His passport had told them that his name was Gaetano di Santis and he was British, and was twenty-seven years old. It had not occurred to either of them that he might have dual nationality or that the reason he was travelling on his British passport was probably that he had sought that anonymity. The day after that they had gone up the hill together to search for a mobile phone, convinced he must have had one and had lost it as well, but they hadn’t found one.
Her friend, Cathy, and her husband had given permission by text for Gaetano to stay on in the house with her. His condition would have condemned him to a homeless shelter but the cash he had would have got him a hotel room. She had cringed at the prospect of Gaetano spending Christmas alone someplace else. And in between Lara teaching him the rudiments of basic cookery and how to chop firewood, Gaetano had taught her algebra and how to play chess. He was a keen reader and, fortunately, Cathy’s shelves had been packed with books.
The snow had been gone within days and Dr Beresford had called in, calming Gaetano’s concerns and telling him that temporary amnesia was much more common than he might think after a head injury and that it was even possible that some stress in his life prior to the accident could have inhibited his memory to protect him and allow him time to recover his equilibrium.
‘The mind is a wonderful thing,’ the elderly woman had told him cheerfully. ‘Most people with amnesia recover their memory within weeks or months but I must warn you that it doesn’t always work that way and that perhaps you should consult a professional in the field.’
Gaetano, however, had baulked at the suggestion that he confide in anyone else, making Lara realise that he was much more reserved than most people she knew. They had been together day after day, and she had taken him everywhere with her. She had taken him to church, introduced him to the local priest and he had discovered with relief that the rituals of worship were familiar to him. She had taken him shopping when he wanted new clothes, amused by his fastidiousness, his awareness of fashion, so unlike the men she was accustomed to meeting. They had gone to the supermarket together, the post office and even the pub, where he’d decided that he didn’t like beer very much.
Their relationship had moved at breakneck speed. On the tenth day he had told her that he was falling in love with her, and she had been shattered that a man could be that open and honest with her. That was when she had fully opened her heart to Gaetano to admit that she felt the same. That was also when the barriers had come down and she had stopped saying no when it came to more than a little light petting because of course they had become incredibly close spending so much time as a couple. He was also the first guy she had been with who didn’t pressure her for sex and who took no for an answer without making her feel bad about it.
In every sense of the word, it had been a love affair and that constant closeness, sharing and talking, had accelerated the process. Gaetano’s passionate nature had made everything run faster than the speed of light.
‘I want you. I know I shouldn’t say it when I can’t prove it for a fact, but I don’t believe I couldeverhave wanted a woman as much as I want you,bambola.’
And that was it, her defences had crumbled. That same night he had also asked her to marry him.
‘I’ll never be as sure of anything as I am of my feelings for you,’ Gaetano had sworn. ‘I want to know you’re mine in every way and that means I put a ring on your finger and my own and we do it legally.’
She had said yes straight away, not a single doubt in her head either, and the next day they had gone to see the priest to see if they could get married in time for Christmas. Only Dr Beresford had sounded a note of caution, pointing out that Gaetano still knew next to nothing about himself but, like young lovers everywhere, neither of them had listened because neither of them had had the smallest desire to play it safe. They had wanted to plunge on in their lives and savour every moment to the fullest...
CHAPTER FIVE
THENEXTDAY, Lara was up at the crack of dawn, tidying the house, making sure everything was presentable, at least, for a man who had grown up in a palace. Thinking that made her roll her eyes and grimace at her own thoughts.
She had nothing in common with Gaetano, absolutely nothing, she told herself firmly. They had been ships that passed, people who, under normal circumstances, would never have met each other. They had had a fling, a foolish fling, that wasall, she programmed herself. He wasnotthe love of her life as she had once fondly believed. In fact, were it not for her son, Gaetano would be the worst mistake she had ever made becausenobodyhad ever made her feel as miserably wretched and unhappy as he had.
Sadly, two years earlier, rejection from her nearest and dearest had not been a new experience for Lara.At the age of nine she had gone from being a much-loved daddy’s girl to being an often irritating burden and unwelcome expense to her surviving parent. That had been tough. Her grandparents had done much the same thing to her. They had warned her from the outset that when she reached eighteen, they expected her to move out and make her own life. She was grateful they had given her a home when she was desperate for one at sixteen but pretty hurt that, in spite of her warmth towards them, they had never viewed her as more than a nod of respect towards the memory of the adored son who had died after adopting Lara.
Gaetano texted her a time for his arrival. She dressed Freddy in jeans and a sweater, dampened down his riot of black curls and fed him well to keep him in a good mood.
Gaetano asked her if he could pick them up on the road at the rear of the house. Lara winced because she had assumed that Gaetano would see Freddy at their home, but she couldn’t come up quickly enough with an argument to protest the idea of them travelling elsewhere. Perhaps he was thinking of them going to the park, she reckoned with more enthusiasm because Freddy was easier handled outdoors. Putting on coats and tucking her son into his pushchair, she hurried out of the front door to walk round the corner, wondering if this was the kind of ‘discreet’ that Gaetano had alluded to while looking down an almost empty suburban road and thinking it was a decided overreaction.
A huge limousine idled by the kerb, nothing discreet about that in such a neighbourhood, she reckoned with wry amusement, lifting Freddy out and beginning to collapse the pushchair before the driver and another man intervened, seemingly shocked that she would think to do such a thing for herself. The passenger door was opened. Gaetano was not inside. So, not the park, then. She settled Freddy into the plush car seat already awaiting him and did up the straps.
The car took them straight back to the Victorian mansion and Lara winced, feeling underdressed in her worn jeans, sweatshirt and padded jacket. It was a relief when Gaetano greeted her alone in the hall, nobody to question her about who she was, nobody to judge her appearance with scorn. And her attention was immediately taken by Gaetano, sheathed in jeans and a shirt, looking very much as he had two years earlier.
When Lara walked in, Gaetano’s fists clenched. He was on edge because so much was riding on this meeting. And then Lara blew in, fresh as a daisy with her strawberry blonde waves floating back from her face like in some slow-motion scene in a romantic movie, and he was rivetted to the spot, noting the freckles scattered across her nose. Exactly six, herememberedthat. And those eyes, set below arched brows, the purest breathtaking aquamarine above her soft pink lips. There was nothing honourable about his plan, indeed it was ruthless, although not quite as ruthless as his friend Dario’s would have been. And Dario’s plan, while strictly necessary in such a dangerous situation, would be cruel and it would frighten her. Whatever Lara might expect from him, she did not deserve any form of a scare.
A tiny noise escaped the large wriggling bundle in her arms, and she set it down and for the first time Gaetano registered that the bundle was actuallyhisson and definitely what he should have focused his entire interest on, rather than on his son’s mother. Lara knelt down to remove Freddy’s coat and the little boy slowly turned round, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings with interest.
Gaetano got down on his level to meet him, but Freddy was already past him, moving at toddler speed, having espied the enormous flower arrangement seated on a low table to the rear of the hall.
Aghast, Lara plunged forward as her son reached up a grasping hand, and she shouted, ‘Freddy,no!’
Freddy looked back at her with huge chocolate-button eyes, a flush on his cheeks of rage at her rebuke. Before she could even reach him, he had flung himself down in a passion to kick and scream and sob.
Mortification claiming her, Lara stilled beside Gaetano and said in a stifled voice, ‘This is Freddy. It’s best not to lift him until he gets the worst over with because that only makes him fight and shout louder.’
Involuntarily, Gaetano was fascinated. ‘My brother once showed me a photo of me doing the exact same thing,’ he told her, disconcerting her when she had expected an admonishment from him and at least a hint of criticism that she might not be the best parent in a disciplinary sense.
‘What age were you?’
‘About two. It was to teach me what I was capable of when I lost my temper.’
‘No wonder you hate getting angry. I think that was brutal,’ Lara opined. ‘As Freddy learns more words, he will hopefully grow out of the meltdowns. Right now, it’s his only way of expressing his frustration.’
While they had been talking and ignoring him, Freddy had sat up, his tear-streaked little face now intent on Gaetano, who was unfamiliar to him.