beautiful,’ she spoke impulsively, and Antonio looked around.
‘It’s called Limone,’ he informed her briskly. ‘The Italian word for lemons—the shore is renowned for its citrus trees. However, the name doesn’t originate from the trees but from an older Latin word meaning boundary.’
‘You know a lot about it.’
He smiled at that. ‘I should think so. The Cavelli family go back for many generations around here. Lake Garda is practically in the blood.’ He leaned forward and spoke in Italian to their driver and at the first opportunity he pulled into the side of the road.
‘Do you see that place down there?’ Antonio pointed through the tracery of trees down towards the water and she saw a mansion jutting out by the shoreline. Its huge stone walls were crenulated, its windows staring out blankly across the stillness of the blue water. ‘That is my ancestral home.’
Victoria’s eyes widened. ‘It looks more like a castle!’
‘Yes, the family always did have grand ideas.’ Antonio’s voice was almost derisive. ‘My father lives there. I was brought up by my mother in a smaller, more modest house further along the shore—that is where I am taking you now.’
‘So your parents don’t live together?’
‘They separated when I was ten. But my mother is dead now,’ he continued. ‘She died years ago.’
Antonio spoke in Italian to the driver and they pulled out onto the road again.
‘So your parents were divorced?’ Victoria gathered the courage to try and continue the conversation, curious to know more about his life.
‘No, my father didn’t believe in divorce,’ Antonio grated the words derisively. ‘He preferred the excitement of infidelity.’
The curt reply took her by surprise and was somehow probably more revealing than he would have wanted it to be. ‘You don’t sound as if you like your father very much.’
‘We tolerate each other.’
She noticed how closed his handsome features were now.
‘That’s sad…don’t you think?’
For a second he looked at her and frowned, as if the question startled him. ‘No, Victoria, I think it’s just a reality.’
The car stopped again but this time it was to wait for huge electric gates to grind slowly open.
Then they drove down along a gravel driveway through cypress trees and manicured gardens until it revealed a huge sprawling white house that was snuggled securely into the curve of the lake.
‘If you think this is a modest house, then it’s no wonder you thought my apartment was small,’ she said impulsively.
He laughed at that and opened the door into the warmth of the Italian day. ‘Come inside and make yourself at home.’
A middle-aged woman met them at the door. Victoria gathered that she was the housekeeper, and that her name was Sarah, but apart from that she couldn’t understand anything because the conversation that flowed so rapidly around her was all in Italian.
She did comprehend, however, that the woman was visibly surprised when Antonio introduced her as his wife. Her eyes raked over Victoria, and then lingered on the child in her arms with considerable consternation. Probably thinking that she wasn’t Antonio’s type.
Well, she didn’t care, Victoria told herself fiercely as she lifted her chin and met the woman’s cool appraisal head-on.
‘Show Signora Cavelli up to her room, please, Sarah,’ Antonio told the woman in crisp Italian.
‘You mean to your room?’ the housekeeper questioned.
‘No, I mean the adjoining room—the one I asked you to make up when I spoke to you on the phone yesterday.’ Antonio’s voice was rigid now with annoyance. Sarah had worked in this house for nearly twenty years and he was fond of her, but she had no right to question him and to look so damn disapproving! He would do as he pleased…marry who he damn well pleased. ‘And did you arrange for that merchandise I asked for to be delivered—the cot, et cetera?’
‘Yes, it’s all in the
‘It’s called Limone,’ he informed her briskly. ‘The Italian word for lemons—the shore is renowned for its citrus trees. However, the name doesn’t originate from the trees but from an older Latin word meaning boundary.’
‘You know a lot about it.’
He smiled at that. ‘I should think so. The Cavelli family go back for many generations around here. Lake Garda is practically in the blood.’ He leaned forward and spoke in Italian to their driver and at the first opportunity he pulled into the side of the road.
‘Do you see that place down there?’ Antonio pointed through the tracery of trees down towards the water and she saw a mansion jutting out by the shoreline. Its huge stone walls were crenulated, its windows staring out blankly across the stillness of the blue water. ‘That is my ancestral home.’
Victoria’s eyes widened. ‘It looks more like a castle!’
‘Yes, the family always did have grand ideas.’ Antonio’s voice was almost derisive. ‘My father lives there. I was brought up by my mother in a smaller, more modest house further along the shore—that is where I am taking you now.’
‘So your parents don’t live together?’
‘They separated when I was ten. But my mother is dead now,’ he continued. ‘She died years ago.’
Antonio spoke in Italian to the driver and they pulled out onto the road again.
‘So your parents were divorced?’ Victoria gathered the courage to try and continue the conversation, curious to know more about his life.
‘No, my father didn’t believe in divorce,’ Antonio grated the words derisively. ‘He preferred the excitement of infidelity.’
The curt reply took her by surprise and was somehow probably more revealing than he would have wanted it to be. ‘You don’t sound as if you like your father very much.’
‘We tolerate each other.’
She noticed how closed his handsome features were now.
‘That’s sad…don’t you think?’
For a second he looked at her and frowned, as if the question startled him. ‘No, Victoria, I think it’s just a reality.’
The car stopped again but this time it was to wait for huge electric gates to grind slowly open.
Then they drove down along a gravel driveway through cypress trees and manicured gardens until it revealed a huge sprawling white house that was snuggled securely into the curve of the lake.
‘If you think this is a modest house, then it’s no wonder you thought my apartment was small,’ she said impulsively.
He laughed at that and opened the door into the warmth of the Italian day. ‘Come inside and make yourself at home.’
A middle-aged woman met them at the door. Victoria gathered that she was the housekeeper, and that her name was Sarah, but apart from that she couldn’t understand anything because the conversation that flowed so rapidly around her was all in Italian.
She did comprehend, however, that the woman was visibly surprised when Antonio introduced her as his wife. Her eyes raked over Victoria, and then lingered on the child in her arms with considerable consternation. Probably thinking that she wasn’t Antonio’s type.
Well, she didn’t care, Victoria told herself fiercely as she lifted her chin and met the woman’s cool appraisal head-on.
‘Show Signora Cavelli up to her room, please, Sarah,’ Antonio told the woman in crisp Italian.
‘You mean to your room?’ the housekeeper questioned.
‘No, I mean the adjoining room—the one I asked you to make up when I spoke to you on the phone yesterday.’ Antonio’s voice was rigid now with annoyance. Sarah had worked in this house for nearly twenty years and he was fond of her, but she had no right to question him and to look so damn disapproving! He would do as he pleased…marry who he damn well pleased. ‘And did you arrange for that merchandise I asked for to be delivered—the cot, et cetera?’
‘Yes, it’s all in the
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