The Brabanti Baby

“This is your private soggiorno,” Beryl informed her, misinterpreting her stunned silence. “What you’d call a sitting room.”

“So I see.” Eve blinked, to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her.

“A bit taken aback, are you?”

“More than a bit! This is all quite…palatial.”

“Why don’t I take the baby for a minute, while you have a look around?”

“Yes. All right.”

Beryl cradled Nicola in the crook of her arm. “The bedroom’s down the hall, through that door over there, with a bathroom between it and the nursery, and a little kitchenette beyond that. Let me know if there’s something I’ve overlooked that you’d like to have.”

“I can’t imagine you’ve forgotten a thing.” Still bemused, Eve wandered about the sitting room, noting the elaborate wall and ceiling moldings, and richly carved door panels. An eighteenth-century ladies’ writing desk and bustle chair stood next to a glass and wrought-iron door opening onto a balcony. Beautifully framed antique prints, flanked by Venetian crystal sconces, hung on the wall between two tall oriel windows.

But there were modern touches, too: a telephone on the desk; a brass floor lamp for reading; fresh flowers in a Lalique vase on the low table before the sofa; a stack of paperback novels on a bookshelf next to the small marble fireplace; a remote control for the television set and stereo system housed in a rosewood cabinet.

The bedroom was no less impressive, a vast area of cool oyster-white walls, the same ornate oriel windows as the living room, a carved armoire that surely belonged in a museum, and a similarly carved bed standing so high from the floor that she’d have to climb on the matching footstool beside it to reach the mattress.

But if the chief ambience conveyed by these two rooms was that of an earlier era, the marble bathroom was pure twenty-first century. A steam shower filled one corner. The deep, jetted tub could have accommodated a pair of sumo wrestlers with ease. Even the toilet and bidet went beyond the merely functional in their sleekly elegant lines. As for the gold faucets, thick, velvety towels and profusion of bath oils, powders and lotions…well, they might not have merited notice from European royalty, but they were all a bit overwhelming for a plain little nurse from Chicago.

“There’s a portable baby bath in that corner cupboard. It’ll fit right next to the wash basin and make it a bit easier on your back when you’re bathing the baby,” Beryl said, coming to stand in the doorway. “You’d need arms a mile long to lean over that contraption of a tub. A body could drown in it, it’s that deep!”

“You’re right.” Eve laughed and looked at her through the mirror above the long vanity. “Beryl, may I ask you a personal question?”

“Anything you like, as long as it’s not how much I weigh,” the housekeeper said cheerfully.

“It’s just that, although you obviously speak Italian fluently, you don’t sound Italian.”

“That’s because I’m not. I’m originally from Manchester, in England.”

“How did you end up in Malta?”

“My husband brought me here for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary and we both fell in love with the island. He died not long after, and there was nothing left in England for me after that, so I brought his ashes back to the place that held so many happy memories for us, and made a new life for myself. That was eleven years ago, and I haven’t regretted it for a second.”

“It sounds as if your marriage was a true love match.”

“Oh, it was! Nothing like that terrible business with the signor’s. That wife of his…well, excuse me for saying so, Miss Caldwell, seeing that she’s your cousin and all, but there was no pleasing her.”

“Marcia can be difficult.”

The way Beryl’s lips clamped together suggested she could have come up with a more choice description, but she made do with a curt, “That’s one way of putting it, I suppose. The real pity, though, is that there had to be a baby thrown into the mess.” Her voice softened. “Not that this little mite isn’t lovely, because she is. A real little beauty, in fact—but a bit small for four months, if you ask me. Do you think she’s getting enough to eat?”

“It’s hard to say. I’ve known her only a couple of days, myself, and most of that time, we’ve been on the move, so I don’t have much of a handle on her eating schedule yet. Compared to some of the babies I see every day, though, she’s the picture of health.”

“And she deserves better than to be caught in a tug-of-war between her parents.”

It was on the tip of Eve’s tongue to point out that Gabriel Brabanti’s limited interest in Nicola hardly left her in much danger of that, but to what end? Beryl’s loyalty quite rightly lay with her employer. And much though her cousin tested her patience, Eve’s lay with Marcia.

“Well, right now, she deserves to be cleaned up and fed. Do you mind going down to the kitchen to heat her bottle while I give her a quick bath?”

“No need for that, love. There’s a bottle warmer and a bar refrigerator in the kitchenette. I didn’t want you having to go up and down stairs every time she’s hungry. Here, you take her, and I’ll get the bath ready, then see to the bottle while you sponge her down. Not that I plan to be interfering every other minute, you understand, but you must be a bit worn out yourself after coming all this way. I imagine you could use some help settling in.”

In fact, fatigue had begun to take a ferocious toll. Eve’s neck and shoulders ached as if she’d just put in a twenty-four hour shift at the clinic. “You really are a gem, Beryl,” she said, grateful not just for the housekeeper’s thoughtfulness but also for her approachability. “Thank you so much, for everything.”

“My pleasure, Miss Caldwell. By the way, there’s a bell next to the fireplace in your sitting room, and another in the nursery. Anything you’d like, night or day, just ring, and someone’ll be up to see to it for you.”

“Right now, only two things come to mind. First, would you mind bringing me the diaper bag from the sitting room? It’ll save me having to go through Nicola’s suitcase to find a clean sleeper. And second, won’t you please call me Eve?”

“I’m not sure the signor would approve,” Beryl said, filling the plastic infant bath half-full of warm water, and laying out towels next to a basket containing baby lotion, cotton swabs, soap and a sponge, before retrieving the diaper bag. “His ex-wife was always Signora Brabanti to the staff, even though she was American like you, and not given to being quite as formal as he is.”

“This isn’t Signor Brabanti’s call. I’m not his wife.”

“No, more’s the pity! You’ve got your head screwed on straight, which is a lot more than could be said of her.” She heaved a sigh and checked her watch. “Well, I’ve probably said more than I should, so as soon as I’ve finished here, I’d best be getting back downstairs. It’s nearly nine o’clock now. When would you like to have your meal sent up?”

“Why don’t we say ten? Nicola should be down for the night by then, and with any luck I’ll even have time for a shower.”

She did, but barely, and had only just finished drying her hair when she heard a knock at the door. Tying the strings holding closed her light robe, she went to answer, expecting to find Beryl or another member of the house staff outside.

Instead Gabriel stood there, a guarded smile on his face, a loaded tray in his hands. She wasn’t sure which unnerved her more: that he was there to begin with, or that he was smiling. There was nothing particularly friendly in that smile. If anything, it hinted of danger and sent a burst of goose bumps spattering over her skin.

He, too, had showered, and changed into slim-fitting black trousers and a white silk shirt open at the throat. His thick black hair, still slightly damp, curled at his nape. The polished bronze of his skin made his teeth gleam all the whiter.

…Be careful…he’s a shark…!

Oh, yes, a very apt description indeed, Marcia! Eve thought, feeling as if she were being pulled into the blue depths of his eyes and stripped of her soul. And a hungry shark, to boot!

Oblivious to his effect on her, he strode into the room and deposited the tray on the coffee table. “I don’t know about you, signorina,” he announced, whipping off the starched linen cloth covering the food, “but I’m starving. We have insalata with freshwater crayfish, warm rolls and butter, ripe figs, grapes, a little cheese, some almond tarts…. “ He seized the neck of the bottle poking out of a silver ice bucket. “And a very fine white wine.”

Giving herself a mental shake, she followed him and eyed the arrangement of crystal, china and sterling grouped around the platters and bowls of food. “Why are there two of everything?”

“Scusi?” He made a pathetic attempt at innocence.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. There are two sets of cutlery, two wine glasses, two—”

He raised his elegant black brows. “You do not drink wine?”

“Yes, I drink wine,” she said testily.

“Buono! Then we have something in common besides an interest in the welfare of my daughter.” He half-filled both glasses with the pale gold liquid and passed one to her. “How is she, by the way? Did you have trouble getting her to sleep?”

“No. She was exhausted.” She paused long enough to impale him in an indignant glare. “As am I.”

“That doesn’t come as any surprise. You’ve covered many miles in the last couple of days.”

“Exactly. So you’ll understand, I’m sure, when I tell you I’m not up for receiving a guest.”

“I’m not a guest, signorina. I’m your host.”