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Carlo had packed for her. Quite by coincidence, he’d managed to include her favourite black dress. She lifted it up, over her hips and into place on her shoulders, securing the zip to her neck only by contorting her body into an octopus-like shape.
She pulled her blonde hair into a silky bun, and pinched her cheeks to return some colour to them. She only had one pair of shoes, and they were sky high. She left them in her room. With just her and Carlo for dinner, what did it matter if she went barefoot?
When she stepped onto the terrace, she shook her head with a mix of exasperation and bemusement. Anna had set the table for two, but she’d done far more than that. A hundred candles flickered in the dusky peach sky. A vase of old fashioned roses had been collected from the garden, and the soft strains of classical guitar filtered through the speakers and out towards their table. Jane contemplated blowing out the candles but that seemed churlish. So she shrugged and walked slowly towards the table. Beyond it, was the view of Rome. The view she’d loved. She sighed inwardly and went past the table, to the wrought iron railing. She clipped her hands over the edge, and admired the twinkling lights. The beautiful vista was as sensational as she had remembered.
She heard Carlo’s steps and sighed again. “I always loved it here,” she said honestly. “Right here. With Rome spread beneath me like an ancient tapestry of lives long ago lived.”
His lips lifted in the admiration he’d always felt of her ability to perfectly express what she was thinking. Even when he’d first met her, as a slightly gauche teenager from the East of London, her cockney accent had given voice to sophisticated and interesting concepts. He came to stand beside her, careful not to crowd her space.
He needed to meet with Elisabetta to see how his own investigations into the attack were proceeding. He needed to know that Jane would be safe. That she was not being hunted. He flicked a glance at his gold wristwatch. Her plane would be landing soon. Information would be his. Information that Jane was reluctant to provide.
“It is why I bought the Villa,” he said in agreement.
“I can see why.” She turned to look at his autocratic profile. Her stomach flipped, as it always did, when she was confronted with his physical beauty.
“The moment I stepped onto this terrace, and saw the activity beneath me, I knew I had to have it.”
Jane nodded. “I felt the same about my home.”
Curiosity fired him. More information that Elisabetta might be able to provide, but that he hoped Jane would share first. “Why did you choose Kensington?”
Jane turned her back on the view, so that she could lean against the railing. He copied her, so that together they faced the flickering candlelights and white cloth covered table.
“Because it’s busy.”
He laughed softly. “As is much of London.”
“Yes.” She nodded. At the time, she’d thought that it would help her to forget him. That the busier she made herself, the harder it would be to grieve for their marriage.
“So it was the house?”
“It was everything,” she exhaled, and decided to be completely honest with him. “I didn’t want to be anywhere that reminded me of you. Not near my flat. Not near your townhouse. And not near the bar. I wanted to be in London, but nowhere that made me think of you, and us, and the time we’d spent there.”
Carlo’s gut clenched, but he understood her feelings. “I sold the townhouse,” he said quietly. And it had been for the same reason. A need to rid himself of the constant memories that plagued him everywhere he went.
She nodded. “I know. I happened to walk past a couple of months ago. And I saw the new occupants.”
He was interested. “Did you mean to see if I was there?”
“No,” she retorted fiercely. “I honestly never wanted to see you again.” She couldn’t. She wasn’t brave enough. Even now, after a bang to the head and a stint in hospital, she’d fallen straight back into bed with him. The power he exerted over her was fierce and terrifying. “My cab took a route past there.”
Carlo held out a chair for her, to keep from reacting. She slid into it, and the sweet softness of her fragrance assailed him, making his body tense with a stab of desire. Though he’d considered them divorced, he had certainly not considered their relationship to be at an end. Simply abated temporarily.
“What did you like about the house then?” He asked, steering the conversation to a more neutral ground.
Jane was grateful for the easy-to-answer question. A break from the heavy dissection of past wrongs was just what she needed. “Well, for a start, it was used as a hide out for members of the resistance, during the war. My attic joins to the house next door, or, at least, it used to. It was closed in somewhere after the war. But the whole street used to have access to one another’s houses, so that members could sneak undetected between homes.” She sighed at the mystery of it. “Before that, it was built for a Russian tsarina who was in exile during the Georgian war.”
“A lot of history, then.”
“Yes.” She flushed. “You probably think I’m silly to be so caught up in it.”
He found her fascination intensely desirable. He did not admit as much. He dared not, even to himself.
“I understand the pull of the past.” He poured a sparkling mineral water for her, and one for himself. “For someone like you, who never knew their parents, or where they came from, I can understand the seductive power of history. Whether it’s other people’s, or your own.”
“Yes,” she nodded enthusiastically, forgetting for a moment the animosity she had promised to grip to when dealing with this man. “That’s exactly it. Everyone has a story. But it’s not just that.” She leaned a little closer. “After… the baby,” she dropped her eyes, finding it hard to look at him. “I needed to borrow on their bravery.” She lifted the water and sipped it, and replaced the cup carefully. “I was so miserable, Carlo, and there were the ghosts of these people all around me. People who had lived through so much pain. Don’t they say misery loves company?”
He nodded grimly. “I wish you had told me.”
