Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

In the Italian’s Bed
Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CONTENTS

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

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 THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE man was standing outside the Medici Gallery as Tess drove past. She only caught a brief glimpse of him, concentrating as she was on keeping Ashley’s car on the right side of the road. She saw him look after her as she turned into the parking lot behind the smart row of boutiques and cafés that faced the flower-fringed promenade of Porto San Michele. And wondered if she wasn’t being paranoid in imagining there had been a definite air of hostility in his gaze.

She shook off the thought impatiently. She was imagining things. He wasn’t waiting for her. Besides, she wasn’t late. Well, only a few minutes anyway. She doubted Ashley’s timekeeping was any better than hers.

There were few cars in the parking lot at this hour of the morning. Tess had discovered that Italian shops rarely opened before ten and were definitely disposed towards a leisurely schedule. Her neighbours on the parade—Ashley’s neighbours, actually—seldom kept to strict opening hours. But they were charming and helpful, and Tess had been grateful for their advice in the three days since she’d been standing in for Ashley.

She hoped she was mistaken about the man, she thought as she let herself into the gallery through the back entrance. She hurried along the connecting passage that led to the showroom at the front and deactivated the alarm. Perhaps he was a friend of Ashley’s. Perhaps he didn’t know she was away. She glanced towards the windows and saw his shadow on the blind. Whatever, she was evidently going to have to deal with him.

Deciding he could wait a few more minutes, Tess turned back into the passageway and entered the small office on the right. This was where Ashley did her paperwork and kept all her records. It was also where she took her breaks and Tess looked longingly at the empty coffee-pot, wishing she had time to fill it.

But Ashley’s boss wouldn’t be pleased if her tardiness turned a would-be patron away and, after examining her reflection in the small mirror by the door, she pulled a face and went to open the gallery.

The door was glass and, unlike the windows, inset with an iron grille. Taking the precaution of opening all the blinds before she tackled the door, Tess had time to assess her visitor.

He was taller than the average Italian, she saw at once, with dark arresting features. Not handsome, she acknowledged, but she doubted a woman would find that a disadvantage. His features had a dangerous appeal that was purely sexual, a sophisticated savagery that sent a shiver of awareness down her spine.

Oh, yes, she thought, he was exactly the kind of man Ashley would be attracted to, and she guessed his visit to the gallery was of a more personal nature than a commercial one. When she pulled the door wide and secured it in its open position, he arched a faintly mocking brow in recognition of her actions. It made Tess want to close the door again, just to show him how confident she was.

But, instead, she forced a slight smile and said, ‘Buongiorno. Posso aiutare?’ in her best schoolgirl Italian.

The man’s mouth twitched as if she had said the wrong thing, but he didn’t contradict her. Nor did he immediately respond. Pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, he swung round and surveyed the contents of the gallery, and Tess wondered if she was wrong about his association with Ashley and that he expected her to give him a guided tour.

Who on earth was he? she wondered, intensely aware of the ambivalence of his gaze. She was sure he wasn’t a tourist and it seemed far too early in the day for him to be a serious collector. Besides, the paintings they were exhibiting were hardly a collector’s choice.

Realising she was probably completely wrong, she nevertheless suspected he hadn’t come here to look at the paintings. Despite his apparent interest, the harsh patrician lines of his profile displayed a contempt for them—or for her. This man would not take rejection easily, she mused, wondering where that thought had come from. But if Ashley was involved, she didn’t envy her at all.

Tess hesitated. She wasn’t sure whether to leave him to his own devices or ask again if she could help. His elegant charcoal suit—which had to be worth a year’s salary to her—made her wish she were wearing something other than an ankle-length cotton skirt and combat boots. The spaghetti straps of her cropped top left her arms bare and she felt horribly exposed suddenly. In her place Ashley would have been wearing heels and a smart outfit. A linen suit, perhaps, with a skirt that barely reached her knees.

Then he turned to face her and she prevented herself from backing up only by a supreme effort of will. Deep-set eyes—golden eyes, she saw incredulously—surveyed her with a studied negligence. She realised he was younger than she’d thought at first and she was again aware of his primitive magnetism. An innate sensual arrogance that left her feeling strangely weak.

‘Miss Daniels?’ he said smoothly, with barely a trace of an accent. ‘It is most—how shall I put it?—enlightening to meet you at last.’ He paused. ‘I must say, you are not what I expected.’ His regard was definitely contemptuous now. ‘But still, you will tell me where I might find my son.’

Was that a threat? Tess was taken aback at his tone, but at the same time she realised he had made a mistake. It must be Ashley he wanted, not her. Yet what on earth could Ashley possibly know about his son? She was in England looking after her mother.

‘I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake, signore,’ she began, only to have him interrupt her.

‘No, Miss Daniels, it is you who have made a mistake,’ he snapped harshly. ‘I know you know where Marco is. My—my investigatore saw you getting on a plane together.’

Tess blinked. ‘No, you’re wrong—’

‘Why? Because you are here?’ He snapped his long fingers impatiently. ‘You bought tickets to Milano but you must have changed planes at Genova. When the plane landed at Malpensa, you and Marco were not on board. Di conseguenza, I had no choice but to come here. Be thankful I have found you.’

‘But, I’m not—’

‘Prego?’

‘I mean—’ Tess knew she sounded crazy ‘—I’m not Miss Daniels. Well, I am.’ Oh, God, if only she could get her words straight. ‘But I’m not Miss Ashley Daniels. She’s my sister.’

The man’s eyes conveyed his disbelief. ‘Is that the best you can do?’

‘It’s the truth.’ Tess was indignant now. ‘My name is Tess. Teresa, actually. But no one calls me that.’

His eyes, those strange predator’s eyes, swept over her, rejecting her contention out of hand. ‘It’s the truth,’ she said again, unknowingly defensive. Then, on a wave of inspiration, ‘I can prove it. I have my passport with me. Is that good enough for you?’

The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘Let me see it.’

Tess’s eyes widened at the command but there was something about him that made her hurry into the office to collect her bag. The passport was zipped into the side pocket of the backpack and she brought it out triumphantly. But when she turned to go back into the showroom she found he was behind her and with a gesture of defiance she thrust it into his hand.

He was successfully blocking her exit now, she realised, aware of a stirring sense of panic. What did she know about this man, after all? Only that he apparently knew her sister—or rather knew of her—and what he knew seemed hardly flattering.

Or true?

‘Look,’ she said as he continued to flick through the mostly empty pages of her passport, ‘I don’t know who you are or what you want but I don’t think you have any right to come in here and accuse me—accuse Ashley—of—of—’

‘Kidnapping my son?’ he suggested scornfully, tossing the passport down onto the desk, and Tess’s heart skipped a beat at the ridiculous accusation. ‘Attenzione, Miss Daniels,’ he added, sweeping back the thick swathe of dark hair that had invaded his forehead as he studied the pages, ‘just because you are not your sister changes nothing. Marco is still missing. He left with your sister. Therefore, you must have some idea where they are.’

‘No!’ Tess hardly knew what she was saying. ‘I mean—I do know where Ashley is. She’s at her mother’s house in England. Her mother is ill. Ashley is looking after her.’

His expression didn’t alter. ‘And that is why you are here taking her place?’

‘Yes. I’m a schoolteacher. I was on holiday. That’s how I was able to help her out.’

‘You are lying, Miss Daniels. Why are you not caring for your mother? I have just read in your passport that you live in England. So tell me why you are not taking care of your mother in your sister’s place?’

‘She’s not my mother,’ Tess exclaimed hotly. ‘My father married again after my mother died.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Now, I think that answers your question. I’m sorry your son is missing but it’s nothing to do with us.’

‘You are wrong.’ He didn’t accept her explanation but at least he stepped back into the passageway to give her some room. When Tess escaped into the comparative safety of the showroom, he followed her. ‘Whatever you say, Miss Daniels, your sister is not caring for her sick mother,’ he insisted. ‘She and Marco are still in Italy. He does not have his passport with him, capisce?’

Tess pressed nervous hands to her bare midriff, feeling the quivering beat of her heart palpating between her ribs. ‘You said—she’d kidnapped him,’ she reminded him tensely. ‘That’s a ridiculous accusation. If—and it’s a big if—Ashley and your son are together, then surely that’s their affair, not yours?’

‘Non credo. I do not think so.’ He was contemptuous. ‘My son is sixteen years of age, Miss Daniels. He belongs in school, with young people of his own age, not chasing around the country after your sister.’

Tess swallowed convulsively. Sixteen! She couldn’t believe it. Ashley wouldn’t—couldn’t—be involved with a boy of sixteen! The whole idea was laughable. Involved with him, perhaps. That Tess could believe. But not with his teenage son.

Besides, she told herself again, clinging to what she knew and not what he suspected, Ashley was in England. Dammit, she’d spoken to her just a couple of nights ago. That was why Tess was spending part of her Easter break filling in for her. Ashley couldn’t leave the gallery unattended and she’d promised it would only be for a few days.

‘If you’ve not met my sister, how can you be sure that she’s involved?’ she asked unwillingly, realising she couldn’t dismiss his claim out of hand. Ashley might not have been in England when she’d phoned her. She could have used her mobile. How could she be sure?

The man gave her an impatient look now. ‘I may have met her once, but that was some months ago and I have met many people since then. In any case, the person who has been watching her would not make a mistake. I have been out of the country, regrettably, but my assistant contacted your sister just a week ago. She swore then that she would speak to Marco, that she would tell him there was no future in their—association. She is what? Twenty-four? Twenty-five? Much too old for a boy of sixteen.’

Tess pressed her lips together. ‘She’s twenty-eight, actually,’ she said, as if that made any difference, and watched his scowl deepen as he absorbed her words. She didn’t know what to say; she hardly knew what to think. But if it was true, she agreed with him. Could Ashley have told her an outright lie?

She could, she reflected ruefully. And she had to admit that when Ashley had asked her to help her out while she took care of her mother, it had seemed a little out of character. Ashley’s mother, Andrea, had never been a particularly strong woman and since their father had died of a heart attack just over a year ago, she’d suffered from a series of minor complaints. Tess had suspected that that was why Ashley had taken this job in Italy. Looking after a fretful parent who was halfway to being a hypochondriac had never seemed her style.

All the same, this situation was no less incredible. Surely even Ashley would draw the line at getting involved with a boy of sixteen? There was only one way to find out and that was to ring Ashley’s mother. But Tess was loath to do it. If Ashley was there, it would look as if she didn’t trust her.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ she murmured now, her fingers threading anxiously through the wisps of pale blonde hair at her nape. She’d had her hair cut before she came away and she wasn’t totally convinced the gamine style suited her. She’d hoped it would give her some maturity, but she had the feeling it hadn’t succeeded. He was looking at her as if she were no older than one of her own pupils. Oh, Lord, what was she going to do?

‘You could tell me where they are,’ the man declared tersely. ‘I realise you must feel some loyalty towards your sister, but you must also see that this situation cannot be allowed to continue.’

‘I don’t know where they are,’ Tess insisted. ‘Honestly, I don’t.’ And then, realising what she’d said, she added hastily, ‘As far as I know, Ashley’s in England, as I said.’

‘Bene, then you can ring her,’ he said, voicing the thought Tess had had a few minutes before. ‘If she is with her mother, I will offer you my sincerest apologies for troubling you.’

‘And if she’s not?’

Tess looked up at him, unable to disguise her apprehension, and for a moment she thought he was going to relent. But then, with a tightening of his lips, he corrected her. ‘You are confident she will be there,’ he said, and she had the fanciful thought that this man would take no prisoners. She just hoped Ashley had taken that into consideration before she’d taken off with his son.

If she’d taken off with his son, she amended sharply. She only had his word for that. And that of his investigatore—his investigator, she assumed. But she was becoming far too willing to accept what this man said as if it was the truth.

‘If—if she is there, who shall I say is asking for her?’ she inquired abruptly, realising she had been staring at him for far too long. He probably thought she was a flake in her long skirt and combat boots, she reflected ruefully. After all this, it wouldn’t do for him to think that Ashley’s sister might be interested in him.

He hesitated a moment, evidently considering her question. Then, he said briefly, ‘Just tell her it is Castelli. The name will mean something to her, I am sure.’

Tess guessed it would, though what she didn’t dare to speculate. Oh, please, she begged, let Ashley be staying with her mother. Apart from anything else, Tess was going to look such a gullible fool if she wasn’t.

‘All right,’ she declared briskly. ‘I’ll ring her. If you’d like to give me a number where I can reach you, I’ll let you know what she says.’

‘If she says anything,’ murmured Castelli wryly, and then his dark brows drew together. ‘But perhaps you would ring her now, Miss Daniels? I will wait while you make the call.’

Tess caught her breath. He was certainly determined to have his way. But she’d been chivvied long enough. ‘I can’t ring her now,’ she said, not allowing him to intimidate her. ‘I’ll ring her later. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.’

His scepticism was evident. ‘You have?’ He glanced round the gallery. ‘You are not exactly overrun with customers, Miss Daniels.’

Tess stiffened her spine. ‘Look, I’ve said I’ll ring Ashley and I will. Isn’t that enough for you?’ The underlying words were almost audible. But not until you have gone!

His faint smile was sardonic. ‘You are afraid to make the call, Miss Daniels,’ he said impatiently. ‘Be careful, or I shall begin to think you have been lying to me all along.’

Tess’s anger was hot and unexpected. ‘Oh, please,’ she exclaimed fiercely. ‘I don’t have to listen to this. It’s not my fault if your son’s been foolish enough to get involved with an older woman. You’re his father. Don’t you have some responsibility here?’

For a moment, his stillness terrified her. He was like a predator, she thought unsteadily, and she waited in a panic for him to spring. But suddenly his lips twitched into a smile that was blatantly sensual. A look, almost of admiration, crossed his dark face and he appraised her small indignant figure with a rueful gaze.

‘Dio mio,’ he said, and her heart quickened instinctively. ‘The little cat has claws.’

His analogy was startling. It was so close to what she had been thinking about him. Though he was no domesticated feline, she acknowledged urgently. Those strange tawny eyes belonged to a different beast entirely.

And, despite her determination not to let him have his way, she found herself stammering an apology. ‘I’m—I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken as I did. It—it’s nothing to do with me.’

‘No, mi scusi, signorina,’ he said. ‘You are right. This is not your problem. Regrettably, my son has always been a little—what is it you say?—headstrong? I should not have allowed my anger with him to spill over onto you.’

Tess quivered. His eyes were softer now, gentler, a mesmerising deepening of colour that turned them almost opaque. They were locked on hers and the breath seemed to leave her body. Oh, God, she shivered, the impact on her senses leaving her feeling absurdly vulnerable. What was wrong with her? She was behaving as if a man had never looked at her before.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she managed at last, but he wouldn’t let it go.

‘It does matter,’ he said. ‘I am an unfeeling moron, and I should not have called your honesty into question. If you will give me your sister’s number, I will make the call myself.’

Tess stifled a groan. Dear Lord, just as she was beginning to think the worst was over, he sprang this on her. Having reduced her to mush with his eyes, he was now moving in for the kill. He hadn’t given up. He’d only changed his tactics. And she couldn’t be absolutely sure that this hadn’t been his intention all along.

She moved her head in a helpless gesture. How could she give him the number? How could she allow him to speak to Ashley’s mother if Ashley wasn’t there? Andrea would have a fit if he told her that her daughter was missing. And if he added that he suspected she was with his sixteen-year-old son, heaven knew how Ashley’s mother would react.

Concentrating her gaze on the pearl-grey silk knot of his tie, Tess strove for a reason not to give the number to him. But it was hard enough to find excuses for her reaction to a stranger without the added burden of her own guilt. ‘I—don’t think that would be a very good idea,’ she said, wishing desperately that someone else would come into the gallery. But no one did, and she continued unevenly, ‘Ashley’s mother isn’t well. I wouldn’t want to upset her.’

Castelli heaved a sigh. ‘Signorina—’

‘Please: call me Tess.’

He expelled a breath. ‘Tess, then,’ he agreed, though she hardly recognised her name on his tongue. His faint accent gave it a foreign sibilance that was strange and melodic. ‘Why would my call upset her? I have no intention of intimidating anyone.’

But he did, thought Tess grimly, almost without his being aware of it. It was in his genes, an aristocratic arrogance that was dominant in his blood. Who was he? she wondered again. What was his background? And what did his wife think of the situation? Was she as opposed to the liaison as he was?

Of course she must be, Tess told herself severely, averting eyes that had strayed almost irresistibly back to his face. But if Marco was like his father, she could understand Ashley’s attraction. If she had been attracted to his son, she amended. She must not jump to conclusions here.

‘I—Mrs Daniels doesn’t know you,’ she said firmly, answering his question. ‘And—and if by chance Ashley is out and she answers the phone, she’s bound to be concerned.’

‘Why?’ Once again those disturbing eyes invaded her space. ‘Come, Tess, why not be honest? You are afraid that your sister is not at her mother’s house. Am I not correct?’

Tess’s defensive gaze betrayed her. ‘All right,’ she said unwillingly. ‘I admit, there is a possibility—a small possibility—that Ashley isn’t in England, after all. But—’ she put up a hand when he would have interrupted her and continued ‘—that doesn’t mean she’s with—with Marco. With your son.’ The boy’s name came far too easily. ‘She might just have decided she needed a break and, as it’s the Easter holidays, I was available.’

‘You do not believe that,’ he told her softly, running a questing hand down the silken length of his tie. The gesture was unconsciously sensual, though she doubted he was aware of it. Sensuality was part of his persona. Like his lean, intriguing face and the powerful body beneath his sleek Armani suit. ‘I also think you are far too understanding. I hope your sister realises what a loyal little friend she has in you.’

It was the ‘little’ that did it. Tess had spent her life insisting that people not judge her by her size. ‘All right,’ she said again, anger giving her a confidence she hadn’t been able to summon earlier. ‘I’ll phone her. Now. But if she is there—’

‘I will find some suitable means of recompense,’ he finished softly. ‘And if your sister is like you, then I can understand why Marco found her so—appealing.’

‘Don’t patronise me!’ Tess was incensed by his condescension. ‘As it happens, Ashley’s nothing like me. She’s tall and more—more—’ How could she say curvaceous to him? ‘Um—she’s dark and I’m fair.’

‘So…’ His tone was almost indulgent now. ‘Once again, I have offended you, cara. Forgive me. I suppose, being the younger sister—’

‘I’m not the younger sister,’ Tess broke in hotly, wondering why she’d ever thought that cutting her hair would make a difference. ‘I told you, my father married again after my mother died.’

‘Non posso crederci! I can’t believe it.’ He shook his head. ‘But you told me your sister was twenty-eight, no?’

‘And I’m thirty-two,’ said Tess shortly, struggling to hold on to her patience. She paused, and then in a more civil tone she added, ‘Don’t bother to tell me I don’t look it. I’ve spent the last ten years trying to convince people that I’m older than the kids I teach.’

Castelli’s mouth tilted at the corners and she was struck anew by his disturbing appeal. ‘Most women would envy you, Tess. My own mother spends a small fortune on retaining her youth.’

‘But I am not most women,’ she retorted, realising she was only putting off the inevitable. ‘And now, I suppose, I’d better make that call.’

CHAPTER TWO

RAFE DI CASTELLI paced tensely about the gallery. All his instincts were urging him to join her in the small office, to be present while she made the call. To make sure she actually called her sister, he conceded tersely. Despite her apparent innocence, he had no reason to trust Tess Daniels any more than her sister.

But courtesy—and an underlying belief that she wouldn’t lie to him—kept him out of earshot. He didn’t want to know how she phrased her question; he didn’t want to hear her distress if he was right. And he was right, he told himself grimly. Verdicci had been adamant. Two people had got aboard the plane to Milano, and one of them had been his son.

It seemed to take for ever. He was fairly sure her Italian wasn’t fluent and it might have been easier if he had placed the call for her. But any suggestion of involvement on his part would have seemed like interference. Besides, impatient as he was, he was prepared to give her the time to marshal her thoughts.

She emerged from the office a few moments later and he saw at once that she was upset. Her hair was rumpled, as if she’d been running agitated fingers through it as she spoke, and her winter-pale cheeks were bright with colour.

She looked delectable, he thought ruefully, despising the impulse that would put such a thought in his mind at this time. Was this how she looked when she left her bed? he wondered. All pale tangled hair and face flushed from sleep?

It was a curiously disturbing picture, and one that he chose to ignore. Engaging though she was, she could mean nothing to him. He was amused by her naïvety, but that was all.

‘She’s not there,’ she burst out abruptly as he paused, expectantly, looking at her. ‘Andrea—that’s Ashley’s mother—she hasn’t seen her.’

Rafe felt a mixture of resignation and relief. Resignation that his information had been correct, and relief that there was not some unknown woman involved.

‘You knew that, of course,’ she went on, regarding him half resentfully. Green eyes, fringed by surprisingly dark lashes, surveyed him without liking. ‘So—you were right and I was wrong. What do we do now?’

‘We?’ Her use of the personal pronoun caused an automatic arching of his brows and she had the grace to look embarrassed at her presumption.

‘I mean, I—that is, me,’ she fumbled. ‘What am I going to do now? I can’t stay here indefinitely. I’m due back at school in ten days’ time.’

‘As is Marco,’ he observed drily, feeling a little of her frustration himself. ‘May I ask, what did your sister tell you when she handed the keys of the gallery to you? Did she give you any idea when she would return?’

Tess sighed. ‘I haven’t seen Ashley,’ she muttered, lifting both hands to cup her neck, and his eyes were unwillingly drawn to the widening gap of skin at her midriff. Such soft skin it looked, creamy and flawless. Such a contrast to the ugly boots she wore on her feet.

Dragging his thoughts out of the gutter, Rafe tried to absorb what she was saying. ‘You have not seen her,’ he echoed blankly. ‘I do not understand.’

‘Ashley phoned me,’ she explained. ‘She said her mother was ill and was there any chance that I could come here and look after the gallery for a few days while she went to England. She said she wanted to leave immediately. That she was worried about her mother and she’d leave the keys with the caretaker of her apartment.’

‘So you crossed in transit?’

‘In a manner of speaking. But Ashley’s mother and I live in different parts of the country.’

‘Ah.’ He nodded. ‘So your sister had every reason to believe that she would not be found out in her deception.’

‘I suppose so.’ Clearly she didn’t want to admit it, but Rafe could see the acknowledgement in her face. She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe she’d think she’d get away with it. I could have phoned Andrea. I could have found out she wasn’t ill for myself.’

‘But you did not?’

‘No.’ Tess shrugged her slim shoulders and her hands dropped to her sides. ‘Ashley knows I was unlikely to do that, in any case. Andrea and I have never been particularly close.’

‘Yet you must have been very young when your mother died,’ he probed, and then could have kicked himself for his insensitivity. But it was too late now and he was forced to explain himself. ‘I assumed this woman—your father’s second wife—would have cared for you, too.’

Tess shook her head. ‘Andrea has always been a—a delicate woman,’ she said. ‘Having two young children to look after would have been too much for her. I went to live with my mother’s sister. She’d never married and she was a teacher, too.’

Poor Tess. Rafe made no comment, but it sounded to him as if Andrea Daniels was as unfeeling and as selfish as her daughter. ‘It seems we have both been deceived,’ he said, softening his tone deliberately. ‘It is a pity your sister does not carry a mobile. Marco’s is switched off.’

‘But she does,’ exclaimed Tess excitedly, animation giving her porcelain-pale features a startling allure. Her smile appeared and Rafe had to warn himself of the dangers of responding to her femininity. ‘Why didn’t I think of it before? She gave me the number when she moved to Porto San Michele.’

Rafe expelled a harsh breath. ‘You have the number with you?’

‘Of course.’ She swung about and headed back into the office where she’d left her bag. She emerged a few seconds later, clutching a scrap of paper. ‘Here it is. Do you want to ring her, or shall I?’

Rafe realised suddenly that, almost without his volition, they had become co-conspirators. She was now as anxious to know where her sister had gone as he was. But once again he reminded himself not to get involved with her, however innocently. She was still his enemy’s sister. In any conflict of wills, she would choose Ashley every time.

‘If you wish that I should make the call, then I will,’ he told her politely, but he could hear the formal stiffness in his tone. ‘Even so, perhaps it would be wiser for you to phone her. If she hears my voice…’

‘Oh. Oh, yes.’

He didn’t elaborate but Tess understood at once what he was saying. The animation died out of her face and she averted her eyes. It was as if she’d just remembered that she owed him no favours either. That however justified he felt, she had only his word that Ashley was to blame for his son’s disappearance.

With an offhand little gesture, she returned to the office, only to emerge again a few minutes later, her expression revealing she had had no luck. ‘Ashley’s phone is switched off, too,’ she said, and Rafe could see she was losing faith in her sister. She heaved a sigh. ‘It looks as if you were right all along. What are you going to do now?’

Rafe wished he had an answer. There was hardly any point in saying what he’d like to do. ‘Continue searching, presumo,’ he replied at last, choosing the least aggressive option. ‘There are many holiday resorts between here and Genova. It is possible that your sister hired an automobile at the airport. They could be anywhere. It will not be an easy task.’

‘Mmm.’ Tess was thoughtful. A pink tongue circled her lower lip and Rafe realised she didn’t know how provocative that was. ‘Will you let me know if you find them?’ she asked ‘I mean—find Ashley.’ Becoming colour scored her cheeks. ‘You know what I mean.’

Rafe knew what she meant all right. What he didn’t know at that moment was whether he wanted to see her again. She was far too young for him, far too vulnerable. Despite her being the older, he’d stake his life that Ashley was far more worldly than she was.

The notion annoyed him however. What in the name of all the saints was he thinking? She wasn’t asking to see him again. She was asking if he’d keep her informed about her sister. Va bene, he could get his assistant to do that with a phone call. Providing he found out where her sister had gone…

‘Si,’ he said abruptly, buttoning his jacket in an unconsciously defensive gesture and heading for the door. He turned in the doorway, however, to bid her farewell and was surprised by a strangely disappointed look on her face. With her slim hands clasped at her waist, she looked lost and lonely, and before he could stop himself he added, ‘Perhaps you could do the same?’

Her green eyes widened. ‘I don’t know where to reach you,’ she said, as he’d known she would. Maledizione, he hadn’t intended to give her his phone number. How easily he’d fallen into the trap.

He would have to give her his card, he decided, reaching into his jacket pocket. That way Giulio could handle it and he needn’t be involved. To give her his mobile number would have been kinder, obviously, but why should he put himself out for the sister of the woman who had seduced his son?

He took a few paces back into the gallery and handed the card to her. Her fingers brushed his knuckles as she took it and he couldn’t deny the sudden frisson of desire that seared his flesh. He wanted her, he thought incredulously. Combat boots and all, she attracted him. Or maybe he was feeling his age and seducing her would give him some compensation for what her sister had done to Marco. What other reason could he have for the feelings she inspired?

Whatever, he dismissed the idea impatiently. He was obviously having some kind of midlife crisis because girls like Tess had never appealed to him before. He liked his women young—well, reasonably so, but far more sophisticated. They wore designer dresses and heels, and they’d never dream of going out without make-up on their faces.

Vigneto di Castelli, his card read, and he watched Tess’s expression as she looked at it. ‘You have a vineyard,’ she murmured. ‘How exciting! I’ve never met anyone who actually owned a vineyard before.’

Nor had her sister, thought Rafe drily. He was too cynical to believe that Marco’s background hadn’t figured in Ashley’s plans. He still had no idea what her ultimate intentions were, of course, but he suspected that a pay-off would be part of it. He’d encountered the ploy before with his daughter. But fortunately Maria had been eighteen, not sixteen at the time.

‘It is a small operation, signorina,’ he said now deprecatingly. ‘Many families in Italy have taken to growing grapes with the increase in wine drinking in recent years.’

‘All the same…’ Her lips curved beguilingly, and Rafe felt the familiar pull of awareness inside him. Time to go, he thought grimly, before he invited her to visit the villa. He could just imagine his mother’s horror if he returned home with someone like Tess in tow.

‘Ci vediamo, signorina,’ he said politely as he retraced his steps to the door but she wouldn’t let him have the last word.

‘My name’s Tess,’ she reminded him, following him out onto the esplanade and watching as he strode away towards his car.

And, although he didn’t answer her, he knew that was how he would think of her. Somehow the name suited her personality. It was as capricious and feminine as she was.

As he’d half expected, his mother was waiting for him when he returned to the Villa Castelli.

A tall, elegant woman in her mid-sixties, she’d moved back into the villa six years ago when he’d divorced his wife. Rafe’s father had died almost twenty years before and he was sure that looking after Maria and Marco had given the old lady a new lease of life. Of course, she’d never forgiven him for divorcing Gina. In the Castelli family marriages were made to last and her strict religious beliefs rebelled against such secular freedom. Nevertheless, she had proved a tower of strength on many occasions and it was only recently that she had decided that the time had come to move back into the small farmhouse she’d occupied on the estate since Raphael’s father’s death.

Rafe knew her decision had been partly influenced by his son’s behaviour. Although Maria had had her own period of rebellion, she had been fairly easy to control in comparison to her brother. Marco was self-willed and headstrong—much as he had been at the same age, Rafe acknowledged honestly—but without the sense of responsibility his father had instilled in him.

‘You’ve seen her?’

His mother’s first words reminded Rafe that, as far as Lucia di Castelli was concerned, Ashley Daniels was still running the Medici Gallery. His main reason for visiting the gallery had been to find out if Ashley knew where Marco was hiding. Instead of which he’d met her sister and discovered he was not too old to make a fool of himself, too.

‘She’s not at the gallery,’ he said with contrived carelessness, strolling onto the loggia where his mother was waiting enjoying a mid-morning cappuccino. It was very warm on the loggia and Rafe loosened his tie and pulled it a couple of inches away from his collar before approaching a glass-topped table and helping himself to one of the thin, honey-soaked biscotti Lucia loved. ‘Verdicci appears to have been correct. They have gone away together.’ He glanced round as a uniformed maid came to ask if there was anything he required. ‘Just coffee, Sophia,’ he replied pleasantly. ‘Black.’ Then to his mother. ‘Her sister is looking after the gallery while she’s away.’

‘Her sister?’

His mother was sceptical, and Rafe guessed she’d jumped to the same conclusion he had. ‘Her sister,’ he confirmed, flinging himself into a cane-backed chair and staring broodingly out across the gardens below the terrace. ‘Believe me, she is nothing like this woman Marco has got himself involved with.’

‘How do you know this?’ Lucia’s dark eyes narrowed. ‘I thought you said you wouldn’t recognise the woman if you saw her.’

‘I wouldn’t.’ Rafe realised he had been far too definite. ‘But Tess is a schoolteacher. And, believe me, she’s as much in the dark as we are. Ashley had given her some story about going home to care for her sick mother.’

‘Tess!’ Lucia scoffed. ‘What kind of a name is that?’

‘It’s Teresa,’ replied Rafe evenly, thanking the maid who had delivered his coffee. He turned back to his mother in some irritation. ‘We won’t get anywhere by picking fault with one of the few people who might be able to help us.’

‘How can this woman help us? You said yourself she doesn’t know where her sister is.’

‘Ashley may get in touch with her. If she wants Teresa to go on believing the story she’s given her, she may feel the need to embellish it in some way.’

Lucia’s mouth drew into a thin line. ‘It sounds to me as if this—this sister of the Daniels woman has made quite an impression on you, Raphael,’ she declared tersely. ‘Why do you believe her? What proof do you have that she’s telling you the truth?’

None at all! ‘Believe me, she was as shocked as we were,’ he responded stiffly. ‘You can’t blame her for what her sister’s done.’

‘And has she contacted her mother?’ Lucia was scathing. ‘Forgive me, I know I’m old-fashioned, but don’t English girls keep in touch with their own parents these days?’

‘Of course they do,’ retorted Rafe testily. ‘But Ashley’s mother isn’t her mother. Their father married twice. Teresa is the older sister.’

‘Che sorpresa!’ What a surprise! Lucia was sardonic. ‘People get married and divorced at the drop of a hat these days.’ She crossed herself before continuing. ‘Thank Jesu for the Holy Catholic church. At least most good Catholics take their vows seriously.’

Rafe knew that was directed at him but he chose not to rise to it. It wasn’t worth it. He contented himself with saying drily, ‘I understand Teresa’s mother is dead.’ Then, refusing to feel defensive, added, ‘In any case, as you’ll have guessed, Ashley wasn’t at her mother’s home. It seems she has told her sister a pack of lies.’

Lucia shook her head. ‘It sounds very suspicious to me.’

Rafe controlled his temper with an effort. ‘Well, I cannot help that,’ he said grimly.

‘But you must admit it is strange that this woman—this Teresa—doesn’t know where her sister is.’ She arched an aristocratic eyebrow. ‘Why on earth would she want to keep her whereabouts a secret from her?’

‘Because she knew her sister wouldn’t approve any more than we do?’ suggested Rafe tightly. ‘I don’t know, Mama. But I believe her and I think you should do the same.’

Lucia sniffed and Rafe thought how ridiculous this was, having to explain himself to his mother. Sometimes she behaved as if he were no older than Marco. He supposed it came of giving her free rein with the household after Gina walked out.

‘So what happens now?’ she inquired at last when it became obvious that Rafe was going to say no more. ‘Do I take it that unless the woman gets in touch with her sister, the information Verdicci gave you is our only lead?’

‘I will also speak to Maria,’ said Rafe. ‘She and Marco share most things and she may know where he’s gone. It’s a long shot and for the present we only know they disembarked in Genova. I suspect the Daniels woman guessed we might check the airlines and buying tickets to Milano was meant to throw us off the scent.’

‘And knowing they might be in Genova helps us how?’

‘Well, obviously she didn’t know we were watching her. She has no reason to believe that we might question whether they completed their journey. Ergo, she will expect us to make inquiries in Milano. Inquiries which, as we now know, would have gained us nothing.’

‘Very well.’ Lucia accepted his reasoning. ‘But Genova is a big city. How do you propose to find them there?’

‘I’m hoping Ashley will have hired an automobile,’ replied Rafe, finishing his coffee and getting to his feet again. He paced somewhat restlessly across the terrazzo tiles, staring out at the distant vineyard, hazy in the morning sunshine. ‘Verdicci is checking the rental agencies at the airport. If she has used her own name, we will find them, never fear.’

‘And if she hasn’t?’

‘Car rental agencies need identification. If my guess is correct, she will have used her passport to confirm her identity. Either that or her work permit. In each case, she will have had to use her own name. She may even have had to give an address—a local address, I mean. Somewhere she plans to stay. Where they plan to stay.’

Lucia’s lips crumpled. ‘Oh, this is so terrible! Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is Marco and that woman, together. It’s—appalling! Disgusting!’

‘Don’t exaggerate, Mama.’ Rafe could see she was building up to another hysterical outburst. His lips twisted. ‘For all I know, Marco may be more experienced than we thought. He must have something to have attracted the interest of a woman of her age.’

‘Don’t be offensive!’ Lucia gazed at him with horrified eyes. ‘How can you even say such things? Marco is just a child—’

‘He’s nearly seventeen, Mama.’ Rafe was impatient now. ‘He’s not a child. He’s a young man.’ He paused. ‘With a young man’s needs and—desires.’

Lucia’s spine stiffened and she pushed herself rigidly to her feet. ‘Very well,’ she said coldly. ‘I can see you are not prepared to discuss this sensibly so I might as well go. I should have expected this of you, of course. You’ve never taken a strong enough hand with that boy and now we’re all suffering the consequences.’

Rafe blew out a breath. ‘You’re not suffering anything, Mama. Except perhaps from a little jealousy. I know you’ve always thought the sun shone out of Marco’s—well, you’ve always favoured him over Maria. Perhaps you ought to wonder if you are in any way responsible for his apparent rebellion against parental authority.’

Lucia’s jaw dropped. ‘You can’t blame me?’

‘I’m not blaming anyone,’ retorted Rafe wearily. ‘You are. All I’m doing is defending myself.’

‘As you did when Gina decided she’d had enough of your indifference?’ declared his mother tersely, making for the door. ‘You’ve always neglected your family, Raphael. First your wife and now your son. With you, your work must always come first.’

‘Gina slept with my estate manager,’ said Rafe through his teeth, but Lucia was not deterred.

‘She was lonely, Raphael. She needed love and you didn’t give it to her. What did you expect?’

Trust? Loyalty? Rafe didn’t attempt to dispute her words, however. This was an old argument and one he had no intention of rekindling. Gina hadn’t wanted love, she’d wanted sex. Her affair with Guido Marchetta might have been the reason he’d divorced her, but it hadn’t been the first. He had never told his mother that and now was not the time to do so.

‘Look,’ he said, his tone neutral. ‘Let’s not get into blaming ourselves. Marco’s somewhere out there and I’m going to find him.’

Lucia shrugged. ‘If you can,’ she said scornfully, determined to have the last word, and Rafe let her enjoy her small victory.

CHAPTER THREE

AS TESS had half expected, Ashley’s mother rang the gallery just after the man, Castelli, had left.

Tess didn’t blame her. She wouldn’t have been satisfied with the terse explanation she had given her. But once Tess had ascertained that Ashley wasn’t there, all she’d wanted to do was get off the phone. It had been bad enough having to relay the news to Castelli. Discussing Ashley’s whereabouts with her mother while he’d listened in just hadn’t been possible.

Even so, when the phone pealed in the small office she paused a moment to pray that it might be her sister instead. The gallery was still empty and she had no excuse for not answering it. And it could be anyone, she reminded herself, not looking forward to explaining the situation to Andrea.

‘Teresa?’ Clearly Ashley’s mother had no difficulty in distinguishing between their voices. ‘What’s going on? What are you doing at the gallery? Where’s Ashley?’

Tess sighed. When she’d spoken to Andrea earlier, she hadn’t mentioned the gallery. But it was only natural that Andrea would ring here when she got no reply from Tess’s flat. And this was where her daughter was supposed to be, after all.

‘Um—she’s taking a holiday,’ Tess managed at last, deciding that the best liars were those who stuck most closely to the truth. ‘It’s good to hear from you, Andrea. How are you?’

‘Never mind how I am, Teresa.’ There was no affection in the older woman’s voice. ‘Five minutes ago you rang here asking to speak to Ashley. You must have known how upsetting that would be for me. As far as I knew, she was still in Porto San Michele.’

‘You’ve heard from her?’

Tess couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice and her stepmother detected it. ‘Of course, I’ve heard from her,’ she said shortly. And then, more suspiciously, ‘Why shouldn’t I? She still cares about me, you know.’

‘Well, of course she does—’

‘Just because you encouraged her to leave home and live alone, as you do, doesn’t mean Ashley doesn’t have a conscience,’ continued Andrea preposterously. ‘I know you’ve always been jealous of our relationship, Teresa, but if this is some ploy to try and get me to think badly of—’

‘It’s not.’

Tess couldn’t even begin to unravel what Andrea was talking about. She hadn’t encouraged Ashley to leave home and work in Italy. She had certainly never been jealous of her relationship with her mother. Envious, perhaps, because her own mother wasn’t there to share her hopes and fears; her development. But Aunt Kate had been a wonderful substitute. And what she’d lacked in experience, she’d more than made up for in love.

‘Then why ring me?’ demanded Andrea accusingly. ‘Worrying me unnecessarily, making me wonder if something terrible had happened to her.’

‘It’s not like that.’

‘Then what is it like? You ask me if I’ve heard from her as if she’s gone missing. Don’t you have her mobile phone number? Why don’t you ring her on that?’

Tess hesitated. ‘Her phone’s not working,’ she admitted. ‘And—well, I just wondered if Ashley had gone to England after all. As you’ll have guessed, I’m looking after the gallery while she’s away.’ She paused, seeking inspiration, and then added unwillingly, ‘I—I had a customer of hers asking about—a painting.’ Liar! ‘I—I just thought it was worth seeing if she was staying with you.’

Andrea snorted disbelievingly, and Tess felt a growing sense of injustice at the impossible position Ashley had put her in. Not only had she left her to deal with her boyfriend’s irate father, but she must have known Tess might ring her mother when she believed that that was where Ashley was.

All the same, it wasn’t in Tess’s nature to upset anyone unnecessarily, and, taking a deep breath, she said, ‘I’m sure she’ll be in touch with me again in a few days.’ She’ll have to, Tess added to herself. Ashley knew she was due back at school in ten days as well. ‘But—um—if you hear from her in the meantime, could you ask her to ring me? The—er—the customer I was telling you about, he is pretty eager to speak to Ashley himself.’

Andrea was silent for so long that Tess began to hope that she’d pacified the woman. But just as she was about to excuse herself on the pretext that someone had come into the gallery Ashley’s mother spoke again.

‘And you have absolutely no idea where Ashley is?’ she asked again urgently, a worrying tremor in her voice. ‘If you do know anything, Teresa, I demand that you tell me. Do you think I should come out there? If Ashley’s missing, the police ought to be informed.’

‘Ashley’s not missing.’ Tess hurried to reassure her, cursing her sister anew for getting her into this mess. ‘Honestly, Andrea, there’s no need for you to concern yourself. Ashley’s taken a break, that’s all. She’s probably turned off her phone so she isn’t bothered with nuisance calls.’

‘I hope you’re not suggesting that if I ring my daughter she’d regard it as a nuisance call!’ exclaimed Andrea at once, but at least the disturbing tremor had left her voice.

‘Of course not,’ protested Tess, determining to find out exactly what Ashley had been telling her mother about their relationship. Andrea hadn’t always treated her kindly, but she hadn’t regarded Tess as an enemy before.

‘Oh, well…’ There was resignation in the woman’s voice now. ‘I suppose I have to take your word for it. But, remember, I expect you to keep me informed if there are any developments. And if you hear from Ashley, you can tell her that I expect her to ring me at once.’

‘Okay.’

Somehow, Tess found the right words to end the conversation, and with a feeling of immense relief she put the handset down. But her sense of indignation didn’t end when she severed the connection. She was beginning to feel distinctly put upon and she wished she’d never agreed to come here in the first place.

An image of Castelli flashed before her eyes, but she refused to acknowledge it. She had no intention of allowing her interview with the Italian to influence her mood. Besides which, he was just someone else who regarded her as unworthy of his respect.

She scowled. This was not the way Ashley had sold this trip to her. Her sister had asked her to babysit the gallery, true, but she’d also sweetened the request with promises of long sunny days and evenings spent exploring the bars and ristorantes of the popular resort. Not that Tess cared much for bars, but the idea of eating in real Italian restaurants had been appealing. And, like anyone else who held down a job, she’d looked forward to spending some time on the beach.

Now it was all spoilt. After spending the first couple of evenings tidying Ashley’s apartment and making sense of her bookkeeping, she was confronted by this situation. It was typical of Ashley, she thought flatly. Typical of her sister to trample over everyone’s feelings if it made her happy. And there was no doubt that Ashley had known how Tess would have reacted if she’d told her what she’d intended. That was why she’d made sure she’d been long gone before Tess had arrived.

It was so frustrating; so disappointing. She should have guessed there was more to it than Ashley had told her. She should have rung Andrea before she’d left England. It was her own fault for not expressing any interest in her stepmother’s health. But for now she was helpless. Until Ashley chose to contact her, there was nothing she could do.

She had planned on treating herself to an evening meal at the local pizzeria before returning to the apartment, but she changed her mind. After spending an uneasy day jumping every time someone came into the gallery, she was in no mood for company. She would buy herself some salad greens, she thought, toss them in a lemon vinaigrette, and grate some parmesan for flavour.

She was about to lock up when a man appeared in the doorway. He had his back to the light and for a ridiculous moment she thought Castelli had come back. Her heart skipped a beat and hot colour surged into her throat. But then the man moved and she realised her mistake.

It was Silvio Palmieri, she saw at once, the young man who ran the sports shop next door. Though perhaps calling the establishment he managed a sports shop was understating the obvious, Tess mused. With its windows full of endorsements from famous sports personalities and the exclusive designer gear it sold, it was definitely not just a sports shop.

Still, she acknowledged she had been foolish to mistake the younger man for Castelli. Silvio was dark, it was true, but that was where the resemblance ended. He didn’t move with the instinctive grace of a predator or regard her with tawny-eyed suspicion. Silvio was just a rather pleasant man who had taken it upon himself to look out for her.

‘Ciao,’ he said. Then he noticed her expression. ‘Mi scusi, I startle you, no?’

‘Oh—I was miles away,’ murmured Tess, gathering her composure. ‘You surprised me, that’s all.’

Silvio frowned. ‘You have not had bad news?’ he asked, with surprising perception. ‘Ashley’s mama—she has not had a relapse, spero?’

‘Not as far as I know,’ said Tess drily, not at all sure how Andrea must be feeling at this moment. ‘Um—have you had a good day?’

Silvio shrugged. ‘What do you say? So-so? Si, it has been a so-so day. How about you?’

Tess felt an almost irresistible urge to laugh, but she doubted Silvio would appreciate her hysterics. She couldn’t involve him in her problems. Ashley wouldn’t like it and Castelli definitely wouldn’t approve.

‘It’s been—interesting,’ she said, moving to drop the blinds on the windows. ‘But I’m not sorry it’s over.’ And that was the truth.

‘I saw Raphael di Castelli come into the gallery earlier,’ Silvio ventured, his brows raised in inquiry, and Tess wondered if she was being absurdly suspicious in thinking that that was the real reason he had come. ‘He is quite a well-known person in San Michele. In the season, many people work at the villa. Picking the grapes, capisce?’

Tess stared at him. ‘You know him?’ she asked, absorbing the fact that his name was Raphael di Castelli. She moistened her lips. ‘Does he have a large vineyard, then?’

‘I think so.’ Silvio was regarding her curiously now. ‘And, no, I do not know him. Well, not personally, you understand?’

Tess hesitated. Ashley’s interest in Marco was beginning to make sense. ‘And Ashley?’ she asked, trying to sound casual. ‘I believe she knows his son?’

‘Ah, Marco.’ Silvio nodded. ‘Si. Marco is—how do you say?—the artist, no?’

‘Marco’s a painter?’

‘He would like to be.’ Silvio spread a hand towards the paintings lining the walls of the gallery. ‘He would like the exhibition, I think.’

Tess caught her breath. Castelli hadn’t mentioned that his son wanted to be a painter. But perhaps it explained how Ashley had come to know Marco, however.

Now she looked around. ‘Are any of these his paintings?’ she asked cautiously and Silvio laughed.

‘A mala pena.’ Hardly. ‘But he is ambitious, no?’

‘I see.’ Tess nodded. ‘Does his father approve?’

‘I think not,’ said Silvio, sobering. ‘Di Castellis do not waste their time with such pursuits. Besides, Marco is still at school.’

‘Ah.’ Tess thought that explained a lot. ‘Well, thank you for your insight. It was certainly—um—interesting.’

‘And Marco’s father?’ prompted Silvio. ‘You didn’t say what he wanted.’

‘Oh.’ Tess had no intention of discussing the reasons for Castelli’s visit with him. ‘He—er—he was looking for Ashley.’ She crossed her fingers. ‘He didn’t say why.’

‘Mmm.’

Silvio didn’t sound convinced, but Tess decided she had said enough. ‘Now, I’ve got to go,’ she said. ‘I want to go to the supermarket before I go home.’

‘Or you could have dinner with me,’ Silvio suggested at once. ‘There is a favourite trattoria of mine just a short way from here.’

‘Oh, I don’t think—’

‘You are not going to turn me down?’

Silvio pulled a petulant face, but Tess had had enough. ‘I am sure there are plenty of women only too eager to dine with you, Silvio,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s been a long day and I’m tired. I wouldn’t be very good company tonight.’

‘But Ashley, she said you would be glad to go out with me,’ he protested. ‘She tell me you are not—attached, no?’

‘Did she?’ Tess wondered what else Ashley had told these people about her. ‘Well, she was wrong, Silvio. I do have a boyfriend.’ Boyfriends, anyway, she justified herself. There was no need to tell him there was no special man in her life.

Silvio shrugged. ‘But he is not here,’ he pointed out blandly, and she sighed.

‘Even so…’

‘Another evening, perhaps,’ he declared, evidently undeterred by her answer. Then to her relief he walked towards the door. ‘A domani, cara. Arrivederci.’

‘Arrivederci,’ she answered. ‘Goodnight.’

Tess waited only until he’d stepped out of the gallery before shutting and locking the door behind him. Then, leaning back against it, she blew out a relieved breath. What a day, she thought. First Castelli, and then Silvio. She would be glad to get back to the apartment. At least there she could be reasonably sure she wouldn’t be disturbed. Unless Ashley had some other secret she hadn’t bothered to share with her sister, that was.

She slept badly, having only picked at the salad she’d prepared for herself. She kept thinking she could hear a phone ringing, but it was only the wind chimes hanging on the balcony outside the bedroom window.

In the event, she dropped into a fitful slumber just before dawn and when she woke again it was daylight and the sun was filtering through the blinds.

After putting on a pot of coffee, she went and took a shower in the tiny bathroom. The water was never hot, but for once she appreciated its lukewarm spray. She even turned the tap to cold before stepping out and wrapping herself in one of the skimpy towels Ashley had provided.

After pouring herself a delicious mug of black coffee, she stepped out onto the tiny balcony. The world looked a little less hostile this morning, she thought. But that was ridiculous, really. It was people who were hostile, not the world in general. And if anyone was to blame for her present situation, it was Ashley.

Her sister’s apartment was on the top floor of a villa in the Via San Giovanni. The road was one of several that climbed the hill above the harbour, and, although the building was rather unprepossessing on the outside, at least its halls and stairways were clean and didn’t smell of the onions and garlic that so many old buildings did.

Ashley’s apartment was fairly spartan, but it was comfortable enough. She had added rugs and throws and pretty curtains at the narrow windows, and Tess had been pleasantly surprised to find it had a separate bedroom and bathroom as well as a living-room-cum-kitchen with modern appliances.

Now as she leaned on the balcony rail she amended the feelings of betrayal she had had the night before. Okay, Ashley had lied to her—had lied to all of them—but from Tess’s point of view nothing had really changed. She was still filling in at the gallery and she had only herself to blame if she didn’t enjoy the novelty of a break in such beautiful surroundings.

But it was hard not to wonder what Ashley was doing. Getting involved with a teenager seemed crazy, even by her sister’s standards. Yet Ashley had always been a law unto herself. Tess could remember her father grumbling about his younger daughter’s antics on one of his infrequent visits to Derbyshire to see her. He and his new family had still lived in London, but Tess had moved away when she’d become a teacher. It had been easier not to have to make excuses for not visiting her family as often as her father would have liked.

Realising her mug was empty now and that she was just wasting time, Tess turned back into the bedroom. Shedding the towel onto the rail in the bathroom, she walked naked into the bedroom again to find something suitable to wear.

Ignoring the suspicion that Raphael di Castelli’s visit the previous day was influencing her, she chose a cream chemise dress that was spotted with sprigs of lavender. It was long, as her skirt had been, but she chose canvas loafers instead of the boots she’d worn the day before.

Her hair had dried in the sunshine and she surveyed its wisps and curls with a resigned eye. Some women might appreciate its youthful ingenuousness, but she didn’t. She should have left it long, she thought gloomily. At least then she could have swept it up on top of her head.

Shrugging off these thoughts, she rinsed her coffee mug, left it on the drainer, and exited the apartment. Three flights of stone stairs led down to the ground floor and she emerged into the warm air with a growing feeling of well-being. She wasn’t going to let Ashley—or Castelli—spoil her holiday, she decided. She had a good mind to shut the gallery early and spend the latter half of the afternoon on the beach.

Ashley’s little Renault was parked a few metres down from the apartment building and it took some patience to extricate it from between a badly parked Fiat and a bulky van. It didn’t help that she had to keep control of the vehicle by using the handbrake, the steep slope of the road making any kind of manoeuvre an act of faith.

She managed to regain her composure driving down to the gallery. Tumbling blossoms on sun-baked walls, red-and ochre-tiled roofs dropping away towards the waterfront, buildings that seemed to be crammed so closely together, there didn’t seem to be room for anything between. But there were gardens lush with greenery, fruit trees espaliered against crumbling brickwork. And the sensual fragrance of lilies and roses and jasmine, mingling with the aromas from the bakery on the corner.

The phone was ringing when she let herself into the gallery. Ashley, she thought eagerly, hurriedly turning off the alarm as she went to answer it. ‘Hello?’

‘Teresa?’ Her spirits dropped. She should have known. It was Ashley’s mother again. ‘Teresa, where have you been? I’ve been trying the apartment but you weren’t there.’

‘I expect I was on my way down here,’ said Tess, adopting a pleasant tone even though she felt like screaming. Then, with sudden optimism, ‘Have you heard from Ashley?’

‘No.’ The clipped word conveyed it all, both distress and impatience. ‘Have you?’

‘If I had I’d have let you know,’ said Tess flatly, and heard Andrea inhale a sharp breath.

‘As would I, Teresa,’ she said. ‘And there is no need for you to take that tone with me. If you don’t know where your sister is, I consider that’s your mistake, not mine.’

Tess bit back the indignant retort that sprang to her lips. It was no use falling out with Ashley’s mother. She was upset, and who could blame her? Her daughter had gone missing and she was over a thousand miles away.

‘I suppose I assumed she’d keep in touch,’ she said at last, deciding she didn’t deserve to shoulder all the blame. ‘And I did speak to her a few days ago.’

Andrea snorted. ‘You didn’t tell me that yesterday.’

Tess sighed. ‘I forgot.’

‘Or you kept it from me, just to worry me,’ Ashley’s mother said accusingly. ‘Didn’t you ask her where she was?’

No. Why should she? But Tess kept that question to herself.

‘I never thought of it,’ she said, which was true enough. ‘Anyway, she’ll be in touch again, I know, when she finds the time.’

‘Well, I think it’s a very unsatisfactory state of affairs,’ declared Andrea tersely. ‘And if it wasn’t for this customer of Ashley’s wanting to speak to her, I’d have heard nothing about it.’

Nor would she, thought Tess ruefully. But that was another story.

There was an awkward silence then, and before Tess could think of anything to fill it Ashley’s mother spoke again. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘I’m getting the distinct impression that you know more about this than you’re letting on. And if Ashley was forced to ask you to stand in for her, she must have been desperate.’

Gee, thanks!

Tess refused to respond to that and Andrea continued doggedly, ‘Well, all I can do is leave it with you for the present. But if you haven’t heard from her by the end of the week, I intend to come out to Italy and see what’s going on for myself.’

Tess stifled an inward groan. ‘That’s your decision, of course.’

‘Yes, it is.’ Andrea had obviously expected an argument and Tess’s answer had left her with little more to say. ‘All right, then. So, the minute you hear from Ashley, you’ll ring me? You promise?’

‘Of course.’

Somehow Tess got off the phone without telling the other woman exactly what she really thought of Ashley’s behaviour. And then, after hanging up, she spent several minutes staring gloomily into space. She no longer felt like closing the gallery early and spending the rest of the day on the beach. This so-called holiday had suddenly become a trial of innocence and she was the accused.

It wasn’t fair, she thought bitterly. It wasn’t her fault Ashley had disappeared; it wasn’t her fault that she had taken Castelli’s son with her. So why was she beginning to feel that it was?

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