A Trusting Heart
Autor
Helena Dawson
Lecturas
19,1K
Capítulos
10
Chapter 1
JENNY had been the only person to get off the bus in San Piero and now she stood alone in the village square, squinting against the blazing afternoon sun as she tried to get her bearings.
It was siesta time and everything appeared to be closed, even the shutters on the buildings. There wasn’t a breath of wind to stir the dusty leaves on the trees clustered round the oasis of parched grass near the bus-stop, and the only sign of life came from a café from which throbbed the universally recognisable beat of pop music. Outside the plastic-fringed doorway a group of youths was lounging, already eyeing her and nodding in her direction as they smiled and nudged one another.
Jenny didn’t need the knowing glances shafted across the square towards her to tell her how conspicuous she looked with her long blonde hair and English rose complexion, and she was only too well aware of the fact that her T-shirt was sticking revealingly to her hot and damp body and that her cotton skirt was horribly crumpled after the cramped bus ride from Florence. She must look a complete wreck.
She looked round in a vain hope that someone would have come from the castello to meet her, but there was no sign of anybody waiting to collect a passenger, just a few dusty cars parked round the square, and only the boys were interested in her arrival.
She couldn’t go on standing here indefinitely, though. The longer she hesitated, the more attention she would draw to herself. She must find a telephone to tell the Contis she was here. Also, she simply had to get out of this blistering heat and find herself a long, cool drink.
She leant her heavy back-pack against a dilapidated seat and made her way over to the café. At her approach the knot of would-be Casanovas began preening themselves like a bunch of over-eager roosters, making laughing comments as they ran their hungry eyes over her shapely figure.
Jenny was annoyed to feel a flush creeping up to her cheeks, but she did her best to ignore them and kept her eyes straight ahead as the group divided, unwillingly, to make way for her.
While the café owner was getting her an orange juice she asked if he had a phone she could use. He pointed her towards the back of his dark little shop where a group of his cronies were sitting chatting around a table, but they, unlike their young relatives outside, took no notice of her as she dialled the castello’s number.
Whether it was because she had difficulty in understanding Jenny’s halting Italian or because she hadn’t known of her impending arrival, the woman who answered the phone seemed very surprised at Jenny’s request that someone should come and collect her from San Piero, but she agreed finally to pass the message on to someone called Fancetti, or something like it.
At least that was what Jenny thought she’d said. The sooner she was able to speak Italian regularly the better, and however this job turned out at least it would give her the opportunity to do just that.
She stayed inside the café to finish her drink, but kept her eye on the square as she awaited the arrival of her chauffeur, at the same time doing her best to ignore the pointed comments of her admirers, still clustered outside.
Suddenly, though, their attention was diverted by the sound of something approaching the square very fast, and as one man they turned away to watch the black, low-slung and extremely racy car that swept round the corner to skid to a dusty halt beneath the trees.
A man leapt out, tall, slim and very dark, to stand, as Jenny had done, gazing round for a moment, searching, until his eyes lit on the cluster of youths congregated by the café.
He strode quickly across, jangling his keys impatiently in one brown hand, and began addressing her erstwhile admirers in rapid Italian almost before he was within speaking range. Clearly a man in a hurry, Jenny thought, watching his eyes flash from one face to another as he waited for the answers to his questions.
The cross-fire of conversation was too much for Jenny to be able to follow, and so she was quite unprepared when the young men suddenly stood back to let their leader gesticulate in her direction, all eyes now turned to her where she stood quietly in the shadows of the café doorway.
‘Signorina Tremaine?’
Jenny stared at the tall stranger in some perplexity.
‘Signor Fancetti...?’ she ventured doubtfully
The man shook his head with a movement of quick irritation.
‘No, no...He had pressing matters to attend to, it seems,’ he grated harshly. ‘Though why I should be expected...’ He broke off, his dark eyes narrowing as they took in her dishevelled appearance. ‘It would have saved time, signorina, if you had been waiting where you could be seen, instead of hiding away in here. Follow me, please.’
He turned on his heel and strode imperiously back to his car, getting back into the driving seat without so much as a glance behind him to check whether Jenny were following. He just assumed instant compliance, she thought crossly, knowing she had no alternative but to do as she was told.
He was already revving up the powerful engine as she approached the car, and she had to bend down to speak to him through the open window.
‘I do have some luggage, signore, if you’ll wait a moment?’
Through clenched teeth the tall Italian let out an expression of barely suppressed annoyance as he climbed out again, but if Jenny had hoped for a chivalrous offer of help with the heavy bag she was to be sadly disappointed. The most he condescended to do was to help her stow it away in the back before returning to his side of the car, hardly waiting for her to get in beside him before he wrenched the car round to send gravel spattering up from the tyres. Jenny had a final glimpse of the youths clustered outside the café watching with envious eyes as she was whisked away from them in this fabulous machine. She almost regretted leaving them—at least they had showed a natural interest in her arrival—and she gave them a cheery wave as she was swept past them.
She felt rather than saw her companion’s eyes on her, and as she turned she was shocked by the expression she read on his face. If it hadn’t been so unlikely she would have said it was one of sheer, naked hostility—but that was ridiculous. What could she have done that was so terrible?
He opened his mouth, thought better of it, and fixed his gaze straight ahead as he concentrated on his driving, apparently wanting to get his passenger to the Castello Conti as quickly as possible.
Whoever could he be, this taciturn man burning with an almost palpable anger? Had he been called away from some important work to meet her and was venting his annoyance on her, his innocent passenger?
She must try to break the ice. It was ridiculous to travel all the way in complete silence. She cleared her throat.
‘I’m sorry, signore,’ she said steadily, ‘if it was inconvenient for you to come and meet me. I do appreciate it, but I could have made my own way if I’d known my arrival was going to upset everyone.’
Her voice trailed away as she looked enquiringly across at him, for in spite of the way he’d treated her up till now she found her heart skipping a beat as she registered just how undeniably good-looking he was.
Smooth, dark hair was swept back from a wide forehead, and the deep-set eyes stared resolutely ahead from beneath finely arched brows. His nose had an almost classical straightness and was framed by two wellmarked lines which ran down to his mouth, set now and almost forbidding. The finely chiselled features reminded her of some of the great statues she’d seen on her travels during the past couple of weeks—a pity his heart appeared to be as stony as theirs.
He half turned towards her, evidently conscious of her scrutiny, and one eyebrow rose.
‘It is not a long journey,’ he said briefly before his mouth clamped shut again.
Jenny stared at him. She couldn’t ever remember meeting a man so deliberately rude, and, whoever he was, she hoped their paths wouldn’t cross again. Quite obviously he had decided she wasn’t worth making any kind of effort for, and for her part she had no intention of trying to make conversation with someone so intent on ignoring her.
She turned her head away with a defiant flick of her long hair to gaze out of the window at the passing countryside.
She had been so anxious not to miss the right stop on her bus journey earlier that day that she had barely taken any notice of her surroundings. Now, as they drove along the ridge leading away from the village, she could see the country spread out on either side. Olive groves stretched away into the blue distance, interspersed with vineyards, and cypresses decorated the landscape like dark fingers pointing to the brilliant blue sky. As a backdrop rose the Apennine hills, thickly wooded, with here and there the distinctive shape of an Italian tower, tall, battlemented and rusty-brown...No, burnt sienna, of course, Jenny corrected herself, remembering the evocative names in her childhood paintbox. Sienna from Siena.
She smiled with pleasure at the sheer timelessness of it all. The whole landscape was exactly as though all those old paintings she had been studying had come to life before her eyes. Forgetting for a moment who it was sitting next to her, she turned to him to share her delight—but one glance at the aloof features was enough to make her think better of expressing her enthusiasm to him.
Jenny sighed. This was hardly an auspicious beginning to her stay with the Conti family.
The car swerved suddenly, and Jenny’s unwilling chauffeur slowed to ease it along a rough track between more olive trees.
‘The castello’s down here,’ he volunteered. The words startled Jenny—she had become so used to his silence. ‘And this is all Conti land...It has been in the family for generations.’
Jenny glanced across at him, encouraged by this sudden burst of communicativeness.
‘What do they—the Conti family—do with the land?’ she asked. ‘Farming...? Wine...?’ She pointed to the vines beyond the olive orchards. ‘And olive oil, of course.’ She smiled. ‘Is this Chianti country?’
‘Chianti, yes, but not the Chianti Classico. That comes from a very restricted area over there...’ He pointed vaguely in the direction of the hills ahead. ‘But the Conti label used to be just as respected. until...’ Once again he broke off, with a flash of the dark eyes darting in her direction. ‘Your friend has a lot to answer for, hasn’t he? Still, I dare say you know nothing of all that.’
Jenny stared at him in astonishment, then the penny began to drop. This man thought she had come to visit a man called Fancetti, whoever he was.
‘I...’ she began, but her companion was staring straight ahead, taking no notice of her, and she gave up. It was unlikely she would see him again once she’d got to the castello. Best leave him under his misapprehension rather than try a lengthy explanation of her presence here.
She turned away, and now she could see that on either side of the track the ground began to fall away, the olives giving way to rough scrub interspersed with more vines. Little fields and woods stretched in a patchwork vista to the far horizon and the hazy outlines of the mountains. It was a stunning view.
In front of them now was a cluster of old farm buildings outside a pair of large wrought-iron gates, and as they drew nearer Jenny caught her first glimpse of the castello itself.
There seemed to be a courtyard in front of the house, and beyond that green shrubs and formal flowerbeds edged with low box hedges. Everywhere there were earthenware pots and urns spilling over with brilliant flowers.
Without further explanation the dark stranger got out of the car and rang a bell beside the gates beneath the battlemented archway. A woman emerged from a cottage inside the grounds and smiled at him as she unlocked and opened the gates, following the car as he drove through and pulled up outside the castello itself.
Jenny climbed out and dragged her luggage from the back of the car and stood uncertainly, waiting for some indication of what she was expected to do next, but obviously the man had decided that his responsibility for her ended here.
He got back into the driving seat and shut the car door as Jenny gazed round. There wasn’t a sign of life. The heavy wooden doors of the castello were fastened shut and the lodge-keeper had returned to her cottage.
‘Where should I go now?’ She had to bend low to address him through his window. ‘Shall I ring that bell?’ she asked tentatively ‘Or knock? It all looks very shut up.’
The man shrugged. ‘Fancetti knows you’re coming, I imagine? Best wait out here somewhere for him—there’s no need to disturb anyone else. Everyone will be resting during the siesta.’
Jenny ignored the reference to Fancetti, whoever he might be. She had more urgent matters to sort out. ‘And the children? Will they be resting too?’
‘The children?’ The dark eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘There are no children here. Fancetti is a bachelor, or so I’ve been led to believe. Still, that’s no concern of mine. He’ll be able to explain everything to you.’ His lips curved in a wintry smile which failed to reach his eyes, then with a sudden movement he put the car into gear and roared off down the drive to disappear from sight round the corner of the building, leaving Jenny quite alone.
Whatever did he mean, there were no children here? There must be. She had been engaged to look after them. Surely Signor Conti wouldn’t have let her come all this way on a fool’s errand...unless...unless there had been a last-minute change of plan so recent that no one had been able to get in touch with her while she was travelling.
Jenny’s heart fell with a thump of despair. So much had depended on this job, and now, if it had fallen through, it would be much too late to find anything worth while in the way of work back home before her course began in September—certainly no work as wellpaid as this had promised to be, or which would give her the opportunity to learn Italian.
Had her informant got it wrong? she wondered with a faint glimmer of hope. It could just possibly be that the children were away now but were expected back in the near future. She certainly hoped so, but she wouldn’t be able to find out anything until Signor Conti woke from his siesta.
She walked over to the main entrance of the house, her feet crunching loudly on the thick gravel. The great doors were shut fast, almost as though the inhabitants wanted to repel invaders. There was nothing for it; she would have to find somewhere to wait till she was granted admittance, and she had no intention of hanging around for this Fancetti person.
Jenny parked her back-pack against one of the huge stone urns which flanked the pillared portico, picked up her small bag full of essentials like her passport and purse, and walked off to explore the grounds.
It was still only early afternoon, and the sun beat remorselessly down from the brilliant cerulean sky. Jenny’s one idea was to find a shady spot where she could rest for a while, and she found herself wandering along the gravel path which led away from the house between formal beds planted with bright flowers that almost seemed to glow against the backdrop of immaculately. clipped evergreen hedges. Whoever had originally planned the gardens had certainly had an eye for design, she thought in delight, as each turn in the path revealed a carefully contrived display of hedges, statuary and plants arranged almost like a stage set.
The silence was uncanny. Every now and then Jenny would stop to listen. There was no bird-song, and only the occasional chirp of a cicada disturbed the profound stillness, and the welcome splash of a fountain.
The sight of the sparkling water spraying out of a stone dolphin’s mouth reminded Jenny forcibly just how hot she was. This garden was unlike an English one. There were no sweeping lawns shaded by great trees where she could have stretched out protected from the blazing sun. The heat reflected up from the paths, beating through her rubber-soled sandals and blurring the distant outlines of the landscape into a haze.
She must find some shade. Maybe if she went far enough the formal gardens would end and she could find a real tree to sit under. Jenny set out more purposefully through a stone archway and saw that at the end of the path there was a thick evergreen hedge as neatly trimmed as the rest but with what looked like a glimpse of green beyond. Could it be grass—real, cool grass?
A few steps further...and Jenny caught her breath with a gasp of delight. A lush lawn, newly watered, lay before her, surrounded on all sides by the tall hedge which had hidden it from view and which gave it complete privacy. And there, in the centre, tiled in azure and paved in pale marble, was a swimming-pool. Two stone pavilions, one either end, obviously served as changing-rooms, and marble seats were placed here and there, adding to the illusion of coolness.
Jenny had never wanted anything so much as to slip into that pool. Not a breath of wind ruffled the surface of the crystal-clear water which positively invited her to strip off her dusty clothes and soothe away her hot stickiness in its transparent depths. She walked slowly forward, kicking off her shoes and flexing her toes with delight in the soft grass, then she sat on the side of the pool and dangled her legs over the edge, almost groaning aloud with pleasure as the water caressed her tired feet.
What a good thing she’d put her bikini in her shoulderbag. It had been more as an afterthought than anything, but there was a towel there, too, though the heat would dry her off.
In an instant Jenny had removed her clothes and slipped into the bikini—a brief royal blue affair which set off her fair honey-gold colouring and blue eyes to perfection—then she slid sensuously into the waiting pool, ducking below the surface and revelling in the delicious sensation of the sapphire water lapping through her hair and enveloping her weary limbs. She lay back and moved her legs just enough to keep her afloat and propel her gently to the far end of the pool, deliberately obliterating from her mind all the uncertainties surrounding her arrival here—and all memories of her chilly reception.
What a stroke of genius to build this pool in such an idyllic setting! Jenny swam a few lazy strokes and drifted idly in the water, closing her eyes against the glare of the sun...
She came to with a start. She’d almost fallen asleep, and she realised if she didn’t get out now she might really drop off altogether.
Reluctantly she clambered out, shaking back her hair in a sparkling shower of droplets before reaching for her towel, which she laid out on the grass in the shadow of the hedge. She could stretch out there and let the heat of the air dry her off.
She undid the fastening of her bra top, slipped the thin straps from her shoulders, and lay face downwards with her head cradled on her arms. What bliss...what absolute bliss.
She never heard the approaching footsteps muffled by the thick carpet of grass, nor was she aware of the tall figure who had emerged through a gap in the hedge, starting at the sight of the motionless girl asleep in its shade. His brows drew together in a frown as he stared down at the figure sprawled at his feet.
‘You certainly wasted no time in making yourself at home, did you?’
The deep, accented voice shocked Jenny out of a profound sleep, and in her immediate confusion she sat bolt upright, remembering too late that she had earlier loosed the clasp of her bikini top. She felt it slither down to her thighs, leaving her horribly vulnerable before this man’s hostile stare. His eyes raked her naked curves with obvious distaste as she grabbed her towel and wrapped it round her body, annoyed to feel embarrassment stain her cheeks, but she forced herself to meet his gaze steadily as she got to her feet to stand looking down at him.
A sardonic smile twisted his lips, but his eyes were as cold as the marble he was sitting on—deep-set eyes, and dark, very dark, black as the smooth hair that swept back from his forehead.
‘There was no one I could ask,’ she said as evenly as she could, ‘and I’m sorry if I’ve offended anyone, and though I do realise I am in a foreign country with different customs and laws I hardly think that taking a swim can constitute a crime, even here.’
She turned her back deliberately and went over to her pile of discarded clothing, which she quickly slipped on over her refastened bikini, all the time painfully conscious of the darkly appraising eyes following her every move.
‘Maybe not,’ she heard the stranger say harshly, ‘but trespassing into a private garden might be called presumptuous, to say the least. This pool is not an amenity available to all and sundry. Staff—and their friends—are expected to ask permission first.’
Now fully dressed, Jenny turned back again. The man was still sitting elegantly draped along one of the marble benches, his mouth narrowed into a disapproving line which tightened further as Jenny tried to put matters straight.
‘It can hardly be called trespassing, signore, when I am going to be living here. As for being one of the staff, I think I should tell you that Signor Conti told me expressly that I would be regarded as one of the family. I know I have only just arrived—’
‘The family?’ the stranger interrupted her with another lift of his infuriatingly sardonic eyebrow. ‘What do you mean, “one of the family”?’
‘I have come to look after the children,’ Jenny said with cool dignity. ‘My name is Jenny Tremaine and I answered Signor Salvatore Conti’s advertisement for an au pair to look after his grandchildren for the summer. I am expected, I assure you. And I don’t have anything to do with Signor Fancetti. In fact I’ve never heard of him.’
Under his breath the man muttered what was unmistakably an expression of impatience. ‘I think there must have been some mistake, signorina. There are no children here, as I told you, though I did not realise then which children you were referring to. Signor Salvatore’s grandchildren are in America with their mother.’
‘But they can’t bet’ Jenny burst out in dismay. ‘I’ve come all this way, and I have a letter...and Signor Conti paid my fare. Perhaps they’re expected home soon, do you know?’
The dark head moved in an emphatic denial, but he said nothing.
‘So what am I going to do?’
The stranger shrugged. ‘Go home again, I should think. You can’t stay here, that’s for certain. Signor Conti is going into hospital tomorrow and there’s definitely no work for you here, not of any kind. I’m sorry, but there it is.’
‘Is he ill, then, Signor Conti?’ Jenny asked with a hint of desperation in her voice. The whole world seemed to be collapsing around her ears. ‘Can’t I see him, just to find out what’s happened?’
‘I can’t see the point, but if you insist...’ The broad shoulders moved again and the man looked at his watch. ‘He should be awake now, and no, he’s not ill, not in the sense you mean it. Just old and frail.’
‘Well, I won’t bother him for long,’ Jenny said, ‘but I must sort all this out’
She stooped to pick up her bag, and as she did so she heard him murmur, almost as though he was talking to himself, ‘I think that if I had any children I wouldn’t want them looked after by a girl who strips off to flaunt herself in a public place.’
Jenny swung round, outraged by his insinuation. He had gone too far this time.
‘Public?’ she retorted. ‘I was under the impression that this was a private garden, with a private pool. I certainly thought I was alone. And as for “flaunting” myself,’ Jenny continued, the bit now firmly between her teeth, ‘and I do congratulate you on your idiomatic knowledge of my language, I was, as I told you, merely drying myself off after my swim. You know that perfectly well.’
Was it her imagination, or had there been the briefest recoil at the remark she’d made about his use of English? Jenny was too angry now to make anything of it, and besides, why should she worry? She had nothing to explain or apologise for to this odious and arrogant man who now rose lazily to his feet, closing the short distance between them with a couple of strides. Tall as she was, Jenny was forced to tilt her head back to look into his face as she stood her ground, determined not to give him the satisfaction of thinking she was in any way intimidated by him.
‘If you say so.’ He inclined his head a fraction. ‘However, in the circumstances it is probably as well you are not going to be staying here much longer. Not that it is any of my concern——’
Jenny had had enough. ‘No, it isn’t,’ she snapped. ‘And before you jump to any further conclusions about me I should wait until Signor Conti has sorted out this misunderstanding. Now if you’ll excuse me, signore...’
She tossed her long hair back from her flushed face and turned on her heel to walk quickly away from the pool area, leaving the tall Italian standing motionless and staring after her departing figure with a bleak expression that might have surprised Jenny had she cared to look back.
He dropped heavily back on to the seat and passed his hand briefly over his face, but Jenny saw none of this, thankful only to have left him behind.
She paused just once—no, there were no following footsteps, she thought gratefully — then retraced her own steps through the garden until she came to the castello, discovering to her relief that the heavy wooden doors were now standing open.
She paused beneath the portico and leant for a while against one of the pillars to regain her breath and her composure after the disconcerting experience she had just undergone.
Who could he be, that persistently hostile stranger, and why had he been so rude to her?
Still, there were other, more urgent questions to which she had to find the answers, and there was only one way to discover these. She had to see Signor Salvatore Conti immediately.
Jenny stood up and reached for the ancient wrought-iron bell-pull and gave it a determined tug.
