Rinaldo's Inherited Bride. Lucy Gordon

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      ‘The hotel isn’t far,’ Gino said. ‘I’ll show you.’

      ‘No need, I’m staying there,’ Alex told him. ‘I arrived last night.’

      ‘Then shall we go?’ He offered her his arm.

      ‘Thank you, but I’ll make my own way. You have guests who’ll want your attention.’

      She hurried away before he could argue, and rejoined Isidoro, who fell into step beside her.

      ‘If you’re going into the lion’s den I’m coming with you,’ he said.

      ‘That might be a good idea after all,’ she agreed.

      As they walked the short distance to the hotel Alex said, ‘He really did have a lot of friends, didn’t he?’

      ‘Yes, he was a much-loved man. But the people at the wake won’t just be his friends and lovers. They’ll be the vultures hovering over that mortgage, and you’ll be very interesting to them.

      ‘Watch out for a man called Montelli. He’s greedy and unscrupulous, and if Rinaldo sees you talking to him it’ll make him mad.’

      ‘Well,’ Alex said, apparently considering this, ‘since everything I do is going to make that man angry, I think I’ll just go right ahead and do what suits me.’

      The Hotel Favello was a Renaissance building that had once belonged to the Favello family, wealthy and influential for centuries, now fallen on hard times.

      It had been turned into a luxury hotel in such a way that every modern comfort was provided, but so discreetly that nothing seemed to have changed for centuries.

      Alex went up to her room first, so as not to arrive too soon, wishing she had time for a shower. It was June and Florence was hotter than anything she had experienced in England. Standing in the sun, she had felt the heat spreading over her skin beneath her clothes, making her intensely aware of every inch of her body.

      But there was no time for a shower if she were to join the reception. She mopped her brow and checked her appearance in the mirror. She looked, as always, immaculate.

      It would have been over-the-top to wear black for a man she hadn’t known, but she was formally dressed in a navy blue linen dress, with a matching coat, adorned only by one silver brooch. Now she tossed aside the coat before going downstairs.

      She was relieved to see that the reception room was already crowded, so that she attracted little attention.

      Isidoro scuttled to greet her and pointed out some of the others.

      ‘The ones glowering at you in the corner are the other members of Enrico’s family,’ he said.

      ‘Don’t tell me they’re annoyed with me too?’ she exclaimed.

      ‘Of course. They were expecting to inherit more.’

      ‘So I’m in the firing line from both sides,’ she said with a touch of exasperation. ‘Oh, heavens!’

      ‘This is Italy,’ Isidoro said wryly. ‘The home of the blood feud. Here they come.’

      Two men and two women appeared solidly before Alex. Greetings were exchanged, not overtly hostile, but cautious. The older man, who seemed to be the spokesman for the group, muttered something about having ‘necessary discussions’ later.

      Alex nodded agreement, and the group moved off. But behind them was a middle-aged man of large proportions and an oily manner. He introduced himself as Leo Montelli, and said that the sooner they talked the better.

      After him came another local landowner, and after him came the representative of a bank. Alex began to feel dizzy. One thing was clear. The message about who she was and why she was here had gone out loud and clear to everyone in the room.

      It had certainly reached Rinaldo Farnese, who was watching her steadily. His face was inscrutable, but Alex had the feeling that he was mentally taking notes.

      ‘Isidoro, I’m leaving,’ she said. ‘This shouldn’t be happening here. It isn’t seemly.’

      ‘Shall I fix appointments with them for you?’

      ‘Not yet,’ she said quickly. ‘I must talk to the Farneses first. For now I’ll just slip away.’

      ‘Look,’ Isidoro said.

      Rinaldo was cutting his way through the crowd until he reached her and said very softly, ‘I want you to leave, right now. Your behaviour is unseemly.’

      ‘Hey, now look—’

      ‘How dare you dance on my father’s grave! Leave right this moment or I’ll put you out myself.’

      ‘Signore—’ Isidoro was vainly trying to claim his attention.

      ‘I was about to leave anyway,’ Alex said.

      ‘To be sure, signorina, I believe you.’

      ‘You’d better,’ she said losing her temper. ‘Signor Farnese, I dislike you at least as much as you dislike me, and I won’t stand for being called a liar. If this wasn’t a solemn occasion I would take the greatest pleasure in losing my temper in a way you wouldn’t forget.’

      She stormed out without giving him the chance to answer. If she could have sold the entire farm out from under him she would have done so at that moment.

      The Hotel Favello was in the Piazza della Republica, in the medieval heart of Florence. Here Alex was close to the great buildings, the Palazzo Vecchio, the Duomo, whose huge bulk dominated the Florence skyline, the fascinating Ponte Vecchio over the River Arno, and many other places she had promised herself that she would visit before she left.

      On the evening of the funeral she decided to eat out, preferably in a restaurant where she could gain a floodlit view of the buildings.

      She’d had a shower as soon as she left the reception, but before getting dressed she had another one under cold water. Thankfully the onset of evening was making temperatures fall, and the room had good air-conditioning, but she felt as though the heat had penetrated down to the core of her.

      She started to put on a pair of tights, but discarded them almost at once, disliking the suffocating sensation of anything clinging to her flesh. She rejected a bra for the same reason.

      When she finally slipped on a white silk dress she wore only a slip and brief panties beneath, because that was the only way she felt her body could breathe.

      Just as she was about to leave there was a knock on her door.

      She opened it to find Rinaldo Farnese standing there.

      He had removed the jacket of his smart black suit, and was holding it hooked over the shoulder of his white shirt, which had been pulled open at the throat. His hair was untidy, his face weary, and he looked as though he had discarded the strait-laced persona of the funeral with as much relief as she had discarded her coat.

      ‘This СКАЧАТЬ