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And Aldo himself had been away more often than he’d been at home, catching up on the business responsibilities he’d neglected since their marriage, or so he’d said, and worst of all moving out to another bedroom.
‘You are carrying my child,’ he told her gently when she’d protested. ‘If I share your bed I will make love to you; I will not be able to help myself. And our loving is fierce, truly passionate. Yes? I will do nothing to harm you or the tiny life you carry.’
In view of the way he’d ordered everyone to treat her as if she were made from the finest of brittle spun glass, she might have believed him. She might have lovingly teased him about being over-protective if Iolanda Cardinale hadn’t dripped all that poison into her ears.
She’d refused to believe a word of what the hateful woman had said but the change in Aldo’s attitude towards her when he’d learned of her pregnancy had forced her to acknowledge that Iolanda could have been telling the truth. Her tortured thoughts, her aching anxiety had to be responsible for that miscarriage.
Dutifully seating herself in front of the long mirror in its ornate gilded frame, she watched Rosa working on her hair, brushing it back from her face and securing it neatly in a French pleat.
It had been the first grand dinner party Aldo had thrown on their return from honeymoon, she remembered with a stab of the usual pain. Mainly for the benefit of business associates and friends who hadn’t been able to attend the wedding and be introduced to his new bride at the lavish reception.
Iolanda, as Aldo’s executive PA, had been there, oozing the understated chic Italians were so good at. Her svelte, cool loveliness had made Cat feel gaudy and overdressed in her swirly skirted, bootlace-strapped confection in her favourite shade of vibrant scarlet.
Wandering out onto the terrace to catch a breath of the cool evening air, Iolanda had joined her. As the only unpartnered guest at the gathering Cat had made a point of drawing Iolanda into the conversation around the dinner table so she wouldn’t feel left out. So her smile was wide as she acknowledged the other woman.
‘I would like to talk to you,’ Iolanda said.
‘That’s nice! It’s getting rather stuffy inside, isn’t it?’ Perhaps, being on her own, the other woman was feeling a bit out of things now that dinner was over and the guests circulating, forming chattering groups. ‘Shall we find somewhere to sit? There are seats—’
‘No.’ The other woman cut across her, a note of impatience in her drawl. ‘This will only take moments. In view of the situation I thought we ought to be properly introduced.’
‘I thought we had been.’ Cat smiled, puzzled, wondering if she’d missed something. Iolanda shook her head slowly, her smooth, raven-dark hair gleaming in the overflow of light from the main salon, her answering smile slight, tight and superior.
‘Not really. You are Aldo’s wife. I am Aldo’s mistress. Ordinarily, we would of course know of each other’s existence but we would not meet. Discretion in such matters is important—that is understood. But as Aldo and I work so closely together our occasional meetings cannot be avoided. I thought we should understand our positions. Suspicions and speculations only make life uncomfortable, as I’m sure you would grow to learn when you have done your duty and given him an heir and he begins to spend more time away from you than with you and you wonder why.’
Again that hateful, superior little smile that left Cat speechless with a mixture of rage and disbelief at what she was hearing. ‘That being said, I would strongly advise you against making a fuss about a situation which a man in Aldo’s position regards as being absolutely normal. An hysterical fuss would only serve to estrange him from you entirely and do you no good at all.’
‘There—all done.’ Rosa stepped back, surveying the neat outcome of her ministrations with satisfaction. ‘I’ll leave you to do your make-up. Be sure you cover up those dark circles round your eyes and put some colour on your cheeks!’
Cat watched her reflection with no enthusiasm at all. She no longer looked like herself. Her exuberant hair had been flattened and tamed, her mouth drooped and her eyes looked haunted.
She’d been stunned, knocked speechless by what Iolanda had said, but she hadn’t believed a word of it. She’d refused to let herself believe it. The woman was obviously a raving idiot! Iolanda wanted Aldo for herself and was out to make mischief.
Having every intention of telling Aldo of his assistant’s crazed lies, she’d changed her mind when as soon as the last guest had departed he’d swept her up in his arms and carried her up the sweeping staircase.
‘I don’t know how I’ve managed to keep my hands off you!’ he breathed rawly. ‘All evening long I’ve wanted to rip your clothes off, bury myself inside you and make endless, endless love to you!’
And he’d done just that, she remembered with a fierce stab of pain. He’d ripped the scarlet dress right from the dipping neckline to the swirly-flirty hem, the wild, fiery passion of his lovemaking making a complete nonsense of Iolanda’s wicked lies. Mentioning what the other woman had said would be a mistake. He would think she was only asking for reassurance, didn’t trust him, and would resent it. Far more sensible to dismiss the distasteful episode from her mind.
But later, listening to the soft sound of his regular breathing, the first uncomfortable pinpricks of doubt had crept in as she’d wondered why the only real closeness they ever achieved was between the sheets, and why he always turned his back on her and immediately fell asleep after making love with her.
Having sex, she tiredly corrected. The only time he’d mentioned the word love had been when he’d confessed that he didn’t believe in the condition. And had he only completely ruined her dress because he’d thought that was all the gaudy thing was fit for? Would he have treated Iolanda’s elegant, wildly expensive black sheath with the same total lack of respect?
Turning on her side, she’d watched the first light of dawn filter through the partly closed window blinds. Perhaps there was a useful lesson she could learn. When in Rome, etc…
And so she’d set about turning herself into the type of woman Aldo would most respect and admire. If she couldn’t have his love she could at least do her best to earn his respect.
Her still vibrant enthusiasm for every new project she took on board had ensured that her clothes were now the last word in unmistakable, understated Italian chic, her unmanageable mane of chestnut hair shortened and skillfully layered, ‘Molto elegante!’ her horrendously expensive hairdresser had assured her, and she always wore spindly high heels to make sure her free-swinging stride was a thing of the past.
But her rapid transformation hadn’t made a scrap of difference. He’d remained almost painfully polite and considerate, but distant. His eyes never smiled into hers, reminding her of shared intimacies the way lovers did; he never touched her except in bed.
When her pregnancy had been confirmed, her by then rapidly dwindling hope that things could be different between them soared high. That they had changed but not in the way she had wanted was something she hadn’t foreseen, not in her worst nightmares.
Iolanda’s words had come back to haunt her. ‘You’ll understand when you’ve done your duty and given him an heir and he starts to spend more time away from you than with you.’ She hadn’t given him an heir, she’d lost the precious baby she’d been longing for, but the signs had been there for anyone to see. As soon as he’d known of her pregnancy he’d wanted little more to do with her, his only concern the well-being of the child she was carrying.
Her stomach churning sickeningly at the memories that seemed to confirm everything that venomous woman had told her, Cat stood up from the dressing table, smoothing the silk of her dress over hips which were not as snake-like as Iolanda’s, but getting there. Rosa was right—since she’d been banished after her miscarriage she had lost a lot of weight.
Facing her husband and his mistress with some semblance of dignity was the only thing she must make herself concentrate on right now, she decided with a welcome resurgence of the determination that had been absent for a long time.
But it drained away the moment the bedroom door swung open, revealing Aldo. He had the same unnerving impact on her as he’d had the very first time she’d set eyes on him. He took her breath away.
His dark business suit fitted his lean body to perfection and the crisp white shirt emphasised the bronzed skin of his austerely beautiful features. Cat veiled her eyes quickly. He was so unfairly gorgeous she couldn’t bear to look at him.
‘Caterina…’ His voice was harsh; he had never directed that tone towards her before. His politeness had been the hallmark of their relationship.
Her puzzled eyes flickered upwards and met the glittering darkness of his. There were lines of strain on his face. She’d never noticed them before. ‘You came here to recuperate, to regain your strength,’ he condemned. ‘What have you been doing to yourself?’
The heavy thumping of her heart quietened, subdued and regulated by an unexpected layer of heavy ice. How dared he criticise her, look at her as if her appearance offended him? She’d spent time and effort turning her exuberant self into what she’d hoped he’d appreciate—a model of Italian chic. And so what if she’d lost weight? Iolanda didn’t exactly billow, did she? Or did fashion decree that Italian mistresses look like stick insects while Italian wives bulge comfortably in all directions?
Glacially, she held his darkly frowning eyes and intoned coldly, ‘Since you haven’t bothered to come and see what I’ve been “doing to myself”,’ she parodied his condemnatory tone, ‘I’ll tell you. Grieving,’ she stressed tightly and inwardly flinched as lines of pain bracketed his stern mouth as her lashing remarks hit home.
‘For our baby,’ Aldo conceded with a softness that made her heart stand still. He took a step towards her. Cat retreated by a few rapid paces. If he belatedly remembered his abandoned husbandly role and tried to fold her in his arms to comfort her she would, quite simply, go to pieces and embarrass herself, and him, by blurting out all the sources of her present misery.
Turning back to the dressing table, she made a pretence of checking her appearance in the gilded mirror, replying, ‘What else?’
She could have added, For the death of our marriage, for the loss of all hope that you’ll ever learn to love me, but held her tongue because, to be fair to him, love hadn’t been part of the bargain, just silly wishful thinking on her part.
But a mistress hadn’t been part of the bargain either, she reflected trenchantly, and asked him brittly, ‘Shall we go down? Had you let me know to expect you I’d have been waiting to greet you and your companion.’ She swung towards the door, aware of his dark eyes boring into her back. ‘What have you done with her, by the way?’
Aldo caught up with her as she opened the door, a lean, tanned hand snaking out to fasten disconcertingly on her shoulder. Desperately, Cat tried to control her weak body’s electric reaction to his touch, to the effect of those bitter-chocolate eyes scorching into her own.
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