Picture of Innocence(51)

Then suddenly there was a hush, and Lucy watched as a stunning, tall and dark-haired woman in red on the arm of a much younger man made an entrance, pausing and looking haughtily around for a second or two.

Lucy felt Lorenzo tense beside her, and caught the slight frown on Anna’s face as the couple walked over.

Anna introduced the pair of them to Lucy. ‘Signora Olivia Paglia and her son Paolo.’

With the briefest of acknowledgments in her direction, Olivia wrapped her arms around Lorenzo’s neck and kissed him on both cheeks. It would have been his mouth if he had not moved his head, Lucy thought, her gaze flickering between the two of them as the woman began speaking.

She gathered from her limited understanding of Italian that Olivia was reminding him of his friend, and how much her poor disabled Fedrico would have loved to be here. It was not possible any more, and it was hard for her on her own, but how grateful she was for Lorenzo’s support.

Was Lorenzo really that clueless about what Olivia was doing? Lucy wondered. The only person Olivia was interested in was Lorenzo. It was blindingly obvious. She was playing on his sympathy for his friend with the hope of moving on to him. Or maybe she already had, if the rumoured affair the Contessa had told her of was to be believed. Well, they looked about the same age, and they obviously knew each other very well—they certainly had plenty to say to each other.

As if she wasn’t hurting enough already, another thought struck her. Maybe the reason for Lorenzo insisting she meet his mother and play the lover had nothing to do with his fear of Anna contacting her but was a deliberate ploy to use Lucy as a smokescreen to deflect talk of his affair with his friend’s wife. She wouldn’t put anything past him, and it would explain why except for one lapse he wanted nothing to do with Lucy now she was in Italy.

She glanced at Anna, who was greeting someone else, and then back at Lorenzo and Olivia, who were still talking. She moved to one side, totally disgusted. Then she caught sight of the latest arrival, and a genuine smile slowly curved her lips as she walked forward to meet her.

‘Contessa,’ she said, and was greeted with a delighted laugh.

‘Lucy!’ The Contessa put her arms around her and kissed her on both cheeks, then stepped back. ‘Let me look at you.’

Grinning, Lucy gave a twirl. ‘What do you think? Does it suit me?’

‘Perfectly—as I knew it would. You look lovely and it brings back so many happy memories for me. I was nineteen, and wore it the night I first met my husband. Now,’ she said, taking Lucy’s arm, ‘come and show me this painting I’ve heard about.’

Lucy was happy and relieved to go along with the Contessa. ‘It is on an easel in the lounge, I believe.’ Arm in arm, they started to walk.

‘Good—and later you can tell me what on earth you are doing with Lorenzo Zanelli. He is far too serious for you—though to be fair there is no doubting he is a very attractive man, and definitely all male. But be warned—he is the type of man a woman can enjoy making love with, but to talk with, to really know—never. He has too much pride and passion in his work. Everything else is on the periphery of his life, especially his women—and there must have been a few.’

‘I guess so,’ Lucy said. ‘But I am not doing anything with him. I am going home tomorrow,’ she stated as they approached the double doors. And if the Contessa noticed the hint of bitterness in her tone she did not remark on it.

Before they could walk through into the lounge, Lorenzo appeared.

‘Contessa … ‘ He spoke to her in Italian.

But she answered in English, with a mischievous glance at Lucy. ‘No need to apologise, Lorenzo, for not greeting me on arrival. I could see you were occupied with Signora Paglia, and Lucy more than made up for your lapse.’ As a put-down it was brilliant and she smiled at Lucy, her sparkling eyes brimming with merriment. ‘Lucy is going to show me her latest work of art—shall we, dear?’

Lorenzo stood frozen to the spot and watched as the two petite women—one old, one young—both beauties, walked into the lounge, the sound of their laughter floating back to him. He had never been so elegantly dismissed in his life.

He was about to follow them when Olivia caught his arm again.

‘Lorenzo, you never told me your little friend was an artist and had painted a portrait of your brother—how sweet. And she looks very sweet in that vintage dress. But secondhand clothes have never appealed to me—I prefer new.’

He looked at the tall brunette hanging on his arm. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Didn’t you know? The Contessa gave Lucy the dress she is wearing. Teresa Lanza overheard them talking, and apparently the Contessa wore it the first time she met her husband. Heaven knows how many years ago that was, but at least it saved you having to buy one for your mother’s little protégée. She probably had nothing suitable for an occasion like this.’