I was trying to negate that sudden fear I’d had—fear about why I didn’t dare think what my future would be with Cesare. Because I shouldn’t feel that—I’ve always known that there is no future with him. Known that I mustn’t care that there is no future.
Known, too, right from the start, that if she wanted any time at all with Cesare she must try not to cling to him, try not to want him too much. He had to know she would never have any expectations of him, never make any assumptions.
Never want a future with him longer than he was prepared to give her.
Or she would have nothing of him at all.
Nothing.
The hollow feeling came again, like a crevasse opening inside her. A crevasse into which that same emotion flared again—more than disquieting, deeper than disturbing.
To have nothing of Cesare—how could I endure that?
No—she tore her mind away. She must not think like this! She was regretting not staying with him in Milan, that was all! Regretting insisting on arriving today at her mother’s, even though she could, she knew, have postponed her arrival by a day. It would not have made any great difference to her mother, and she’d have stayed on a day longer to compensate.
I turned down Cesare when I didn’t need to.
But she knew why she had done it.
It was to show myself that I don’t want to cling to him...don’t need to cling to him. To show myself how we are simply having a relationship between adults that we both enjoy, that suits us both. And that is all.
‘So...’ her mother’s voice interrupted her insistent thoughts and she was glad of it ‘...how was Venice? Tell me about this new gallery that’s been opened. Where did you stay? At the Danieli or the Gritti?’ she enquired, naming two of the city’s top hotels.
As she answered, telling her mother about her trip there and the article she’d written, Carla welcomed the diversion—welcomed, too, over dinner, letting her mother run on about her social comings and goings, knowing how much Marlene enjoyed her position in Roman society.
Only when all these had been comprehensively covered did Carla ask, casually, after any news of the Viscaris. Vito, she knew, had been on an extensive inspection tour of his European hotels, and was due back in Rome imminently.
‘I do hope, Mum,’ she ended, casting a significant look at her mother, ‘that when he’s back here you’ll finally agree to sell him Guido’s shares...’
The sooner that was done, the better. It had caused a significant rift in relations with her stepfather’s brother’s side of the family that had rumbled on ever since her stepfather had died.
But immediately her mother bridled. ‘Darling, Guido entrusted those shares to me! And he had his reasons.’
Carla gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Mum, please don’t be stubborn! It makes far more sense for Vito to own the entire shareholding—’
The next moment she wished she’d never mentioned the wretched subject.
Her mother’s eyes flared. ‘Yes, and he could—very easily! Carla, darling, why don’t you listen to me on this? It would make perfect sense—would be what I’ve always dreamt of! It would unite both sides of the family! And unite the shareholdings as well!’
Carla threw up her hands. Damn, she’d walked into this one!
‘Mum,’ she said warningly, ‘don’t go there! I know you’ve had a thing about it for ever, but please just accept that Vito and I are simply not interested in each other! Not in the slightest! And whether or not Guido left you his shares doesn’t change a thing!’
She attempted to put a humorous note into her voice, to defuse the situation.
‘Vito wouldn’t look twice at me—I’m not blonde, which is the only type of female he ever falls for, and his flashy film star looks just don’t do it for me either. I far prefer—’
She stopped short. But it was too late. Her mother pounced.
‘Yes, that’s exactly what I’m concerned about! Darling, are you mad?’ She leant forward, her expression agitated. ‘Cesare di Mondave of all men! I’ve been hoping and hoping it would just be a brief fling...or whatever you want to call it! But it’s been months now and you are still with him! Have you no sense?’
Carla shut her eyes, then flashed them open again. Realising with a wash of angry dismay that giving her mother an opportunity to voice her obsession about her marrying Vito had been the least of it!
During the last six months she’d never mentioned Cesare to her mother—had deliberately kept their relationship out of any conversation. The fact that her mother doubtless knew—for Rome was a hotbed of gossip—was no reason to be open with her mother about it. And not just because it didn’t play to Marlene’s fantasy about finally getting her together with Vito. But because she knew her affair with Cesare would get exactly the reaction she was getting now.
Emotion stormed up inside her. Anger at her mother, and at herself for walking into this. The last thing she wanted was an inquisition.
‘I’m twenty-seven years old—I can handle an affair,’ she said tightly.