The Italian's Rightful Bride - By Lucy Gordon Page 0,20

‘They say them in tantrums about trivial things, but this wasn’t trivial. Her heart is breaking, and she meant every word.’

Then he looked round, and she could clearly see that he had been weeping. He was past trying to hide it. The tears were still on his cheeks.

‘Thank you for what you tried to do,’ he said huskily.

‘You know I’ll help you all I can, Gustavo, but I don’t understand. Where does Renata get this fixation from?’

‘When Crystal walked out Renata saw her leaving and came flying downstairs, trying to hold on to her. Crystal said she’d send for her “later” and got into the car. Renata tried to get in with her, and that was when I grabbed her, to stop her getting hurt.’

‘So that’s the origin of the story of you keeping her away from Crystal?’

‘Yes. I’m not sure she even remembers the reality any more. I’m the monster who snatched her from her mother’s arms, and she’s told herself that so often that it’s become “fact”. Crystal never did send for her, and this is the only way she can cope with it.’

‘I’ll talk to her again when she’s calmed down,’ Joanna promised. ‘Or maybe I’ll route some of it through Billy. She might listen to him.’

He tried to smile and speak normally.

‘I’m lucky to have you two here, because without you I don’t…’ But it was too much. The next moment he broke.

‘What am I going to do?’ he whispered. ‘Help me, Joanna. I’ve nobody else to turn to. Help me!’

She put her arms around him, holding him consolingly, feeling him cling to her tightly, desperately.

‘My dear, of course I will. I’ll do anything I can. Hold on to me. It’ll be all right, you’ll see. I promise it’s going to be all right.’

CHAPTER FIVE

WHEN evening came Joanna didn’t go back to the house for dinner, but stayed at the dig while the sun set. More than anything she wanted to be alone now. The events of the day had shaken her.

She’d come to Montegiano prepared to fight off any renewal of the old passionate feelings. What she hadn’t anticipated was finding him wounded, so that her heart yearned towards him in sympathy. That would be harder to resist. Perhaps impossible.

She looked up as she heard his car approach. She’d wondered if he would come seeking her, and decided that he probably would not. The moment when he’d come into her arms seeking comfort had not lasted. Afterwards he had been edgy, nervous, insisting on driving her back to the house for lunch. That was another reason why she had avoided dinner that evening.

As he got out of the car he was smiling as though everything was normal, and she realised that he was determined to act as if nothing had happened. He was probably ashamed that she’d seen his ‘weakness’, she thought wryly.

‘I brought you some food,’ he said. ‘They told me you weren’t at supper.’

So he hadn’t been there either.

‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘but you didn’t have to bother. I’ve had a sandwich and I’ve got a beer.’ She waved the can.

‘That’s not enough for someone working long hours in the heat,’ he said, unwrapping some chicken for her. ‘You’ll be ill if you don’t take care.’

‘I’m invulnerable,’ she said lightly. ‘Nothing ever hurts me.’

‘It’s people who talk that kind of nonsense who get hurt,’ he informed her. ‘You should have more common sense.’

‘Oh, stuff! I was always famous for my common sense. People used to say of me “She may be as dull as ditch-water but you’ve got to admit she has common sense”.’

‘Then I guess you lost your common sense when you stopped being dull,’ he said. ‘Except that you never were.’

‘Didn’t I bore your head off, talking history all the time?’

‘Nobody bores me by talking about my home,’ he said. ‘Even then I was impressed by your knowledge.’

‘But we were supposed to be a courting couple,’ she reminded him, teasing. ‘And there we were, talking about Julius Caesar.’

‘It wasn’t always Julius Caesar.’

‘That’s right. We touched on Lucrezia Borgia as well. There’s something not quite right about that, if only I could put my finger on it.’

He joined in her laughter. They had slipped back into their usual way of talking, which, she guessed, was what he’d wanted.

She put the beer can to her lips, throwing her head back and draining it like a man, finishing with a sigh of pleasure.

‘You’ve got foam on your mouth,’ he said, taking out a clean handkerchief.

‘Thank