Ettore stared down at the sheet of paper, his heart a dead, lead weight against his ribs, Dulcie’s words burning in his brain.
‘She says that you’re not together, and you aren’t. But it still strikes me as odd.’
‘Odd?’
‘Apparently you would and have done everything to make sure your family is safe and yet, in the same letter, she’s telling me to look after you and give you the love you deserve, which sounds to me as if she has andwould doanything to ensure your happiness. So, on paper at least, you seem very well suited to one another.’
Ettore stared at his father. ‘I don’t know why she would write that.’
The old man shrugged. ‘And you won’t find out if you don’t go and talk to her.’
‘She doesn’t want to talk to me. And she shouldn’t. I lied to her, I manipulated her. I hurt her. I made a mess of everything.’ His voice cracked and he pressed his hands against his temples as if doing so might crush the truth of that statement into dust.
‘So go clear it up. That’s what you do, isn’t it? Clear up messes.’
‘I let her go, Papà. I pushed her away twice. Twice. I mean, once is a mistake but twice is unforgivable.’
His father snorted.
‘That sounds like something written on one of those appalling little magnets people stick on their fridges.’ Edoardo sighed. ‘I’m not good at love myself but I know it when I see it and you love Dulcie. And as a gambling man, and judging by the changes I saw in you when you brought her here, I’d lay odds that you never stopped loving her. Nor will you. And don’t imagine for one moment that you’ll get over her. Absence is cruel like that. Hence, my regrets.’
Reaching over, he patted his son’s hand.
‘But you’re not an old man like me, Ettore. You don’t need to spend your remaining days on earth marking time. You’re young and smart and you have a life to live. Not here with me, but with Dulcie.
‘And in case you’ve forgotten, you share a name not just with your great-grandfather but a great warrior. So go and fight for the woman who wrote me this letter. The woman who loves you. The woman you love. Because when two people love one another, truly love one another like the two of you, nothing can keep them apart.’
Chapter Eleven
THEBOTANICALGARDENSin Cambridge were always quietest in the early afternoon. There was a distant hum of traffic and the nearer, insistent hum of the various insects and bees that were most active at this time of the day.
As usual the insects outnumbered the people, but that was fine by her, Dulcie thought, straightening up from the bed she’d been weeding.
She was in the Mediterranean section, which was hard. The scent of the plants and trees that were native to that region kept tugging her back to Puglia so that periodically she would unravel a little between the orchids and asphodels. But it was early days. By winter she might be cured.
Leaning forward, she deadheaded a plant that wasn’t dead and was suddenly close to bursting into tears again.
‘Dulcie!’
Breathing in sharply to stem the burning sensation in her eyes, she wiped her hands on her trousers and turned. Alison, the head gardener, was walking towards her, talking animatedly to the man walking beside her. No doubt, it was some random member of the public asking for horticultural advice.
No, it wasn’t, Dulcie thought dully, a moment later.
She was rooted as firmly to the spot as the cedar tree behind her, a drum roll of panic beating against her ribcage because, even at a distance and with the sun in her eyes, she recognised the man. And there was nothing random about his reappearance in her life. And she knew with certainty that many winters would pass before she would be cured of the pain he had caused her.
‘There you are.’ Alison beamed at her. She had a slightly dazed look on her face, and there was a flush on her cheeks. ‘I know you’re just finishing up, but this gentleman has a very interesting question about the role of mycorrhizal fungi, and I thought you would be the best person to talk to.’
Keeping her gaze fixed on the other woman, Dulcie smiled stiffly. ‘I’m not sure I can help.’
As Ettore stepped forward, she had to press the soles of her shoes into the soft earth to stop herself from turning and running because being that close to him again, knowing that she would never get closer, was agony.
With a light stubble dusting his perfect jawline and his golden eyes narrowed against the sun’s rays, he looked heartbreakingly beautiful but sombre in dark jeans and a grey T-shirt and for a moment she forgot the past and the pain. For a moment she just stood there, drinking him in, her body aching for his touch, and she wondered why that ache in her chest was worse now that he was within touching distance.
‘Perhaps it would help if I got into the specifics.’ Ettore’s deep voice cut into her thoughts. ‘What I’m particularly interested in is how they form symbiotic relationships with vine roots to enhance nutrient uptake. I understand you have some experience in that area.’
She felt Alison’s gaze on her face. ‘A little,’ she admitted.
There was a buzzing sound that had nothing to do with the bees, and the head gardener frowned, patting the pockets of her trousers. ‘Sorry, I have to take this.’ She smiled at Ettore. ‘Dulcie will take care of you.’ Still smiling, she retreated and there was nothing to be done.
