As she put it on, she realised, to her annoyance, that its colour matched the Count’s sapphire almost exactly.
As if it had been planned in advance, she thought with an inward groan.
She wished with all her heart that she could change it for something crimson—or magenta, or even bright orange—but she didn’t possess as much as a scarf in any of those colours.
Nor could she bring herself to wear the sunflower skirt two nights running.
The concealer that Consolata had left for her did its work again, and her freshly washed hair shone as it curved gently round her face, so, in spite of her inner confusion and anxiety, she looked relatively composed when she went down to the salotto.
Giovanni was waiting in the hallway to open the door for her, and she paused, drawing a deep breath, feeling as if she was about to walk onstage without knowing what play she was in, let alone any of the lines she was supposed to say.
But the major domo’s discreet smile and nod of approval helped launch her into the room, even if the sudden hush that met her appearance was disconcerting enough to induce a wave of shyness to sweep over her.
For a moment, she wondered if she was late, but one swift glance told her that she was not the last arrival.
That neither Ernesto nor her cousin were yet present.
No doubt Silvia was waiting as usual to make a last minute entrance in something by Versace that would knock everyone sideways.
I just wish I could do the same to her, she thought grimly.
‘My dear.’ Prince Damiano walked towards her.
‘How charming you look.’ He turned to Angelo who had accompanied him.
‘You are a lucky man, Count.’‘I am well aware of exactly how fortunate I am,’ Angelo returned silkily.
His lips were smiling, but there was no accompanying warmth in the dark eyes as he took Ellie’s unresisting hand and kissed it lightly.
‘Mia bella, Nonna Cosima is anxious to be better acquainted with her future grand-daughter.
May I take you to her?’His choice of words made her heart miss a beat.
‘Yes,’ she said huskily, recovering herself.
‘Yes, of course.’The Contessa was seated on a sofa, chatting to Signora Ciprianto, who rose to make a tactful retreat at Ellie’s approach.
‘I have brought you my treasure, Nonna,’ Angelo said lightly.
‘I am sure you will be as delighted with her as if you had chosen her yourself.’ He paused as the Contessa bit her lip and changed colour slightly, then turned, smiling, to Ellie.
‘May I get you something to drink, mia cara?’There was something going on here, Ellie decided.
Something she didn’t know about, and probably wouldn’t like.
Sudden anger shook her, and with it a desire to be perverse.
She met Angelo’s gaze limpidly.
‘Oh, just the usual, please.’ And being rewarded with a swift flash of annoyance in his eyes, she added, ‘Darling,’ as he turned to walk away.
The Contessa leaned forward and took her hand.
‘Elena—I may call you that, I hope, and you must say Nonna Cosima.
We have met in difficult circumstances, but we must now put them behind us and look instead to the future, and to happiness.
Do you agree?’Ellie was taken aback.
The Contessa was speaking as if there’d been a slight glitch, now sorted out to everyone’s satisfaction, when she knew—she must know—that the contrary was the case.
She said quietly, but with emphasis, ‘The whole thing can’t be forgotten too quickly as far as I’m concerned.
And please believe that is something I absolutely look forward to.’ She added stiltedly, ‘I hope that’s the reassurance you want.’There was a glint in the dark eyes that struck Ellie as far too reminiscent of the lady’s grandson.
‘Not precisely,’ said the Contessa.
‘But it will serve for now.’And then she began, with great charm, to ask questions.
If Ellie had ever thought it was only the Spanish who had an inquisition, five minutes with Angelo’s grandmother would have convinced her that the Italians weren’t far behind.
She found herself speaking with total candour about her parents, her friends, her work at the publishing company, revealing, she realised, probably more than she wished.
And, finally, she told the Contessa about her apartment.
When she mentioned she lived there alone, the Contessa’s delicate brows rose.
‘Then the sooner you accept the invitation to move to the Palazzo Damiano the better, dear child.’Ellie sat up very straight.
‘I see no need for that.
Besides I love my apartment.
It’s my home.’‘But not for much longer.
After all, you are going to be married, and you will share your husband’s home.’Ellie’s hands clenched together in her lap.
‘And—when I get married, I will do so.’ Or if … ‘But until then, I’ll stay where I am.’‘Yet surely you must see that is impossible.’ The Contessa sounded almost coaxing.
‘Angelo could not be permitted to visit you there.’ She gave a resolute nod.
‘From now on, there must not be as much as another whisper of scandal about your relationship with my grandson.’And as Ellie’s lips parted to tell her without mincing her words that visits from Count Manzini did not feature on her personal agenda, and that there was no relationship with him—neither past, present nor future—she heard Angelo’s voice saying coolly, ‘Your drink, Elena mia.
Campari with a splash of soda.’ Adding softly, ‘Just as you like it, carissima.’Of course, Ellie thought, almost grinding her teeth.
He’d have asked Madrina.
As I should have known.
Accepting the glass from him, with a murmured, ‘Grazie,’ she wished very much she could throw the drink at him, drenching the open mockery in the dark face and staining, perhaps irrevocably, his immaculate dress shirt as well.
Before, that is, she left the room, screaming.
As it was, she took immediate refuge behind a wall of reserve, returning only monosyllabic replies to any remarks made to her, and thankful to her heart when the Prince, his wife and the rest of the party came to join them, and conversation became general.
It was when Giovanni announced respectfully that dinner was served that she realised that the group was not complete.
She said in an undertone to the Principessa, ‘But, Madrina, Silvia and Ernesto haven’t come down yet.’‘They are not here, mia cara.’ Her godmother conveyed the news almost casually.
‘Silvia felt that she was developing a migraine—so painful, so debilitating—therefore Ernesto took her back to Rome.
Such a good and caring husband.
‘But do not concern yourself about your own return,’ she added brightly.
‘Cesare has already said that you will travel with us.
At the same time, arrangements can be made to bring your things from your appartamento.
Which makes everything so very convenient, don’t you agree?’No, Ellie didn’t agree, but she knew, through experience, that there was no point in saying so.
Not once Prince Damiano had spoken.
And since when had Silvia suffered from anything like a migraine?It’s like trying to find your way out of a maze, she thought bitterly as she made her way to the dining room.
Every way you turn, you come up against a blank wall.
But later, when she looked up and found Angelo watching her across the silver and crystal of the polished dining table, his dark gaze frankly speculative, it occurred to her that blank walls might be the very least of her troubles.