‘I...I think you should come back to New York,’ she said. Her voice was low, as if she found speaking difficult. She made herself look at him straight. ‘Because you asked me at lunch if...if I...’ She swallowed. ‘But then, you might change your mind when you’re in the Caribbean.’
His voice cut right across her. ‘No—I will not be changing my mind, Eloise! I meant what I said—I meant it with all my being! And nothing can change that—nothing!’
There was no veil in his eyes now, no hesitation in his voice. Only certainty.
He took her hand. ‘I want no dissension between us ever again. I will never try to hide anything from you again, as I did in Rome. Nor will I hide my feelings for you.’
She felt colour flush along her cheekbones, saw long lashes dip over his dark eyes. She held completely still as his head lowered to hers and his mouth brushed softly on her lips, which quivered beneath his brief, caressing touch—a touch she had not felt for so, so long... As he drew back again his eyes held hers, as they had done so often before.
‘Vito, I—’
Her voice was a breath, her eyes aglow—yet in his face was a wariness she knew she must not, dared not ignore. But what she was going to say?
The noise of the front door being tugged open made her start, and a small powerhouse of energy barrelled out on to the wide carriage sweep, closely followed by Laura Carldon.
With a resigned grin Vito opened his door, and a gleeful Johnny clambered in and settled himself on his lap, grabbing the steering wheel with enthusiastic cries of ‘Vroom, vroom!’
Laura Carldon leaned on the open door. Eloise saw that she was still looking a total knock-out, even though she’d simply spent the day at home.
‘I couldn’t hold him back any longer!’ Laura laughed. She held out her hand to her son. ‘Come on, Mr Trouble, out you get!’
Her son ignored her. ‘Make it go!’ he ordered Vito. Then, belatedly, he added, ‘Please! Please! Please!’
Vito cast a look at Eloise’s employer. ‘Are you OK if I just drive down to the gate with him and back? I’ll be very careful.’
‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ shouted Johnny, adding another, ‘Vroom! Vroom!’ for good measure.
Laura smiled. ‘You’re a very lucky young man,’ she informed her son, and she stood back and closed the car door for Vito.
‘Sit quietly, Johnny,’ Eloise instructed, ‘or Vito can’t start the engine.’
Good as gold, Johnny settled on Vito’s lap, his hands still on the steering wheel. Vito started the engine and pressed the accelerator to let the engine give its characteristic throaty roar, then lessened it to start the car moving very slowly, his hands resting lightly over Johnny’s, giving the little boy the sensation that he was steering. Johnny chortled happily to himself, clearly in his element.
Eloise watched them—the little boy sitting on Vito’s lap, and Vito quite at ease with him, advising him to steere right as they veered left, and talking to him about the car. Her expression was strange...her gaze intent as she watched him interact with the little boy.
The expedition did not take long. Soon they were circling back to the front door again, and Vito let Johnny sound the horn in a satisfyingly loud manner before lifting him out of the car and handing him to his waiting mother. He climbed out himself, gracefully, opening the passenger door for Eloise to emerge.
Laura cast a grateful glance at Vito. ‘Thank you! As you can see, Johnny’s just a tad obsessed with cars!’
‘Vroom! Vroom!’ confirmed Johnny happily, and ran around driving an imaginary car.
Vito grinned indulgently. ‘I think the English term is “petrol head”,’ he said.
Laura caught her perambulating son. ‘Now, what do you say to Signor Viscari, young man?’
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!’ Johnny said in a rush.
Vito ruffled his hair. ‘You’re welcome,’ he said.
He glanced at Eloise. She was standing very still, just watching him. Her expression was very strange. As if she were both a million miles away and simultaneously totally focused on him. Absently, he wondered at it, then turned his attention to her employer.
‘He’s a great kid,’ he said, and grinned, nodding at Johnny.
Laura beamed—both at his praise for her beloved young son and at being the recipient of Vito’s mega-voltage smile. ‘And you’re great with him,’ she responded. ‘A natural. But then...’ She smiled at him, but her eyes, Vito could not fail to see, had darted to Eloise, who still had that strange fixated look on her face. ‘Italian men are famed for being great with children.’
There was a minute pause—so brief Vito wondered if he’d actually noticed it.
Then Laura went on, with distinct self-consciousness, ‘You’ll be a natural when it comes to your own!’