passionate marriage?
Correctionâthe home where she had believed herself to be so happy, she amended bitterly. She had thought she was loved and had been dreafully deceived. Harsh reality had soon disabused her of the dreams her innocence had built around her naive, trusting heart.
They had left the city now and were speeding down the coast road with the blue, blue Thyrrhenian sea spread out before them. Marinaâs heart gave a little kick of distress as she recalled the spontaneous cry of joy she hadnât been able to hold back the very first time that they had rounded a curve in the road and she had seen the jewel-bright ocean spread out before them, the white foaming crests of the waves sparkling in the sunlight. Sheâd seen it then as a symbol of the brilliant, beautiful future that lay ahead of her.
Now she had to acknowledge how that thought had been as much of an illusion as the fact that the cool, colourless water had managed to look so like a sparkling aquamarine jewel. An unexpected return to the palazzo from a trip home to England a day earlier than she had been expected had shown her that. Fired with a new resolution that things were going to be so different, and desperate to be reunitedwith her husband, to ask him to start again, she had hurried to seek him out.
Only to find that he wasnât there. That he had left on an âimportant business tripâ and, so the curt note he had left behind informed her, he didnât plan to be home for at least ten days. Perhaps she could take the time to think about their marriage and where they went from here. If anywhere.
She hadnât needed ten days or anything like it. She had turned and run out of there before she could give in to the violent nausea roiling inside her stomach. Turned and fled back the way she had come, flinging herself into her car and driving away at top speed down the wide, curving drive as if all the hounds of hell were after her. She hadnât stopped until she had reached the airport where she had snatched at the first flight to London that was available, fleeing home, unable to settle until she had put hundreds of miles between herself and her uncaring, unloving husband.
She hadnât been back since. She hadnât even been able to bear to think of the place.
And the thought that Pietro might be taking her to the palazzo for his âprivateâ and âcomfortableâ talk brought a bitter taste into her mouth, so that she feared she might actually be ill.
Pietro⦠Please⦠The words sounded in her head but she couldnât get them on to her tongue to actually speak them.
The turning for the palazzo came up on the left and she tensed apprehensively. But Pietro drove straight past, his attention still focused straight ahead.
The sense of relief was so great it was almost like a blow to her heart, making her breath escape in a rush, as with a deep sigh she subsided back in her seat.
Not the palazzo , then. But, if not the palazzo , then where?
Some time later, she had her answer. As the road climbed to a high point, with a sheer cliff on one side falling right down to the sea, Pietro slowed the car, indicated and turned down a steep, rutted road, heading towards the shore.
That was when she knew exactly where they were heading. And that it was worse, so much worse, than being taken to the palazzo .
CHAPTER SIX
T HE cottage was exactly as she remembered it. Small and single-floored, it stood in the middle of vineyards, exotic cacti and fig and olive trees. On three sides of the property was a large terrace, partly covered, so that inside and out became one. It had a beautiful view of the strikingly large, arched bridge at the beginning of the valley of San Cataldo that opened out below it.
The house itself was painted an unexpected and uncompromising pink, so much so that Marina had laughed out loud at seeing it the first time when they had arrived at the cottage, Casalina, on their
Correctionâthe home where she had believed herself to be so happy, she amended bitterly. She had thought she was loved and had been dreafully deceived. Harsh reality had soon disabused her of the dreams her innocence had built around her naive, trusting heart.
They had left the city now and were speeding down the coast road with the blue, blue Thyrrhenian sea spread out before them. Marinaâs heart gave a little kick of distress as she recalled the spontaneous cry of joy she hadnât been able to hold back the very first time that they had rounded a curve in the road and she had seen the jewel-bright ocean spread out before them, the white foaming crests of the waves sparkling in the sunlight. Sheâd seen it then as a symbol of the brilliant, beautiful future that lay ahead of her.
Now she had to acknowledge how that thought had been as much of an illusion as the fact that the cool, colourless water had managed to look so like a sparkling aquamarine jewel. An unexpected return to the palazzo from a trip home to England a day earlier than she had been expected had shown her that. Fired with a new resolution that things were going to be so different, and desperate to be reunitedwith her husband, to ask him to start again, she had hurried to seek him out.
Only to find that he wasnât there. That he had left on an âimportant business tripâ and, so the curt note he had left behind informed her, he didnât plan to be home for at least ten days. Perhaps she could take the time to think about their marriage and where they went from here. If anywhere.
She hadnât needed ten days or anything like it. She had turned and run out of there before she could give in to the violent nausea roiling inside her stomach. Turned and fled back the way she had come, flinging herself into her car and driving away at top speed down the wide, curving drive as if all the hounds of hell were after her. She hadnât stopped until she had reached the airport where she had snatched at the first flight to London that was available, fleeing home, unable to settle until she had put hundreds of miles between herself and her uncaring, unloving husband.
She hadnât been back since. She hadnât even been able to bear to think of the place.
And the thought that Pietro might be taking her to the palazzo for his âprivateâ and âcomfortableâ talk brought a bitter taste into her mouth, so that she feared she might actually be ill.
Pietro⦠Please⦠The words sounded in her head but she couldnât get them on to her tongue to actually speak them.
The turning for the palazzo came up on the left and she tensed apprehensively. But Pietro drove straight past, his attention still focused straight ahead.
The sense of relief was so great it was almost like a blow to her heart, making her breath escape in a rush, as with a deep sigh she subsided back in her seat.
Not the palazzo , then. But, if not the palazzo , then where?
Some time later, she had her answer. As the road climbed to a high point, with a sheer cliff on one side falling right down to the sea, Pietro slowed the car, indicated and turned down a steep, rutted road, heading towards the shore.
That was when she knew exactly where they were heading. And that it was worse, so much worse, than being taken to the palazzo .
CHAPTER SIX
T HE cottage was exactly as she remembered it. Small and single-floored, it stood in the middle of vineyards, exotic cacti and fig and olive trees. On three sides of the property was a large terrace, partly covered, so that inside and out became one. It had a beautiful view of the strikingly large, arched bridge at the beginning of the valley of San Cataldo that opened out below it.
The house itself was painted an unexpected and uncompromising pink, so much so that Marina had laughed out loud at seeing it the first time when they had arrived at the cottage, Casalina, on their
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