Becky tried to answer him, but no words would come through her tears.

‘Oh, Luca,’ she managed to say at last, ‘if I could only tell you-’

‘Hush, carissima. You do not need to tell me what I see in your eyes.’

He took her face between his hands and looked down at her searchingly.

‘You will always be to me as you are at this moment,’ he whispered before kissing her with heart-stopping gentleness.

She slept in his arms that night, and awoke to his kiss in the early morning. He was going to work sooner than usual, so that he could come home early to help with last-minute preparations for their wedding.

Becky spent the day tidying the house, and making sure they had enough food and wine for their friends. She was just putting the kettle on for a much needed cup of tea when the doorbell rang.

It was almost a relief to find Frank standing there. She felt safer now, because surely her bulge would make him accept the inevitable?

‘Hello, Dad.’

‘Hello, Becky. Can I come in?’

He entered without seeming to notice her shape. He had a gift for not noticing what didn’t suit him.

‘You’re on your own, I see. Got tired of you already, has he?’

‘Dad, it’s three in the afternoon. He’s at work, but he’ll be home any minute.’

‘So you say.’

She’d known then that it wasn’t going to be easy after all. But she tried.

‘It’s nice to see you-’

‘Yes, I expect you’re fed up with all this.’

‘No, I’m not. This is my life. Look around you at all this food and wine. It’s for our wedding reception tomorrow.’

He shot her a sharp look.

‘So you’re not married? Good, then I’m in time.’

‘I’m having Luca’s baby, and I’m going to marry him,’ she said firmly. ‘Won’t you come to the wedding and drink our health, and be our friend?’

He looked down at her with an expression that might have been tenderness.

‘Darling, you’re living in a dream world. Trust me, I know what’s best for you. He’s deluded you.’

‘Dad-’

‘But I’m here to make it right. Just let me take care of you. Everything will be fine as soon as we’re home.’

‘This is my home.’

‘This-this hovel? You think I’m leaving you here? Stop arguing and come on.’

Abruptly he dropped the pretence of kindness, and seized her arm. She shrieked. Luca, approaching the house, heard her and rushed the rest of the way, flinging open the door to find them struggling.

‘Let her go,’ he roared.

‘Get out of my way,’ Frank snapped.

Luca stood there, barring the door. ‘I said let her go.’

Frank ignored him, trying to drag her towards the back door by sheer force. Becky struggled as hard as she could, but her size made it difficult.

With a curse Luca strode forward and placed one powerful hand on Frank’s arm.

‘Don’t dare touch her,’ he said, and there was the same menace in his eyes that she had seen before, when they had first met.

‘I’m taking her home,’ Frank repeated.

Luca’s voice was infused with contempt.

‘You are not only a bully but a deeply stupid man. Only a cretino would do this, knowing that he was threatening the well-being of the child she carries.’

Frank’s answer was to try again to drag Becky away. Luca did not move, but his hand, grasping the other man’s arm, was impossible to dislodge.

‘Luca, don’t let him take me,’ she begged.

That sent Frank over the edge, and he began to rant and rave. Luca said nothing, merely standing silent and immovable. Perhaps it was that quiet dignity that infuriated Frank most, for he shoved Becky aside to contend with Luca.

Then the nightmare started. Heaving with distress, Becky suddenly found the world retreating and returning alarmingly. Everything seemed to spin around, culminating in a feeling of knives searing through her.

She screamed and doubled over as agony engulfed her like a furnace. The sound got through to the two men, halting their fight, although even then Frank had to put himself centre stage. Her last clear sight was of him shouldering his way ahead of Luca to lean over her.

But it was Luca she wanted. She reached out, calling his name, but Frank was there, leaning close, grasping her tightly, imprisoning her, blocking out everything but himself.

‘Luca,’ she screamed. ‘Luca!’

But suddenly he vanished. She never saw him again.

An ambulance came to whisk her off to hospital. Her daughter was born quickly and died within a few hours.

When the physical pain ceased there was another pain waiting, in her mind. Fire turned to ice as a merciless darkness enclosed her. The only thing she knew for sure was that she called repeatedly for Luca, but he was never there.

How could he not be there? His daughter had been born, and had died without his ever holding her in his arms. He had promised to love and protect her, but he hadn’t been there when she needed him.

‘She was so little and helpless,’ she whispered into the void. ‘She needed her father.’

But he did not hear. The darkness had swallowed him up.

Scenes changed about her. Somehow she knew that she was back in England, and living in a new place, a large, pleasant house where there were people in white coats and everyone spoke in kindly voices.

Sometimes the voices were brisk and hearty. ‘How are we feeling today? A little better? That’s good.’

She never answered, but they didn’t seem to mind. They treated her like a doll, brushing her hair and talking about her as though she wasn’t there.

‘There’s no way of knowing how long she’ll be like this, Mr Solway. She has profound post-natal depression, aggravated by terrible inner wounds, and they need time to heal.’

She never reminded them that she was a living being with thoughts and feelings, because she no longer felt like one. It was easier this way because they didn’t expect her to respond, and the soul-deep exhaustion that possessed her made answering seem like climbing a mountain.

Often the words she heard were a meaningless jabber, but one day the world righted itself and she began to hear and see it normally. Frank was in the middle of one of his monologues, and the words made sense.

‘…Not easy coming back to England-wrong time of the financial year-left me with a hefty tax bill, but I said only the best was good enough for my girl. And this place is the best. Oh, yes, no skimping.’

‘Where is he? Where’s Luca? Why doesn’t he come to see me?’

‘Because he’s gone, for good. I bought him off.’

She turned her head slowly and stared at him with a look that made even that thick-skinned man flinch.

‘What do you mean?’ Even to her own ears her voice sounded dead and metallic.

‘I mean I bought him off. He demanded money to go away and never trouble you again.’

‘I-don’t-believe-you.’ The words came out like hammer taps.

‘Then I’ll prove it.’

His proof was a cheque for the euro equivalent of fifty thousand pounds, made out to Luca Montese, with the record, on the back, of the bank where it had been cashed.

She wanted to say that it was false, it proved nothing. But she knew the bank Luca used in Tuscany, and it was the same one.

Whether my life be long or short, every moment of it will be spent in your service.

How long after saying those words had he sold her back to her father for cash?

She had thought she was dead already, but there must still have been some feeling left alive, because she sensed the last remnants die at that moment. And was glad of it.

Everyone agreed that the meal was superb. The wine was a hundred-year-old vintage and the brandy even older.

Luca Montese had been the centre of attention from the start. As the guests entered, one by one, they were introduced to him-presented to him, Rebecca thought-in a way that left no doubt he was the guest of honour. But even without that he would have held attention by the magnetism that seemed to surround him like a force field.

His eyes were like flint. His smile was wolfish. He was a predator, coolly surveying the prey around him, counting them off in order of their importance to him. They all knew it, of course they did. And each of them was courting him.

Except herself.

‘Luca,’ Philip Steyne said jovially, ‘let me introduce you to one of my favourite people, Rebecca Hanley, who takes care of PR for the Allingham.’

‘Then Mrs Hanley is a most important person to me,’ Luca responded at once.

‘Good evening, Signor Montese,’ Rebecca replied coolly.

He felt different. The hand that engulfed hers was no longer the rough paw that had held her in passion and tenderness, and which she had loved. It was smooth and manicured, a rich man’s hand. A stranger’s.

She forced herself to meet his eyes, and found nothing there. No warmth, no alarm, no amazement, no recognition. Nothing.

Relief and disappointment warred, but neither won.

She disengaged her hand at once and murmured something about the pleasure of meeting him. There were people behind her, agog for an introduction, and they provided an excuse for her not to linger.

‘You might have been a bit more gracious,’ Danvers complained under his breath when he too had been introduced and passed on. ‘These self-made men can be so touchy if they think they’re being patronised.’

‘But you’re the one who’s patronising him,’ she pointed out.

‘What?’

‘The way you said “these self-made men” was deeply patronising. As though they’re all alike.’

‘They are, more or less. Full of themselves. Always wanting to tell you how they did it.’

Rebecca maintained a diplomatic silence. It would have been ill-natured to point out that Danvers had been born to money and therefore had nothing to tell.