'It must have made for a tricky relationship.'
He gave her a brief hard glance. 'I love my daughter. I'm not happy that I was tricked into fatherhood but that doesn't make me love her any less.'
'I wasn't suggesting-'
'I had decided to marry Giulia even if Alessandra wasn't mine.'
'But why?' she asked. 'You said you weren't in love with her.'
'We were both at a crossroads. The man she had expected to marry had jilted her.' His lip curled without humour. 'You could say we had significant common ground.'
Eliza frowned at his little dig at her. 'So it was a pity pick-up for both of you?'
His eyes met hers in a flinty little lock before he returned to concentrating on the traffic. 'Marriage can work just as well, if not better, when love isn't part of the arrangement. And it might have worked for us except Giulia struggled with her mood once Alessandra was born. It was a difficult delivery. She didn't bond with the baby.'
Eliza had met a number of mothers who had struggled with bonding with their babies. The pressure on young mothers to be automatically brilliant at mothering was particularly distressing for those who didn't feel that surge of maternal warmth right at the start. 'I'm very sorry … It must have been very difficult for you, trying to support her through that.'
Lines of bitterness were etched around his mouth. 'Yes. It was.'
He didn't speak much after that. Eliza sat back and looked at the spectacular scenery as they drove along the Amalfi coast towards Positano. But her mind kept going back to his loveless marriage, the reasons for it, the difficulties during it and the tragic way it had ended. He was left with a small child to rear on his own. Would he look for another wife to help him raise his little girl? Would it be another loveless arrangement or would he seek a more fulfilling relationship this time? She wondered what sort of woman he would settle for. With the sort of wealth he had he could have anyone he wanted. But somehow she couldn't see him settling for looks alone. He would want someone on the same wavelength as him, someone who understood him on a much deeper and meaningful level. He was a complex man who had a lot more going on under the surface than he let on. She had caught a glimpse of that brooding complexity in that bar in Rome four years ago. That dark shuttered gaze, the proud and aloof bearing, and the mantle of loneliness that he took great pains to keep hidden.
Was that why she had connected with him so instantly? They were both lonely souls disappointed by experiences in childhood, doing their best to conceal their innermost pain, reluctant to show any sign of vulnerability in case someone exploited them.
Eliza hadn't realised she had drifted off to sleep until the car came to a stop. She blinked her eyes open and sat up straighter in her seat. The car was in the forecourt of a huge, brightly lit villa that was perched on the edge of a precipitous cliff that overlooked the ocean. 'This isn't the same place you had before,' she said. 'It's much bigger. It must be three times the size.'
Leo opened her door for her. 'I felt like I needed a change.'
She wondered if there had been too many memories of their time together in his old place. They had made love in just about every room and even in the swimming pool. Had he found it impossible to live there once she had left? She had often thought of his quaint little sun-drenched villa tucked into the hillside, how secluded it had been, how they had been mostly left alone, apart from a housekeeper who had come in once a week.
A place this size would need an army of servants to keep it running smoothly. As they walked to the front door Eliza caught a glimpse of a huge swimming pool surrounded by lush gardens out the back. Scarlet bougainvillea clung to the stone wall that created a secluded corner from the sea breeze and the scent of lemon blossom and sun-warmed rosemary was sharp in the air. Tubs of colourful flowers dotted the cobblestone courtyard and a wrought iron trellis of wisteria created a scented canopy that led to a massive marble fountain.
A housekeeper opened the front door even before they got there and greeted them in Italian. 'Signor Valente, signorina, benvenuto-'
'English please, Marella,' Leo said. 'Miss Lincoln doesn't speak Italian.'
'Actually, I know a little,' Eliza said. 'I had a little boy in my class a couple of years ago who was Italian. I got to know his mother quite well and we gave each other language lessons.'
'I would prefer you to speak English with my daughter,' he said. 'It will help her become more fluent. Marella will show you to your room. I will see you later at dinner.'
Eliza frowned as he strode across the foyer to the grand staircase that swept up in two arms to the floors above. He had dismissed her again as if she was an encumbrance that had been thrust upon him.
'He is under a lot of strain,' Marella said, shaking her head in a despairing manner. 'Working too hard, worrying about the bambina; he never stops. His wife … ' She threw her hands in the air. 'Don't get me started about that one. I should not speak ill of the dead, no?'
'It must have been a very difficult time,' Eliza said.
'That child needs a mother,' Marella said. 'But Signor Valente will never marry again, not after the last time.'
'I'm sure if he finds the right person he would be-'
Marella shook her head again. 'What is that saying? Once bitten, twice shy? And who would take on his little girl? Too much trouble for most women.'
'I'm sure Alessandra is a delightful child who just needs some time to adjust to the loss of her mother,' Eliza said. 'It's a huge blow for a young child, but I'm sure with careful handling she'll come through it.'
'Poor little bambina.' Marella's eyes watered and she lifted a corner of her apron to wipe at them. 'Come, I will show you to your room. Giuseppe will bring up your bag.'
As Eliza followed the housekeeper upstairs she noticed all the priceless works of art on the walls and in the main gallery on the second level. The amount of wealth it took to have such masters in one's collection was astonishing. And not just paintings-there were marble statues and other objets d'art placed on each landing of the four-storey villa. Plush Persian rugs lay over the polished marble floors and sunlight streamed in long columns from the windows on every landing. It was a rich man's paradise and yet it didn't feel anything like a home.
'Your suite is this one,' Marella said. 'Would you like me to unpack for you?'
'No, thank you, I'll be fine.'
'I'll leave you to settle in,' Marella said. 'Dinner will be at eight-thirty.'
'Where does Alessandra sleep?' Eliza asked.
Marella pointed down the corridor. 'In the nursery; it's the second door from the bathroom on this level. She will be asleep now, otherwise I would take you to her. The agency girl will be on duty until tomorrow so you can relax until then.'
'Wouldn't it be better for me to move into the room closest to the nursery once the agency girl leaves?' Eliza asked.
'Signor Valente told me to put you in this room,' Marella said. 'But I will go and ask him, sì?'
'No, don't worry about it right now. I'll talk to him later. I suppose I can't move in while the other girl is there anyway.'
'Sì, signorina.'
Eliza stepped inside the beautifully appointed room once the housekeeper had left, the thick rug almost swallowing her feet as she moved across the floor. Crystal chandeliers dangled from the impossibly high ceiling and there were matching sconces on the walls. The suite was painted in a delicate shade of duck egg blue with a gold trim. The furniture was antique; some pieces looked as if they were older than the villa itself. The huge bed with its rich velvet bedhead was made up in snowy white linen with a collection of blue and gold cushions against the pillows in the same shade as the walls. Dark blue velvet curtains were draped either side of the large windows, which overlooked the gardens and the lemon and olive groves in the distance.
Once Eliza had showered and changed she still had half an hour to spare before dinner. She made her way along the wide corridor to the nursery Marella had pointed out. She thought it was probably polite to at least meet the girl from the agency so she could become familiar with Alessandra's routine. But when she got to the door of the nursery it was ajar, although she could hear a shower running in the main bathroom on the other side of the corridor. She considered waiting for the girl to return but curiosity got the better of her. She found herself drawn towards the cot that was against the wall in the nursery.
Eliza looked down at the sleeping child, a dark-haired angel with alabaster skin, her tiny starfish hands splayed either side of her head as she slept. Sooty-black eyelashes fanned her little cheeks, her rosebud mouth slightly open as her breath came in and then out. She looked small for her age, petite, almost fragile. Eliza reached over the side of the cot and gently brushed a dark curl back off the tiny forehead, a tight fist of maternal longing clutching at her insides.