Do you think so?’‘It’s unlikely,’ Ellie said shortly and would have walked on, except he’d crouched down, snapping his fingers and Poco, the treacherous mutt had gone straight to him and was lying across his sandaled foot, waving his paws in the air.
‘Your dog at least seems to like me, signorina,’ he commented as he gently rubbed the proffered tummy.
‘What is his name?’‘He’s my neighbour’s dog,’ Ellie said coldly.
‘And his name is Poco.’‘An odd choice.
He is hardly as small as all that.’Ellie bit her lip.
‘She told me she called him that because when he was a puppy, she asked his breed and they told her “A little of this and a little of that.’”‘I think they told the truth.’ He got lithely to his feet, tuckingPoco under his arm.
‘My new friend and I are going to the caffe by the church.
Would you care to come with us?’ ‘No, of course not!’He said briskly, ‘Then you had better tell me where you live so I can deliver Poco safely home when we have finished our refreshments.’‘But you can’t do that,’ Ellie said stormily.
‘What is to prevent me? I wish it.’ He gently pulled one of Poco’s ears, and had his hand licked.
‘And he is perfectly willing.’‘He’s not your dog.’‘Nor yours, it seems.
And I need my coffee,’ he added.
‘If you are so concerned for Poco’s welfare, I suggest you join us.’He set off across the sand to the promenade, and Ellie followed, angry to feel so helpless but knowing she had no choice, because there was no way she would allow him near Casa Bianca, whatever the excuse.
When they were seated at a table on the pavement, and she’d been served with a filter coffee while he chose espresso and a sweet roll which he shared with Poco who’d been brought a bowl of water, Ellie said tautly, ‘Are you doing this to punish me?’His brows lifted.
‘For what?’She met his gaze defiantly.
‘For refusing to have dinner with you, of course.’‘Is the coffee here so bad it ranks as punishment?’ He sounded faintly amused.
‘I don’t think so.’‘Then—why?’‘It is quite simple.
The other morning, I saw a girl laughing and dancing in the sea as if she did not have one care in the world.
I wanted to find out what could have prompted such happiness.’So, she had not imagined that she was being watched.
It was a disturbing thought and she made herself drink some coffee before she answered.
‘I think—realising that I didn’t have to be unhappy any longer.’‘What made you so sad?’She looked away, her heart hammering.
‘I don’t want to discuss it.’‘Ah,’ he said softly.
‘Then it is a man.’‘No,’ she denied swiftly.
‘Or—not in the way you think.’This is dangerous, she thought with a kind of desperation.
I shouldn’t be here.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
I ought to leave the coffee, grab Poco—and go.
Talking to him like this—being with him—is madness that I can’t afford.
‘How do you know what I think, signorina?’‘I don’t,’ she said.
‘I don’t know you, signore, or anything about you.
And I’d prefer to keep it that way.’ She rose.
‘Now, Signora Alfredi will be wondering where we are, so if you’ll excuse me.’‘On one condition,’ he said.
As she passed his chair to retrieve the dog, he put a hand on her arm.
‘That you have dinner with me tonight.’‘That’s quite impossible.’ She looked down at the darkness of the tanned fingers against the comparative pallor of her own skin, her throat tightening uncontrollably.
‘And don’t touch me—please.’His hand lifted immediately, unquestioningly.
‘But we both have to eat,’ he said.
‘Shall we meet at the trattoria at nine, or should I collect you from your house?’‘No!’ The word sounded almost anguished, and she paused, taking a deep breath.
Be careful, she thought.
Be very careful.
‘Anyway, you don’t know where I live.’‘It would not be hard to discover.’ He smiled faintly.
‘Maria at the restaurant has a romantic heart, I think.’Romantic … The word seemed to judder in her mind.
She said, her voice taut, ‘Please understand, signore, that there is no possibility of—romance between us, and there never will be.’He leaned back, the dark eyes speculative.
‘But, signorina, how can you be so sure?’She scooped up a wriggling Poco.
‘Because I am married,’ she said stonily.
‘And one bitter experience is quite enough in anyone’s lifetime.
Does that answer your question? Now please leave me alone.’And she walked away, without looking back.
She was restless all day, unable to settle to the translation work awaiting her attention, or, if she was honest, to very much at all.
And she didn’t need this kind of distraction, she told herself angrily.
She’d come here for peace and quiet.
To find herself again.
Perhaps even—to heal.
Not to engage in a reluctant battle of wits with someone she didn’t know—and didn’t want to know.
She was tempted to pack her bag, lock up Casa Bianca, walk up to the square where her car was parked—and go.
But where? Not back to Vostranto, that was for sure.
And turning up at the Palazzo Damiano would involve a lot of questions she would prefer not to answer—or not immediately.
Besides, why should she be the one to leave? She belonged here and he most certainly didn’t.
So, he had no right to intrude like this and turn her small private world upside down.
Amusing himself at her expense by this—totally meaningless pursuit.
A man, she thought, fuelling her resentment, who’d never learned to be kind, because he hadn’t found it necessary.
Who was accustomed, instead, to using his surface attraction in order to gain easy favour.
And wasn’t used to taking ‘no’ for an answer.
Only, it wasn’t going to work.
Not with her.
So he could just—pack his designer luggage and move on.
Go back to playing his games with people who knew the rules.
But until he did so, she was damned if he was going to turn her into a prisoner in her own home.
Or a fugitive.
Yes, she would eat at the trattoria tonight, she decided, squaring her slender shoulders, because that was how she lived when she was here, and his presence would not deter her, or the probability that he would manoeuvre her somehow into sharing his table.
And if that prospect, and the memory of their previous encounters, was preventing her concentration on the job in hand, she would find something else to occupy her.
With a suggestion of gritted teeth, she embarked on a heavy-duty clean of the living room, moving furniture, scrubbing the floor and even washing walls, before moving on to the kitchen, the shower room and finally her bedroom.
The two empty rooms at the rear of the cottage which in Nonna Vittoria’s day had provided the accommodation for family holidays she decided to leave for another day.
When evening came, she showered and washed her hair, drying it to hang casually loose and shining round her face, then dressed in slim white cotton pants, and a dark red top even more elderly than the blue dress.
She reached for her scent spray only to put it back, unused, together with her cosmetic bag.
This rendezvous was not of her choosing, she reminded herself, viewing herself with indifference, so there was no compulsion to make an effort.