Part 13 (1/2)

Her mother was looking really worried now, and Grace knew she couldn't allow her to know what she was think ing. 'You could be right,' she said, with determined bright ness. 'Yes, I think it might prove advantageous all round.'

After all, she thought, Pauline loved their mother too. Why did she always think she was the only support her mother had?

'Are you sure?' Mrs Horton wasn't yet convinced. Then another thought occurred to her. 'You still haven't told me what you're doing home. Is Julia all right?'

Grace knew a hysterical desire to laugh. 'Oh, yes,' she said.

'Julia's all right.' But she couldn't bring herself to tell her mother about the baby. 'I just-got bored, that's all. There's not a lot to do in Portofalco.'

Two weeks later, Grace moved into a rented apartment in St John's Wood.

Despite her initial misgivings, the move had proved ben eficial in the end. It had given her something to do, some thing to think about, other than her emotional problems. And, although her world had still not yet settled back onto its axis, finding the apartment and furnis.h.i.+ng it had pro vided her with an alternative to the chaos of her thoughts.

The curator at the museum had been pleased to see her, too, although he had insisted she give herself another cou ple of weeks before returning to work.

'We don't want you having a relapse because you haven't given yourself time to recover, do we?' he asked, his curiously youthful features mirroring a very genuine concern. And, even though Grace knew he had to be at least sixty, as usual he behaved as if she was much older than himself.

And, goodness knew, she felt it, she mused as the pros pect of spending another two weeks browsing round the shops or visiting her mother filled her with apprehension. She had hoped that getting back to work would restore her stability, but now it seemed she was to suffer her anguish a little longer.

In Brighton, Pauline and Giles had now settled into the house in Islington Crescent, and Pauline was even talking of getting a job herself if she could get Hannah into a creche. Even Giles had thanked Grace for moving out. Although he'd spoiled it afterwards by suggesting that liv ing with her mother must have cramped her style.

When would people-men, in particular-ever get it into their heads that she wanted more out of life than promis cuous s.e.x?

Grace wondered wearily. It was as if she went around with a sign on her head. All she'd ever wanted was someone to love her for herself.

She hadn't heard a word from Julia since her return, but that hadn't surprised her. If she knew Julia, she'd be too busy preparing for her coming nuptials to care what had happened to her erstwhile friend. Although she didn't know all the details, she must have guessed what had been going on between Grace and Matteo, and she had every right to feel aggrieved that Grace should have betrayed her in that way.

As far as Matteo was concerned, Grace had to concede that Julia did have a different agenda. Despite the way he'd deceived her, she was evidently prepared to forgive him to gain her own ends. But Grace couldn't help wondering if love had ever come into it, for either of them. Matteo had insisted it hadn't, and she was very much afraid he was right.

Not that that excused his behaviour, she told herself dog gedly.

However tempted she might be to feel sorry for him, she mustn't forget he'd brought it on himself. But oh-her lips trembled-she couldn't forget how he'd made her feel. After everything that had happened, she was still a sucker for love...

She spent the Sunday before she was due to start back at the museum sorting out some of the boxes she'd brought up from Brighton the previous day. They were full of books and papers she'd been storing since her university days, and she'd been promising herself that she'd get rid of them for ages.

She wasted some time reading over old essays she'd written and pulling faces at faded photographs that revealed what an innocent she'd been then. It was almost painful to remember the dreams she'd had when she was eighteen, when the whole of her life had seemed to be ahead of her. Now, she felt as if the better part of it was behind her, and the emotional torment she'd suffered these past weeks had seemed to prove it.

She came across a picture of herself and Julia as students, and although she was tempted to consign it to the pile of papers she was throwing out she didn't. How young they looked, she thought, feeling a sudden wave of nostalgia. She sighed. Poor Julia. It wasn't her fault that Grace had fallen in love with the man she wanted to marry. But what chance of happiness would she have with a man like Matteo di Falco? Marriage had never been on his agenda, and would his wealth really make up for what she was giving up?

It wasn't something Grace wanted to think about, and, stowing the photograph in the bottom of the box that con tained the things she was going to keep, she picked it up and carried it into the bedroom.

One of the disadvantages of the small apartment was its lack of cupboard s.p.a.ce, and she was standing with her hands on her hips, studying the possibility of stowing boxes in the wardrobe, when the doorbell rang.

She sighed. Now who was that? As far as she was aware, only the members of her own family knew this address, except Mr Seton, of course,, and he was unlikely to spread it around. No.

The most likely solution was that it was Karen and her husband come to view her new home. Ever since Pauline and her husband had moved back into their mother's house, Karen had taken every opportunity to grumble about her, but Grace had so far avoided getting involved in family politics. If Karen resented the fact that she and her family were stuck in a small town house while Pauline's children had the run of Islington Crescent, that was her problem. Grace didn't have an opinion.

Smoothing her ink-stained fingers down the seams of her old jeans, she prepared herself for yet another family ar gument. She looked a mess, she thought, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror she had hung in the tiny hallway, but she hadn't been expecting company and she had no intention of wearing good clothes to clear out dusty old boxes. Nevertheless, she had to admit that the cropped tee s.h.i.+rt had seen better days, and Karen's husband, Dave, would probably have some sarcastic comment to make.

'All right, all right,' she muttered as the bell rang again, and, releasing the safety chain, she opened the door. 'I was in the other-'

'Ciao, cam.'

Grace broke off what she was saying in total confusion. At no time had she ever believed she would see Matteo di Falco again-except maybe on a wedding photograph, if Julia relented enough to send her one-and she could only stare at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes.

'May I come in?'

He looked beyond her, through the door into the living room, and, glancing behind her, she saw what he could see: boxes and books, and papers still strewn all over the floor.

'I-what are you doing here?' she asked, tugging the tee s.h.i.+rt over her bare midriff as several explanations, none of them admirable, tumbled through her shocked mind. Did Julia know he was here, or didn't she? Were they still to- gether, or-G.o.d help her!-had they parted, and if so what did that mean to her?

Matteo propped his shoulder against the jamb. It was the first time she'd seen him in a suit, and the fine dark blue fabric fitted his lean, athletic frame with loving dexterity. He looked-fantastic, she thought foolishly. And much more Italian in these essentially English surroundings.

'How are you?' he asked, not answering her question, and she wondered if it was only wish-fulfilment on her part that made her think there was a certain weary hollowness around his eyes.

'I'm all right,' she said quickly. 'Um-is Julia with you?'

Matteo's eyes grew sardonic. 'Does it look like it?' he asked, glancing up and down the landing, but she refused to let him disconcert her.

'Why not?' she asked defensively. 'Unless-' Her mouth felt as dry as old boots. 'Unless you're not together any longer; unless you're not getting married, after all.'

Matteo straightened. 'Oh-we are still together, cara,' he told her in a tired voice, thereby das.h.i.+ng all the pitiful hopes she'd been trying to discipline ever since she'd opened the door. 'Julia is arranging the wedding, even as we speak.' He blew out a breath. 'Please let me come in. We have to talk.'

Grace stiffened. 'I don't think we have anything to say to one another-'

'You're wrong.'

He didn't move, and, telling herself she didn't want her new neighbours to think she was in the habit of entertaining men on the doorstep, she moved out of his way. This might be the very last chance she had of telling him what she thought of him, she defended herself as common sense de rided her weakness, and, closing the door behind her, she followed him into the living room.

'You're not living with your mother,' he said, looking around, and she remembered that she hadn't given him her address.

'How did you know?' she asked tautly, and Matteo's mouth compressed.

'Because I drove down to Brighton myself this morning,' he told her briefly. 'Fortunately, Julia had told me some weeks ago where you worked, and the receptionist at the museum was very...kind.' As she was absorbing this aston is.h.i.+ng news he asked, 'Do you have anything to drink?'

Grace glanced towards the tiny kitchenette. 'I've got tea or coffee,' she said, wondering what Pauline and her mother must be thinking. 'I don't have wine, if that's what you mean.'

'c.o.ke will do. Or beer.' His voice was flat. 'I'm thirsty, that's all. It's hot out, or hadn't you noticed?'

Grace was once again reminded of the skimpiness of her top, but she refused to let him see that he'd embarra.s.sed her as she walked into the kitchen. He'd seen her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, for G.o.d's sake!

Though that didn't help much either.

She came back with a can of c.o.ke to find him sitting on the worn leather sofa she'd bought second-hand. He wasn't immediately aware of her return, and she was ashamed to admit that the weary slope of his shoulders disturbed her. His head was bent, his hands hanging loosely between his spread thighs, and just for a moment he looked totally vul nerable.

But that was stupid, she told herself crossly, even as her heart went out to him. He wasn't going to inspire her sym pathy no matter what he did, and she was a fool for letting him in here in the first place.