Free The Truth Behind his Touch by Cathy Williams Page B

poppet when I settle him at night,’ she said, unfazed.
    Having issued her dictate to Giancarlo for ‘a chat’, Caroline realised that chatting was the last thing she wanted to do with him. All her bravado had seeped out of her. The prospect of a morning in his company now seemed like an uphill climb. Would he listen to her? He hadn’t as yet revealed to Alberto the real reason for his visit but he would the following day; she knew it. Just as he would declare that his visit was not going to last beyond forty-eight hours, despite what she had optimistically announced to Alberto.
    There was no way that she would be able to persuade Giancarlo into doing anything he didn’t want to do and the past few hours had shown her that grasping the olive branch was definitely not on his agenda.
    She had a restless night. The villa was beautiful but no modernisation had taken place for a very long time. Air-conditioning was unheard of and the air was still and sluggish.
    She barely felt rested when she opened her eyes the following morning at eight-thirty. It took her a few seconds to remember that her normal routine was out of sync. She wouldn’t be having a leisurely breakfast with Alberto before taking him for a walk, then after lunch settling into sifting through some of his first-edition books which, in addition to his memoirs, was one of her jobs for him: sorting them into order so that he could decide which ones might be left to the local museum and which would be kept. He had all manner of historical information about the district, a great deal of which was contained in the various letters and journals of his ancestors. It was a laborious but enjoyable task which she would be missing in favour of a sailing trip with Giancarlo.
    She dressed quickly: a pair of trousers, a striped tee shirt and, of course, her cardigan, a blue one this time; covered shoes. She didn’t know anything at all about being on a boat, but she knew enough to suspect that a skirt and sandals would not be the required get-up. Impatiently, she tied her hair back in a long braid for the purpose of practicality.
    There was no time for breakfast and she walked from one wing of the villa to the other, emerging outside into a blissfully sunny day with cloudless skies, bright turquoise shot through with milk. Giancarlo was standing by his car, sunglasses on, talking into his mobile phone. For a few seconds she stared at him, her heart thudding. He might have severed all ties with his aristocratic background, but he couldn’t erase it from the contours of his face. Even in tattered clothes and barefoot he would still look the ultimate sophisticate.
    He glanced across, registered her presence and snapped shut his phone to lounge indolently against the car as she walked towards him.
    ‘So,’ he drawled, staring down at her when she was finally in front of him. ‘I’m apparently here on a one-week vacation.’ He removed the sunglasses to dangle them idly between his fingers while he continued to look at her until she felt herself blush to the roots of her hair.
    ‘Yes, well …’
    ‘Maybe you could tell me how I had this week planned out? Bearing in mind that you seemed to have arranged it.’
    ‘You
could
make just a little polite conversation before you start laying into me.’
    ‘Was I doing that?’ He pushed himself off the car and swung round to open the door for her, slamming it shut as she clambered into the passenger seat. ‘I distinctly recall having told you that the most I would be staying would be a matter of two days. Tell me how you saw fit to extend that into a week?’ He had bent down, propping himself against the car with both hands so that he could question her through her open window. He felt so close up and personal that she found herself taking deep breaths and gasping for air.
    ‘Yes, I realise that,’ Caroline muttered mutinously when he showed no signs of backing off. ‘But you made me