Jess's Promise(22)

‘You’re very quiet this afternoon, piccola mia.’

‘It’s very hot. I’m kind of sleepy,’ Jess said truthfully.

‘You do look tired. But then I never leave you to sleep the night through in peace,’ Cesario remarked with a rueful hint of discomfiture. ‘But tonight I will—’

‘No, you won’t,’ Jess objected before she could even think about the bold statement she was making when she disagreed. ‘I’ll have a nap now.’

A potent sexy grin curled Cesario’s mouth at that offer, his lean dark features reflecting his amusement. ‘I like being in demand very much, moglie mia.’

But if he knew she might already be pregnant, would he still want to be in demand? Or would he suddenly appreciate that all his options were open again and that the intimate phase of their marriage was over and done with? In spite of those misgivings, Jess fell asleep within minutes of lying down on the bed in the shaded bedroom and she slept the afternoon and early evening away.

When she got up again, she tracked Cesario down in the room he used as an office. Glancing up, he saw her hovering in the doorway, bright as a butterfly in a lilac top and skirt. ‘Come and see this,’ he urged with a frown.

Jess wandered over and stared down at the sheet of paper he was poring over. ‘What is it?’ she prompted uncertainly.

‘Rigo sent a scan of it to me this afternoon.’

Jess stared down at the sheet of paper. Jumbled letters cut from a newspaper had been put together to form a note. But the spelling was so appalling that it was hard to work out the words, although she was quick to register that it had been put together in English. ‘Where did this come from? And who is Rigo?’

‘Rigo Castello looks after my security and the original of this communication arrived at Halston Hall this morning. It’s offering to return my stolen painting for a finder’s fee…’

‘Your painting…the one that was stolen? A finder’s fee?’ Jess exclaimed in disbelieving repetition.

‘I think we can safely assume that the thieves sent this demand,’ Cesario contended, his hard, handsome face sardonic. ‘Presumably they have found it impossible to sell the painting for the kind of money they were hoping to receive and are now hoping to ransom it back to me.’

Jess was still struggling to decipher the jumble of misspelt words on the sheet. Helpfully, Cesario read it out, right down to the concluding assurance that further instructions would follow as to where the money was to be left. ‘What on earth are you going to do?’ she muttered in bemusement.

‘Well, I’m not going to pay for the return of my stolen property,’ Cesario declared with derision. ‘I refuse to be held to ransom by criminals!’

Jess shifted uneasily where she stood, all too well aware that he might well have got his art work back had he been able to approach the police, but of course that would incriminate her father in the robbery. She was beginning to feel very uncomfortable because adolescent memories were also stirring and it was impossible to forget the mortifying involvement of her mother’s relatives in the crime. At that instant she was one hundred per cent convinced that she knew exactly who was responsible for the theft of Cesario’s painting.

‘When I was a teenager, my cousins, Jason and Mark, once sent a letter like this to intimidate a neighbour who had complained to the police about them,’ she told him ruefully. ‘The spelling in the letter was dreadful. I think this could be from them and that they must have your painting.’

Cesario surveyed her with hooded eyes. ‘I must say that I have married into a very interesting family.’

Her face flamed. ‘Look, don’t make a joke of it. Think of how you would feel if you were related to people like that!’ she urged.

‘You’re right, moglie mia. That was a cheap crack and undeserved, particularly when you’ve just given me useful information. We will not discuss this again,’ he completed, his strong jaw line clenching.

‘I’m sorry about the painting. I know how much you valued it,’ she said awkwardly.

His lean, darkly handsome features softened. ‘It’s not your fault and I don’t hold you responsible in any way. Don’t blame yourself because your father got in over his head and did something stupid.’

Jess felt that that was a generous response in the circumstances and she had cause to remind herself of that during the hours that followed. Over dinner Cesario seemed preoccupied and he excused himself to catch up with work afterwards and did not join her in bed that night. It was the first time in weeks that she had slept alone. She lay awake thinking about their return to England in the morning while trying not to wonder if Cesario was keeping his distance because he was repulsed by her thieving relatives. It was all very well for him to tell her that she was not to blame, but she could not forget that she was only married to him and possibly even carrying his child because of that robbery.

In the morning, Jess could hardly keep her eyes open and she made more use of make-up than she usually did in an effort to lift her wan appearance. She did not see Cesario until after breakfast and he still seemed distant. Determined not to waste any time in finding out whether or not she was pregnant, she phoned to make an appointment to see her GP in Charlbury St Helen’s before they even left for the airport and caught their flight home to the UK. Her dogs would already be at Halston Hall waiting to greet them.

‘This is your home now, piccola mia,’ Cesario pronounced as the limo drove through the turreted gates of the Elizabethan property. ‘Make whatever changes you please to the house. I want you to be comfortable here.’

It was a generous invitation and it warmed her uneasy heart and steadied her nerves about the future, until it occurred to her that Cesario had made no such open-handed comments in relation to his other homes round the world. Collina Verde in Italy, it seemed, had been her home only for the honeymoon. She tried hard not to read any significance into that fact. If Cesario was rather cool in her radius it was probably only the natural result of the robbery fiasco, because when the thieves had offered to sell his own painting back to him they had undoubtedly added insult to injury.

‘By the way, I’ve bought you a new vehicle to get about in,’ Cesario informed her as they travelled down the drive to the hall. ‘Your car was ready for the scrap heap.’

‘But I don’t need a new car!’ Jess protested.

‘There it is—the blue one parked out front,’ Cesario informed her as smoothly as if she hadn’t spoken.

It was a brand-new, top-of-the-range Range Rover, ten times more expensive then her elderly four-wheel drive and embellished with the most sumptuous cream leather upholstery Jess had ever seen. ‘I gather this is part of my new swanky image,’ she said tartly, turning her head to look at him after she had walked all the way round the luxury car.

‘No, not in this case. I didn’t think that wreck you were driving was very safe and I didn’t want it breaking down and stranding you somewhere lonely late at night,’ Cesario contradicted silkily, making her feel ungracious.

Jess was on the brink of protest about his interference until she registered that she actually liked the fact that he was concerned about her safety. It was a satisfyingly husbandly concern and allowed her to feel more like a real wife than she usually dared to feel. ‘It’s not going to look clean and perfect for very long with me and the dogs using it,’ she warned him ruefully.

As Tommaso appeared beaming at the front door a canine flood surged out to acknowledge their arrival with a flurry of barks and scrabbling paws. Cesario strode off towards the garages after telling Jess that he had an urgent appointment to keep. Weed raced round the corner in his wake—the skinny lurcher, whose confidence had grown by leaps and bounds in Italy, had become her husband’s shadow, and Magic bounced along after them.

Jess changed into more comfortable clothing and went out to keep her medical appointment at the local surgery. Thirty minutes later she had the confirmation she had sought and, feeling somewhat shaken by the news that she would have a child by the following spring, she went to visit her mother.

‘Cesario called in an hour ago,’ Sharon Martin told her daughter when she arrived. ‘He spoke to your father at work and then came here to ask me some questions about your uncle Sam.’

Jess fell still and grimaced at that information. ‘What’s he up to?’

‘Your husband wants his painting back and he’s determined to get it,’ her mother confided ruefully. ‘He told your father that he would try to keep him out of things but that he can’t guarantee it—’

‘That’s not fair!’ Jess gasped in consternation. ‘I have an agreement with Cesario…’

‘And he wants the agreement and he wants his painting back. Typical man,’ Sharon Martin quipped. ‘He wants it all and sees no reason why he shouldn’t have it.’

Jess breathed in deep. ‘You’re going to be a grandmother again next year.’

Initially taken aback by the change of subject, her mother stared at her and then, with an exclamation of pleasure, she rushed forward and gave her daughter a warm hug. ‘My goodness, that didn’t take long! Are you pleased?’