The Rinuccis: Carlo, Ruggiero & Francesco: The Italian's Wife by Sunset. Lucy Gordon

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      ‘I just don’t want misunderstandings,’ he said, giving up the performance and coming closer again. ‘I’m a dyed-in-the-wool coward, and don’t you forget it.’

      ‘Yeah, right. You’re a coward.’

      ‘We’re all cowards about something,’ he said, suddenly serious.

      ‘I guess that’s true.’

      ‘So what’s your fatal weakness?’ he asked unexpectedly.

      ‘Oh—’ she said vaguely, ‘I have a dozen.’

      ‘But none you’re prepared to share with me?’

      ‘I have too much sense of self-preservation.’

      ‘Is that how you see me? A danger that you need to be armed against?’

      Looking at him, smiling and gentle, gilded by the sun that streamed through the windows, she knew he was the biggest danger she had ever faced. But she would not arm herself against him. Even if she’d wanted to, it would have been pointless.

      But she kept a teasing note in her voice to say, ‘Hell will freeze over before I flatter your vanity by answering that.’

      ‘So the answer would flatter me?’ he teased back.

      ‘My lips are sealed.’

      ‘They are now,’ he said, and swiftly laid his mouth over hers.

      It was the briefest possible kiss, over almost before it had begun, and then he’d risen to go to the counter, leaving her shaken. Lightly as his lips had touched hers, she seemed to still feel them there when he had moved away.

      But when he returned, with more coffee, he made no mention of what had happened, leaving her free to get her bearings in peace.

      ‘What about the third ship?’ he asked.

      ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said stupidly.

      ‘You said the Titanic had two sister ships. What happened to the other one?’

      ‘She sailed for twenty-four years before being taken out of service. Nothing dramatic there. I’m still researching other places, although I’ve half decided to cover the battlefield of Waterloo. I’d got a file of ideas, but none of them are quite what I’m looking for.’

      ‘You can’t go by what you see in a file. You need to visit these places. I know of a few around here—it would mean going south, maybe as far as Sicily. We could set off at once.’

      She looked at him. ‘You mean—?’

      ‘We’d be on the road for about a week, if you can spare the time.’

      ‘But can you spare it? Your work at Pompeii—’

      ‘My team know what I expect of them. They can do without me for a few days, and I’ll keep in touch.’

      She was silent, torn by temptation. To be alone with him, cocooned from the real world, free to indulge the feelings that were taking her over: it was like looking at a vision of heaven.

      ‘I could call my secretary and tell her I’ll be a while coming home,’ she said slowly.

      ‘Drink your coffee and let’s get out of here,’ he said.

      On the drive to the hotel Della sat in happy contentment. She was crazy to be doing this with a man she’d known only a day, yet she had no doubts. Everything in her yearned towards him.

      She knew that by agreeing to go she’d answered an unspoken question. They wanted each other in every way. Their minds were happily in tune, but right now that was secondary to the physical attraction that was clamouring for release. She wouldn’t have agreed to this trip if she wasn’t prepared to make love with him. He knew it, and she knew that he did, and he knew that she knew. The knowledge lay between them, brilliant and enticing, colouring every word and thought.

      When they reached her hotel she half expected him to come upstairs with her and take her into his arms at once. She would not have protested. But she was charmed by the delicacy with which he bade her goodbye in the foyer, after first greeting several people who hailed him by name.

      ‘I know too many people here,’ he said. ‘It’s like being under a spotlight, and that’s—not what we want.’

      ‘No,’ she said.

      ‘Tonight I have to visit my mother and explain that I’ll be away a few days. I’ll see you early tomorrow.’

      He gave a nervous look at the receptionist, who was smiling at him, and departed without kissing Della.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CARLO was there next morning, before she had quite finished her breakfast, spreading the map before her, and explaining that Italy was divided into regions—’As England is divided into counties’.

      ‘I thought we’d head for the region of Calabria,’ he said. ‘It’s here, where the shape of the land becomes a boot. Calabria is the ankle and the toe, eternally poised to kick the island of Sicily. There are some little mountain villages full of history in Calabria that I think you’d like. After that—well, we’ll see.’

      ‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘We’ll see.’

      They left half an hour later, heading back down the coast road they’d travelled the day before. But soon the familiar scenery was behind them. The further south they went the more conscious she became that Italy had been one country for barely a hundred and thirty years. Before that it had been a collection of independent kingdoms and provinces, and even now the extreme north and south seemed to be united only in name.

      Calabria was like another world—so different that it was sometimes known as the real Italy, Carlo told her. In contrast to the sophistication of the elegant northern regions, here there was wildness, even savagery in the countryside. The mountains were higher than anywhere else, their sides dotted with medieval towns.

      At last they were climbing, going so high up a mountain road that she hardly dared to look, and finishing in a small, ancient village, with cobblestones and one inn. As he brought the car to a halt Carlo gave her a questioning smile, which she returned, nodding.

      ‘What is this place called?’ she asked.

      ‘I didn’t notice. It’s so tiny it may not even have a name.’

      That made everything perfect—an unknown place, set apart from the rest of the world, where they would find each other.

      A cheerful man in shirtsleeves appeared as they entered. In answer to Carlo’s query, he confirmed that he had two vacant rooms, one large, one small.

      ‘The small for me, the large one for the lady,’ Carlo said.

      A perfect gentleman, she thought, charmed by his refusal to take her for granted, even after the understanding that had passed between them.

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