Wife in the Shadows Read Free

have some good veal—which I will cook in a little Marsala, perhaps?’
    ‘With a green salad,’ Angelo agreed. He ran a weary hand round the nape of his neck. ‘In the meantime, I think I’ll take a sauna. Get rid of some of the kinks of the day.’
    In his bedroom, he stripped then walked into the bathroom, grabbing a towel on the way, to the wooden cabin that opened off it. He poured a dipper of water scented with aromatic herbs on to the coals and, spreading his towel on the slatted wooden bench, stretched out, closed his eyes and let his mind drift.
    If he was going to marry, he mused, there were a number of practical matters to take into consideration, the most urgent being living accommodation, because, convenient as it was to the Via Veneto and the Rome headquarters of Galantana, this apartment was also his bachelor pad, and due to its past associations, not a suitable place to bring his bride, although he had no intention of getting rid of it.
    No, he thought, she would be far happier living on his estate in the hills just outside the capital, and it would be a better environment for the son he hoped for. Or it would be once the air of melancholy following the loss of his mother, which haddulled his own memories of a happy childhood and caused him to avoid the place in recent years, had been banished forever.
    His father, turned by grief into a virtual recluse, had suddenly and quite unexpectedly begun a refurbishment programme on the villa itself three years before. It had gone into abeyance on his death, but the time had come, Angelo decided, for it to be revived and completed.
    It was odd, he admitted to himself, to be making plans for a woman he didn’t even know as yet, but, as the Contessa Manzini, she would soon learn the duties and responsibilities of her new status and, he hoped, the pleasures of it too as he had every intention of being both generous and considerate.
    She might not have his love, the sweet and passionate emotion that had held his parents steadfastly in thrall to each other, because he doubted whether he was capable of such feelings, but he could and would offer her, at the very least, respect along with every material comfort she could wish for. And a decent show of ardour should not be too difficult to feign. Besides, if she was pretty enough, he might not have to pretend, he told himself, grimacing inwardly.
    He’d stayed with friends in Tuscany the previous weekend, and partnered a girl called Lucia in an impromptu tennis match. Good legs, he thought judiciously, a figure that curved in all the right places, and dark eyes that had gleamed in his direction more than once. He had not asked for her telephone number but that was an omission that could easily be rectified with an email to his host.
    On the other hand, each time she’d played a bad shot, she’d giggled and he’d begun to find this irritating. The thought of having to listen to it morning, noon and even night was not appealing.
    He sat up abruptly, cursing under his breath. He was hardly perfect husband material, so why should he expect to find theperfect wife? And what made him think Lucia would even want him?
    For once, and perhaps understandably, he was finding relaxation difficult, so he abandoned the sauna, showered briskly, pulled on jeans and a polo shirt and went to the
salotto.
    As he’d anticipated, both phone messages were from Silvia, requesting him to call her. And her letter proved to be in similar vein but rather more demanding, he noted, his lips tightening. Clearly his absence in Tuscany and his omission to contact her immediately on his return had not pleased her. She was becoming distinctly proprietorial, and although he would have his regrets at terminating their association, he realised he had no choice.
    He did not belong to her, he thought coldly, pouring himself a whisky. To her, or any other woman, and he never would. He had seen what that could do. Had seen his father become a silent