The Italian’s Rightful Bride by Lucy Gordon Read Free Book Online

the same with him. He talked and smiled, but a snub from a little girl had quenched a light inside him.
    He did his duty to the last minute, escorting them up the stairs and saying goodnight as though he had all the time in the world. But she knew that secretly he was longing to escape, and her heart ached for him when first one person, then another had ‘just one more thing’ to say.
    But at last it was all over, everyone had gone to their rooms and the corridor was quiet. Joanna noticed a faint beam of light coming from under Billy’s door, and went in.
    â€˜You should be asleep, not reading,’ she said.
    â€˜Honestly, Mum, how can anyone sleep with that racket going on outside?’ he said, sounding aggrieved. ‘Why do people always say goodnight at the tops of their voices?’
    â€˜All right,’ she said, recognising some justice in this, without actually being fooled by it. ‘They’ve all gone now, so put the book away.’
    â€˜OK, Mum.’
    They hugged each other and she slipped out into the long, wide corridor. The lights had been turned low and it was a moment before she realised that she wasn’t alone. Gustavo stood a few yards away, his hand resting on the handle of Renata’s door.
    It was on the far side, and a slight bend in the corridor meant that she could plainly make him out, even in the gloom. She saw him try the handle, then again, until he was forced to accept that the door was locked.
    For a long moment he stood there. Then he spoke and Joanna thought he said, ‘Please, my darling.’
    When there was no reply he leaned his head against the door.
    Joanna moved away very quietly, knowing that he must never realise that she had glimpsed his private pain. She managed to get into her room and close the door unseen, and stood leaning back against it, eyes closed.
    She had come here hoping to find a scene of domestic contentment that would help her draw a line under the past. Instead she’d discovered misery, bitterness and the destruction of the very marriage she had sacrificed herself to bring about.
    It was late and she supposed she ought to go to bed, but her mind was seething and she knew there would be no sleep tonight. All evening she’d been aware of Gustavo. While she sat near to him at the table she had sensed him through every fibre of her being, every breath she drew.
    Now she was even more aware that his room was just opposite her own. She listened for the sound of his footsteps returning along the corridor, but then stopped, impatient with herself.
    I ought to go away from here, she thought. Go! Go now!
    But she knew she wasn’t going to go.
    She went to the window and looked out over the countryside, the fountain in the garden, lawns fading into the darkness of the trees. An owl hooted softly in the distance.
    From here she could see exactly the place where she had stood one evening, longing for Gustavo to come out and share the moonlight with her. In the end he had joined her, but their conversation had been stilted and uneasy.
    Suddenly the beauty of the night was irresistible. It called to her, promising at least a kind of peace after the tensions of the day. She hurried out into the corridor, down the stairs and out onto the stone terrace.
    Does nothing about this place ever change? she thought. Then, now—it might be the same night.
    But one thing was different, she realised as a sound from the corner made her turn her head in time to see the shadow sitting there unfold, stand and approach her.
    â€˜Ciao,’ he said softly.
    â€˜How did you—?’
    â€˜How did I get here so quickly? I came down the back stairs. It was you in the corridor, wasn’t it?’
    â€˜Yes, I’m sorry. I wasn’t prying. I’d just been in to say goodnight to Billy and—’
    â€˜It’s all right. You need not explain. I hoped that since I’d been away she might—well…’ He