Chapter Twelve
Stepping on the accelerator, Sanzio effortlessly overtook the car ahead of him. He and Eleanora were heading back to the Palazzo, and he was looking forward to being there again. The break away in Milan and the Lakes had been good, but Eleanora had seemed…distracted.
He’d asked her straight out if something was bothering her, but she’d said not. Yet though she’d seemed cheerful, there was just something about her that troubled him. He had his own idea what might be causing it—the aftermath of her encounter with her sister.
As the days passed though, and Rome slipped into the background, her spirits had started to lift, and he was glad. He did not want her down. Subdued. Upset.
He wanted Eleanora the way he had persuaded her to be, the way he had worked hard for her to be. Happy and contented.
Trusting me—
* * *
The car radio was tuned to a news channel, and Eleanora was glad of it. With Sanzio listening to it she had time to think, to let into her head what their days away in Milan and Como had distracted her from—what she’d wanted to be distracted from.
That ugly, poisonous meeting with Tonia in Rome. She didn’t want to think about it, but it was in her head all the same.
She had already faced what Tonia had been doing.
She was just trying to find a new way of getting at me, now she can’t sneer at the way I look any longer. That’s all it was.
The trouble was, she could tell herself that all she liked, but what had always made Tonia so effective in her venom over the years was that she always based it on truth. Denigrating her appearance had been based on things that found a true target.
I’m slimmer than her, so she could call me skinny, and how could I deny it, compared with her lush figure? I did dress badly. I was dull and boring compared with her vivacity and allure. There was nothing about me to make any man want to look twice at me.
But how could Tonia possibly be doing the same thing now, distorting the truth to get at her? Because there was no truth in what she’d tried on.
What she spewed at me was garbage!
Of course it was.
Except that—
Tonia’s voice rang in her ears.
‘He did it because he knows the one thing I really adore is a challenge.’
Her mouth tightened.
That was what Sanzio told me too—what I know too.
But so what? Just because that was true, and Sanzio, just as Tonia had said, knew it for himself—that her sister did love a challenge—didn’t give credence to any of the vicious claims Tonia had spat at her.
That Sanzio was trying to get Tonia interested in him again was palpably absurd. Of course it was.
Just like it’s absurd that he wants me to be besotted with him so I wouldn’t suspect him of lusting after Tonia!
Of course that was absurd. Untrue. Of course it was.
That wasn’t anything to do with why Sanzio had made her his.
It was nothing to do with Tonia! All that Sanzio wanted in respect of Tonia was what he told me at the gala, about why he’d planned for Tonia to see me looking so fabulous. Basically—to put it crudely!—it was to give her the finger. That’s what it was all about—
But for all her defiance, Eleanora could feel more of Tonia’s poison seeping into her memory.
‘Whatever line he’s spun you—’
Her hands tightened in her lap. Was that just a line Sanzio had spun? About wanting to stick it to Tonia for her having jilted him?
No, she was sure it was not. It wasn’t just a line—it was why Sanzio had, indeed, done what he had, exposing Tonia as he had.
She wanted to look across at him, relaxed at the wheel of his powerful car, speeding along the autostrada, but did not let herself. Instead, she found herself trying to block out more of Tonia’s jeering scorn.
‘Because it’s not about you—it’s never been about you. It’s only ever…ever…been about me.’
No—not true. That was just Tonia trying to work on her old self-doubt and insecurity, just as, and now Eleanora made herself face the most vicious and venomous of everything her sister had thrown at her, Tonia was just feeding her own ego and vanity in the threat she’d made.
That Sanzio wants her back—and that all she has to do is snap her fingers for him.
That was the most absurd of all. The biggest load of garbage.
Because of course it was garbage—everything Tonia had spewed at her.
I can trust him. I can trust him absolutely.
She let her gaze go to him now, resting on his strong profile, his eyes keen on the road ahead, feeling, as she always, always did, whenever she looked at him, or he at her, the lift of her spirits that warmed her gaze.
Yet this time something plucked at her. Oh, nothing to do with Tonia’s vicious, poisonous threats, but something that could not be so easily dismissed. Could not be dismissed at all.
Our marriage.
And how it had changed since they’d left the Palazzo to go to Rome.
Or had it? Had it changed?
That was what plucked at her now. Oscillating between the two answers to that question. That the marriage I made, for the purposes I made it, has changed completely!
For how could it be otherwise? Now that we are lovers.
But even as she declared it, the shadow she had felt that morning, before her reckless meeting with Tonia, fell across her again, even as the sunlight played across Sanzio’s face, eyes shaded by his sunglasses.
The shadow that fell across her as well.
Darkening her thoughts. Driving forward the question she did not want to acknowledge.
But does that make any difference?
That she and Sanzio were lovers now, did that make any difference to their marriage? The answer came, the one she feared. The answer she did not want to give. That for herself, that she and Sanzio were lovers now made all, all the difference to their marriage.
But to Sanzio—none.
Because why should it? It had never been one of the reasons for their marriage, and of those reasons, two had already been achieved.
All of Rome had seen Sanzio’s trophy wife, created and shown off by him, completely routing the woman who had jilted him.
Now, the only reason for their marriage that remained was to complete the restoration of the Palazzo. And once done…
As Sanzio’s car bore them ever nearer to the Palazzo, emotion rose in her.
Unhappy and haunted, though she longed to be at the Palazzo she loved, to be there with Sanzio, as lovers now, not mere companions, with every passing day, every day that brought the restoration nearer, she would hear the clock counting down the days.
Bringing the shadow she dreaded closer. Forcing the question she did not want to ask—or answer.
How long have I got with him?
Whatever time she had, one thing she knew with a tightening of her throat, a tighter clenching of her hands in her lap—it would not be enough.
In her head, one of her sister’s poisoned barbs still echoed. Calling her besotted.
That was Tonia’s scathing name for it.
Her own was very different. But one she must not, must not speak. Or it would make the day when she and Sanzio ended their marriage to go their separate ways even more unbearable…
* * *
Sanzio looked about him with pleasure. The Palazzo, scaffolding all gone now, roof secure and masonry repointed, was looking good—inside as well as outside.
It was all very nearly habitable again. The bathrooms were all functioning and refurbed, internal walls repainted, rotting window frames replaced, floors mended and polished, repaired curtains rehung, salvageable carpets cleaned and relaid, remaining furniture polished and sagging upholstery repadded.
The place just needed its refurnishing completed, all the finishing touches applied, and hopefully, before too long, some of the sold artworks would be recovered.
Sanzio put his arm around Eleanora’s shoulders. ‘We’re nearly there,’ he said. ‘It will be a relief when it’s all finally done, and we can get on with our lives without all this going on.’
Did she stiffen under his casual closeness? He wondered at it momentarily, and then was diverted. ‘Let’s check out the gardens,’ he enthused.
He guided her off to do just that. Significant progress had been made there too, extending what had already been done, all hedging trimmed neatly and weeds banished. Terraces had been restored, paths repaved, lawns mowed, fountains made operational again.
They headed back indoors, where Eleanora busied herself preparing an evening meal, urging Sanzio to do some laps in the pool while she did so.
That air of distraction was there again, as she started on slicing onions and tomatoes for the pasta sauce, and for a moment Sanzio frowned.
Then he pushed his concern aside, and went off for his vigorous swim.
But later that evening, after a peaceable dinner under the stars, talking about the progress at the Palazzo, he was glad that Eleanora seemed more like her usual self.
Even so, that night, when they made their way upstairs—no separate bedrooms now, a warm glow enveloped him—he made love to her with especial tenderness and in his arms she melted in the sweetest ardour, clinging to him in an impassioned embrace.
Reassurance filled him. This was Eleanora as he wanted her to be.
Desiring me—melting for me.
Trusting me…
That was what he wanted most of all.
* * *
Eleanora finished watering the last of the planters still in the late morning’s remaining shade.
She and Sanzio had been back at the Palazzo for a fortnight now, the days skimming by.
They had brought a mix of emotions to her.
In one sense she was happy—so very happy.
To be here, at the Palazzo she loved so much, with Sanzio, was all she wanted.
But every day that passed was bringing that closer to an end.
Sanzio made no mention of it. His enthusiasm for the work being done on the Palazzo was as undimmed as his obvious enjoyment of her company—by day and by night.
He never mentioned the future, or how things would be once their marriage came to an end.
Gave no sign of even noticing that that time was nearing.