piled high with fresh mushrooms and then, carrying the salad with her,
went into the study.
She opened the desk drawer and picked up the little black canister, tossing it jubilantly into the air and catching it
with her free hand. A slow, wicked smile shaped her mouth. It was going to be fun proving her point to Jared. Exciting
in a way.
But she realized she no longer had the urge to clobber him in print In fact, Alina thought wonderingly, perhaps the
article could be written as a collaboration. They could publish the ending of Battista’s and Francesco’s story together.
She thought of the pleasant hours of work ahead and pictured the two of them nestled cozily in front of a microfilm
reader, comparing notes. Sitting down behind the rolltop desk, she set her plate aside and twisted off the gray top of
the little black can. Idly she peered into the dark interior. And froze.
At first she couldn’t believe the film was gone. Alina blinked and quickly turned the can upside down, shaking it
fruitlessly. It was gone! The microfilm copy of the letters from an eighteenth-century English tourist in Italy was gone!
Stunned, she stared at the offending canister, a thousand thoughts ricocheting around her head. A thousand
thoughts and the one which came inexorably to the surface was the memory of Jared standing naked in her study,
staring at the portrait of Battista on the wall.
Alina sat very still, vaguely aware that her fingers were shaking as she placed them on the desk in front of her and
lifted her eyes to the picture. How long had he been in her study last night before she’d awakened? Long enough to
search her desk?
But he hadn’t had the film with him when she’d discovered him, she reminded herself almost hysterically. No, logic
said, but once he’d located it there would have been no trouble returning to the study that morning and removing the
film. He must have had it in his pocket even as he sat drinking her cream-laced coffee and eating her scrambled eggs!
The shock of his treachery was worse than she could have imagined. Helplessly she met Battista’s knowing gaze.
„No,“ Alina whispered to the portrait, „he wouldn’t have done that He wouldn’t have seduced me just to get the
microfilm. He’s not that kind of man!“
He’s another Francesco, the woman on the wall seemed to say. You said it yourself, remember?
But that was before she’d gone to bed with him. Before she’d learned of his tenderness and his passion….
A slow rage began to build inside Alina. A rage unlike anything she had ever known. In that moment she knew
how Battista had felt when Francesco had calmly walked out of her life after taking everything she had to give.
At first there were tears. Tears of anguish over the betrayal, and then tears of self-disgust at her own stupidity, and
finally tears of rage.
But the tears soon died and left the fury to burn in a dry heat. How could she have been so stupid? Alina asked
herself again and again. She hurled the empty canister at the door of the study, watching it bounce onto the carpet and
wishing it had been aimed at Jared’s head.
She’d probably never get the chance to throw anything at his head. She’d probably never see him in person again!
He wouldn’t be coming back to Santa Barbara, that was for certain. He wouldn’t dare!
The next time she would hear from Jared Troy would be when he dropped her a line to tell her his article on
Francesco’s affair with Battista had been accepted for publication!
The only consolation she would have would be that the ending of their story wasn’t going to please Jared. But all
the same, she didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of being the one who concluded it in print.
Damn it! She didn’t want him to get away with what he’d done! And if she worked fast enough, he might not be
able to do so.
Deliberately forcing herself to calm down somewhat, Alina leaped restlessly to her feet, thinking. He
went into the study.
She opened the desk drawer and picked up the little black canister, tossing it jubilantly into the air and catching it
with her free hand. A slow, wicked smile shaped her mouth. It was going to be fun proving her point to Jared. Exciting
in a way.
But she realized she no longer had the urge to clobber him in print In fact, Alina thought wonderingly, perhaps the
article could be written as a collaboration. They could publish the ending of Battista’s and Francesco’s story together.
She thought of the pleasant hours of work ahead and pictured the two of them nestled cozily in front of a microfilm
reader, comparing notes. Sitting down behind the rolltop desk, she set her plate aside and twisted off the gray top of
the little black can. Idly she peered into the dark interior. And froze.
At first she couldn’t believe the film was gone. Alina blinked and quickly turned the can upside down, shaking it
fruitlessly. It was gone! The microfilm copy of the letters from an eighteenth-century English tourist in Italy was gone!
Stunned, she stared at the offending canister, a thousand thoughts ricocheting around her head. A thousand
thoughts and the one which came inexorably to the surface was the memory of Jared standing naked in her study,
staring at the portrait of Battista on the wall.
Alina sat very still, vaguely aware that her fingers were shaking as she placed them on the desk in front of her and
lifted her eyes to the picture. How long had he been in her study last night before she’d awakened? Long enough to
search her desk?
But he hadn’t had the film with him when she’d discovered him, she reminded herself almost hysterically. No, logic
said, but once he’d located it there would have been no trouble returning to the study that morning and removing the
film. He must have had it in his pocket even as he sat drinking her cream-laced coffee and eating her scrambled eggs!
The shock of his treachery was worse than she could have imagined. Helplessly she met Battista’s knowing gaze.
„No,“ Alina whispered to the portrait, „he wouldn’t have done that He wouldn’t have seduced me just to get the
microfilm. He’s not that kind of man!“
He’s another Francesco, the woman on the wall seemed to say. You said it yourself, remember?
But that was before she’d gone to bed with him. Before she’d learned of his tenderness and his passion….
A slow rage began to build inside Alina. A rage unlike anything she had ever known. In that moment she knew
how Battista had felt when Francesco had calmly walked out of her life after taking everything she had to give.
At first there were tears. Tears of anguish over the betrayal, and then tears of self-disgust at her own stupidity, and
finally tears of rage.
But the tears soon died and left the fury to burn in a dry heat. How could she have been so stupid? Alina asked
herself again and again. She hurled the empty canister at the door of the study, watching it bounce onto the carpet and
wishing it had been aimed at Jared’s head.
She’d probably never get the chance to throw anything at his head. She’d probably never see him in person again!
He wouldn’t be coming back to Santa Barbara, that was for certain. He wouldn’t dare!
The next time she would hear from Jared Troy would be when he dropped her a line to tell her his article on
Francesco’s affair with Battista had been accepted for publication!
The only consolation she would have would be that the ending of their story wasn’t going to please Jared. But all
the same, she didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of being the one who concluded it in print.
Damn it! She didn’t want him to get away with what he’d done! And if she worked fast enough, he might not be
able to do so.
Deliberately forcing herself to calm down somewhat, Alina leaped restlessly to her feet, thinking. He
Similar Books
