Sara Craven Tribute Collection

‘It has changing rooms and a shower,’ Marco explained, as if it was all a matter of course. ‘Also a refrigerator with cold drinks.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Naturally it would have.’

His brows lifted. ‘You disapprove?’

‘No.’ She pulled a face. ‘I was just thinking of the poor souls who have to schlep down here to arrange the sun beds and refill the fridge.’

‘They provide a service for which they are well paid,’ he said, after a pause, adding drily, ‘As you do yourself, mia cara.’ He gave her a meditative look. ‘Would you prefer me if I lived in a city flat without air-conditioning and cooked for myself?’

‘No.’ Her tone was defensive. She gestured wildly around her. ‘I’m just not prepared for—all this.’

‘I hoped San Silvestro would please you.’

‘It does. It’s unbelievably beautiful and I’m totally knocked out by it. But I’m Flora Graham, and I do live in the city, without air-conditioning, and I do my own cooking—and I don’t know what I’m doing here.’

‘You are here because I asked you, Flora mia. Because I wanted you to spend some time with me in a place that I love.’ He stripped off the shirt he was wearing and held out his hand to her. ‘Now, let us go for a swim.’

The water felt like warm satin against her skin. She swam, then floated for a while, looking up at the unsullied blue of the sky, then swam again, making her way over to the rocks. She clambered up on to one of them and perched there, wringing the water out of her hair.

After a few moments Marco joined her, bringing the sun oil with him.

‘You must use this, cara, or you will burn.’

She applied the fragrant oil to her arms and legs, then handed him the bottle. ‘Do my back for me, please?’

He dropped a kiss on her warm shoulder. ‘The pleasure will be all mine,’ he assured her softly. He undid the clip of her bikini top, pushing away the straps, and began to rub the oil into her skin with deft, light strokes. She moved luxuriously under his touch, lifting her face to the sun, smiling when his hands moved to her uncovered breasts.

Then felt him halt, tensing suddenly.

‘Don’t stop,’ Flora whispered protestingly, teasingly.

‘Listen.’ His tone was imperative.

Mystified she obeyed, and heard the throb of an approaching engine. Next moment a boat, low, sleek and powerful, appeared round the headland, a solitary figure at its wheel.

Flora saw an arm lifted in greeting, then the boat turned into the cove, heading for the landing stage.

Marco said something quiet, grim, and probably obscene under his breath. Then, ‘Cover yourself, cara,’ he ordered.

Flora retrieved her bikini top and he clipped it swiftly into place.

By the time they had clambered down from the rocks the boat had come to rest and its occupant was on the landing stage, making it secure.

He was of medium height, and stockily built, with a coarsely handsome face. He was wearing minuscule shorts and a striped top, and he strutted towards them, his full mouth grinning broadly.

‘Ciao, Marco. Come va?’ He burst into a flood of Italian, his bold eyes raking Flora as he did so.

‘Tonio,’ Marco acknowledged coolly, his fingers closing round Flora’s.

A gesture not lost on the newcomer. ‘Ciao, bella. Come ti chiami?’

Flora lifted her chin. ‘I’m sorry, signore, but I don’t speak your language.’

There was an odd silence. Then, ‘Inglesa, eh?’ their visitor said musingly. ‘Well, well.’ The black eyes surveyed her unwinkingly. ‘And what is your name, bella ragazza?’

‘This is Flora Graham,’ Marco intervened coldly. ‘Flora, allow me to present Antonio Baressi.’

‘But you must call me Tonio.’ He gave her another lingering smile, then turned to Marco. ‘What a wonderful surprise to find you here, my friend. I thought, after your successful mission, you would be keen to get back to your desk in Milan. Instead you are entertaining a charming guest. Bravo.’

Marco’s mouth tightened. ‘What are you doing here, Tonio?’

‘Visiting Zia Paolina, naturally.’ He allowed a pause, then smote a fist theatrically against his forehead. ‘But of course—you did not realise she was in residence. She will be fascinated to know that you are at the castello. May I take some message from you?’

On the surface he was all smiles, and eagerness to please, but Flora wasn’t deceived. There was something simmering in the air, here, a tension that was almost tangible.

‘Thank you,’ Marco said with cool civility. ‘But I shall make a point of contacting her myself.’

Tonio turned to Flora. ‘My aunt is Marco’s madrina—his godmother,’ he explained. ‘It is a special relationship, you understand. Since the sad death of his parents they have always been close.’ The black eyes glittered jovially at her. ‘But I am sure he has already told you this.’

Flora murmured something polite and noncommittal. The sun was blazingly hot, but she felt a faint chill, as if cold fingers had been laid along her spine, and found herself moving almost unconsciously slightly closer to Marco.

‘You must bring Signorina Flora to meet Zia Paolina,’ Tonio went on. ‘She will be enchanted—and Ottavia, too, naturalamente.’ He dropped the name like a stone into a pool, then gave them an insinuating glance. ‘Unless, of course, you would prefer to be alone.’

‘Si,’ Marco said softly, his hand tightening round Flora’s. ‘I think so.’

Tonio shrugged. ‘How well I understand. In your shoes I would do the same.’ He kissed the tips of his fingers, accompanying the gesture with a slight leer. ‘You are a fortunate man, compagno, so why waste valuable time paying visits?’

Marco said, very softly, ‘Or receiving them…’

‘Ah.’ The other’s smile widened. ‘A hint to be gone. You wish to enjoy each other’s company undisturbed. Si, capisce. Arrivederci, signorina. I hope we meet again.’

That, thought Flora, is the last thing I want. But she forced a smile. ‘Thank you.’

As they stood, watching the boat heading out to sea again, she stole a glance at Marco, aware of him rigid beside her, his face expressionless.

She said, quietly and clearly, ‘What a squalid little man.’

There was a silence, then she felt him relax slightly. He turned to her, his smile rueful.

‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘And today he was relatively well-behaved.’

She hesitated. ‘We don’t—have to see him again, do we?’

‘I hope not.’ Marco’s mouth tightened. ‘But, as you see, he does not always wait for an invitation.’

She said slowly, ‘He’d need a hide like a rhinoceros to come back. You were hardly welcoming.’

‘I have my reasons.’