Sara Craven Tribute Collection

They completed the rest of the journey in silence. When they arrived at the airport Tonio reached into his jacket and produced an envelope which he extended to her.

‘What is this?’ Flora made no attempt to take it.

‘A further gift from my aunt.’ He peeled back a corner of the flap, revealing the substantial wad of banknotes inside. ‘She is aware that Marco would have been generous with you on parting and does not wish you to suffer financially from her intervention. She offers this as compensation.’

‘She’s very thoughtful.’ Flora opened the passenger door. ‘But I’m not for sale.’

Tonio got out as well, and retrieved her bag from the boot. ‘Oh, I think you were sold, Flora mia,’ he said softly. ‘And for thirty pieces of silver. Ciao, baby.’

As she walked to the glass doors leading to the main concourse she heard him drive away. And then—and only then—she allowed one slow, scalding tear to escape down the curve of her cheek.

‘You look terrible,’ said Hester, in a tone that mingled brutal candour with concern.

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ Flora retorted.

‘I’m being serious.’ Hester poured coffee from the percolator and handed a cup to Flora. ‘Ever since you got back from that Italian trip you’ve looked like death on a stick. You barely ate enough at dinner tonight to keep a fly alive—and not for the first time. If you lose much more weight you’ll disappear altogether. And don’t think I can’t hear you pacing up and down your room every night, when you should be asleep.’

Flora gave her a troubled look. ‘Oh, Hes, am I keeping you awake? I’m so sorry. Maybe it’s time I started looking for another place of my own.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ Hester said roundly. ‘I prefer to have you here, where I can at least keep a panic-stricken eye on you. But I would like to know what’s sent you into this headlong decline.’

Flora stared down at her coffee. She could smell its slightly smoky fragrance and was aware of an odd shiver of distaste.

‘It’s just frantic at work, that’s all,’ she evaded. ‘Phone ringing non-stop ever since I got back. If it goes on like this I might have to consider hiring someone else.’

‘Well, let’s hear it for the businesswoman of the year.’ Hester gave her a wry look. ‘So why aren’t you turning cartwheels for joy instead of looking as if ruin and misery were staring you in the face?’ She paused, then said gently, ‘Be honest, honey. Are you missing Chris—is that it?’ She sighed. ‘I know I never thought you were the perfect pair, but I wonder now if I didn’t push you into doing something you now regret.’

Flora forced a smile. ‘I wasn’t pushed—I jumped. And I have no regrets at all. I realised that my feelings for Chris were only lukewarm at best, and, anyway, he—wasn’t the man I’d believed him to be. End of story.’

‘Really?’ Hester asked sceptically. ‘Somehow I feel I missed out on a few vital episodes, but I won’t pry. However, I’d like to know what I can do to help.’

‘You’ve already done it,’ Flora said with swift warmth. ‘Letting me move in with you while my flat is being sold—and not asking questions,’ she added with difficulty.

She wanted to add, ‘One day I’ll tell you everything,’ but she wasn’t sure she ever could—not even to Hester, her best friend in the world.

How could she confess to anyone what a monumental, abject fool she’d made of herself? she thought, as she lay awake that night. Let alone admit the even more damaging truth that, try as she might, she was unable to dismiss Marco Valante from her mind and heart?

It was the shame of that knowledge—of the yearning that the mere thought of him could still engender—that pursued her by day and haunted her at night, driving her to walk the floor, fighting the demons of desire that warred within her.

It was nearly six weeks since her headlong flight from Italy, and yet she was no nearer to putting his betrayal in the past, where it belonged, or blocking him from her consciousness.

Each day she’d waited for him to get in touch—to explain the indefensible, or at least apologise. But there had been no contact at all. No letter. No phone call.

Perhaps he’d grown secretly tired of the game he was playing with her, and had been glad of his godmother’s intervention.

After the first two weeks of silence she’d taken a cab to his cousin’s house in Chelsea, only to find a removals van outside and the new owner’s furniture being carried in.

Vittoria, too, had gone. But even if she’d been there, and Flora could have summoned up the courage to introduce herself, what could she have found to say to her? Is Marco well? Is he happy?

And just how pathetic is that? she asked herself with bitter self-derision.

Especially when he seemed to have had no trouble in forgetting her existence altogether.

Her first action on her return had been to put her flat on the market, her next to vacate her rented office space for alternative premises in a different area.

All that trouble to cover her tracks, she thought with irony, when in fact there’d been no need. But she’d had to get out of the flat. She couldn’t bear to live with its memories.

She’d found a clutch of increasingly desperate telephone messages from Chris when she returned. Somehow she’d forced herself to dial his number and listen to the impassioned outpourings and demands that they should meet and talk.

At last she’d said, in a voice of quiet steel, ‘I think you should be saying this to Ottavia Baressi,’ and replaced the receiver, cutting off the ensuing stunned silence.

In spite of Hester’s assurances, she knew it was time she started looking for another place to live. Before too long Sally would return and want her room back.

And I have to draw a line under the past and get on with my life, she thought. So I’ll take positive action—start flat-hunting tomorrow.

But in the morning she felt so horribly ill that she was more inclined to reserve space in the nearest cemetery.

‘It can’t be anything I’ve eaten, because we’ve had exactly the same and you’re fine,’ she said as she emerged pale and shivering from the bathroom. ‘I must have picked up some virus.’

‘Undoubtedly,’ Hester agreed cordially. ‘I hope you feel better soon.’

And, oddly enough, Flora did. She even recovered sufficiently to go into work, and managed a full day there without further mishap. Although she found herself recoiling from the harmless ham and lettuce sandwich that she’d ordered for her lunch.

‘Strange, isn’t it?’ she commented to Hester that evening.

‘Extraordinary.’ Hes tossed a bag with a chemist’s label into her lap. ‘Try this.’

Flora broke the seal and stared down at the slim packet it contained.

She cleared her throat. ‘It’s a pregnancy testing kit,’ she said at last.

‘Good,’ Hester said affably. ‘I was afraid they’d swapped it for a mystery prize. You’ll find the instructions inside.’

Flora let the packet fall as if it was red-hot. ‘No.’

‘As you wish.’ Hester shrugged. ‘I just thought it was a possibility you might want to eliminate.’ She gave her friend a level look. ‘Well—don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ Flora bit her lip. ‘I suppose so—damn you.’

Even before she checked the result she knew it would be positive. She’d blamed the recent disruption in her monthly cycle on stress, but she knew now she’d simply been burying her head in the sand.

She stared down at the coloured bands on the kit and the bathroom swung round her in a sudden dizzying arc, forcing her to cling to the side of the basin until the moment passed.

She put a hand on her stomach. She thought, Marco’s baby. I—I’m going to have Marco’s baby… And felt joy and anguish clash inside her with all the force of an electric charge.

Then she opened the door and went slowly back to the living room.

Hester took one look at her white face and trembling mouth, put her into a chair, made her a cup of strong, scalding tea, and stood over her while she drank it.