The Baby Gambit Part 8

'Oh, but-' Grace caught her lower lip between her teeth.

'Ought you to be taking shop-bought medication?'

'Why not?'

'Well-' Grace hesitated. 'Because of-because of your condition.'

'Oh, I see.' Julia bent forward, resting her head in her 85 hands. 'Well, I've got to take something. This pain is driv ing me mad.'

Grace sighed. 'I suppose paracetamol can't do any harm.'

'No, that's right.' Julia lifted her head again in evident relief.

'Do you have some?'

Grace nodded and, going into the bedroom, she found the tape of tablets in her make-up case. Taking them back to her friend, she asked, 'Do you want some water?'

'I suppose so.' Julia was squeezing two of the tablets out of their foil packet. 'G.o.d, I'll never drink red wine again.'

Grace came back with a gla.s.s of water and stared at her. 'How much did you drink?'

'I don't know.' Julia was offhand now. 'Too much.' She shrugged. 'I suppose that's bad for the baby, too.'

'You know it is.'

'Yes, well, I didn't want Matt wondering why I'd sud denly become a teetotaller, did I?' exclaimed Julia defi antly. 'G.o.d, I feel sick!'

'I'm not surprised.'

Grace was finding it difficult to feel any sympathy for her, and her hands balled into fists when Julia suddenly jumped to her feet and sprinted into the bathroom. That she was being sick was evident from the painful retching sounds she was making, and, pus.h.i.+ng her own feelings of impatience aside, Grace walked through the bedroom and into the bathroom to offer her help.

Julia was now slumped beside the toilet basin, and Grace couldn't help being moved by her obvious misery. 'You need to go back to bed,' she said gently, wetting one of the hand towels and using it to wipe Julia's damp forehead. 'Come on. You'll feel better soon. My sisters always used to say that mornings were the worst.'

Julia allowed herself to be led back to her own bedroom and helped into bed. She was only wearing a silk robe over her nightdress so it was a simple matter to help her remove it before she sprawled on the sheets.

'You won't tell Matt, will you?' she demanded weakly as Grace covered her with the sheet. 'As far as he's con cerned, it's just a migraine, okay? I'll be all right by this afternoon.'

Grace pressed her lips together. 'Can I get you anything else?

Some dry toast, perhaps?'

'No. Nothing.' Julia rolled her head from side to side. 'Just keep everyone else out of my way, right? I'm sorry about this, but I can a.s.sure you it's not my choice.'

'I know.' Grace decided there was no point in being irritated.

'I'll make your excuses.'

'Thanks.'

Julia nodded, but her eyes were closing, and, realising there was nothing more she could do here, Grace went out and closed the door behind her.

In her own apartments again, she spent a few minutes tidying the bathroom. The last thing she wanted was for the maid to think she had been sick, but she could feel the perspiration already beading between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s with the extra exertion.

Opening a window, she misted the sour smell would soon dissipate, and then checked her appear ance in the full-length mirror.

Wisps of hair were stuck to her forehead in places, so she used a towel to dry the silvery strands. The friction made them curl against her cheeks instead, and she stared at her reflection with some frustration. With her sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks, she looked little like the serious- minded woman she was used to seeing when she looked in a mirror. But the heat made the idea of wearing trousers totally unfeasible, and she decided that the shorts and black tee s.h.i.+rt would have to do.

Despite her inhibitions, she found her way to the dining room they had used the night before without too much ef fort. It was easier to get her bearings in daylight, and through the long arched windows that opened onto a sunlit verandah she could see the whole sweep of the valley, and hear the distinctive tolling of a church bell. It was a familiar sound, yet unfamiliar in these surroundings, and once again Grace was struck by the natural beauty of the place.

The dining room was deserted, however, and, glancing at her watch, she saw that it was barely eight o'clock. Somehow, she'd thought it was much later, and she won dered if she should have waited in her apartments until her breakfast was brought to her.

Frowning, she wandered out onto the loggia, and then came up short when she saw Matteo di Falco seated at the table where they'd had drinks the night before, reading a newspaper. Now the table was spread with a crisp white cloth, and the jug of orange juice, basket of croissants and half-empty pot of coffee bore witness to the fact that their host did not breakfast in bed. The mingled smells of coffee and warm rolls were mouth-watering, but Grace had the distinct feeling that she should not be here.

She glanced behind her, estimating her chances of leav ing again without him noticing her, and then started when he said, 'Don't go.' He folded his newspaper, laid it on the table beside him, and got to his feet. 'Join me.'

'Oh, no-' After what had just happened upstairs, Grace was in no mood to be civil to the man who was responsible for it all.

'I-er-I was just looking around, that's all.'

Matteo hooked his thumbs into the back of his belt and strolled towards her. He was wearing a black tee s.h.i.+rt, too, this morning, and his arms were brown and muscular be neath the short sleeves. Black jeans hugged his powerful thighs, and Grace despised herself for the s.h.i.+ver of aware ness that feathered her spine at his approach.

'Have you had breakfast?' he asked, arching his dark brows, and Grace expelled a resigned breath.

'No-'

'I thought not.'

'Well, you would, wouldn't you?' she muttered, pus.h.i.+ng past him and going to stand by the floor-length windows that overlooked the sunlit gardens. 'You probably know everything that goes on in the villa,' she added, barely au dibly.

'Not everything,' he amended mildly, coming to join her.

'What's the matter? What did I do wrong now?'

Grace snorted. 'Do you have to ask?'

'What?' He was annoyingly tolerant. 'I didn't embarra.s.s you last night, did I?' He blew on her ear. 'I thought I was amazingly restrained in the circ.u.mstances.'

Grace jerked her neck away. '1 don't want to be here.'

'No, you told me.'. His voice lost a little of its patience. That's why I suggest you let me take you somewhere else.'

'Somewhere else?' Grace cast him a disbelieving look. 'Are you crazy?'

'Perhaps.' He stroked a finger along the curve of her chin. 'I'm not suggesting we run away together. I just thought it would be easier for both of us if we were not constantly in the company of other people.'

Grace gaped at him. 'I wouldn't go anywhere with you,' she cried scornfully. 'You have to be out of your mind if you think I'd do that to Julia. Even if I wanted to,' she appended hastily.

'Which I don't.'

Matteo swore then, and although it wasn't a word she'd heard before its meaning was evident. 'Will you stop using Julia's name like some kind of amulet between us?' he demanded. 'Surely you didn't think I encouraged her last night? The way she behaved-that was for your benefit. I have never, at any time, given Julia any reason to think that our a.s.sociation was anything more than a casual-'

'Affair?' suggested Grace disparagingly, and he swore again.

'If you want to call a weekend in Rome an affair, then okay.'

He thrust a frustrated hand through his hair, causing it to fall in disarming disarray onto his forehead. 'Grace, you have to believe me here. I am not the-the playboy you are making me out to be.'

He stared at her then, and although she tried to tell her self he was probably the most skilful liar in the world she didn't believe it. Much as she fought against it, she believed him, which made her situation even more impossible than it had been before.

'You do believe me, don't you?' he asked, his voice thickening with emotion, his hand curling round the back of her neck to pull her towards him. And Grace didn't know what might have happened if at that moment she hadn't heard the unmistakable sound of the marchesa' s cane tap ping across the floor.

'What are you two whispering about?' the old lady de manded huffily, and Grace breathed a prayer of thanks to whatever deity had saved her from making the biggest mis take of her life. Any sympathy she was feeling had to be balanced against the risks he'd taken in having s.e.x with Julia, and if he hadn't wanted the complications he should have made sure that she-that he-had some protection.

'I was just trying to persuade Grace to let me show her the monastery of Sant' Emilio,' Matteo responded lightly, his hand falling harmlessly to his side. 'After breakfast, of course. Will you join us, Nonna?' He smiled. 'I know how much you enjoy my company.'

'Will I join you for what?' the old lady asked tersely, though Grace could see she did have a soft spot for her grandson. 'For breakfast? I ate an hour ago. Or an outing to Sant' Emilio? I don't think so. Perhaps you should ask Miss Calloway. She seems to consider that you're the rea son she's here.'

There was another of those pregnant pauses, and then Matteo drew an audible breath. 'Perhaps,' he said, turning to Grace. 'Do you know if your friend is awake yet? Shall I ask Gina to find out?'

'No-' Grace's response was urgent, and she was un happily aware that for a moment he thought she had changed her mind.

'That is-Julia's not very well,' she murmured awkwardly. 'She asked me to offer her apolo gies. She's going to spend the morning in bed.'

'I see.' The marchesa' s gaze moved thoughtfully be tween them. 'I wonder why. Do you think it was something she ate?'

'Oh, I-'

'Or something she drank, perhaps,' continued the old lady shrewdly. 'I regret to say that Miss Calloway has little regard for her liver.'

'Nonna-'

The marchesa knocked away the warning hand Matteo had put on her shoulder. 'I know, I know,' she said crossly. 'Grace is a friend of hers and naturally she does not agree.' She breathed deeply. 'You know, I think I will join you both for coffee, Matteo. Then, before it gets too hot, per haps Grace would like to walk around the winery with me.'

It was not the most comfortable meal Grace had ever shared, but it was more relaxed than dinner the night be fore. She found herself telling the marchesa more about her work at the museum, how she dealt with the various arti facts that found their way to the museum from digs around the world, and the interesting stories that were attached to exhibits as diverse as ancient Chinese porcelain and the petrified remains of an extinct dinosaur.

The old lady was obviously fascinated by the whole con cept of ancient civilisations, and she contributed stories her self about some of the valuable antiques that were housed in the villa. 'I have often thought that they should be cat alogued,' she went on thoughtfully. 'Have you ever con sidered continuing your career in a more individual way, Grace? 1 am sure there are many owners, like myself, who have libraries and collections that would benefit greatly from your obvious dedication.'

'1 think Nonna is offering you a job, cara,' remarked Matteo drily, and Grace wondered how she would have felt if she had not been aware of Julia's condition.

'I am merely pointing out what must be obvious to some one of Grace's intelligence,' his grandmother retorted be fore Grace could speak. 'Come, my dear. Time is pressing.

If you and Matteo intend to visit Sant' Emilio later, we should not waste any more time.'

'Oh, but-'

Grace was about to say that she had no plans for accom- panying Matteo to Sant' Emilio when the marchesa thwarted her again. 'You do wish to see the winery, don't you?' she asked, apparently misunderstanding her, and Grace sighed.

'Very much,' she conceded through tight lips, but she was aware of Matteo's amus.e.m.e.nt as she accompanied his grandmother through tall French doors that one of the maids hurried to open at their approach.

It didn't take Grace long to come to the conclusion that the old lady was unlikely to have misinterpreted anything- unless she chose to do so, of course. For a woman who, she surmised, must be in her eighties, she was amazingly astute. All the time she was conducting her guest through the various buildings that made up the winery-where the grapes were crushed and eventually, in the case of the red wines they produced, at least, stored in vats to encourage fermentation-she carried on with the conversation they had earlier been having about Grace's future, gradually learning more and more about her with a skill Grace could only admire.

She was sympathetic when it came to her mother's ill ness, but she was adamant that Grace had made the right decision in coming away. 'You're too young to be expected to carry the whole burden yourself,' she declared firmly. 'Come; we'll go down to the cellars now. Perhaps Alberto Ponti will permit us to taste the fine brandy he keeps for our special clients.'

It was ten o'clock by the time they returned to the villa, and Grace was concerned that the marchesa had done too much.

'Nonsense, child!' the old lady exclaimed, though she did lean rather heavily on the younger woman's arm as they entered the loggia. 'If I do not exercise regularly, I will also become an invalid, and I do not intend to let * that happen.'

Grace didn't know whether she felt glad or sorry when she discovered Matteo wasn't waiting for them. The table where they had had breakfast had been cleared, and there was no sign of the disturbing owner of the villa.

'Caffe-per due,' the marchesa ordered of the maid who appeared to ask if there was anything her mistress needed, and although Grace had no desire for any more caffeine she could hardly leave the old lady on her own.

The marchesa made herself comfortable on the cush ioned lounger she had occupied the night before, but Grace was too much on edge to sit down. Where was Matteo? she wondered.

Had he gone to check on Julia himself? And if so, ought she to be loitering here, as if she was obediently waiting for his return?

'You say Miss Calloway intends to spend the day in bed?'

the marchesa enquired pleasantly, and Grace won dered if she was only imagining the note of satisfaction in the old lady's voice.

'Just the morning, I think,' she answered, touching the leaves of a bell-shaped fuchsia that hung from one of the baskets that was espaliered to the wall. She found she couldn't look the marchesa in the eye, and, wrapping her arms about her midriff, she added, 'Perhaps I should go and see how she is.'

'I'm sure Miss Calloway will join us as soon as she's able,'

declared the old lady repressively, thereby putting an end to that suggestion. 'Ah, here's Matteo.' She gave her grandson a speaking look. 'We were beginning to wonder if you'd changed your mind.'

Grace had wondered no such thing; quite the contrary, in fact.

She'd been hoping he had thought better of his invitation, but judging by the look he cast in her direction she'd been wasting her time.

'A small problem with the irrigation system, Nonna,' he averred, his presence immediately dispelling any relief Grace might have been feeling. 'Happily, Aldo was able to repair it, and I am now at Grace's disposal.'

'Oh, really-' Grace began, only to have the marchesa override her automatic objection.

'Nonsense, child,' she said. 'The outing will do you good.' She smiled, folding her hands together in her lap. 'I'll tell Miss Calloway where you've gone if she puts in an appearance before you get back.'

Grace pressed her lips together. 'Well...' She hesitated. 'Maybe after we've had coffee...'

'I'm sure you were only joining me for coffee because you were too polite to refuse,' declared the old lady shrewdly. 'Go along now. I'll see you both at lunch, I hope.'

Matteo's car was waiting outside, and this time he didn't1 make the mistake of allowing her to avoid his courtesy. Striding ahead of her, he had the door open before she reached the car, exchanging a mocking glance with her as she got rather ungraciously into the pa.s.senger seat.

'Smile,' he advised as he got in beside her. 'Nonna may be watching. You don't want her to think you're only hu mouring her by coming with me, do you?' Grace sniffed. 'Even if I am.'

'Even if you are,' he conceded, putting the car into gear.

'Come on, cara. I'm sure you don't hate me half as much as you pretend.'

'Don't bet on it,' muttered Grace, turning her head away, but she heard the soft chuckle he gave as he accelerated down the long avenue of trees.