CHAPTER EIGHT
MATTEOSTOOD,WAITING. Glass of Scotch in hand. His phone buzzed an alert, which he checked. The car would be here soon to take them to his favourite little restaurant in town, tucked away in a cobbled alley. He’d asked the owner to set up a table for a celebration. Initially they’d thought it represented an engagement until he’d disabused them. He’d told them it was a special night nonetheless, and the owner seemed somehow pleased, promising a table in a quiet corner.
His plans seemed to be working. Louisa’s talk of how the sunshine helped her pictures. He’d known getting her away from the UK would work, though the reasons seemed a little hazy right now. The raging desire for revenge not quite as sharp. He mused why that might be. Working seven days a week for months might be the cause. Likely he’d needed a break too. To simply stop and enjoy the sunshine himself...
Matteo downed the last, short sip in his glass, settling the strange sensation in his gut that had overcome him. Almost like anticipation, but that couldn’t be right. He checked his watch. Almost time to go. This was a simple meal, nothing more. Another step in showing Louisa that there was more to life than living in the rainy old English countryside. She could chase the sunshine all round the world, if she wanted, he just needed to make her feel as if it were her idea.
‘I’m ready now.’
Louisa. It was as though his imagination had conjured her. He turned, ready to let her know the car was about to arrive, except his voice was stolen. Simply dying in his throat.
She was unlike he’d ever seen her before. Dressed not like someone who’d stepped out of the past, but like a woman who slammed him straight into his future. A vision in green. The dress still long, soft and flowing, but cinched at the waist with a golden chain. The fabric vibrant and silky, lovingly caressing her curves. The front dipped into a tantalising vee between her breasts. Round her bare shoulders she wore a sheer wrap in the same colour as the dress, yet threaded through with gold like the chain, so it shimmered under the lights. Her hair tumbled round her shoulders and down her back in gleaming copper waves.
He froze, struck silent. As if this was a moment in time he wanted to stay captured in for ever. Like a scene from a movie, the type written about in books. A realisation that this woman was nothing like she seemed.
The blood in his veins rushed low as if he were some teenager, and he willed his body under control. Why was he so surprised? She was a stunning woman. He’d known that. Yet something about tonight seemed to have woven her in a kind of magic.
She gave a tremulous smile and tightened the wrap round herself. Was she still insecure about how she looked? In that moment, Matteo wanted to hurt whoever had ever made her doubt herself, her appearance. Her style.
‘You look exquisite.’
His voice ground out all rough and dark, as if he’d just found it after years of silence. Her eyes widened, cheeks flushed a glorious pink. If he had buttons to push, she was activating every single one with her soft, alluring innocence. Completely unaware of how she affected him.
‘Thank you.’
Her own voice sounded breathless. As if she couldn’t believe what he was saying now. What he’d told her before.
‘You are beautiful. That’s a fact and not open for discussion.’
‘I—I wasn’t sure about the dress, but it was a celebration so...’
‘It’s magnificent on you.’ That earned another flush of pleasure. He wanted more. To capture every one all for himself.
‘And I’m surprised. It’s not like what you usually wear.’
‘Sylvana suggested it. For fun, to try out something different. She said the green would look lovely with my hair...or something.’
Yet another thing she’d been prepared to try that was new. What he’d been hoping for. Soon, she’d want to explore the world without him. Yet why did that thought give him the sense of a deadline? One he never wanted to meet.
‘You look beyond lovely. You always do. But tonight, you could be a siren, luring a man to his doom.’
‘Oh, I’m not sure about that.’
‘Trust me. I’m a man.’
She gave him a small smile that was imbued with a shy kind of pleasure. ‘And I’m luring you to your doom?’
‘Right now, I’m hungry. Dinner first, doom later.’
Louisa threw back her head and laughed, the sound lighting up the room like a firework. He could listen to that unrestrained sound of pure joy, every day. His phone buzzed another alert and he pulled it from his pocket.
‘Car’s here.’
‘I’m a little bit excited about this. I’ve never been to a restaurant before,’ she said, almost like a throwaway line as they headed for the front door and he locked up.
Never been to a restaurant? It seemed inconceivable and yet there was no doubt in his mind she told the truth. It underscored once more how sheltered she was. How little he understood of her, or her life.
A driver held the car door open for them and Matteo helped Louisa in. Her hand soft and warm in his. She lifted her dress and he glimpsed a hint of golden shoes as she slid into the seat. Her slender ankles.
What was happening to him? When did the hint of cleavage and the sight of shapely ankles ever attract him before?
He couldn’t say. But it seemed that they did now. He wanted to wrap his hands around her ankles as he eased her legs apart. Kiss up and up till his mouth reached the heart of her. Make her scream his name. Recollections of those drawings of hers flooded back. A man’s head buried between a woman’s thighs. Hand gripping his hair, holding him tight. Holding him in place. That was the meal he craved right now...
Matteo took a deep, steadying breath. Fantasies were fine. It was the reality that could come back to bite you and that was a sobering thought. She looked up at him in anticipation, probably wondering why he was standing there. What would she do if she could delve inside his head, read his imaginings? Run to him, or away? He’d never know. Matteo hopped into the car next to her. After a blissfully short drive achingly aware of her presence next to him, they pulled up at a street at the bottom of a hill.
‘Are we here already? We could have walked!’
‘We can walk back after the meal, if you like.’
He could imagine that. The moonlight over the lake. Strolling back to the villa, hand in hand...
Where had that absurd thought come from? He’d never once held hands with a woman.
Matteo shrugged it off as he hopped out of the car and tipped the driver. Leading Louisa up a narrow street to a red door in a centuries-old wall. Just a small sign with the words Trattoria Galante announcing what lay behind. He pushed it open and they walked through a softly lit hall.
‘Signor Bainbridge!’ The ebullient owner welcomed him almost like a prodigal son returned. ‘I have a special table for you both.’
They were led through premises bustling with locals, with its old stone walls and tables with checked cloths, towards the rear. Louisa seemed a little wide eyed, almost overwhelmed. He settled his hand on her back. Gently guiding her through. Trying not to forget how new this was for her. The bile rose to his throat. Anger at Mae, for taking in a child who she seemed to have kept hidden away rather than showing her the world. Not ever having been to the beach. Never having eaten in a restaurant.
Why?
Mae had done all of those things before her husband had died. She must have known what a young woman needed out of life, and yet she’d kept Louisa there like some hermit. It made no sense.
He flexed his fingers on the small of her spine. He’d started now, and he’d complete the job. She wouldn’t want to go back to Easton Hall after he’d finished with her. He could take her to all his properties. His boutique hotel in Paris, his resort in the Maldives. His island in Australia. There were any number of places and he’d show them all to her...
Except that wasn’t his job. His job was to set her free and watch her fly. Yet the ideas took hold and wouldn’t let go. How he’d love to see her bury her toes in pristine white sand for the first time. Step into the turquoise waters of a tropical beach. To watch her relish the food at each of the finest restaurants he knew. He could show her the world, yet somehow, he knew...
That was the most dangerous fantasy of them all.
They sat alone in a small courtyard. Above them strings of lights wound through a vine-covered pergola glimmered like fireflies. Candles flickered on the table, lending everything a soft glow. It looked as if she’d been dropped into some kind of wonderland. If she’d allowed herself to dream of the perfect date, then this would have come close.
Of course, dreams couldn’t hurt you. Not like people.
People were all risk. Little reward.
Anyhow, she’d never have a date because relationships weren’t in her repertoire. What was the point of a relationship if you didn’t want love? That hadn’t ever been something she’d searched for, not romantic love at least. Love didn’t mean happiness to her. Her mother had said she’d loved her and done terrible things. Love meant loss, obsession. Something unhealthy.
There was nothing healthy about it.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy tonight, though she wouldn’t let her imagination run away from her. Matteo was simply being kind again. He’d used the word ‘date’ as a figure of speech, that was all. Yet it was as though he’d stolen a little piece of her heart when he’d brought her here to this romantic setting. The tableware gleaming. A pristine, starched white tablecloth. A little vase of geraniums adding a vibrant splash of colour in all the green.
She pulled her reading glasses from her small clutch, put them on and looked down at the menu, but it was in Italian. Her stomach grumbled.
Matteo chuckled. ‘Hungry?’
He was so devastatingly handsome. He’d taken off his jacket, now sitting across from her in a white shirt that accentuated the golden colour of his skin. His eyes flickering chocolate in the candlelight.
‘I don’t understand anything on the menu.’
‘There’s no risk. Everything here’s good but I can order if you like. Surprise you.’
Matteo picked up the menu himself, held it in his long, strong fingers. How they’d touched her as he’d guided her through to their table, sending a shiver of pleasure up her spine. How she wanted him to touch her like that again...
He smiled and a flicker of heat ignited deep inside her, glowing like the candles on the tabletop.
‘Since this is a celebration, how about something that sparkles? Have you ever had champagne?’
The heat rose to her face. Embarrassment. What must he think of her, especially given her admission she’d never been to a restaurant before? The man was so...urbane. He probably drank champagne all the time.
‘I wasn’t totally sheltered. Mae opened a bottle on my sixteenth birthday. Dom Perignon, I believe.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘How forward-thinking of her.’
‘In many ways, she was.’
A deep, unrelenting ache stabbed in her chest. She rubbed at it. Louisa missed Mae terribly. The love she’d shown Louisa. The care and patience. Allowing her to be herself, to find her way in her own time. Even though in later years Louisa seemed to have become somewhat...stuck.
No, not stuck. Settled. And there was nothing wrong with that.
‘Did you enjoy it, the champagne?’ Matteo asked.
‘I remember it was fizzy and I thought it tasted sour, so not really. I only had a few sips.’
Matteo chuckled and the sound rippled right through her in waves of something like pleasure. ‘Do you want to try again?’
Louisa slipped off her now unnecessary glasses and tucked them into her bag again, giving herself some time to answer. She could say no, but wasn’t tonight all about trying something new? Different clothes, different food. Living, when everyone else she’d loved was dead.
‘Why not?’
One of the waitstaff approached as if summoned telepathically. Matteo ordered in Italian, barely even looking at the menu.
‘So, what are we having for dinner?’ she asked.
‘It’s a surprise.’
An uncomfortable sensation skittered through her belly. Something almost like nerves. She always enjoyed certainty. Her life at Mae’s had been ruled by it. Though nothing over the past weeks had been certain, and she’d managed to survive it, so far.
‘Don’t you enjoy surprises?’
Matteo seemed to be able to pick up her emotions. Sense what she needed. She didn’t know how he managed it, but she didn’t want to ruin tonight with her insecurities. Louisa shook her head.
‘It’s perfect. Thank you.’
‘Finishing your illustrations is an achievement you should be proud of. It’s worth celebrating.’
‘Do you celebrate your achievements?’
A slight frown creased his brow. ‘Not really.’
‘I guess you have so many. If you celebrated each one, all that champagne. Would you ever be sober?’
His eyes widened for a moment, then he threw his head back and laughed. She loved the sound. Deep, throaty. The smile meeting his eyes, which crinkled at the corners in amusement.
‘There have been failures along the way. Don’t think I’m perfect.’
In so many ways, to her, he was. The hard, honed businessman melting away. For the briefest of flashes, he became Matty again. The young boy she’d remembered seeming to return, for rare moments at least. She’d take those where she could grasp them, no matter how fleeting.
The waiter arrived once more with a bottle, which he opened with a slow hiss and pop. Poured. Matteo took his glass. Raised it to her.
‘I hope you enjoy this a little better than your last attempt,’ he said. ‘To you, Louisa. Congratulations on finishing your illustrations on time.’
‘I always finish them on time.’ But the toast shouldn’t be to her. It should be to someone else. Someone she felt was in so many ways forgotten in this story. She raised her own glass.
‘To me,’ she said, with tears in her eyes, ‘and to Mae.’
He murmured in acknowledgement and their glasses clinked together. She took a sip of hers. The drink burst across her tongue, somewhat tart and refreshing. She swallowed, trying to look a bit sophisticated, but the bubbles tickled her nose and she coughed.
‘You okay?’ he asked.
‘It’s quite lovely.’ And dangerous. It fizzed inside her the same way as her insides did when she looked at him. The way he made her feel alive. ‘I think it’s a drink that might get people into trouble.’
‘I’m all for trouble.’ He raised his glass again. ‘Here’s to that as well.’
It was her turn to laugh, but memories of Mae brought back memories of Easton Hall. As much as Lake Como and Matteo’s villa were beautiful, Easton Hall was home. A home she wanted to go back to.
‘What did the engineer say about the house?’ she asked. Matteo’s face blanked smooth as a pond on a windless day. He took a long sip of his champagne.
‘He’s assessed the structure. Insurance is next.’
Which didn’t answer the most important question. ‘When can I go back?’
‘Easton Hall requires repairs and rewiring after the storm damage.’
‘That might be the case, but it’s my home.’
His eyes narrowed. His focus merciless, like a glaring spotlight in the dark. ‘Where you locked yourself away.’
‘No, I didn’t.’ It was as if a solid weight pressed on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. The place wasn’t her prison. She’d made a life there, taking tourists on tours through the house. There wasn’t a day she hadn’t felt safe, secure. ‘You don’t understand.’
He sat back, eyebrow raised. ‘Enlighten me.’
How could she share the terrible things her mother had done? So few people knew. Mae. Some doctors. The police. It had all been well hidden in the end. For the best, everyone said when her mother died. She didn’t know where to even start, so she took another sip of champagne. Breathing through the relentless pressure bearing down on her. Before she was forced to say anything more, a waiter arrived with some food. A plate filled with pillowy-looking balls in a creamy sauce. The memories of her past faded with the scent of cheesy deliciousness.
She didn’t want to look up and face Matteo’s relentless gaze, so she ate. The flavour burst across her tongue in its richness. She moaned.
‘Oh. My. Goodness. What is this?’
Matteo’s fork was partway to his mouth. His eyelids hooded.
‘It’s a local speciality. Gnocchi with Taleggio cheese. Have you never had gnocchi before?’
She took another forkful and it was as if a world of flavour had opened up to her.
‘No.’
Mrs Fancutt was a traditional cook, but her food was beautiful. Not quite like this, but it hadn’t mattered to a half-starved child what she ate, so long as no one tried to stop her.
‘Didn’t you ever wish—?’
‘I was happy for a home. That might be difficult for you to fathom.’
Matteo placed down his fork. ‘I’m trying to understand.’
‘There’s nothing much to understand. I’m a simple person. A creature of habit. I like things the way I like things.’
‘They keep you feeling safe,’ he said.
Louisa stilled. It was the first time someone had voiced how she’d felt.
‘Yes.’
‘And stable?’
She nodded. How did he know?
‘Because you lost your father and your mother and the world ceased to be a safe and stable place.’
‘Yes.’
It was such a simple and painful summation of her life, even if lacking some important context.
‘I understand.’
‘Do you. Do you really?’ How could anyone? But Louisa wanted him to. She craved it.
‘When my cousin told me I wasn’t a true Bainbridge and I confronted my parents, they said nothing would change. Then Felicity was born, was diagnosed with leukaemia.’
Matteo drained his glass. The waiter came and refilled it. Topped up hers.
‘I was a little boy who was afraid he’d lose his sister,’ he said, not quite looking at her. ‘My parents didn’t care. They sent me to boarding school, where I stayed. Forgotten. Everything I’d come to believe, that I should have parents who cared about me, a stable family—that ended. And I swore when I got older that I’d never be in that position again. So, I understand, Louisa. I understand all too well.’
She reached out to place her hand over his. Stopped. Matteo’s face had hardened, the anger palpable in the air. She knew what it was like to be surrounded by sympathy when you didn’t want it. When you wanted to forget, to move on. The problem was, you followed yourself wherever you went.
‘That’s what drove you,’ she said.
‘I created a life. I created a business. All despite my family.’
He’d been so shut off from her, and yet it was as if he’d opened a door to himself, no matter what it must cost him. What would it be like to share the burden of what had happened to her? Sure, she’d spoken to a psychologist in those early days. A person who was professional and at arm’s length. But the only other person close to her who had known what had happened was Mae, and she was gone.
In that moment, Louisa had never felt so alone in the world. With no one to speak to when dark thoughts and nightmares had threatened to crush her. No friends, no family. She was orphaned in all respects. Yet Matteo was here. He seemed to want to listen.
And perhaps if he knew what had happened to her, he’d understand why Easton Hall was her safe place, one she never wanted to leave.
Matteo knew he was almost glaring at Louisa, daring her to say anything about what had happened to him. Yet she sat there in empathetic silence. When she’d reached out her hand to touch him, he’d craved her softness even though he didn’t need it. He’d spent his life not needing others, because people let you down. He had himself, and that was enough.
Yet the disappointment when she pulled her hand away. He took a slow breath. No. He wasn’t looking for sympathy. He’d been trying to understand, because if he was going to get Louisa to leave Easton Hall then she needed to trust him. To feel a connection.
It had all been calculated until the words had simply...left him. Things he’d spoken to no one about. Not even his own sister. How could he gripe about those old wounds to her when Felicity had almost died? So he’d cursed his family to hell instead. Yet why had the words felt so good leaving him? Like ridding himself of some kind of poison. All he knew was that he’d told her more than he’d planned, things that he tended to keep to himself, because if she understood him, perhaps she’d let him understand her.
He was sure there were things that she desired. She was just hesitant to reach out and take them. Well, he feared nothing.
‘It seems we’ve both done things despite our families,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘My family cast me aside. Your parents passed away. It must have been hard, losing them so young.’
The waiter came and cleared their plates. Placed another exquisite dish on the table. A traditional fish speciality. He hoped Louisa enjoyed fish. Her first mouthful of the gnocchi seemed to have transported her in some kind of orgasmic bliss. He’d become instantly hard, realising that everything was new to her.
What he could introduce her to. All kinds of new experiences. How would she react? Those intimate sketches exposed her fantasies. He could show her reality. A heat began to stoke deep inside at the possibilities. Would she look at him with the same pleasure as she had eating a new food? How would she look being touched intimately for the first time...?
No. Once again he needed to remind his body that his job wasn’t to seduce her. It was to convince her to leave Easton Hall. Yet wasn’t that a seduction of sorts? He’d simply have to strike the right balance.
One that retained his sanity in the process.
‘It was hard losing my father.’ Louisa toyed with her fork, turning it as if staring at the candlelight reflected from the silver. Almost as if she was avoiding something. He guessed this would be a difficult conversation for her. At least she’d loved her parents. Had something to lose. His parents were still alive, and he’d lost them all the same.
Or perhaps, he’d never really had them at all.
He tried some of the fish, which was superb as always. Letting the silence stretch. It wasn’t a comfortable one, but he knew that when people tried to fill it, they often made important disclosures. Louisa wasn’t just a closed book, it was as if she were one written in a foreign language that he needed an interpreter to decipher.
‘My mother...’
Here it was. The key, he was sure.
‘She was arrested before she died.’
Everything in him stilled. Mae had never said anything to him about this, only that Louisa’s story was a tragic one and hers to tell. He’d assumed that the tragedy was the death of both parents.
Clearly not.
Now he saw the space she’d left in the conversation as one for him to fill. As if what she had to say was too big and terrible to say without prompting. She dragged her bottom lip through her teeth, the evening taking on a terrible weight.
‘Why was your mother arrested?’ he asked.
Her knife and fork hovered above the plate. ‘My mother...she...’
Louisa looked up at him, her eyes tight. Her knuckles whitening as she held her cutlery in a tight grip. His heart rate kicked up as he waited. She was opening herself up to him, but he wasn’t sure what he’d find when she did.
Louisa’s chest rose and fell as if she was taking a steadying breath.
‘My mother was arrested because she used to hurt me.’