do take care on this stony beach. You really don’t want to trip and fall at this stage.’ She smiled again one last time. ‘And congratulations!’ she said warmly.
She walked away, calling to her dog. For a moment there was only silence between him and Siena. His eyes went to her. There was an expression on her face he had not seen before.
‘I guess to others it does look like that,’ she said, and he could hear the strain in her voice. ‘As if we’re just a normal couple starting a family. When we’re not even a couple. And a family is the last thing we’ll ever be.’
She started to walk, picking her steps carefully. Her shoulders seemed to be hunched, Vincenzo thought.
There was a tightness in his chest as he walked after her and his eyes followed her—the woman who had in one fateful moment, on one fateful night, set him aflame with something he had never felt before. Something for which he had no explanation, no excuse, no exoneration, but which had consumed him with its intensity.
It should never have happened—it had been insane self-indulgence—but he’d gone for it all the same, taking his fill, yielding to the flame she’d lit in him. Burning in it.
He’d kept that woman ruthlessly away from the one now walking away from him. Locked her away in the past, to that single night.
He quickened his pace. That woman’s voice—the midwife’s—in his head now, warning that Siena should not stumble or trip.
Siena who had ignited that flame in him and Siena who was pregnant with their child.
He did not allow them to be the same person. How could they be?
Once so physically intimate—yet a stranger.
But now?
No physical intimacy—nothing of that burning flame could exist—yet no longer a stranger.
So who is she to me?
The question hung in his head. He should answer it, but he had no answer to give.
Siena was sitting at a little ironwork table, sketchbook propped up, watercolour pencils to hand, newly purchased that morning. Her gaze was going from the view of the hotel’s gardens and the sea beyond to what she was capturing of both on paper.
Vincenzo was in his room, touching base with his office, catching up with his affairs. They’d been here nearly a week now. The days were slipping by, undemanding and unhurried, as they toured around, sightseeing and exploring the lush Devon and Dorset countryside and the scenic coastline.
Day by day it was becoming easier between them, Siena acknowledged. So their time here was achieving its purpose. Defusing the toxic hostility that had been so destructive.
She was still conscious of the tension within her, though. Of her continual awareness of Vincenzo...of what he could arouse in her—which she must not allow. She suppressed it as much as she could, but it was there all the same, all the time...
She dipped the nib of her pencil in the water jar, refocussing on her sketching, pulling her thoughts back to safer ground. It was good to be working again. OK, it wasn’t the kind of testing artwork she’d have been striving for at art school, but it was enjoyable enough.
The familiar stab of regret, that being pregnant had destroyed her hopes of finally getting to art school a second time around, came now. She pushed it away—because what was the point of dwelling on what could not be? Reached instead for a deep crimson, ideal for a splash of flowers in the foreground.
‘That’s very good.’
Vincenzo’s deep, accented voice behind her made her start.
She turned her head.
And gulped silently.
The sunshine was bright—bright enough for Vincenzo to be sporting shades. She gulped again. Oh, good grief! What was it about men and sunglasses? They could turn the most unprepossessing male into someone to look twice at. But when sunglasses adorned a man like Vincenzo...
She crushed her reaction down. She could allow it no place.
Belatedly, she realised he’d spoken to her. ‘Oh, thank you,’ she said, hoping her voice was normal.
He was standing behind her, looking down at her sketch. ‘It is good,’ he said again. ‘There’s a talent there you should not ignore.’
Siena gave a flickering smile. It was an awkward subject.
‘I enjoy it,’ she said. ‘But that’s all.’
He gave a quick shake of his head. ‘Talent should always be developed,’ he said. His gaze rested on her speculatively.
‘You’ve never really told me about yourself—what you’ve done with your life so far. Can it be that it’s this?’ There was a quizzical note in his voice now, and he gestured towards her sketchbook.
She took a breath. Why make a secret of it? Once she’d have said it was none of his business—that she didn’t want him knowing anything about her because she didn’t want anything to do with him ever again, after the way he’d treated her. But now—well, there was no reason not to tell him.
‘I was going to study art,’ she said. ‘In fact, the reason I was in London, staying with Megan, was because...’ She took another breath. ‘I was going to start an art degree this autumn. Obviously because of the baby that’s all gone now...’ An edge slid into her voice that she could not stop, and she gave a shrug. ‘But I’ll survive. I gave up on it once before—’
She stopped abruptly.
‘Why was that?’ Vincenzo was asking frowningly.
But that was a place she did not want to go...
Too painful.
She got to her feet, packing away her pencils, emptying the water jar on the grass, picking up her sketchpad. ‘I’ll finish this off later,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it time for lunch?’
She was glad he followed her lead—grateful. He got to his feet again, fell into step beside her as they headed indoors.
‘Did you have a productive morning?’ she asked, conscious that her voice was too bright.
He took her cue, and she was glad of that too.
‘Thank you, yes. I can be clear now for a while. Tell me...what might you like to do this afternoon?’
They settled on an excursion further west along the coastline, meandering along country lanes, stopping for a cream tea at a pretty thatched olde-worlde teashop nestled in a sheltered valley, with glorious views over the sparkling English Channel. It was leisurely, undemanding, like all their days.
Serving the purpose for which they were here, Siena acknowledged. To come to terms—civil, unhostile terms—with the situation in which they both unwillingly found themselves.
No other reason.
Her eyes went to him now, as they headed back in the late afternoon. His focus was on the winding road as he drove, strong hands curved around the driving wheel, his face in profile.
But what if there were another reason they were here like this?
What if we were here together because we wanted to be with each other? Just Vincenzo and me, without a baby to complicate everything between us. What if we hadn’t met at that party, with me dressed to kill and all that instant heat between us? What if we’d got to know each other slowly—taken things at a slower pace—romanced each other gradually? Spent time with each other the way we’re doing now? Got to know each other first, without falling into bed so fast, the way we did...?
But it hadn’t happened like that, had it?
She felt something tug at her inside, wanting admission.
She pulled her gaze away, moved it back over the passing countryside.
She felt a heaviness within her.
A sense of loss for what had never been. Never could be now.
I am here with him only because I am pregnant with his baby.
Anything else had been.
And gone.
Vincenzo eased back on the accelerator—these winding West Country roads were not designed for speed, with their thick hedgerows and blind corners. But the landscape was highly appealing, lushly green and rolling, with sheep and cattle placid and contented, the villages quaint and picturesque.
Touring around, sightseeing like this all week, had been very pleasant.
And it had achieved its purpose.
He flicked his glance to Siena, sitting beside him. She was gazing out of the window, an abstracted quality about her. She looked effortlessly lovely...
For a second he let his gaze linger, before returning it to the winding road. But his thoughts stayed with her. What was it about her that made him want to look at her the way he did? He had known beautiful women before, but with Siena there was something...
Something that wasn’t just the way she’d looked that night at the Falcone.
Something that drew his eyes to her even as she was now, her hair held back by a simple band, wearing a short-sleeved cotton shirt and loose cropped cotton trousers, not a scrap of make-up, doing nothing to adorn herself. But there was a beauty to her, a glow about her, that made him want to turn his head again.
Perhaps it’s pregnancy that makes her bloom?
If it was, then he welcomed it.
He drew his thoughts up short. Decided to speak instead. On a safer subject.
‘Shall we dine at the hotel tonight?’ he asked conversationally. ‘I understand there’s a special tasting menu, provided by assorted local producers to showcase their offerings. It’s something of an occasion. What do you think?’
He glanced at her again. That abstracted quality had vanished, and she had turned towards him.
‘I think it sounds good,’ she replied. ‘Does it require dressing up?’
‘Nothing formal—just smart casual, I would think. I won’t wear a tie.’
‘Well, I think I’ve got something that will do, then,’ she answered. ‘There was a little charity shop next to where I bought my art materials this morning, and there was a summery dress in the window for only a fiver. It’s got a loosely elasticated waist, so it will give as I get bigger.’
‘That sounds just right,’ he approved.
He had spoken politely, but he was conscious that he would like to see Siena in something more beguiling than her habitual tops and trousers. And he was conscious of why...
He pulled his thoughts and his glance away.
Refocussed on his driving and on his reason for being here with Siena. The only reason he should admit to.
As the mother of my child. Only that...
Yet even as he said the words to himself he knew that with every passing day it was not the only truth.
It is for herself...
‘Thank you—but only a little.’ Vincenzo held his hand up decisively.
The rep from the cider farm smiled encouragingly and poured some of the amber coloured apple brandy she was tempting diners with after their meal.
‘Do try,’ she said hopefully, clearly wanting him to take a taste while she was hovering.
He did so, and the spirit bit at the back of his throat. He dared not think what proof it was, but it was strong.
‘It’s very good,’ he said to the rep, and she beamed.
‘It’s ten years old and matured in cognac barrels,’ she said. ‘Bottles are available in the lobby if you are interested.’
‘I will consider it,’ he said gravely.
The rep smiled, then turned her attention to Siena. ‘What about you?’ she said hopefully.
‘Alas, no alcohol at all for me,’ said Siena ruefully.
‘What a shame,’ the rep said, and regretfully abandoned them for another table.
Siena looked across at him. ‘What’s it like? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of apple brandy before.’
‘Strong,’ said Vincenzo. ‘And, yes, very good. But...’ he made a slight face ‘...so many of the producers here seem to feature alcohol!’
‘Devon is famous for cider,’ Siena told him. ‘But wine production is newer. I would have happily tried that white wine you had earlier. Though my blackberry crémant was very good. And I’m definitely tempted by the blackberry vinegar that was in the jus accompanying my lamb, which was also very good. In fact, I don’t know about you, but I thought all the dishes were really good! Of course, I don’t have your gourmet palette, but I do hope you didn’t think the menu beneath you.’
‘On the contrary,’ Vincenzo assured her.
He meant it too. The tasting menu had been varied, and inventive, and a good showcase for local producers. The dining room was full, and dinner was not yet over. Another rep came by, this time with a tray of handmade chocolate truffles.
‘Ah, those I can indulge in!’ Siena said happily, and took two, promising the rep that she would certainly be buying a box for herself.
Vincenzo sat back with his glass of apple brandy, his gaze resting on her as she bit into the luscious-looking truffle, her eyes half closing in appreciation. He let his gaze linger. He had, he knew, imbibed more alcohol than he would normally have drunk over dinner, but it had seemed churlish to refuse the plentiful offerings—from a gin cocktail infused with countryside botanicals, through to a really very palatable English vineyard dry white wine with the meal, followed by a very good, sweet dessert wine, and now by the simultaneously fiery but mellowing—and indeed very strong—apple brandy.
The effect was lowering his guard.
And that was dangerous.
He felt his eyes drift over Siena’s face. Memory came, infusing the present with the past.
The dangerous past.
The very dangerous past.
The past that had brought him to this very moment, sitting opposite her in this Devonshire hotel, late in the evening, after a leisurely dinner, comfortable and replete, his appetites sated.
Except for one appetite.
An appetite he could feel rising within him. Welling up in him, reaching out into his limbs, his whole body.
He let his gaze rest on her. The dress she was wearing, which she’d told him she’d bought in a charity shop, might not be a designer number like the one she’d worn that night at the Falcone, but it was every bit as effective. With a scooped neckline and cap sleeves, worn with a lacy wrap around her shoulders, it had a blue floral print that brought out the haunting colour of her deep-set eyes, the long lashes dipping on her silky skin. She’d left her hair loose, fastened at each side with a small clip, exposing the tender lobes of her ears.
He took another slow mouthful of apple brandy, letting it warm his blood. His eyelids drooped, his gaze resting on her as he leant back in his chair, fingers curved around his glass.
Looking at her...
Desiring her...
He should not let himself...should not indulge himself. Should straighten, look away, make some anodyne remark to break the moment.
But he did not.
He tried to think of all the reasons why he should keep his guard high—all the reasons that had pressed upon him every time he’d caught himself looking at her, remembering that searing night he’d spent with her. They were good reasons—he knew they were. His brain knew them at any rate.
Because the situation between us is complicated—uncertain—unprecedented. Because so much is at stake and I have to tread carefully, watching each step.
But right now he didn’t want to think of all that. He wanted only to go on doing what he was doing, letting his gaze rest on her, absorb her, linger on her...
His gaze dipped to her neckline. It was hardly a dramatic decolletage, but for all that it shaped the swell of her breasts...breasts that were now more generous. His eyes narrowed infinitesimally as he took another slow, leisurely mouthful of the potent apple brandy. Her whole body was more generous too, rounding and ripening. Making her even more beautiful than ever...
He felt desire rise within him, quicken in his heated blood.
She swallowed her truffle, opened her eyes.
Looked straight into his...