Her chin jerked up. It was a strange sensation, but her heart suddenly felt as if someone had walked past and wiped it clean as a slate!
Only a mother could do that. Only a mother had the power to wipe another woman clean of any aspirations towards her son. So maybe it was because of Isabella Bellini’s contempt that she was still sitting on this chair.
For, without her blessing, any relationship with Marco would be sordid from now on.
It hadn’t felt sordid last night. It had been beautiful last night. It had been special. Marco had made it special. ‘Don’t worry me,’ he’d written. ‘Be here when I return.’
Her heart gave a squeeze. As the muscles relaxed again, all the warmth and feelings of love came flooding back in. Glancing down, she saw the photograph still clutched in her hands. The tears came back. The indecision. She wished they would call her flight. She needed to go—get away from here!
Marco strode into the apartment building and headed directly for the lift. He’d had a good day in a lot of ways. A real coup d’état! But it had taken too much time, and now he was anxious to see Antonia, begin to put things on a proper footing for them at last.
As the lift took him up with its usual smoothness he found himself smiling when his hand coiled round the small ring box in his pocket. The lift stopped, the doors slid open. He strode out. This was it, he told himself as he opened the apartment door. The most important few minutes of his life were about to happen!
Strangely, he’d never expected it to feel this good.
Stepping inside, the first thing he saw was the large brown cord-wrapped package leaning against the wall—Antonia’s portrait he’d had delivered from the Romano Gallery. The next thing was Carlotta. She was standing there wringing her hands. Ice cold struck right through to his heart.
‘Antonia?’ he rasped. ‘Where is she?’
The housekeeper’s eyes were filled with dismay. ‘She’s gone, signor,’ she whispered. ‘She’s gone…’
CHAPTER TEN
HIS legs took him down the hall, into the bedroom and straight to the built-in cupboard. The suitcase had gone. Through the eyes of a man who was still not prepared to take in what was happening to him, he turned to scan the rest of the room.
What had once pleased his eye, with its uninterrupted use of space, now looked cold and spartan, as if someone had come along and wiped it clean of its heartbeat.
So the few small items carefully placed on the smooth bed caught his attention. Walking over to them, he just stood staring down at the set of keys to this apartment, the tear-drop diamond necklace, the stack of credit cards and the mobile telephone.
His skin suddenly felt as if it didn’t fit his body any more. Was that all she felt she was worth to him? Even the bed was playing its part here. He began to feel sick. If she’d tossed down a set of scarlet underwear she could not have made her feelings more clear.
The phone gave a beep. He looked at it, saw there was a message written on it in text. Picking it up he stared at the words she had left for him. ‘I’m sorry,’ was all that it said.
In English too. He sometimes forgot she spoke English her Italian was so good. But, maybe in this case I’m sorry said it better for her than mi despiace did.
It didn’t for him, because sorry wasn’t enough! He wanted to know more. He wanted to know why! Could she not have held faith with him for just one more day?
‘When did she leave?’ He was aware of Carlotta standing in the doorway, watching him with anxious eyes. She obviously had something to tell him or she wouldn’t be there invading his private moment like this.
‘Just after the signor left,’ the housekeeper answered.
Signor. Marcos swung round. ‘Signor Kranst?’ he demanded.
But Carlotta shook her head. ‘A Signor Gabrielli,’ she informed him. ‘I think they argued,’ she added, looking uncomfortable for saying so. ‘The signorina had me see him out. It is when he gave me the cheque to give to Signorina Antonia.’ Her eyes flickered, then dropped to the waste-paper basket standing by the dressing table. ‘She was very upset,’ she added, as Marco’s gaze followed hers to the basket.
A bell sounded then, saying that someone was in the foyer wanting to come up. ‘I don’t want to see anyone,’ Marco grimly instructed.
With a nod, Carlotta left, leaving him alone to walk over to the waste-paper basket.
About the same time that Stefan was using tough talk on Carlotta to gain his way into the apartment, Antonia’s flight was being called at last.
It was now two hours late and her nerves were completely frazzled. Gathering her things together, she stood up, then paused to take in a careful breath. This was it, she told herself. She could leave now. No more arguing with herself. No more agonising over what she really wanted to do. It had to be better to go while she still had the strength to do it, rather than wait until she was thrown out then spend five years pining for his return, as her mother had—wasn’t it?