The Mediterranean Rebel’s Bride
Lucy Gordon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

‘I, CARLO, take you, Della, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honour you all the days of my life.’

On a bright summer day in Naples, Carlo Rinucci uttered these words in the Church of All Saints and Angels. He spoke with his eyes fixed on the bride he had fought so hard to win, and behind him a quiet murmur went round the congregation.

His best man and twin brother, Ruggiero, stood quietly, waiting for the service to be over. This wedding was an unsettling experience for him.

For thirty-one years the twins had squabbled, enjoyed themselves together in various over-indulgent ways, played truant, chased girls. Though not identical, they were alike in their conviction that the race went to the swift and life was meant to be fun—and they had always acted as they were: handsome young bachelors with the world at their feet.

Now here was Carlo, dedicating himself, with quiet gravity, to a woman of frail health, seven years his senior, and doing so with the air of a man who had finally come to the place his heart desired.

Ruggiero played his part at the church perfectly, performed all his duties, then went home to the reception at the Villa Rinucci to eat and drink, flirt, and cope with the usual hearty wedding jokes,

All the Rinucci brothers were handsome, but Ruggiero had something else—the kind of outstanding looks that made him a target at weddings. A ripple would go around the female guests, combining fascination and a mysterious sense of outrage, as though no man who looked like that had any right to be on the loose.

It had been his trademark all his life: looks and charm, both with a slightly fierce edge that turned heads. He knew what was said of him, that he could have any woman he wanted, and although he enjoyed the joke he accepted it as his due.

Any woman he wanted.

Except one.

‘Only you and Francesco left now,’ someone said. ‘I guess your mother’s making plans.’

He laughed, saying, ‘They won’t get me.’

‘You say that at every wedding,’ observed his brother Luke, who was passing.

‘You used to say it at every wedding,’ Ruggiero reminded him. ‘The difference is that I’ve held out. I’m a shining example.’

Luke paused long enough to wave to Minnie, his wife of two years, who waved back between sips of champagne.

‘Just beware,’ he said to Ruggiero, ‘lest one day the shining example wakes up to find he’s a lonely old man. Coming, cara.’

Ruggiero grinned, accepting this as just one of those things brothers felt obliged to say at weddings, and returned to his duties, flirting with a shy young woman until she laughed and began to enjoy herself.

When it was time for the speeches he did an excellent job, even if he said so himself—which he did. He was rewarded with looks of gratitude from Carlo and Della, and a smile of fond approval from his mother.

‘You’re a wonderful best man,’ she said afterwards.

‘Against all your expectations?’ he teased.

‘The only thing that surprises me,’ Hope informed him, ‘is that you don’t have some over-painted young hussy clinging to your arm.’

‘I didn’t want any distractions when I had a job to do,’ he explained blandly.

‘Hmm!’

‘Don’t be so cynical, Mamma.’

‘Don’t be—? I have six sons, and you’re surprised that I’m cynical?’

He grinned, and glided away to attend to the needs of a Rinucci great-aunt.

‘Be fair to him,’ Evie said, appearing at Hope’s side.

She was the wife of Justin, Hope’s eldest son. Before their marriage she’d been a natural rebel, caring only for her motorbike. Happy marriage and the birth of twins had softened some of Evie’s glittering edge, but had done nothing to dull the gleam of humour in her eyes.

‘It’s reasonable for Ruggiero to want to concentrate on his duties,’ she said now.

‘Reasonable?’ Hope echoed. ‘This is Ruggiero we’re talking about.’

‘I take your point,’ Evie said with a laugh.

‘When was he ever reasonable about anything? Working, playing, eating, drinking, hussies—everything over the top.’

‘Surely his girlfriends aren’t all hussies?’

‘He doesn’t let me meet most of them. That’s how I know.’ Hope sighed fondly. ‘Evie, it’s such a pity you can’t split yourself in two—one for Justin and one for Ruggiero.’

‘Maybe I wouldn’t suit Ruggiero.’

‘You’re bound to. You’re as crazy about motorbikes as he is.’

‘Is it true that he actually owns a firm that makes them?’

‘Half-owns.’

‘Maybe I should go and talk to him,’ Evie said, laughing, and sauntered away.

It was later that evening when she caught up with Ruggiero. The guests had gone, and those family members who were staying at the villa had settled into small groups to enjoy a good natter. Justin was deep in conversation with his mother, and Evie found Ruggiero on the terrace, looking out over the lights of Naples gleaming against the darkness. With a sigh of relief she threw herself into a chair and kicked off her shoes.

‘Weddings are exhausting,’ she said.

He nodded. ‘And there’s another party tomorrow night. Mamma’s never happier than when planning a big get-together. I’m going to spend the day peacefully testing a bike.’

‘Ah, yes—tell me about your factory.’

He poured her a glass of wine, and sat on the low wall.

‘I found the place on its last legs a couple of years ago. I knew Piero Fantone—the owner—slightly, and I bought in. Things have gone well. Our bread and butter is the standard bikes that “normal” people buy, but the specials are the racing bikes that only the “crazies” want. We’ve started winning races. Now we’re bringing out a new racing bike, and I’m testing it tomorrow.’

‘The fastest, hottest, most fearsome bike in the country,’ Evie declaimed theatrically.

‘Do you mind?’ he said at once, in mock offence. ‘In the world.’

‘I’m sorry. But aren’t there professional testers? Does the boss have to risk his neck—?’ She broke off and struck her forehead. ‘Oh, of course! Stupid of me. You want to risk your neck. Otherwise, where’s the fun?’

‘You’ve got it.’ He grinned. ‘Evie, you’re the only woman I know who’d understand that. You should come and watch tomorrow.’

‘I’d love to.’ She sipped her wine and said mischievously, ‘People have been talking about you all day.’

‘I know. It’s a bachelor’s fate at a wedding.’ He assumed a twittery voice of the kind he’d heard so often that day. ‘“He’ll be next. Just wait and see.”’

‘Was that why you didn’t bring a date?’ she asked, chuckling.

‘One reason. My mother complains about the girls I bring home, and when I don’t bring one she complains even more.’

‘I gather they’re real eye-openers?’

He made a wry face, and she became serious to say, ‘I guess you’re a long way from finding what Carlo has.’

‘I think there are very few men who find what Carlo has. Or what you and Justin have.’

She was silent, watching him sympathetically.

After a while he added, ‘And thank you for not saying, Don’t worry, your turn will come.’’

‘Don’t you think it will?’ she asked, struck by the sudden quiet heaviness in his voice.

‘Maybe. Or maybe it came and went.’

Evie was silent, astonished. She had always sensed that there was more to her brother-in-law than the rough, hard-living man he was on the surface, but this was the first time he’d offered so much as a hint of a more reflective inner self.

Cautiously, so not to scare him off, she said, ‘Can you be sure that it’s gone finally?’

‘Quite sure. Since I know hardly anything about her. She was English, her name was Sapphire, and we had two weeks together. That’s all.’

But it wasn’t all, she could tell. During those weeks something had happened to him that had been like an earthquake.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ she asked.

‘I met her in London about two-and-a-half years ago. I was visiting friends, but they suddenly had a family crisis, so I left them to it and explored London on my own. We met in the bar of my hotel. She was there to meet a friend who didn’t show up, we got talking and—that was it.’

‘What was she like?’

‘Like something from another world. So insubstantial that I was almost afraid to touch her. I knew her for two weeks, and then she vanished.’

‘Vanished? Where?’

‘I’ve no idea. I never saw her again. Perhaps she was nothing but a mad hallucination?’

Evie was astonished. Who would have thought the hardheaded Ruggiero could talk in this way? She wondered if he even realised what he’d revealed. He was looking into the distance, his eyes fixed on some inner world. She held her breath, willing him to go on.

But instead he made a sound that was part-grunt, part-nervous laugh, seeming to draw himself back from the brink.

‘Hey, what the hell?’ he said edgily. ‘These things happen. Easy come, easy go.’

‘But I don’t think it was easy,’ Evie urged. ‘I think she meant more to you than that.’

He shrugged. ‘It was a holiday romance. How much do they ever mean?’

‘Ruggiero—’

‘Do you want to come with me tomorrow or not?’

‘Yes, of course. But—’

‘Fine. Be ready to leave early in the morning.’

He bid her goodnight and hurried to his room, despising himself for making a cowardly escape, but unable to help it. Much more of that conversation and he would have gone mad.

He stripped off his clothes and got under the shower, hoping to wash away the day. But nothing could banish the thoughts that had troubled him from the moment he’d arrived at the church with Carlo.

Carlo, the twin barely an hour younger than himself, who’d shared with him all the riotous pleasures of youth, now transformed into a man lit by a powerful inner joy. And the sight had thrown him off balance because it had called up a voice he’d thought he’d silenced long ago.

‘Forget the rest of the world—there’s only our world—what more do we need?’

Memories started to crowd in. She was as he’d first seen her, in a glittering tight red dress, low enough in front to show her exquisite bosom, high enough on the thigh to show off her endless legs. It was the attire of a woman who could attract men without trouble, who enjoyed attracting them and had no scruples about doing so as often as she pleased.

Within a few hours of their meeting he’d held her, naked, in his arms. Everything about her had been breathtaking—her body, the whisper of her voice, her laughter.

Other pictures crowded in: a day out together at the funfair, doing childish things. They’d sat together in a photo booth, arms entwined, heads leaning against each other, while the machine’s lights flashed. A moment later two pictures had appeared in the dish, and they had taken one each.

‘Sapphire,’ he murmured.

It was the only name she had ever told him. She’d kept her last name a secret, and even that had been part of her magic.

Magic. He’d resisted the idea, considering himself a prosaic man and proud of it. But Sapphire had burned with erotic power, dazzling him and luring him into a furnace from which he’d emerged reborn.

She’d been an adventurous lover, who hadn’t tamely waited for him in the bed but had come after him eagerly, appearing in the shower and sliding her arms around him as water laved them. How many times had he seen her shadow outside the frosted glass, then felt her beside him?

The last memory was one from which he still shied away. They’d made love in the afternoon and she’d left him in the evening, promising to return in the morning. He’d lain awake that night, vowing to bring things to a head the next day.

But the next day there had been no sign of her.

He’d waited and waited, but she hadn’t appeared. One day had become two, then three.

He had never seen her again.

Now he stood in the shower, his eyes closed, keeping out the world. But at last he opened them and switched off the water.

Then he tensed.

She was there, just outside the shower, her shadow outlined on the glass. She was waiting for him.

He moved fast, hurling himself against the glass so hard that he nearly broke it, reaching out, trying to find her.

But his hands touched only air. There was nobody there. She had been an illusion as, perhaps, she had always been. He stood there alone, shaking with the ferocity of his memories.

He dried himself mechanically, trying to force himself to be calm. It shamed him to be out of control.

That was the mantra he’d lived by since the day she’d vanished into thin air. Control. Never let anyone suspect the turmoil of joy and misery that had destroyed and remade him.

He’d returned to Italy, apparently the same man as before. If his rambunctious hard living had been a little forced, his manner more emphatic, nobody had seemed to notice. He had kept his memories a secret, sharing them with nobody in the world—until tonight.

With Evie he’d come closer to confiding than with anyone else, ever. But he wasn’t a man who easily discussed feelings, or even knew what his own feelings were much of the time. So he’d gone just so far before retreating into silence.

Today, at his brother’s wedding, he’d sensed that Carlo had found a secret door and gone through it, closing it behind him.

For him the door had stood half-open, but then it had brutally slammed shut in his face, leaving him stranded in a desolate place.

All around him the villa was hushed for the night. It was packed to the rafters with people—many of whom loved each other, some of whom loved him. In the midst of them he felt lonelier than ever before in his life.

The flight from London had been delayed, and by the time Polly landed at Naples she was feeling thoroughly frazzled. The extra time had given her more chance to think about what she was doing and regret that she had ever agreed to do it.

There was a long queue to get through Passport Control, and she yawned, trying to be patient. A large mirror stretched the length of the wall, providing an unwelcome opportunity to anyone who could bear to look at themselves after a flight. For herself, she would gladly have done without it. There was nothing in her appearance that pleased her.

It was wickedly unjust that, equipped with much the same physical attributes as her cousin Freda, she had turned out so differently. Freda had been tall, slender, willowy—a beauty who’d walked with floating grace. Polly was also tall and slender, but her movements suggested efficiency rather than elegance.

‘And just as well,’ she’d tartly remarked once. ‘I’m a nurse. Who wants a nurse drifting beautifully into the ward when they need a bedpan? I run, and then I run somewhere else, because someone’s hit the alarm button. And when I’ve finished I don’t recline gorgeously on a satin couch. I collapse in an exhausted huddle.’

Freda, who’d been listening to this outburst with amusement, had given a lazy chuckle.

‘You describe it so cleverly, darling. I think you’re wonderful. I couldn’t do what you do.’

That had been Freda’s way—always ready with the right words, even if they’d meant nothing to her. Polly, prosaic to her fingertips, had seen that slow, luxurious smile melt strong men, luring them on with the hint of mystery.

To her there had been no mystery. Freda had done and said whatever would soften her audience. It had brought her a multitude of admirers and a rich husband.

Polly had even watched helplessly as a boyfriend of her own had been enticed away from her, without a backward look. Nor had she blamed him. She hadn’t even blamed Freda. It would have been like resenting the sun for shining.

Freda’s heart-shaped face had been beautiful. Polly, with roughly the same shape, just missed beauty by the vital millionth of an inch. Freda’s hair had been luxuriously blonde. Polly was also fair, and could probably have had the same rich shade if she’d worked on it. But life as a senior nurse in a busy hospital left her neither time nor cash to indulge her hair. She kept it clean and wore it long, her one concession to vanity.

Trapped in the slow-moving queue, she had plenty of time to consider the matter and come to the usual depressing conclusions.

‘I look like I’ve been left out in the rain by someone who’s forgotten. But is that so strange, after the way I’ve spent the last year?’

At last she was out, and searching for a taxi to take her to the cheap hotel she’d booked on-line, which was all she could afford. It was basic, but clean and comfortable, with friendly service. Judging it too late now to start her search, she dined in the tiny garden restaurant off the best spaghetti she’d ever tasted. Afterwards she showered and stretched out on the bed, gazing at the snapshot she’d taken from her purse.

It was a small picture, taken in a machine, and it showed Freda, gorgeous as always, sitting with a young man in his late twenties. He had dark hair that curled slightly, a lean face and a stubborn mouth. Freda was leaning against him, and his arm was about her in a gesture of possessiveness. His cheek rested on her head, and although he was half smiling at the camera it was clear that the rest of the world barely existed for him.

Polly studied him, trying to decide why, despite his air of joy, there was a kind of fierceness about him that defied analysis. He seemed to be uttering a silent warning that Freda belonged to him, and he would defend his ownership with his last breath.

But it hadn’t worked out like that. He had lost her for ever. And soon he would know it finally.

For a long time Polly lay looking at the ceiling, musing.

What am I doing here? I don’t really want to see Ruggiero Rinucci, and I’m sure he doesn’t want to see me.

Maybe I should have written to him first? But I don’t have his exact address. Besides, some things are better face to face. Plus, men are such cowards that if he knew why I was coming he’d probably vanish. Oh, heavens, how did I get into this?

On the edge of Naples stood La Pista Grande, a large winding track that was the scene of many motorbike races.

Here, too, the firm of Fantone & Rinucci tested their motorbikes, with Ruggiero insisting on doing all tests personally, and taking every machine to the limit.

‘If it doesn’t half kill him he thinks there’s something wrong with it,’ one of the mechanics had remarked admiringly, and when Ruggiero was on the track as many as possible of the workforce turned out to watch, cheer and take bets on his survival.

He arrived next morning with Evie, gave her some technical paperwork about the bike and showed her to the best place in the stands, just where the track curved three times in a short space, so that briefly he would be riding straight for her before turning into another sharp bend.

‘If I break my neck, it’ll likely be just there,’ he said, indicating the mechanics who were also there. ‘That’s why they gather in this spot—hoping.’

Evie laughed. There was a sprinkling of women among the mechanics, and she doubted if they’d come hoping for an accident. More likely it was connected to the sight of Ruggiero in tight black leather gear that emphasised every taut line of his tall, lean but muscular figure.

He gave a harsh grin and departed, leaving Evie to get to her seat in the front row. As she was settling she became aware of a young woman standing a few feet away. She was slim, with long fair hair and a slightly nervous manner. She gave a brief smile and sat down, looking rather as though she hoped to avoid notice.

‘Are you from the factory?’ Evie asked pleasantly.

‘No—you?’

‘No, I just came to see Ruggiero. He’s my brother-in-law.’

After exchanging a few more words, the stranger smiled absently and seemed disinclined to talk further. Evie took out the paperwork and plunged happily into facts and figures about sequential electronic fuel injection, adjustable preload and eccentric chain adjuster, totally absorbed until the testing was about to begin. Then she looked at the young woman and realised that she sat like stone, motionless, her eyes fixed on the track as though something vital depended on what she saw there.

Ruggiero kept his grin in place as he walked towards the two men who were holding the bike. He used the grin as a kind of visor behind which he could hide. Today the effort was greater than usual, because he’d had little sleep. His thoughts about Sapphire had been destructive. Once conjured up, she’d refused to depart, haunting him all night until he fell into an uneasy sleep and awoke after one hour, not at all refreshed.

The sensible course would have been to delay the test until another day, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit that he didn’t feel up to it. Besides, he refused to give in to fancies. Sapphire could be banished if he were only resolute.

He pulled on the black helmet that enveloped his head completely, blotting out his identity and turning him into a cross between a spider and a spaceman. A kick and the engine roared into life. Another kick and he was turning out onto the track.

He took the first circuit at a mere ninety miles an hour—a moderate speed—leaning into the turn so deeply that his knee nearly touched the ground. Then he shot ahead, going faster and faster, until the machine reached a hundred and fifty—the extreme of its ability. But he knew that beyond the official limit there was always a little extra, and he urged it on, demanding just that bit more, and then more, because if he went fast enough he might outrun the ghost that pursued him.

Yet she was there, just behind him, warning him that flight was impossible. She was there inside his helmet, telling him that she would always be with him.

But she was also ahead of him, on the track, her long fair hair fanned into a halo by the wind—waiting for him.

Suddenly all the pictures ran together, so that he could no longer see ahead. Only half knowing what he did, he turned the front wheel, desperate to avoid the apparition that might or might not be there. The next moment he was flying through the air, to land with a brutal force that knocked the breath out of him and sent the world whirling into chaos.

CHAPTER TWO

FREDA had known little about Ruggiero except that his family lived in the Villa Rinucci, and Polly would have gone there on the morning after her arrival but for the chance of the hotel receptionist leaving open a Naples newspaper with a picture of Ruggiero just visible. Knowing no Italian, she’d asked the man to translate the piece, and found a description of Carlo’s wedding, with some background about the family, including a mention of the motorbike firm. She had decided to go there first, and the receptionist had called a taxi and given the driver the name of the firm.

At the factory the language problem had cropped up again, but after a certain amount of misunderstanding she’d discovered that Signor Rinucci was at the racetrack today. She’d taken the taxi on to the track, glad of the chance to observe him unseen. The place was closed to the public, but she’d arrived just as some employees of the firm were being allowed to enter through a side door, and by mingling with them she’d managed to slip inside.

As soon as she’d reached the stands she had seen him, showing a young woman to a seat in the front row. Polly had held back, wondering what place the woman held in his life. Suddenly he’d grinned, and something cold, almost wolfish about it had made her shiver. Then he’d departed and she’d been able to move down to the front row. The young woman had smiled at her.

‘Are you from the factory?’

‘No,’ Polly said cautiously. ‘You?’

‘No, I just came to see Ruggiero. He’s my brother-in-law.’

‘You mean,’ she asked in alarm, ‘he’s married to your sister?’

‘No, I’m married to his brother.’ She chuckled. ‘I can’t see Ruggiero ever getting married. He enjoys a wide choice of women without tying himself down.’

Polly sighed with relief. A wife or girlfriend would have made her mission much harder. She settled down to watch as Ruggiero, in the distance, mounted the fearsome looking bike, started up, gathered speed, then took off like a rocket.

Lap after lap she watched him with fierce intensity, admiring his ease in the face of danger. The track twisted and turned like a snake, so that he’d no sooner taken a bend, leaning far over to one side, than he had to swiftly straighten up and swing deep in the other direction, then back again, and again. Every move was performed with careless grace and no sense of strain.

In one place the twisting of the track brought him directly ahead, so that for a stunning moment he was heading right for her. Then he leaned deep into a terrifyingly sharp bend and was gone, vanishing into the distance, while the black visor still seemed to hang in the air before her.

Then a strange thing happened.

For no apparent reason she felt a sense of dread begin to invade her. Her brain was on red alert, saying that something was badly wrong. She knew nothing about bikes, but much about troubled minds, and every instinct told her that this man was labouring under a burden and fast reaching his limit.

She stood up, pressing against the rail, frowning as her brain tried to understand what her instincts could sense. He was right ahead again. Coming straight for her until he swung into the bend.

But it was as though he leaned in too deep and couldn’t get out. The next moment the front wheel twisted, jerking the machine into a scissor-like movement that sent him flying through the air.

All around there were shouts of horror, but Polly was galvanised into action. She was first over the barrier, racing across the track, dodging the lethally spinning wheels of the bike, lying on its side, and throwing herself down by Ruggiero.

‘Don’t move,’ she said, unsure whether he could hear her.

‘Hey—’ Piero Fantone had caught up and tried to pull her away.

‘I’m a nurse,’ she said, struggling free. ‘Get an ambulance.’

‘Ambulanza!’ Piero bawled, and turned back to her.

Ruggiero gasped and made a movement. Through the dark plastic of the visor Polly saw him open his eyes, saw the stunned look in them before they closed again.

‘Did he break anything?’ Piero demanded.

She ran her hands lightly over Ruggiero.

‘I don’t think so. But I’ll know better when some of this leather is removed. We need to get him inside.’

‘We keep a stretcher here. It’s on its way.’

From behind the visor a voice growled words she didn’t understand, but the gist of them was clear to Piero, from his urgent voice and attempts to restrain him. His reward was a stream of Neapolitan words that Polly rightly guessed to be curses.

‘He’s all right,’ Piero said.

‘It’s certainly reassuring,’ she agreed.

Ruggiero began to fight his way up, swinging his arms wildly so that Polly, kneeling beside him, was knocked off balance. He managed to get onto one knee before keeling over and landing on her as she raised herself. She reached out quickly, supporting him as he collapsed against her, his head thrown back. For a moment she thought his eyes opened and closed again, but it was hard to be sure.

‘We should take off his helmet,’ she said, laying him gently back onto the ground.

Piero gently eased the helmet off, and now she could see Ruggiero clearly for the first time. It was the face in the photograph with Freda, but older, thinner, his hair disordered and damp with sweat, making him look vulnerable—something she guessed was rare for him. His eyes remained closed, but she saw his lips move.

‘What’s he saying?’ Piero asked.

‘I can’t tell.’ Polly leaned forward, putting her ear close. She felt the warmth of his breath against her cheek and heard a whispered name that made her tense and look at him sharply.

‘Sapphire!’

‘What did he say?’ Piero asked.

‘I—I didn’t catch it. Oh, good—there’s the stretcher. Let’s get him inside.’

She backed away as several men lifted him and began the journey back across the track. Polly stood watching, frozen with shock, until Evie put an arm around her.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes,’ she said in a dazed voice. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

‘Come on—let’s follow them.’

His head was full of darkness, spinning at top speed, like an endless circle. In the centre of it was her face, smiling provocatively, as so often in their time together. But then the picture changed and he saw her as she’d been at the track, standing there, luring him on until he crashed.

But then she’d appeared beside him, taking him up in her arms, pulling open his clothes, speaking words of comfort. He’d groaned, reaching out to her, and she had vanished.

He opened his eyes to find himself lying on a leather couch, with Evie beside him.

‘Steady,’ she said.

‘Where is she?’

‘Who?’

‘Her. She was standing there—I saw her—where is she? Ouch!’

‘Don’t move. You had a bad fall.’

‘I’m all right,’ he croaked, trying to rise. ‘I’ve got to find her.’

‘Ruggiero, who are you talking about?’ she asked frantically, fearful that his wits were wandering.

‘That woman—she was there—’

‘Do you mean the one by the track?’

‘You saw her?’

‘She was in the stand with me. When you crashed she rushed over and helped you.’

He stared at her, scarcely daring to believe what he heard.

‘Where is she?’

‘I’ll fetch her. By the way, she only speaks English.’

‘English?’ he whispered. His voice rose. ‘Did you say she was English?’

‘Yes. Ruggiero, do you think—?’

‘Get her here, for pity’s sake!’ he cried hoarsely.

Evie slipped out.

While he waited Ruggiero tried to stand, but fell back at once, cursing his own weakness. But inwardly he was full of wild hope. It hadn’t been imagination. She had returned, her arms outstretched to him, as so often in hopeless dreams. Now it was real. At any moment she would walk through that door—

‘Here she is,’ Evie said from the doorway, standing aside to usher in a young woman.

At first he saw only a tall, slender figure with long fair hair, and his heart leapt. In a movement that afterwards caused him agonies of shame, he reached out an eager hand, said her name. Then the mist cleared and he found himself looking at a face that was gentle and pleasant, but not beautiful—and not the one his heart endlessly sought.

‘Hallo,’ she said. ‘I’m Polly Hanson. I was watching, and I’m a nurse, so I tried to help.’

‘Thank you,’ he murmured, dazed.

The world was in chaos. He’d thought he’d found Sapphire. Instead, here was this prosaic female whose passing resemblance was just enough to be heartbreaking. Once more Sapphire was only a ghost.

He knew he’d spoken her name—but how loud? Had they heard him? He fell back, passing a hand over his screwed-up eyes, wishing things would become clearer.

‘Thank you,’ he said again, forcing his eyes to open.

Piero looked in to say, ‘The ambulance is here.’

‘What damned ambulance?’ Ruggiero roared. ‘I’m not going to hospital.’

‘I think you should,’ Polly said. ‘You have had a bad accident.’

‘I landed on my shoulder.’

‘Partly. Your head also took a thump, and I’d like it properly looked at.’

‘Signorina,’ Ruggiero said through gritted teeth, ‘I’m grateful for your help, but please understand that you don’t give me orders.’

‘Well, the ambulance is here now,’ she said, riled by his tone.

‘Then you can send it away.’

‘Signor Rinucci, your head may be injured, and I urgently suggest—’

‘You may suggest what you like,’ he snapped, ‘but I’m not getting into an ambulance, so spare me any more of your interference.’

‘Such pleasant manners,’ said a voice from the door. ‘It must be my son.’

Hope swept into the room.

‘Mamma,’ Ruggiero said painfully, ‘how did you—?’

‘Evie called my cellphone,’ Hope said, also in English, taking her cue from the others. ‘And as I was shopping nearby I had only a little way to come.’

‘You just happened to be shopping nearby?’ Ruggiero growled.

‘Yes, wasn’t it a fortunate coincidence?’ Hope said smoothly.

‘If you believe in coincidences.’

‘Be quiet and watch your manners,’ his mother said firmly. ‘You’ve now been rude to everyone—’

‘He hasn’t been rude to me,’ Evie observed mildly.

‘Give him time. He will.’

‘Especially if she mentions an ambulance,’ Ruggiero retorted.

They argued. He was obdurate. In the end his mother sighed and gave in. The ambulance was sent away.

‘I’ll go home and rest,’ Ruggiero conceded. ‘And I’ll be all right for the party tonight.’

‘Or you may have passed out completely by then,’ Polly said, with the faintest touch of acid in her voice.

Evie hastened to explain Polly’s professional qualifications, and what she had done for Ruggiero.

Hope’s response was to embrace Polly fervently and declare, ‘We are friends for ever. So now I ask you to do one more thing for me. You must come to our party tonight.’

Beside her, Polly sensed rather than felt Ruggiero make a gesture of protest, and she knew that he didn’t want her in his home. He wanted to get rid of her as soon as he could. And she could guess why.

But Hope seemed oblivious. ‘Tonight I can thank you properly, and perhaps you’ll also be kind enough to—’ She gave her son a baleful look.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him,’ Polly said.

‘You will not,’ Ruggiero snapped.

‘Indeed I will,’ she riposted at once.

‘I won’t have it.’

‘Try to stop me.’

‘That’s the spirit,’ Hope said, pleased. ‘And, Signor Fantone, I commend you for your good sense in having a nurse at the track. I wouldn’t have expected it of you.’

Having praised and insulted him in one breath, she turned her attention back to Ruggiero. With relief, Polly realised that for the moment she could avoid explanations. Sooner or later everyone would have to know why she was really here. But not yet.

Hope took charge, arranging for Ruggiero to be helped to her waiting car, and leaving Evie to give Polly a lift to her hotel.

‘It’s a big family get-together,’ Evie explained as they drove. ‘The Rinuccis tend to be scattered, but we all returned for Carlo’s wedding yesterday. And, since Hope loves giving parties, she’s going to have another one tonight, before we all disperse again.’

‘Was it really chance that his mother was shopping nearby?’

‘Of course not.’ Evie chuckled. ‘She does it whenever he’s testing, and she always makes sure she has her cellphone, so that she can be fetched quickly if something like this happens. Of course he guesses, although he won’t admit it, and it makes him grumpy. I’m sorry he was so rude to you. He isn’t normally like that.’

‘He was feeling bad,’ Polly said, unwilling to reveal that there could be another reason for Ruggiero’s hostility to her.

A few minutes later Evie dropped Polly at her hotel, promised that someone would fetch her at seven o’clock that evening, and drove off.

In her room, Polly discovered a problem. She had travelled light, wearing jeans and a sweater, and carrying enough basic clothes for a few days, but nothing that would be suitable for a party.

And I’m not turning up looking like a poor relation, she thought. I think I’ll prescribe myself some shopping!

Even in that less privileged area, the clothes shops had a cheering air of fashion. A happy hour exploring resulted in a chiffon dress of dappled mauve, blue and silver, with a neck that was low enough to be ‘party’ and high enough to be fairly modest. The price was absurdly low. Even more absurd were the silver sandals she bought in the market just outside the hotel.

Glamorous cousin Freda, once married to a multimillionaire, would have turned her nose up at such a modest outfit, but Polly was in heaven.

As she dressed that evening she considered her hair, and decided that it would be more tactful to pin it back.

Perhaps I should have done that this afternoon, but I never thought. He might have forgotten her—no, men never forgot Freda.

For a moment she was back by the track, watching him approach, his face unknowable behind the black visor. What had he seen? What had it done to him to bring him so close to death?

It had felt strange to hold him in her arms, the powerful, athletic body slumping helplessly against her. Vulnerability was the last thing she had expected from Freda’s description.

‘He had enough cocky arrogance to take on the world,’ her cousin had said. ‘It made me think, That’s for me.’

‘But not for long,’ Polly had reminded her quietly. ‘Two weeks, and then you dumped him.’

Freda had given an expressive shrug. ‘Well, he’d have dumped me pretty soon, I dare say. I knew straight off that he was the love-’em-and-leave-’em kind. That was useful, because it meant he wouldn’t give me any trouble afterwards.’

‘Plus the fact that you hadn’t given him your real name.’

‘Sure. I thought Sapphire was rather good—don’t you?’

What Polly had thought of her cousin’s actions was something she’d kept to herself—especially then, when Freda had been so frail, her once luxurious hair had fallen out and the future had been so cruelly plain.

That conversation came back to her now, reminding her of Ruggiero as she’d seen him first, and then later. Cocky arrogance, she thought. But not always.

He’d said Sapphire’s name and reached blindly out to her before he’d controlled himself and pulled back. For him, Sapphire still lived—and that was the one thing Polly had not expected.

A chauffeur-driven car arrived exactly at seven o’clock and swept her out of the city and up the winding road to where the Villa Rinucci sat atop the hill. From a distance she could see the lights blazing, and hear the sounds of a party floating down in the clear air.

Hope came out to greet her eagerly.

‘I feel better now you’re here,’ she said. ‘Our family doctor is also a guest, but he’ll have to leave soon.’

‘I’d better talk to him first,’ Polly suggested, and was rewarded with Hope’s brilliant smile.

Dr Rossetti was an elderly man who’d been a friend of the family for a long time. He greeted Polly warmly, questioned her about her impressions that afternoon, and nodded.

‘He’s always been an awkward so-and-so. Now, Carlo—his twin—if he didn’t want to do what he was told, he’d get out of it with charm, and it would be ages before you saw how he’d outwitted you. But Ruggiero would just look you in the eye and say, “Shan’t!”’

Polly chuckled. ‘You mean he doesn’t bother with any of that subtlety nonsense?’

‘Ruggiero wouldn’t recognise subtlety if he met it in the street. His head has a granite exterior which you have to thump hard to make him believe what he doesn’t want to believe.’

‘And under the exterior?’

‘I suspect there’s something more interesting. But he keeps it a secret even from his nearest and dearest. In fact, especially from his nearest and dearest. He hates what he calls “prying eyes”, so don’t make it too clear that you’re concerned for him.’

‘No, I think I gathered that before,’ she said wryly. She glimpsed Ruggiero across the room and added, ‘From the way he’s moving his left arm I think his shoulder’s hurting.’

‘Yes—you might find it useful to rub some of this into it,’ he said, handing her a tube of a preparation designed to cool inflammation.

‘And I’m sure he has concussion.’

‘I doubt it’s serious, since he seems well able to remember what happened. But he needs an early night. See if you can get him to take a couple of these.’ He handed her some tablets.

‘They might do his headache some good,’ she said, nodding as she recognised them.

‘Headache?’ the doctor demanded satirically. ‘What headache? You don’t think he admits to having a headache, do you?’

‘Leave him to me,’ she said. ‘I’m used to dealing with difficult patients.’

They nodded in mutual understanding. Then something made Polly look up to find Ruggiero watching her, his lips twisted in a smile so wry that it was almost a sneer. Of course he knew they were discussing him, and he wasn’t going to make it easy for her.

Then Evie was by her side, taking her to meet the family. Carlo and Della, the newlyweds, had left for their honeymoon, but everyone else was there. While Polly was sorting out the clan in her mind, Hope appeared beside her.

‘Let me take you to Ruggiero.’

‘Better not,’ Polly said. ‘If he’s expecting me to descend on him like a nanny, that’s exactly what I’m not going to do.’

Hope nodded. ‘You’re a wise woman. Oh, dear! Why do men never listen to wise women?’

‘I suppose the other kind are more fun,’ Polly said with amusement. ‘Let him wait and wonder. I think I should meet some more people, just to show I’m not watching him.’

Hope took her around the room to meet the older, more distant members of the extended Rinucci clan. They all greeted her warmly, and seemed to know that she was there to look after one of their number. They were kind people, and open in their appreciation.

It didn’t take long for Polly to understand that they were taking their cue from Hope, who was the centre of the whole family, a charming tyrant, exercising her will so lovingly that it was easy to underestimate her power. Toni’s fond eyes followed her everywhere.

After a while Polly became aware of a glass being pressed into her hand. Looking up, she saw Ruggiero, surveying her grimly.

‘It’s only mineral water,’ he said. ‘Since I take it you’re not allowed to drink on duty?’

‘On duty?’

‘Don’t play dumb with me. You’re here to fix your beady eyes on me in case I go into convulsions. Sorry to disoblige, but I’m having a great time.’

‘A man with cracked ribs is never having a great time.’

‘Who says I have cracked ribs?’

‘You do—every time you touch your left side gingerly. I’ve seen that gesture before. Often enough to know what it means.’

‘And you think you’re going to whisk me away to a hospital—?’

‘There’s no need. If you’ll only—’

‘Once and for all,’ he said, with a touch of savagery, ‘there is nothing wrong with me.’

‘For pity’s sake, what are you trying to prove?’

‘That I’m fine—’

‘Which you’re not—’

‘And that I don’t need a nanny,’ he growled.

‘A nanny is just what you do need,’ she said, coming close to losing her temper. ‘In fact I never saw a man who needed it more. No—scrap nanny. Let’s say a twenty-four-hour guard, preferably armed with manacles. Even then you’d manage to do something brainless.’

‘Then I’m beyond help, and you should abandon me to my fate.’

‘Don’t tempt me,’ she said through gritted teeth.

She waited for a sharp answer, but it didn’t come. Looking at him, she saw why. He sat down, slowly and heavily, leaning his head back against the wall. She just stopped the glass falling from his fingers.

‘Time to stop pretending,’ she said gently.

For a moment Ruggiero didn’t answer. He looked as if all the stuffing had been knocked out of him. At last he turned his head slowly, to look at her out of blurred, pain-filled eyes.

‘What did you say?’

‘I said it’s time to go to bed.’

Hope appeared, looking anxious. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Ruggiero has told me he wants to go to bed,’ Polly informed her.

‘Did I?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘You did.’

He didn’t argue, but gave the shrug of a man yielding to superior forces and rose slowly to his feet. Then he swayed, and was forced to rest an arm quickly on Polly’s shoulder. She heard him mutter something that she didn’t understand, but she guessed it was impolite. Hope gave a signal, and at once Ruggiero’s brothers appeared, taking charge of him.

‘I’ll come and see you when you’re in bed,’ Polly told him.

He groaned. ‘Look, I don’t think—’

‘I didn’t ask what you thought,’ she told him quietly. ‘I said that’s what I’m going to do. Please don’t argue with me. It’s a waste of time.’

The young men wore broad grins, and the braver among them cheered. Then they caught their mother’s eye, and hastily escorted their injured brother to bed.

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