A ripple of desire went through him, but he put it aside. That was for later.
They heade
d downstairs, Cesare carrying her unfinished glass of white wine for her, and in the dining room, which still caught the roseate glow of the lowering sun, they took a table overlooking the lake.
Cesare’s sense of well-being deepened. This was good. It really was good. Being here, well away from Rome, from home, from responsibilities and social obligations, just having time to himself with the woman he wanted to be with.
How long will I keep this going? This affair...this liaison?
The question wound through his head as they got on with choosing from the menu. The answer came of its own accord.
While it stays good.
* * *
It had certainly stayed good for the rest of their long weekend together.
A sating, fulfilling night together, a slow, leisurely breakfast the next morning, before hiring a car to explore the lake’s circuit, and the following day taking a private launch out onto the water itself, lunching on one of the little islands in the lake.
The weekend passed too soon. And it was with regret that he announced at breakfast on Monday morning that he must leave for Milan again.
Carla nodded. ‘And I’ve promised my mother I’ll spend some time with her. I’ve somewhat neglected her these past months.’
Cesare reached for his coffee. As ever, Carla had made no demur at their parting, and he was glad of it. After Milan he must go home—put in some time there, attending to his affairs. His agenda was crowded—the never-ending maintenance work on the castello itself, a controversial wind turbine proposal to evaluate, a reforestation project to check up on, a request for the loan of artworks to yet another exhibition to decide on.
Maybe he should discuss that last item with Carla—
He pulled his mind back abruptly. No, that would be a bad move. That might set seeds growing that he did not want to see taking any kind of root. Impossible that they should do so.
Quite impossible.
They drove down towards Milan. Cesare would divert via the airport to let Carla catch her flight back to Rome.
As they drew near, he remarked, ‘What would you say to a visit to London?’ he asked. ‘I’ll need to go next month.’
Carla considered. ‘I’ll have to check my diary,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure what I’ve got coming up.’
Cesare nodded. ‘Let me know,’ he replied easily.
‘Will do,’ she agreed.
She kept her voice neutral, though inside she felt the familiar flutter of emotion that came whenever Cesare indicated that she was included in his future plans.
Short-term future plans, at any rate.
No, she mustn’t think like that. What they had was good. Very good. Incredibly good. Fantastically good. But—
I don’t know what the future will bring. I just don’t know. I don’t dare know.
She felt a hollowing inside her as the thoughts rushed into her head. Disquieting suddenly, as they echoed again. Why should she not dare know...?
An unfamiliar emotion swirled within her, disturbing her by its very presence. And as her eyes went to him now, that hollowing inside her was still there—that disturbing, unidentified emotion that seemed to deepen, to make her gaze cling to his profile as he drove along the autostrada, his dark eyes focussed on the road.
As if aware she was looking at him, he glanced sideways a moment. Instantly she schooled her expression. Not noticing the sudden flicker in his eyes before he spoke.
‘Do you have to be in Rome today?’ he said. ‘Why not stay in Milan with me? I’ll be busy all day, but surely the charms of the quadrilatera would while away the hours away for you!’ He spoke lightly, knowing that although Carla was always superbly attired, she was no fashionista obsessed with Milan’s famous haute couture quarter. ‘And, of course,’ he added, ‘there’s always the Da Vinci Last Supper to look in on!’
That might tempt her more...