Flood Tide (10 page)

“I thought it was one way to curb your amorous advances. A husband in the background seemed a line of defence.”

Giovanni blinked his long lashes, astonished. “To stop me? How could you? But,
cara
, surely you would have been deadly offended if I had not made the advances? What else can compliment a beautiful woman?”

Reah laughed, a delightful sound that brought a sparkle to her hazel eyes. “You
may find it hard to believe, but I would have preferred an ordinary, uneventful evening with a pleasant young man for company instead of having to fend you off after every mouthful.”

He looked crestfallen, then his face lit up. “I was so attentive,” he grinned. “Now you tell me I could have taken it easy.”

“No need to make it sound like hard work,” said Reah.

“So you are not married, not staying at the Palazzo, not looking for a lover,” he said with a big sigh.

“And not rich,” Reah added.

“Ah,
triste…triste
,” he said with mock sadness. “Just when I am beginning to like you.”

“I am a school teacher. I teach art. This is a holiday and I work for my living, like you do.”

Giovanni put his hand on his heart dramatically. “I am confessing also. One step along the bridge and you would have discovered my deceit. I am not a goldsmith. I do not own a shop, but one day I will. That is my ambition.” He grew inches with pride. “Now I am…just salesman.”

“Thank you for telling me,” said Reah, now placing the dark suit accurately. “I’m sure you will own your shop one day, especially if you are so charming to your customers.”

“Now I will ask you to be my date this evening. We will go dancing? You would like that? I can hold you in my arms and there will be no fighting off.”

Reah had not been dancing for ages. It might be fun, especially now that there were no pretences.

“I’d like that. Thank you.”

They arranged to meet at the Piazzo Duomo at eight o’clock when Giovanni had finished work and locked up.

Later, Reah sat at a pavement cafe, sipping a
limonata
in the shade of an umbrella. It must have been one of the hottest days of the year. Male tourists mopped their foreheads with large handkerchieves; women fanned themselves with straw hats bought in the market. The Florentines had mostly disappeared.

Reah watched a car coming along the street. It was being driven slowly, which was unusual, the sun flashing on its huge chromium headlamps. Reah could see it was a vintage model of an Italian sports car, all dash and elegance with masses of shiny chrome.

“That’s an Alfa Romeo,” said a man nearby. “Worth a fortune, a car like that.”

But Reah was staring at the man in the passenger seat. It was Ewart, his face relaxed, his arm resting comfortably along the edge of the open window. Beside him, driving, was a slim woman, sitting very erect. Her face was hidden by enormous sunglasses, and her hair was covered by a cream silk scarf. She looked every inch a Contessa.

He was obviously enjoying the Contessa’s attractive company, she thought, forgetting her own arrangements with Giovanni. She felt pretty sure he had not seen her.

Her face clouded as she thought of his demands last night. It was just as well she would not be meeting him. She would be tempted to tell him exactly what she thought of his behaviour.

She heard the empty chair at her table being scraped back and someone sat down. Her heart fell as she met the steely gaze in his dark eyes.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, sitting down.

“It appears to be now,” she said curtly.

“You might be waiting for someone. You don’t normally sit down for long. You dash about like a frantic rabbit. So foolish in this heat. One should slow down and adapt.”

“I think I’ve heard this lecture before,” said Reah stiffly. “Don’t you have an alternative?”

“Don’t tempt me,” said Ewart, beckoning a waiter. “I have several lectures suitable for young women.
Dos cafe freddo
,” he ordered. “You deserve a good dressing down.”

“Me?” Reah flashed dangerously. “I suggest we leave the subject of last night alone if that’s what you are inferring. I should enjoy telling you exactly what I think of you, and it might deflate your ego to the point of extinction.”

“I often wonder how you managed to become a school teacher. Don’t you have to be an adult or something?”

Reah bit back her anger. There was nothing apologetic or conciliatory about his manner. He was looking at her as if she was the one in the wrong.

“Why have you run away?” he asked abruptly.

Her eyes widened with astonishment. “Run away? I haven’t run away. I’ve merely moved to a more agreeable residence. I had no intention of running the risk of a repetition of your despicable behaviour last night.”

“What about your own behaviour—blatantly taking a man to your room. I supposed you’ve moved to an area where such arrangements are less noticeable.”

“What rubbish,” said Reah fiercely. “You’re jumping to conclusions without knowing the facts. Giovanni was not coming to my room. He was merely escorting me to the door. There’s a world of difference. I had no intention of letting him in.”

“He had your key,” Ewart interrupted.

“I admit he had the key,” Reah hastened to add. “And he was holding my arm. I was doing my best to discourage him.”

“You
were making an excellent job of it,” said Ewart sardonically. “The young man certainly got the message.”

“Oh, don’t be so stuffy,” said Reah. “I wouldn’t even have spoken to Giovanni if you’d had the courtesy to leave me a message. I didn’t know you’d gone to Milan.”

“Why should you know?” he said. “You’re not my keeper.”

It was like a slap across the face. Reah was shaken by the coldness in his voice. Was this how he really felt about her?

“I know I’m not your keeper,” said Reah, trying to bring down the level of her voice. People were looking at them from other tables. “But I waited around for you all day. You might have said you were going to be away.”

“There was absolutely no reason why I should have told you where I was going,” he retorted, glaring at her. “Possessiveness is a trait I dislike in women. Give an inch and the next moment they are choosing your ties and redecorating your flat.”

“So the ride in the park was an inch of the famous playwright’s attention, was it? How many inches are you allowing the Contessa? Do you have a scale according to status? A Contessa would rate pretty high up, I should imagine.”

“You
do talk nonsense. The Contessa Bernini is a charming woman and I suggest you leave her out of this conversation.”

Reah gave a short laugh. “Caught you on the raw, have we? I saw you in her car just now. That was her, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, I’m not denying it. I was worried. I was looking for you. I was wondering what fool trouble you were in now.”

“You didn’t look worried, sitting there quite relaxed and comfortable.”

“I found you, didn’t I?” he snapped.

“You didn’t appear to see me.”

His cold anger was mixed with exasperation. “If I had started waving, you would have been off in a second. I suggested to Bianca that she drive round the corner and let me out there.”

“Bianca?”

“The Contessa. I’m a little tired of this third degree, Reah. And you haven’t answered my original question.”

Tears pricked Reah’s eyes. It was she who should be reproaching him for his brutal treatment; instead he had her on the defensive as if she was at fault.

“I can’t argue with you,” she said bitterly, searching in her bag for money to pay for her drink. “You
turn everything round. I suppose your behaviour to me in your room was normal to you and nothing to be ashamed about. Well, I’m glad I live in a more civilised community where women aren’t forced to give sexual favours, and we still believe in a funny old-fashioned thing called love.”

She rose awkwardly, knocking over what was left of the drink.

“I have no wish to see you again,” she said. “So don’t look for me and don’t follow me. I’ll send you money for the hotel bill if you’ll kindly let me know how much.”

“Rubbish,” he said. “Keep your money.”

“A gentleman to the very last,” said Reah with acid sweetness. “I think I prefer statues.”

She managed an exit with élan despite the shorn jeans and fringed shirt.

That afternoon Reah bought a sketch pad and chose a pair of Florentine gloves for Miss Hardcastle. They were pale grey, in a suede so soft it felt like velvet.

She put on the eau de nil dress for her evening of dancing with Giovanni. It was a modest enough dress despite the slashed sleeves. She did not think there would be any problems tonight.

The motherly
signora
approved of Reah’s outfit with much hand-clapping and smiles, but she insisted on lending Reah a lacy shawl. It was going to rain, she mimed, pointing to the sky.

“
Grazie,
” said Reah, feeling obliged to take the shawl in the face of such concern.

She realised it was old lace and probably quite valuable.

“
Madre…grande-madre
,” said the
signora
, smiling proudly and patting the shawl. She was lending Reah her grandmother’s shawl. She trusted Reah implicitly.

Giovanni was waiting in the piazzo. His face broke into a grin and he hurried over to her.

“I thought you would not come,” he confessed.

“But I said I would.”

“I am not a rich suitor,” he said forlornly, obviously thinking of Ewart Morgan and the Palazzo Excelsior.

“For heaven’s sake,” said Reah. “We’re only going dancing. You don’t have to be rich to dance well.”

Giovanni took her to Petit Bois, a little town on the outskirts of Florence, where there was an open air disco in the garden of a chalet.

They found a table under the trees, ordered some wine and soon they were on the floor dancing to the latest Italian disco beat. Reah enjoyed dancing, but there had been little opportunity since her student days.

Tonight Reah was careful not to drink wine as if it were water, and managed to order herself some
limonata
when the waiter returned to their table. She also insisted that it was her turn to pay.

Giovanni was faintly insulted, but Reah was firm. She did not wish to be under an obligation to him, or any man ever again. He accepted the situation reluctantly then forgot about it the moment the music began a slow, dreamy love song.

She was in his arms before she had a chance to refuse. He had his arms twined around her, his face against her cheek, crooning softly in her ear. It was hopeless to struggle or try to dance a little less intimately.

She gave up and let herself relax in his arms. She would enjoy the gentle music and the nice feeling of his closeness. He was enthusiastic and romantic. A sign of being very young, thought Reah with amusement, feeling herself to be nearly a hundred years old.

“
Carissima
,” he sighed as the music faded away, but he did not loosen his arms. “You
are lovely. If only you were a little rich.”

Reah could not help laughing. He was incorrigible.

“So sorry,” she teased. “Not even a little bit rich.”

At first no one heard the tiny pattering on the leaves as the sound was drowned by loud stereo music. A few drops fell through the leafy ceiling but the perspiring dancers hardly noticed.

Suddenly the pattering turned into drumming and the skies opened. A deluge poured onto the dancers and everyone ran shrieking for shelter. Reah was soaked in a few moments standing under a tree.

“What a downpour,” said Reah lightly. “Do you think it’s another flood?” The rain was dripping off her face and her neck.

“It is terrible,” said Giovanni gloomily, seeing his romantic evening literally going down the drain.

The deluge slowed but it looked as if rain had set in for the evening and the dancing was ruined.

“I’ll find a taxi,” said Giovanni, suddenly brisk and practical.

He left her in the dark shadowy trees and Reah shivered. The
signora’s
shawl was soaked. The only thing she could do was to hang it carefully from a branch of a tree and hope the worst would drain off. It was too delicate to wring or squeeze.

The music started again hopefully, but no one wanted to dance. People began to disperse, heading for home and dry clothes. Reah did not like being almost the last person left in the garden. She began to feel cold and shivery.

Giovanni came hurrying out of the darkness, waving his arms.

“Quick,” he called. “I have a taxi! I cannot hold it for long.”

“Marvellous,” said Reah, relieved that he had come back at all. He led her through the wet bushes to a side entrance. A yellow taxi was waiting in the street.

“This is my friend,” said Giovanni, opening the door for her. “He was at home in bed. There are no taxis anywhere.”

“It’s very kind of him.”

“I am so sorry,” said Giovanni helplessly once they were in the taxi and driving away. “The evening to end like this.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Reah. “It was a lovely evening until it started to rain. I was really enjoying it. The music was great and you’re a very good dancer.”