The Valtieri Baby

‘Why on earth not? I’ve been rescuing you since you learned to climb trees. Why not now? You can’t cook, you can’t walk, you can’t drive, but you can rest and recover there while you keep out of the way and wait for the police to catch her. It’s the obvious solution.’

It was. So obvious he’d already thought of it and dismissed it. On the surface it sounded the perfect plan. The only ‘but’—and it was a huge one—was that it meant spending the next two weeks with Anita alone, with no one to diffuse the tension.

And that was a bad idea.

CHAPTER TWO

IT took them a while to discharge him, but finally he was wheeled to the entrance.

Anita’s car was there, drawn up to the kerb, engine running. All he had to do was get out of the wheelchair and into it.

Huh. It was a nightmare, but he gritted his teeth and managed somehow. His inflexible right foot in its support bandage was the most awkward thing—that, and the fact that his wounded thigh muscles really didn’t want to lift his leg, and his heavily bandaged right hand was all but useless.

It didn’t help that it was tipping down with rain, either, but at last he was in, more or less dry with the help of a man with an umbrella, and the door was shut.

‘OK?’ she asked briskly as he was finally settled beside her, but he’d known her nearly thirty-five years, and the concern in her voice was obvious to him.

Obvious, and strangely reassuring.

‘I’m fine,’ he lied through gritted teeth. ‘Just get us out of here.’

He turned up the collar of his rain-spattered and bloodstained leather jacket and hunched down in the seat as she pulled away. He was glad to be getting out of the city. He didn’t think Camilla Ponti posed a real threat, but the last thing he wanted was Anita in danger, however slight the risk.

She left the city streets behind, heading out of Firenze, and after a few minutes she turned her head and flashed him a smile. ‘Better now?’

They were on the A1 heading south past Siena towards the Montalcino area where both his family and hers had lived for generations.

Home, he thought with a sigh of relief.

‘Much better,’ he said, and resting his head back on the seat, he closed his eyes and drifted off.

He was asleep.

Good. He’d lost a lot of blood, and he’d be exhausted. She didn’t suppose he’d slept much last night, what with the pain and awkwardness of his injuries, and anyway, it was easier for her if he wasn’t watching her while she drove, because his presence, familiar as it was, always scrambled her brains.

Even when he was fast asleep she was ludicrously conscious of him, deeply, desperately aware of every breath, every sigh, every slight shift of his solid, muscular body.

She knew every inch of it. Loved every inch of it. Always had, always would.

Fruitlessly, of course. The one time she’d felt there was any hope for them it had been snatched away abruptly and without warning, and left her heart in tatters. Anyone with any sense would walk away from him, tell him to go to hell and find his own solution, but Anita couldn’t do that.

She couldn’t walk away from him. Goodness knows she’d tried a hundred times, but her heart kept drawing her back because deep down she believed that he loved her, whatever he might say to the contrary.

And one day…

She gave a soft, sad huff of laughter. One day nothing. She was stupid, deluded, desperate.

‘Hey.’

She turned her head and met his eyes briefly, then dragged hers back to the road.

‘How are you?’ she asked. ‘Good sleep?’

‘I’m just resting.’

‘You were snoring.’

‘I don’t snore.’

‘You do.’ He did. Not loudly, not much, just a soft sound that was curiously comforting beside her. As it had been, for those few blissful weeks five years ago.

‘Why did you laugh?’

‘Laugh?’ She hadn’t—

‘Yes, laugh. If you can call it that. You didn’t look exactly amused.’

Ah. That laugh, the one that wasn’t. The laugh because against all the odds she could still manage to believe he loved her.

‘I was thinking about my meeting yesterday,’ she lied. ‘The bride thought we could wrap it all up in an hour. She was miffed when I left.’

‘Is that where you were when I rang you?’

She nodded, biting her lip at the little rush of guilt, and he tilted his head and frowned.

‘Anita? It wasn’t your fault. I knew you were in a meeting.’

‘I should have been out by then. I could have answered it—should have answered it.’

‘I wouldn’t have answered you if I’d been with a client.’

Of course not. She knew that, but it didn’t make any difference, and if he’d died—

His hand closed over hers, squeezing gently. ‘Hey, I’m all right,’ he said softly. ‘I was fine, and the ambulance came really quickly, because she’d already called it.’

‘Well, good. I don’t suppose there was a lot of time to waste, and what if she hadn’t called it? What if you’d passed out?’

He dropped his hand again. ‘It was fine, the bleeding was all under control,’ he lied. ‘And I’m all right, you can see that. Now I just have to get better. I wonder if they’ve found her yet.’

‘Will she go to prison for it?’

He laughed a little grimly. ‘What, for hitting me with her handbag? No. She didn’t mean to do this, Anita.’

‘You’re very forgiving.’

‘No, I’m not. I’m thoroughly peed off because I shouldn’t even have been here, I should have been on holiday and the only reason I wasn’t was because of her. I’m just a realist and anyway, it’s not really me she’s angry with, it’s Marco. It’s just profoundly irritating.’

Irritating? She nearly laughed. ‘So, have you warned him? Your client? She might go after him.’