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‘I notice you’re not offering to do the same!’
‘Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Jenny.’ He gave a brief, hard smile and his eyes were as brittle as jet. ‘If I have to cancel a couple of films to take this course of action, then so be it.’
It was like seeing a side of Matteo she’d never seen before—it was certainly the first time she’d ever seen a chink in the tough armour of his ambition, and Jennifer was momentarily taken aback. ‘You’d risk your career?’ she whispered. She nearly added for me, until she reminded herself that it wasn’t for her—but for their baby. And what was wrong with that?
‘My career will always pick up,’ he said arrogantly. ‘But films can wait. This can’t,’ he finished, with another shrug of his broad shoulders.
Jennifer knew that despite his almost careless air this was a supreme sacrifice for Matteo. He had made films almost back to back ever since she’d known him—and way before that. As if he was frightened of stepping off the merry-go-round of successful work which bred still more work.
And now that it had become a real possibility—instead of a throwaway remark—Jennifer could see the sense in Matteo’s suggestion that they escape together, to a place which she could see might act like a balm on their troubled spirits.
The island lay halfway between Africa and Sicily—where Matteo’s ancestors had come from and where secret-keeping was legendary, taught from the cradle. On Pantelleria Matteo wielded the influence of his birthright, not that of the fickle fame brought about by celluloid.
They had been happy there—and part of her wanted to hang on to those preci
ous memories and leave them intact.
He saw her hesitation and suspected he knew its cause—for did he not have misgivings about returning there himself? Would it not unsettle him—reminding him of the dreams they had shared and never realised?
‘You know you would be safe there.’
Safe? Alone with Matteo? That was a definition of safe she wasn’t sure existed. Jennifer felt as if her life were a pack of cards which someone had thrown into the air to see where they would land. ‘But how long would we stay there, Matt? I mean—I don’t want to have the baby there.’
The brittleness had gone and now his eyes gleamed. ‘You think that no child has ever been born on Pantelleria?’
‘How long?’ she persisted quietly.
‘Long enough to bring the colour back to your cheeks and for you to rest and eat good food.’ There was a pause. ‘And long enough to decide what we are going to tell the world. To decide what our strategy will be.’
From a supposedly hot-headed and passionate Italian it was possibly the coldest and most
matter-of-fact declaration Jennifer had ever heard.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Matteo organised their trip to Pantelleria with a degree of organisation to rival a military campaign. Despite the loyalty of his staff—who these days had to sign a watertight confidentiality agreement—he entrusted relatively few of them with the knowledge of their whereabouts.
As he said to Jennifer—this was just too big a story to risk.
And that was all this was, she reminded herself. A damage limitation exercise over a story which had the potential to explode in their faces.
Jennifer had forgotten how extraordinarily protected you could feel in the exclusive coterie of Matt’s inner circle—but this time there was a subtle difference.
‘Your staff are being unbelievably nice to me,’ she said, as they waited for their baggage to be loaded onto the private jet which would fly them to the island.
Matteo snapped shut his briefcase and frowned as he looked up at her. ‘Aren’t they always?’
Jennifer switched her phone off. ‘Oh, forget I said anything,’ she said airily. She certainly wasn’t going to blow the whistle on anyone.
But Matteo laid his hand on her arm, and the unexpected contact caught her by enough surprise to lower her defences. ‘Jenny? Tell me. Because if you don’t then how the hell will I know?’
And maybe it was her duty to tell him. Nobody dared tell Matteo anything. And even when they did they told him what they thought he wanted to hear. ‘They normally put a barrier between you and the rest of the world.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Well, yes, I suppose they do—but surely you can understand why?’
‘From the world, yes—from your family, no.’ She hesitated. ‘Once, I remember trying to get through to you on the phone, and being completely stonewalled and unable to reach you. They dismissed me as if I was some kind of disgruntled ex-employee! It made me feel so…’
‘So what?’ he prompted.
