‘Perfectly horrible,’ the Signora said. ‘I always hated this suite, and Vincente has always slept in a small room on the other side of the house. But of course you will both have to move in here or the Marini ghosts will disapprove.’

She set about spoiling Elise very thoroughly, insisting that she should call her Mamma. Elise agreed, finding solace in the older woman’s kindness.

She felt stranded in no man’s land. She had wanted to separate from Vincente, and only the threatened loss of her baby had made her change her mind. Then a powerful surge of maternal feeling had made her determined to give the child everything it deserved, including a father. She had agreed to the marriage because in her mind all other paths had closed off.

But where did that leave the two of them? She had yet to find out.

The ceremony was to take place at the Church of Santa Navona, a magnificent edifice where the family had always been married and buried.

‘Does that mean Angelo’s there?’ Elise asked Vincente.

‘Yes. Do you want me to show you the place?’

‘No need. Just tell me where it is.’

‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather take you myself.’

She did mind, he could see that at once. She wanted to be alone with Angelo, but a fierce jealousy that he would not admit to made Vincente insist on going too. For a moment he thought she might argue, but then she shrugged as though it really didn’t matter very much, because nothing mattered any more. And that hurt him more than anything.

‘Before we go to the grave,’ he said, ‘I’ve got something to tell you. The night you told me about Angelo, you said his name was Caroni. That threw me, because it wasn’t. It was Valetti. Caroni was his mother’s maiden name.’

‘But why-?’

‘I suppose using it was part of his assertion of independence, the illusion of being a poor student who had to live in Trastevere.’

When they reached the churchyard he led her to the grave, which was under the trees, just visible from the path that led to the front door. A length of marble lay flat on the ground, with the name Angelo Valetti engraved in it, and his dates.

‘So even he didn’t tell me the complete truth,’ she mused. ‘Can any of you be trusted?’

‘Don’t judge him too harshly. It was a game to him.’

‘That’s why I couldn’t find any trace of his death,’ she breathed. ‘I tried to check his death certificate as soon as I arrived. I wanted to know how and why he’d died. But of course there was nobody of that name. Will you leave me, please? I’d like to be alone with Angelo.’

Reluctantly he walked away.

Elise looked a long time at the date of Angelo’s death, which was the same as the day he’d stood under her window and cried out his despair at the sight of her in Ben’s arms. She’d known it in her head, yet seeing it written like this brought a sharp reality that was almost unbearable.

Then she looked at where Angelo’s photograph had been imprinted in the marble and drew a long, tremulous breath, fighting the despair that threatened to engulf her. The picture showed a young man smiling with the joy of life. His love and eagerness glowed from him.

Once he had been hers.

She dropped to her knees so that she could run her fingertips over his face as she’d done so many times before. Except for her own water colour, this was the first time she’d seen his face for years.

‘Even you weren’t what you said,’ she whispered. ‘I thought I’d find you again in Rome but you’ve been hiding from me all the time. Nothing but lies and illusions.’

But this mood couldn’t last. His deception had been innocent enough next to Vincente’s, and now he was dead.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I never knew…I tried to tell you…I wrote but you never saw it. If only you were here so that I could talk to you. I didn’t want to be Ben’s wife, or Vincente’s. You were the one I wanted to marry. But now…’

She laid her hand over her stomach.

Vincente, watching her from a distance, saw everything he didn’t want to see. She was pleading with Angelo, no doubt begging his forgiveness because she was carrying Vincente’s child, telling him that she wished it was his.

He turned away and the taste in his mouth was very bitter.

At last she returned and he drove her home in silence.

CHAPTER TEN

THE wedding was the quietest possible, taking place in a little side chapel of the great church. There was no grand bridal gown or bridesmaids similarly attired, no church packed with business associates passing as friends, no thunderous organ music, no procession down the aisle and back, no press interest.

Instead, with the bare minimum of witnesses, two people who were secretly afraid of each other, and of themselves, pledged mutual love and honour for the rest of their lives.

To please his mother, Vincente began their wedding night in Elise’s room.

‘Give her time to retire for the night, then I’ll go away and leave you in peace,’ he said.

‘Thank you.’

‘Are you feeling all right? You looked very pale during the service.’

‘I’m fine. I got over my bad spell at the beginning. The doctor says I’m strong again-strong enough to give birth to a Farnese son or daughter.’

‘I was concerned for you, for your own sake, not just as the mother of my child. But I suppose you don’t believe that.’

‘No, I believe whatever you tell me.’

Her voice was calm, emotionless, and he wanted to shout at her to look at him, respond to him-anything to awaken her from the chilly trance into which she had retreated. Horrified, he realised that anything he did would only drive her further into hiding. She’d found a place where he couldn’t reach her.

From the corridor outside they heard the sound of footsteps, followed by Mamma’s voice. ‘Goodnight, both of you. It’s all right, I’m not coming in.’

‘Thank you, Mamma,’ Vincente called in a strained voice. ‘Goodnight.’

If they had been uneasy before, the old lady’s heavy-handed tact made it a hundred times worse. It was clear that she was enjoying a fantasy in which the bride and groom stripped seductively, prior to making passionate love, not watching each other from each side of a yawning distance.

Elise turned away to the tall window and looked down into the garden where the servants were having an impromptu party.

‘They’re celebrating,’ she murmured.

Vincente came up behind her.

‘Of course. A wedding is always good news for a family even if…well.’

A yell of delight reached them from below. Some of the partygoers looked up to the window and raised their glasses in salute, laughing and cheering.

‘They can see us,’ he said, pushing the window so that it opened on to a small balcony. ‘It’s you they want.’

Taking her hand, he drew her out and a riot of good cheer soared up to greet them. Glasses were raised, greetings and congratulations were shouted. Elise could just make out the words la signora and bambino.

‘I suppose everyone knows,’ she said.

‘No, but they suspect and they’re hoping.’

She summoned up a smile, waving at the little crowd below, and they responded with a shout of joy. One middle-aged man called up daringly, ‘Bambino? Si?’

Elise put her hands over her stomach, smiled and nodded, which produced an explosion of cheering. Vincente too was smiling as he moved a little closer, laying a hand on her shoulder, close to her neck.

‘Look at me,’ he murmured.

As she did so he delighted their audience further by laying his mouth on hers. She accepted the kiss and leaned into it, prepared to seem willing because it was only part of the performance.

Elise thought she was braced for the feel of his lips, but then he did something unfair. Either by accident or design, his hand moved to the back of her neck, caressing exactly the spot he’d discovered when she’d last lain in his arms, the night he’d cynically inflamed her desire as a way to show her who was boss.

The result was the same now as then. Despite her mind’s resistance, a flash of lightning seemed to go through her, threatening all her resolutions.

Did he know? Of course he did, she thought bitterly. This man did nothing without calculating the consequences down to the last detail.

He put his hand on the other side of her face so that what appeared to the onlookers below was not a passionate kiss, but one full of tender consideration. Cheers rose to engulf them.

‘I think we should go in now,’ she whispered.

Nodding, he waved to the crowd and they went back inside.

‘They love you,’ Vincente said warmly. ‘You did everything right. Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me,’ she said coolly. ‘I’m an old hand at this. Years with Ben taught me how to hide hostility with a smile.’

He was standing close, not touching her, but looking searchingly into her face.

‘Hostility?’ he echoed. ‘To them?’

‘Not to them.’

‘Elise-’

‘What did you expect? Have you forgotten the last time we met before you went away? You set out that night to show me who called the shots. And you did. You made it very plain who was boss and I got the message. Congratulations. Now you’ve got your wife and child safely secured under your roof, and all’s right with your world.

‘But listen to me, Vincente. Don’t ever think I’m just going to lie down for you to walk over me. Push me too hard and you’ll find that there are limits to your power.’

‘Perhaps power isn’t all I want.’

‘I’m afraid it’s all you have. But don’t worry, I won’t show you up. I’ll smile and parade and be nice to the right people. As I said, I got lots of practise with Ben.’

‘I’m not Ben,’ he shouted.

‘I used to think you weren’t,’ she said softly. ‘But I guess I’m not as good a judge of character as I thought. You’d better go now.’

He looked at her for a long moment. Then he walked out.

Elise guessed it wasn’t coincidence that he was away for the next few days. She was grateful to him for his tact. It gave her time to come to terms with her confusion. Lying alone in the silence of the night, she finally admitted that she had fallen in love with him. She wasn’t sure when, but it was some time ago, and too late now. She’d denied it to herself, but now there could be no more denial.

She had given her heart to a man who’d hated and despised her from the first moment, who’d pursued her with the fixed intention of destroying and humiliating her, and who had done it very thoroughly.

In fact, she thought wretchedly, he had no idea just how successful he’d been. At all costs he mustn’t realise that she’d been foolish enough to love him, because that would be his final revenge, the most bitter one of all.

But killing her love should be easy. She just had to be strong-minded about it and remember what he’d done. It would take time, but she would work at it. She could be as strong-minded as he.

And he would help deaden her feelings, for there was no reason to expect now that he would be faithful. No doubt from now on he would be spending more time in his bachelor flat, on the pretext of catching up with work.

But there she was wrong. Although he was sometimes late returning to the Palazzo, he never stayed away overnight unless he had to. His manner towards herself was always solicitous and concerned, just as it was to his mother, whose health was frail.

To Elise’s relief, her own health and strength returned swiftly. She began to feel equal to anything, even the party that was being planned to celebrate the wedding.

‘The whole of Rome is longing to see you,’ Mamma told her ecstatically.

‘Surely not.’ Elise laughed.

‘The whole of Rome might be an exaggeration,’ Vincente admitted, ‘but you’ve aroused much interest among my friends and associates.’

He gave her a couple of names. One, he had to explain, was the chairman of Italy’s most important bank, but she recognised the other.

‘Attilo Vansini?’ she echoed, stunned. ‘But he’s…’

He was a figure of enormous political power, always close to the president of the country, whoever the president happened to be. Elections came and went but Vansini maintained his influence, through a combination of wealth, shrewd dealings and corruption, so it was said.

Scandal followed him as dogs followed a scent: women, money, he welcomed it all.

‘He said not to forget to invite him to the party,’ Vincente told her. ‘At that stage I hadn’t thought about a party, so this is his way of saying he expects one.’

‘You must have a gown made for you by Menotti,’ Mamma said, naming the most exclusive couturier in Rome.

Elise would have liked to design her own gown, but realised that it was probably a little soon for that and allowed herself to be swept off to the Via dei Condotti. There they entered a tiny establishment, so unpretentious that it almost seemed to be cowed by the rest of the expensive street.