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Adam had said that, she thought. But it wasn’t true. It would never be true. She would see to that.
‘And when you meet again,’ Zac added, ‘she will expect you to call her Serafina as I do. Capito?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I understand.’
‘And resent it, I think.’ His voice was suddenly rueful. ‘So let me share with you some news that will please you better. Your car has arrived. My driver brought it down a short while ago.’ He took the key from his pocket and placed it on the table between them. ‘No doubt you are glad to have it again.’
‘Yes,’ she said slowly, picking up the key and weighing it in her hand. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘You see it as a means of escape, perhaps?’ He shook his head. ‘It will not happen.’
‘You’d stop me?’
‘No. Simply trust you, mia bella, to honour our agreement to the full.’
‘“Honour”,’ she repeated bitterly. ‘That’s a strange word to use in this context.’
‘You should have thought of that,’ he said. ‘Before you allowed me to place my wedding ring on your hand this morning.’
He allowed her to absorb that then sighed abruptly.
‘Perhaps, Dana mia, it would do us both good to cool off a little.’ He got to his feet and held out his hand to her. ‘I am going for a swim. Will you come with me?’
Dana stiffened as she was assailed by an inconvenient memory—an image of Zac leaving the water, bronzed and naked. It seemed highly unlikely that he planned to wear anything this time either.
‘No, thank you,’ she said tersely. ‘I’m quite comfortable as I am.’
‘If a little flushed,’ he said, a faint smile playing around his mouth.
‘And I’m not a good swimmer,’ she went on hurriedly.
Zac shrugged. ‘Non importa. I am not likely to let you drown.’
‘Even so,’ she said. ‘The answer is still no.’
‘Sì, carissima,’ he said softly. ‘But to how many questions?’
And he turned away, walking down the steps and heading off in the direction of the Orangery, leaving her staring after him.
* * *
Left alone, Dana made herself drink her tea and eat a sandwich and a slice of cake. An attempt at normality in what, by anyone’s standards, was an abnormal situation.
Her best plan, she decided, would be to concentrate on something completely different. Keep busy by finding somewhere she could establish as a workplace and make a start on her real purpose for being here.
And she would start by changing into everyday gear, she thought, rising to her feet.
A short while later, wearing denim Capri pants and a white shirt knotted at the midriff, she came back on to the terrace, where Mrs Harris was clearing the tea things.
As she turned to go into the house, Dana halted her. ‘Mrs Harris, have a desk and sofa been delivered for me by any chance?’
‘They are due to arrive tomorrow, madam. Mr Belisandro has ordered the morning room to be cleared to make room for them.’
Dana smiled pleasantly, ‘Well, I may have ideas of my own about that,’ she said, heading for the terrace steps.
For a long time, she’d regarded the summer house as a strictly no-go area but that was ending right now, she told herself as she walked across the lawn.
After all, whatever memories it held would soon be superseded by others far more potent, leaving her free to treat it as no more than an extension to the house.
Her private sanctuary, in fact, with her own furniture.
It would need work, of course. Electricity was an absolute essential.
No more being left in the dark, she told herself grimly.
The path up to it seemed much narrower, and the trees and shrubs which flanked it had been allowed to grow unchecked, so much so that they concealed any view of the building.
Then as she rounded the final corner, she saw why. Because where the summer house had stood, there was now just empty space, the ground churned up as if it had been ploughed with not even a wooden plank remaining.
Dana stared at the desolation, feeling as if all the wind had been knocked out of her.
Why? she thought. In God’s name—why?
She turned and plunged back down the slope. When she reached the lawn again, one of the gardeners was emerging from the shrubbery, pushing a wheelbarrow and she accosted him.
‘Can you tell me what happened to the summer house?’
‘Pulled down and carted away, miss. Boss’s orders.’ He paused. ‘Old Mr Godstow tried to talk him out of it, seemingly, but he wouldn’t listen. Just said he’d always hated the bloody place—except he didn’t say bloody.’
