The Italian's Rightful Bride - By Lucy Gordon Page 0,18

to protest when she remembered her vow never to love or feel again with the intensity with which she’d loved Gustavo. She’d opted for self-sufficiency then, but had the seeds of it already been there inside her heart long before? And had he sensed them, and drawn back from her?

She’d never thought of Gustavo as having insight. If anything, the reverse. Now, as he revealed her to herself, she wondered how well she’d ever really known him.

‘Look,’ he said suddenly, pointing upward.

The grey faded and a glow was appearing in the sky as the sun prepared to rise. Yet it was still early enough for a cool breeze.

‘I always thought this the perfect time of day,’ he said softly.

‘Yes.’

He was standing a little behind her and she felt him put his hands gently on her shoulders. After that neither of them moved as they stood watching the light grow, until the sun blazed from behind a cloud and they had to shield their eyes.

‘I suppose we’d better go back,’ he said reluctantly.

On the journey home Joanna did not speak. Her inner vision was full of the glory she had seen, and the greater glory she had felt.

She was trying not to hear the little warning voice that had spoken before. It was more urgent now.

Go away from here, quickly. Leave before it’s too late.

But it was already too late.

Business matters, both estate and financial, claimed Gustavo over the next few days. Several times he drove into Rome, always choosing a route that took him past the dig, fascinated by the way the area had become unrecognisable.

Sometimes he would stop off and let them show him around the other tents, which contained tables on which small pieces of brick and pottery were laid out.

He arrived one lunchtime, on his way back from the city, and saw Joanna, deep in discussion with Hal.

Stepping inside, he found the air pleasantly cool, courtesy of the portable air-conditioning system imported on one of the trucks.

‘It’s like an army on the move,’ he said.

‘That’s down to Sally,’ Joanna said.

Sally looked up long enough to intone, ‘Logistics. The secret of a good campaign.’

‘It shows how ignorant I am,’ Gustavo said. ‘I used to think it would be a couple of people with trowels.’

‘I’ve got a trowel,’ said Danny, who was by way of being the clown of the group.

‘We use those too,’ Joanna told him. ‘But we also have radar, laser photography and computers. There’s a mass of equipment in the trucks.’

Gustavo saw Billy in a corner, peering at the screen of a laptop and tapping something in with the ease of familiarity, and talking to Renata, who hung on to his every word. He watched them with satisfaction, and exchanged a glance with Joanna.

‘Thank you,’ he said quietly. ‘He’s just what she needs right now.’

‘I think she’s giving him something that he needs too,’ she mused.

‘Yes, I imagine hero-worship can be very heady wine when you’re ten,’ he agreed, smiling.

Casually he strolled over to the children, looking at the screen, asking about it. Billy answered cheerfully, and even Renata, Joanna was glad to notice, gave him a faint smile. When he spoke directly to her she began to explain something to him. Glad for him, Joanna edged discreetly forward.

‘You’re really learning about this fast,’ Gustavo was saying to his daughter.

‘Joanna says I’m good at it,’ Renata told him solemnly.

‘She is,’ Joanna confirmed. ‘She never has to be told anything twice.’

‘Bright girl.’ Gustavo smiled at his daughter. She smiled back at him, and for once there was no strain in her face.

Please, let it always be like this for him, Joanna thought.

Something was making Gustavo do everything right. He pointed at the screen, declared himself baffled and begged enlightenment. Renata was happy to oblige until she got stuck.

‘No—wait— Billy, is that the right word?’ she asked.

‘No, you mean—hang on.’ His cellphone had shrilled. Holding it up, he grinned at something that appeared on the screen. ‘It’s my dad,’ he told them. ‘He sends me bad jokes by text message, and boy, is that a really bad joke! In fact, my dad can think of worse bad jokes than anyone else’s dad in the world.’

‘I reckon I could manage a few,’ Gustavo said quickly.

‘Nah! Dad’s the champion bad joker. Top of the class. I think he’s even got a degree in it. Look at that!’

‘What does it mean?’ Renata asked, peering at the English words.

He explained, but she was still puzzled.

‘I think it lost something in translation,’ Gustavo