Accidentally Expecting! (4 page)

In the early afternoon Primo and Olympia arrived, soon followed by another car, out of which stepped a powerful-looking man and a petite, fair-haired young woman.

‘Luke and Minnie,’ Dante said.

It was clear from the interested looks Ferne was getting that her story had spread throughout the family. When Minnie came downstairs from settling into her room, she commandeered Ferne’s company, demanding to be told everything. But before there was time to say much there was a shout and everyone hurried outside to welcome the party from England.

Justin, Hope’s eldest son, was an austere-looking man who at first seemed out of place in this convivial gathering, but Ferne noticed that his eyes followed his mother with a possessive look that contrasted curiously with his bearing. He had the same look for his wife, Evie, a brisk young woman with an air of friendly efficiency.

They were accompanied by Mark, Justin’s son by his first marriage. He was twenty, handsome, with dark wavy hair and brilliant eyes that made both the young maids give him yearning looks.

‘He’s just discovering his powers as a ladykiller,’ Justin said with a groan, yet also a touch of fatherly pride. ‘It makes him very difficult to live with.’

‘Don’t be hard on him,’ Evie protested. ‘It’s not his fault he’s good-looking. He’s just finished his first love affair with a girl who teaches ballroom dancing. He started learning as a way of getting close to her, and now he’s really good.’

The young man’s presence changed the atmosphere,
making it livelier. Later, when the meal was over, Toni rummaged through some old tapes, made in the days before rock ’n’ roll, and played them on an ancient tape recorder.

‘Go on,’ he told Mark. ‘Let’s see how good you are.’

Without hesitating, Mark extended a hand to Ferne, whom he’d been admiring across the table all through supper.

‘Dance with me?’

Pleased, she accepted. She was a good dancer, and Mark was an expert. Soon they were spinning around in perfect time.

‘Let’s go really fast,’ he said suddenly, swinging her around and around.

Gasping, she just managed to keep up. When they finished there was applause from the others, who had retired to sit down and watch them with admiration.

‘What is that dance?’ Dante asked, coming forward hastily. ‘Could you teach it to me?’

‘It’s basically the quick-step,’ Mark told him. ‘You do it like this.’

Someone switched the music on again, and there were more cheers and applause as Mark gave a dazzling demonstration, with Ferne as his partner. Then Dante took possession of her and proceeded to show how well he’d learned.

Ferne had to admit that he was a natural, mastering the fastest steps with ease, and taking her flying across the floor as if they had been doing this all their lives.

With this partner the most intricate steps became easy to her, and her feet flashed in and out, sometimes between his own feet, so that she felt they must surely trip each other, yet never did. She had the glorious sensation that no mistake was possible while Dante held her. He was a powerful man, but that power lay not in muscles and brawn but in quicksilver.

That was how he lived his life, she was sure. If trouble
loomed, he would dance around it, or over it, or past it, then vanish into the shadows, leaving everyone wondering if he’d ever really been there. It made him both enchanting and dangerous.

At last Toni changed the tape, and they slowed into a waltz.

‘I’m impressed,’ she gasped. ‘Have you really never done the quick-step before?’

‘No, but I love dancing; the faster, the better.’

‘Waltzing’s too dull for you, huh?’

‘Much. Who needs it? You have to hold her close.’

‘As you’re doing with me?’

‘Naturally. And you have to pay her compliments, like she’s the loveliest woman in the room.’

‘But you’re not doing that!’ she protested indignantly.

‘Why should I bore you with what you’ve heard a hundred times before? Besides,’ he added more slowly, ‘you know exactly what you look like.’

He was right. She’d taken time over her appearance, and was pleased with the result. The honey-red of her hair was perfectly set off by the floaty chiffon dress with its mixture of autumnal colours. It was knee-length, revealing that her legs were long and elegant, her ankles perfect, and she had a natural balance for the high-heeled sandals that many women couldn’t have risked wearing.

In the arms of this tall man, those heels were an advantage, helping her match his height and see his face more closely.

‘Maybe I know and maybe I don’t,’ she teased. ‘That’s for me to say.’

‘So you want me to tell you that you’re a dream of beauty, a goddess of the night?’

‘Oh, shut up!’ she chuckled.

‘I’m just trying to do the proper thing here.’

‘And you’re always so proper, aren’t you?’

‘Well, somebody did once say that I wouldn’t recognise propriety if it came up and whacked me. I can’t recall her name just now.’

‘Ah! One of those instantly forgettable females. She was probably just trying to provoke you to get your attention.’

He gave a self-mocking smile. ‘I wish I could believe she wanted my attention.’

‘Or she might be playing cat-and-mouse with you.’

‘I’d like to believe that too. You don’t know what fun cat-and-mouse can be.’

‘You think I don’t?’ she asked, eyebrows arched sardonically.

‘No, forget I said that. Of course you do.’ He added hopefully, ‘You could probably teach me a thing or two.’

‘No, I don’t think I could teach you anything about playing games.’

‘The game of love has many different aspects,’ he suggested.

‘But we’re not talking about love,’ she whispered. ‘This is a different game altogether.’

It was a game that made her pulses race and her whole body sing from the close contact with his. Reason argued that her physical excitement was due to the movement of the dance, but reason fell silent before the pleasure of his clasp about her waist and the awareness of his mouth near hers.

‘What do you call the game?’ he whispered.

‘I’m sure we each have our own name for it.’

‘Tell me yours.’

She glanced up, murmuring, ‘I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours.’

‘I asked first.’

This time she didn’t reply, but her look was full of mischief.

‘You’re going to tease me, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘You’re a wicked woman.’

‘I know. I work at it.’

‘No need. I reckon a certain kind of wickedness comes naturally to you.’

‘True. It’s one of the great pleasures of life.’ Exhilarated, she provoked him further. ‘Almost as much fun as cat-and-mouse.’

A gleam of appreciation came into his eyes. ‘Cat-and-mouse; I wish I knew which one I was.’

‘I’ll leave you to work that one out.’

He gave a shout of laughter that made everyone stare at them, and began whirling her fast again until they spun out onto the terrace, where she broke from him and darted away, running down the steps and under the trees. She was high on excitement, and the sound of him pursuing her was a delight. She ran faster, challenging him to follow her, and he accepted the challenge.

‘Woman, are you crazy?’ he demanded, winding his arms around her waist in a grip of velvet and steel. ‘Just how much do you think a man can take?’

She responded not with words but with laughter, that rang up to the moon until he silenced her mouth with his own. Somehow the laughter continued, because it was there in the kiss, passing from her to him and back again. It was there too in the skilful movements of his hands that knew how to coax without demanding, persuade without insisting.

He had the gift which so many men lacked, of kissing gently. Her return kiss was joyful, curious, teasing just a little.

‘I’m not crazy,’ she whispered. ‘And perhaps a man should exercise a little self-control.’

‘Not while you’re making it hard for him,’ he growled, moving down her neck.

She was unable to say more, because his lips had found the spot where she was most sensitive. Shivers went through her,
defying her efforts to control them as his mouth caressed the hollow at the base of her throat, touching it softly again and again while she clung to him and her head whirled.

He was wicked. Even with all her nerves shouting warnings, he could still make her want him. Her hands had a will of their own. They clasped his head, drawing him closer against her so that his lips continued their skilled work. She should push him away, but, just another minute…

She felt the ground beneath her. She didn’t know when he’d drawn her down, but suddenly she was lying in his arms, and he was looking at her with an expression on his face that she couldn’t see through the darkness.

That was so like him, she thought feverishly—always keeping one part of himself a secret. And right now she wanted to know his secrets, wanted to know everything about him, to feel his hands on her body, all over, wanted everything there was to want.

His fingers were at the neck of her dress, trying to draw it lower. When it would go no further, he drew the shoulder down and laid his lips against it. Now she could feel his hair brushing her face and she ran her hand deliciously through it, sighing with satisfaction.

But then she heard something that froze her blood: laughter, soft and merry, coming from a little distance away. The family was appearing in the garden, getting nearer.

‘D
ANTE
,’
she hissed. ‘
Dante
! Get up.’

Frantically she pushed at him and he drew back, frowning.

‘They’re coming,’ she said. ‘They mustn’t find us like this.’

Muttering a curse, he wrenched himself away and got to his feet, drawing her up with him. He would have run, but Mark’s voice came through the trees.

‘Ferne, Dante, are you there?’

‘I’m going to murder that boy,’ Dante muttered. ‘He’s doing this on purpose.’

‘Don’t be paranoid.’

‘I’m not paranoid,’ Dante said in a soft, enraged voice. ‘He fancies you.’

Despite her jangling nerves, she nearly laughed.

‘Nonsense. His heart’s given to his dancing-girl friend.’

‘He’s twenty,’ Dante snapped. ‘He forgot her the minute he left England.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘Of course I know. I’ve been twenty.’

‘So
that’s
what young men of twenty do. And thirty. And thirty-five.’

Dante flung her the look of a man driven to madness.

Now the others were calling them. There was no choice but to walk back into the light, looking as cheerful and natural as possible. Ferne had a worrying feeling that her voice was shaking and she was sure that her smile looked unnatural.

But, more than that, she was shaking inside. She felt like someone who’d found herself unexpectedly on the edge of a cliff, and had backed off without knowing how she’d got there.

The family settled down for final drinks under the stars. Mark tried to get close to Ferne but was deterred by a scowl from Dante. If Ferne’s nerves hadn’t been jangling, she might have felt flattered and amused.

Hope ordered a pot of tea and Ferne drank it thankfully, feeling the warm liquid soothe her. Hope was looking at her kindly, and her eyebrows raised in surprise when Ferne took four sugar-lumps instead of her usual one. She needed them.

‘I’m feeling a little tired,’ she said as soon as she decently could. ‘You won’t mind if I go to bed?’

‘I’m tired too, after the flight,’ Evie said, and the party began to break up.

Ferne escaped upstairs, unable to meet Dante’s eyes. Once in her room, she plunged into an icy-cold shower. That would soon put her right.

It did, to the extent that it cooled down her flesh, but her mind remained as disturbed as before. She was accustomed to thinking of herself as calm and collected. Even in the throes of passion for Sandor she’d felt in command—something which their grande finale had surely proved.

But Dante had upset that unruffled composure, making her wonder if it was really such a virtue. Had she perhaps become a trifle smug? If so, he was rescuing her from that danger, surprising her again and again.

He insisted on haunting her mind, despite her stern orders
for him to depart. But that was Dante: awkward. When she stepped out of the shower and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, he seemed to be there, eyeing her nakedness longingly, making her regret that she hadn’t allowed him to see her, because he would have liked her so much.

She pulled on her nightdress and in her mind’s eye his face fell.

‘Get out!’ she told him. ‘Go away and leave me alone.’

He obeyed, but not without a final glance over his shoulder.

There was a soft knock at her door.

‘Who is it?’

‘It’s me,’ said Dante.

She nearly said, ‘Are you back already?’ but stopped herself in time.

‘What do you want?’

‘Can I come in? There’s something I need to talk about.’

She stood back to let him in, first making sure that her robe was securely fastened. Even so, she felt as though her garments were transparent.

He was still in shirt and trousers, but now the shirt had been torn open at the throat, showing several inches of his chest. It was an attractive chest, she had to admit that, but now she was trying to be cautious. In his arms tonight she’d almost lost her head. There had been a moment in the grass when she would have done anything he wanted, because he could make her want it too.

She was sure he knew it. This was one clever, manipulative man, and she must never let herself forget that.

‘What did you want to talk about?’ she asked demurely.

‘Us,’ he said at once. ‘And what you’re doing to me. I don’t think I can stand it much longer.’

Now she was glad she’d taken the cold shower, for her body
had regained its equilibrium and her mind was able to view him rationally.

‘If you can’t stand being with me, it was hardly wise of you to come here,’ she pointed out.

‘I didn’t say that,’ he replied, imitating her tone of reasoned argument. ‘It’s the “so near and yet so far” aspect that’s shredding my nerves. It should be one or the other, and I thought we might discuss it sensibly and come to a rational decision.’

The bland innocence of his face might have fooled anyone less alive to his tricks than Ferne. But by now she was back in command.

‘I quite agree,’ she said seriously. ‘One or the other. And, since I’ll be gone fairly soon, I think it we should opt for the second choice.’

‘Pardon?’

‘It would be wise for you to leave my room.’

He nodded. ‘It would be wise, wouldn’t it? If I were a wise man I’d flee and never look back. But I was never wise.’

‘Then this would be a good time to start.’

He slid an arm around her waist.

‘I know I shouldn’t have come,’ he murmured. ‘But I had to. You were so wonderful tonight. I watched you and knew I had to dance with you—and then I danced with you and knew I had to hold you in my arms and kiss you and love you…’

He drew her close as he spoke in a grip that was gentle and implacable together.

‘That’s going a little too far, surely?’ she asked lightly.

‘But I want to go too far with you. How could I want anything else when you’re so beautiful and you fire me up? I want to go too far and then further—’

‘Hush,’ she said suddenly. ‘I thought I heard a noise in the corridor. Could anyone have seen you?’

‘Not a soul. Don’t worry, I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.’

‘You, a mouse?’ she jeered softly. ‘Who do you think you’re fooling? Dante, I like you a lot, I really do, but I am not some daft little bimbo to be overcome by your charm. Don’t forget, I’ve been seduced by an expert.’

‘Are you suggesting I’m not an expert?’ he asked in outrage.

‘Well, you’re not doing brilliantly right now.’

He gave a sigh and a rueful look, much like a schoolboy caught playing truant. She almost capitulated there and then, but thankfully managed to hold firm.

‘It was worth a try, wasn’t it?’ she teased.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Like hell you don’t! You came in here saying to yourself, “Go on, give it a whirl. She might say yes, she might say no, she might slap my face. Let’s find out”.’

His sheepish expression confirmed her suspicions.

‘Well, I found out, didn’t I?’ he said. ‘But at least I didn’t get my face slapped.’

‘That’s the next stage. Now, depart while we’re still friends.’

‘Friends? Is that really all you—?’

‘Go!’

He went. Hastily.

As an attractive woman working in the entertainment business, Ferne had had a fair amount of experience in saying no to over-enthusiastic gentlemen, and she’d discovered that you could tell a lot about a man by how he behaved at the next meeting, assuming there was one. Some behaved well, some badly, some pretended that nothing had happened.

Dante, of course, had to be original, hopping behind her from tree to tree as she walked through the garden, darting
out of sight when she turned until she cried, exasperated, ‘Come out, you idiot.’

‘If you’re calling me an idiot, does that mean I’m forgiven?’ he asked, presenting himself hopefully before her.

‘I guess it does.’

From behind him came a shout. ‘Dante, are you coming?’

‘On my way,’ he yelled back. ‘I’m going into town with Carlo and Ruggiero, but I couldn’t go until I knew I was back in favour.’

‘I didn’t say you were back in favour,’ she told him sternly. ‘I said you were forgiven—just.’

‘Yes, of course, there’s a difference. I’ll work on it when I get back. Bye.’

He kissed her cheek and fled, leaving her laughing and wondering what she had to do to get the last word.

But then, she reflected, did she really want the last word? It had a melancholy sound.

She spent an enjoyable day with Hope and the other women, talking about England and fussing over the children. Dante’s behaviour to her that evening was restrained and impeccable. He seemed completely oblivious to her as a woman, which was how she preferred it, she tried to tell herself.

Ferne had said she was never without her camera, and it was true, so when she came across Toni playing with Ruggiero’s baby son she hurried into action and produced some swift, spontaneous shots that had everyone exclaiming with delight.

‘I’ve been thinking what I can do to thank you for your kindness,’ Ferne said to Hope. ‘And now I know. I’m going to take pictures, dozens of them—everybody alone, in couples, with their children, without their children. Then I want you all to gather in the garden so that I can take a big one.’

‘And I’ll always have a memento,’ Hope cried, overjoyed. ‘Oh, yes please.’

Ferne started at once, going around the house, working on her idea until everyone had a solo shot, down to the tiniest child.

To these she added pictures taken secretly, when people had been unaware of being photographed and were therefore more natural. The final result was a triumphant collection that made Hope weep with joy, and give a special dinner in Ferne’s honour.

‘That was a very kind thing you did,’ Dante said as they sipped wine together. ‘Hope’s family is everything to her.’

His praise made her slightly embarrassed.

‘I did it for myself, really. Taking pictures is a kind of compulsion, and when I can’t do it I get restless.’

‘Why do you put yourself down? Who are you hiding from?’

‘Since when were you an expert in psychoanalysis?’ she asked, amused. ‘I’m not hiding.’

‘Some people would say you were hiding behind the camera, getting everyone else into focus but staying safely concealed. I’m just playing with ideas. If you want some good pictures, let me take you into town and show you old Naples, where the historic buildings still exist. You’ll find all the pictures you want.’

She agreed eagerly and they went the next day, driving down into the
centro storico
, as historic Naples was called. As he’d guessed, she was enthusiastic and began clicking, enchanted by the narrow, winding streets with washing strung from side to side, and the stalls selling fish and fruit.

At last they collapsed into chairs at a roadside café, and revived themselves on cake and coffee.

‘I’m so glad you thought of this,’ she sighed blissfully. ‘It’s been wonderful. This place is almost too picturesque to be true.’

Dante nodded. ‘Naples has its modern districts, places full of soulless, efficient buildings. But it also has these corners where people can still be human instead of cogs in a wheel. People here don’t just know each other, they’re neighbours, practically family. A lot of them
are
family. You tend to get whole apartment-blocks populated by relatives. Let’s have some—’

He stopped as a wild scream came from somewhere nearby. Suddenly there was chaos. People were running down the little streets, waving their arms and indicating something behind them.

‘Incendio!’
they screamed.
‘Incendio!’

‘There’s a fire somewhere,’ Dante said.

Following the pointing hands, they began to run until they came to a five-storey building on one side of a narrow alley, where the ground was entirely made of steps. Smoke was billowing from the windows and people were streaming out, shouting to each other.

‘They’ve called the fire brigade,’ Dante said, picking up a few words. ‘But these lanes are too narrow for the machines. The nearest they’ll get is that corner, then they’ll have to carry the ladders into this street and set them on the ground. Let’s hope their ladders are long enough. Luckily, everyone seems to be escaping the buildings fast.’

Behind them a woman was screaming, ‘Piero, Marco, Ginetta, Enrico—
mio dio
!’

From the bags cast aside on the pavement, it seemed that she had been shopping when the news had reached her and had run back to her children. Now they were hurling themselves into her arms and she was sending up frantic prayers of relief.

‘Salvo,’
she wept. Safe.
‘Oh, dio! Salvo. Ma no! Dove Nico?’

Nico? People began to look around. Nico? Where was Nico?

One of the boys said something and recoiled as his mother slapped his cheek.

‘What is it?’ Ferne asked, horrified.

‘Nico was coming down with them, but they lost sight of him,’ Dante explained. ‘She’s blaming them for going on without him.’

‘Nico!’ the woman screamed, gazing up at the building.
‘Nico!’

Suddenly there was a mighty rumble followed by a crash from inside the building, and smoke billowed out of the windows.

‘The inside has collapsed,’ Dante said grimly. ‘Let’s hope Nico got out.’

But the next moment there was a shout of horror. Everyone looked up to see a little boy standing on a rickety wrought-iron balcony at the top, looking down.

‘Nico!’ his mother screamed again. ‘Come down.’

She was too hysterical to realise that this was impossible, but everyone else understood, and groans went up at what seemed inevitable.

People were running to fetch ladders which they leaned up against the wall, but the boy was five storeys up and nothing reached him. Another ominous rumble from within the building warned how close danger was.

‘Move that ladder!’ Dante yelled. ‘Push it over here.’

‘But it’s not long enough,’ someone protested.

‘Don’t argue,’ he roared. ‘Just do as I say.’

Impatiently he yanked the ladder from their hands and set it up against the wall.