Page 38 of Public Wife, Private Mistress

'It can be restful,' Stasia agreed, 'but sometimes it's frustrating. When a painting doesn't come quite right, it drives me mad.'

'I'd like to learn to paint. I'd like to learn about col­our and things. Will you teach me?'

Stasia looked at the teenager in astonishment and Chiara opened her eyes.

'What's the matter? You look really surprised. Did I hate painting, or something?'

Aware that Rico was watching her through narrowed eyes, Stasia pulled herself together. 'I don't know,' she said honestly. 'We never really talked about it.'

Chiara frowned and propped herself up on her el­bows. 'So what did I like doing?'

Stasia stared at her helplessly, trying to formulate a suitable reply. The truth certainly wasn't appropriate. In the end she chose to be vague. 'You were a typical teenager,' she hedged.

'You liked clothes and your friends—'

'Friends.' Chiara frowned quizzically. 'Did I have a boyfriend?'

Rico sucked in a breath, his handsome face suddenly like a thundercloud. 'You did not have a boyfriend. I was very strict about that. Lots of your friends spent their time hanging around in nightclubs, drinking and picking up men. Fortunately for me, you never saw the attraction of spending your evenings that way.'

Stasia stared out to sea, careful to reveal nothing in her expression. The conversation had moved on to dan­gerous ground.

Chiara sat up and wrapped her arms round her knees, her eyes fixed on her brother's face. 'So how did I spend my evenings?'

Rico shrugged. 'Studying, mostly. Sometimes you would join the family for dinner.'

Stasia kept her eyes fixed firmly on the horizon. And sometimes she had such a major teenage tantrum that she spent the evening locked in her room. And on the nights that her brother was away she 'd slipped out to a nightclub or invited friends into the house. Unsuitable friends. Friends who Rico had banned his sister from seeing.

His mobile phone rang and Rico sprang to his feet with a soft curse and cast an apologetic glance in their direction. "This is one call that I have to take. I will be back in one moment.'

He strolled further down the sand and for the first time Stasia noticed the bodyguards positioned at differ­ent ends of the beach, intent on their mission to ensure that no overeager tourist or paparazzi intruded on pri­vate Crisanti land.

'So go on—' Chiara reached for a bottle of water. 'Now he's gone you can tell me the truth.'

Stasia's mouth dried. 'About what?'

'Well, I may have lost my memory but something about what Rico just said doesn't feel right,' Chiara muttered, rubbing her forehead with her fingers. 'I wish my head would stop aching. I wish this cloud in my mind would clear. It's as if the answers are all there but they're hidden away.'

'Perhaps we should go back to the villa.' Stasia sug­gested but Chiara shook her head.

'The headache stays wherever I am. I might as well be here.' She glanced at the sea and breathed in deeply. 'I like it.'

Stasia looked at her, unable to hide her surprise. 'Do you? I'm glad.'

'I didn't used to like it, did I?'

Stasia hesitated and then shook her head. 'You used to say that it was boring. But you are older now. and—'

'Less of a pain?' Chiara's tone was dry. 'I had boy­friends, didn't I—and he didn't know. I can tell by your face.'

Stasia froze. How was she supposed to respond to that? Was she supposed to tell Chiara the truth? That it had been one of her boyfriends that Rico had discovered that night? That Chiara had been the catalyst that had destroyed their already crumbling marriage?

No. Of course she couldn't say that. Chiara was sup­posed to be shielded from shocks and, anyway, what good would telling the truth serve now? It was too late for Stasia's relationship with Rico. That was long since over.

All that mattered now was facilitating Chiara's re­covery so that Stasia could return home to England as soon as possible.

'I don't think the past is very relevant,' Stasia said finally, giving Chiara a warm smile. 'I think it's the present that matters. And you need to concentrate on getting well.'

Chiara stared at her for a moment and then shook her head with a groan and lay back down. 'I've got this fog around my brain. I know the answers are there some­where but they're just not clear enough for me to grab hold of.'

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