The Baby Gambit Part 15

You win. I-I am envious, yes. But that doesn't mean I don't hope that you and-and Matteo will be happy.'

'Oh, G.o.d!' Julia rocked back on her heels. 'What a hyp ocrite you are, Grace. You don't hope that Matt and I will be happy! It would please you no end if he and I split up.'

'No-'

Julia scowled now. 'Oh, well, have it your own way. It doesn't matter, anyway. It's not going to happen.' She spread her fingers in smug satisfaction. 'What do you think?'

Grace saw the ring then that occupied Julia's third finger. She didn't know how she could have missed it before, ex cept that she'd been avoiding any overt curiosity, and Julia had had her hand wrapped around the gla.s.s. But now she couldn't help but stare at the huge sapphire that nestled in a circle of diamonds, and Julia twisted it round her finger, adjusting it to its best advantage.

'Impressive, huh?' she taunted. 'Bond Street's finest.'

Bond Street!

Grace stiffened. So that meant Matteo was in London, after all. Which made her desire to escape from the hotel that much more urgent.

'It's beautiful,' she said honestly, and side-stepped away from her. 'You're very lucky.'

'Aren't I, though?' But Julia's lips twisted a little mock ingly as she acknowledged it.

'But I have to go,' insisted Grace again. 'Really, Julia, I do. I don't want to risk losing my job.'

'As your sister's husband did, you mean?' enquired the other woman carelessly, and Grace knew she needed no more proof that Matteo intended to go through with this marriage.

'Matteo told you,' she said, but it was not a question, and Julia preened a little in her victory.

'Of course,' she said. 'Matt tells me everything.' She grimaced.

'I didn't approve of him helping you out, but I guess I can be magnanimous in the circ.u.mstances.'

Grace flinched. 'Helping-me-out?' she said uncomprehendingly, and Julia nodded.

'Sure.' She gave a malicious little smile. 'Didn't you realise?

Who did you think paid that money back that Giles had-what shall I say?-appropriated?'

Grace swallowed. 'You're not serious!'

'Why not?' Julia sauntered back to the bar to pour herself another drink. 'Matt said it was the least he could do.

Recompense, I suppose, for the fool he made of you.'

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Grace waited several days before she decided she had to do something about what Julia had told her.

To begin with, of course, she'd wanted nothing so much as to find Matteo and tell him exactly what she thought of his 'magnanimous' gesture. But as her blood had cooled the realisation of what her anger might mean to Giles had forced her to think again. As usual, Matteo had tied her hands so tightly that there seemed little she could do to express her disgust.

She had thought, when he'd come to the apartment, that he'd had some respect for her feelings, at least. Discovering that he'd discussed her family's private problems with Julia-whatever their relationship was, he must have known how she'd feel about that-put a whole new slant on what he'd said. But that he should have done what he had to ease his conscience so far as she was concerned was totally unacceptable, and she couldn't let him get away with it.

But what could she do?

Whatever happened, she knew she couldn't risk doing anything to damage Giles's future prospects by insulting his benefactor, so she would have to find some other way of dealing with it.

And that was when she thought of the marchesa.

Matteo's grandmother had always been exceptionally kind to her, and although she couldn't expect her to feel quite the same about her now as she'd done before Julia's revelations she trusted the old lady would not refuse to listen to her.

But how to get in touch with her? She didn't know the telephone number at the Villa di Falco, and something told her that it was unlikely to be freely available to just anyone who cared to ask for it. Which meant she had two choices: either she sent the marchesa a letter, or she must go to Italy and speak to her face to face.

Naturally, she would have preferred the former option. It would have been far easier to put what she had to say down on paper in the certain knowledge that she wouldn't be interrupted before she'd explained all the facts. But- and it was a big but-did she really want to take the chance that Julia-or someone else-might read the letter, too?

The truth was, she didn't. Indeed, she cringed at the thought that Julia might find out and think she was trying to wheedle her way back into their lives. That was the last thing she wanted to do, which meant she had to return to Italy and see the marchesa herself.

But not if Matteo was there, she a.s.sured herself grimly. She had no desire to see him again, particularly now, and she wondered if there was any way she could find out when Julia and the father of her child were getting married. Soon, no doubt.

Matteo was a proud man. He would not want to escort a heavily pregnant bride down the aisle of the church in Valle di Falco.

But even as she was considering this another thought occurred to her. Of course. Julia and Matteo had been in London three days ago. They could still be here. Which would be ideal.

She couldn't wait to get home from work that evening and ring the Dorchester. How lucky that she knew Julia was staying there, she thought, telling herself she didn't care in the least where Matteo was staying. Just so long as he was still here, she prayed silently when the hotel recep tionist answered the phone.

It was a simple matter to ask for Miss Calloway's suite, and the receptionist didn't hesitate before putting her through. Which meant Julia was still there; and where Julia went Matteo went also, Grace thought bitterly, not replac ing her receiver half fast enough (o prevent her hearing the pick-up. A man's voice answered, and it was not until Grace had slammed down her receiver that she had the uneasy feeling that it had not been Matteo's voice.

But, of course, it must have been, she chided herself impatiently. Who else could it be? And, in any case, she was in no state to make any kind of identification. On top of which she'd hung up so fast that his response had hardly registered.

She blew out a breath. So, there it was. Julia and Matteo were still in London, and as they said in B-movie jargon the coast was clear. All she had to do was book herself on a flight to Pisa, and hire a car to take her to the villa.

Mr Seton was not very pleased when she rang him at home later that evening to say she would not be in for the next couple of days. 'But you've just got back,' he objected irritably. 'You're not ill again, I hope.'

Grace thought about lying, and then thought better of it. 'No, I'm not ill, Mr Seton. This is-a family emergency. I'm sorry, but I have to deal with it myself.'

Mr Seton was silent for a moment and Grace could imag ine the way his mouth would be compressed. 'Two days, you say?'

he asked at last, and Grace hoped that it would be enough.

'Two days,' she agreed fervently, and breathed a sigh of relief when he gave her his permission.

It wasn't much easier getting a seat on a flight to Pisa. It was August now, and every flight was fully booked. It didn't help that there was a strike of French air traffic con trollers, too. She eventually paid the upgrade and got a cancellation in club cla.s.s, on a flight leaving at a quarter to eleven the following morning.

She phoned her mother, too, to tell her she was returning to Italy. But, although Mrs Honiton asked, she didn't tell her why.

That could wait until she got back. She then spent the next twelve hours fretting over whether she was doing the right thing.

And, if she was, whether the marchesa would agree with her.

The flight proved uneventful, but when she arrived in Pisa she found she had no hope of hiring a car. Instead, she was forced to hire a taxi, and spent the journey wor rying that the remaining lira she'd saved from her previous trip would not be enough to cover the fare. She could have asked, of course, before she got into the cab, but she didn't. If the driver had refused to take her, she didn't know what she'd have done.

In the event, paying the man proved to be the least of her problems. Getting him to stay while she spoke to the marchesa was another matter, and she was struggling to find the words to make him understand that she would need a ride back to Pisa that evening when she heard the sound of horse's hooves.

Glancing apprehensively around, she was relieved to see it was only Ceci who was cantering towards her, her expression mirroring her surprise at the unexpected guest.

'Grace!' she exclaimed, swinging down from the horse's back and bestowing her usual greeting on Grace's cheeks. 'What are you doing here?' She frowned at the unusual sight of a taxi parked on the forecourt of the villa. 'Where's Papa?'

Grace avoided an answer. 'Could you do me a favour, Ceci?'

she said instead. 'I'm trying to explain to this man that I'd like him to wait while-while I speak to your great- grandmother.'

'To Nonna?' Ceci frowned. 'Why? What's happened to Pap&?'

'Nothing, so far as I know.' Grace had no wish to get involved in a discussion about Matteo. But she was relieved to hear that he obviously wasn't here. 'Please.' She ges tured towards the driver. 'Will you tell him I'll want to go back to Pisa tonight?'

Ceci frowned. 'To Pisa?' she said blankly. And then, as if growing impatient with the man's curious stare, she seemed to come to a decision. Grace didn't know what she said to him; it was far too rapid. But the driver tipped a hand to his forehead and got back into his cab.

It wasn't until he drove away that she suspected Ceci hadn't done as she asked. As the cloud of dust the taxi's tyres had churned up subsided, she turned to find the girl handing the reins of her mount to one of the men who had been working in the gardens. Then, tucking her arm through Grace's, Ceci drew her up the steps to the terrace.

'Nonna is resting,' she said, and Grace, who was getting hotter and hotter by the minute, couldn't say she was sur prised. Italy in August was a lot different from Italy in June, and the navy trouser suit, which had seemed so cool and comfortable in London, was beginning to cling to her sweating limbs.

'Ceci, what did you tell that man?' she asked, still hoping that the girl might have suggested he go and find a trattoria in the village for half an hour or so while she conducted her business.

But she was disappointed.

'I told him you'd make other arrangements to get back to Pisa,' declared Ceci unrepentantly. 'You will.' She said this as Grace looked anxious. 'Now, let's sit on the loggia. I'm sure you're dying for a long cool drink.'

Grace gave her a tired look. 'Ceci, you know I can't stay here.'

'I know Nonna would be most upset if she knew you doubted her hospitality,' responded Matteo's daughter smoothly. 'Now, you sit here, and I'l go and tell Signora Carlucci that we have a guest for dinner-'

'No-'

But Ceci had already gone, and Grace was left to kick her heels among the exotic overflow from the marchesa' s garden.

She didn't sit down. She felt as if she'd done noth ing but sit down all day. But she did shed her sticky jacket, breathing a little more easily when her bare arms were no longer encased in such formal attire.

She was standing by the windows, staring out at the lengthening shadows, when a voice said, 'Grace?' in a faintly disbelieving tone, and she turned to find the mar chesa herself leaning on her cane just inside the door. The old lady stared at her blankly for a few seconds, and then, as if having a.s.sured herself that she wasn't hallucinating, she came slowly into the room. 'I thought I heard a car.' She shook her head. 'Where's Matteo?'

This was the second time that someone had suggested that she might know where Matteo was, and this time Grace didn't attempt to avoid an answer. 'I-a.s.sume he's still in London,' she said tightly. Then, before she could lose her nerve, she began, 'Marchesa, I hope you'll forgive me for coming here.'

The marchesa halted some distance from her, and judg ing from her expression Grace thought the old lady looked a little confused. As well she might, Grace mused uneasily, aware of her own presumption in thinking the marchesa might be willing to take her side against that of her beloved grandson.

'I suppose Ceci was here to greet you,' she said, gestur ing towards an arrangement of cane chairs. 'I suggest we sit down.

Then you can tell me what you meant by that remark.'

Grace gave an inward groan. 'Look, I probably should explain-'

'Yes, I'm hoping you will.' The marchesa lowered her self carefully into one of the chairs. 'Have you ordered tea?'

'I think Ceci-' Grace broke off and, leaving the win dow, came across to where the old lady was sitting. 'I don't think you understand.'

'I'm sure I don't,' agreed the marchesa, tapping the ad joining chair with the head of her cane. 'Sit down, child, do. I'm too old to tip my head back to look at you.'

Grace sighed, but she dropped down into the chair as requested, and sandwiched her damp palms between her knees.

'I'm sorry. I should have waited until tomorrow morning. But I've only got a couple of days, you see.'

The marchesa frowned. 'First of all, tell me why you've left Matteo in London.'

'Why I've-' Grace pressed a startled hand to her chest. 7 haven't left Matteo anywhere.'

The marchesa frowned. 'But you have seen him?'

'Some time ago, yes.' Grace admitted it reluctantly, feel ing her embarra.s.sment burning in her face. 'But that's not-'

'Why you're here?' The old lady looked concerned. 'For give me, my dear, but I don't understand. Matteo left for London yesterday, expressly to see you.'

Grace was glad she was sitting down. 'I beg your par don?' she said, in a voice that sounded little like her own. 'I-think you must have made a mistake.'

'Have I?' The marchesa' s frown deepened, and she looked up in some relief when her great-granddaughter came back into the room. 'Ceci,' she said weakly, 'your father did say he was going to see-' She broke off, waving a frail hand in Grace's direction.

'Didn't he?'

'Si, Nonna.'

Ceci answered in the positive, and Grace saw the old lady's tension subside. 'Thank G.o.d!' she declared. 'I was afraid I was getting senile.'

'Not you, Nonna,' Ceci a.s.sured her gently, coming to put a rea.s.suring hand on her shoulder. 'I've ordered some thing long and cool for Grace. And I thought you might like some tea.'

'What would I do without you, my dear?' The marchesa patted the girl's hand in response. She turned back to Grace.

'So-you say you did not come here because Matteo invited you.

Might I ask when you left England? Was it this morning?'

Grace expelled a breath. 'This morning, yes.' She was still confused and she feared it would take more than Ceci's kindness to rea.s.sure her. She hesitated. 'I did speak with- with Julia a few days ago. She's in London, too, as I'm sure you know.

Matteo is most probably with her.'

Which was as it should be, she reminded herself fiercely, suppressing the traitorous excitement she'd felt at the old lady's words. Whatever business Matteo had with her, it was not something to get excited about, and she was glad she had left as she had and avoided a confrontation with him.