Remembering that shameful night, and the depths to which she had sunk, was as painful now to recall as it was then. She had tried to bury the memory inside that wooden box of letters she had hidden in the attic. It would have been better to destroy the letters, but she had kept them to punish herself, to ensure she never forgot. As if she ever could.
She never heard from Matteo again. For all his protestations of loving her and wanting to divorce his wife, he never did. He returned to Italy when the war was over and became an artist of some repute, many of his paintings portraying life through the changing seasons as a prisoner of war in England. She learned of his success when she came across one of his paintings that was due to be auctioned in London. The auctioneer’s catalogue had written a piece about him, including his death two years previously. The article highlighted his time spent as a POW at Tilbrook Hall in Norfolk and that he was survived by his devoted wife, Maria, and their two adopted children.
In honour of the child she lost, Romily bought the painting and ever since it had hung in her drawing room. It was another punishing reminder of her culpability.
The taxi driver came to a stop in front of the address she had given him. She settled the bill and with her handbag and fur coat hooked over her arm, she followed him up the path while he carried her heavy suitcase and typewriter case. Watching him drive away, and taking a deep breath to quell the resurgence of butterflies in her stomach, she rang the doorbell.
When the door was opened by an attractive flame-haired woman in tennis whites, the shortness of her skirt showing off a pair of shapely legs, Romily’s heart sank.
But then why was she surprised? Of course he would be seeing other women while she was out of sight!
‘Hello,’ the flame-haired beauty said cheerfully. ‘Presumably you were hoping to see Red?’
She was certainly seeing red right now, Romily thought, trying to think of something polite to say. Out of everything she had rehearsed during her journey here, this was not the scenario she had imagined. ‘Yes,’ was all she could muster.
Her hand on the door, the woman stepped back to let her enter, but then she noticed Romily’s luggage. ‘Oh, are you staying?’ she asked.
‘I doubt that very much in the circumstances,’ answered Romily.
The woman closed the door and for the longest and most uncomfortable moment, stared at her. ‘Are you English by any chance?’ she asked, her head tilted to one side.
There was no faulting her detective skills. Or Red’s taste in women; this one was a stunner. But at least she wasn’t young enough to be his daughter. ‘I’m as English as they come,’ Romily said.
Her reply was met with an unexpected smile. ‘I’ll go and find Red for you,’ she said, ‘the last I saw of him he was bashing away at that typewriter of his. Come on through and make yourself at home. Here, let me take one of those cases for you.’
‘It’s all right,’ she said curtly, ‘I’m perfectly capable of carrying them.’
Her comment elicited another smile. It was as if this beautiful woman was in on some kind of joke. Maybe she was used to foolish women turning up on Red’s doorstep like this.
Well, Romily would have her say to him, and then insist he ordered a taxi to take her back to the airport where she would catch the first available flight home. So much for living more impulsively. Never again!
Ignoring the invitingly comfortable-looking sofas, she prowled round the large airy room she had been shown in to. She remembered it from her last visit. The white-painted walls were adorned with oversized abstract paintings, the colours rich and vibrant. The sight of a pile of her own novels on the glass coffee table made her want to hurl them through the sliding glass doors that led out to the garden.
She heard Red before she saw him; clearly her untimely visit had triggered a loud exclamation of shock from him. She heard laughter too from the flame-haired beauty, followed by a comment she couldn’t make out.
The next thing Red was hurtling through the doorway. ‘Romily! Oh my God, it is you! I don’t believe it!’ The shock on his face was priceless. But it was for the wrong reason; it was because she had caught him out.
‘You better believe it,’ she said coolly. ‘Large as life.’
He rushed over to her and before she could stop him, he’d gathered her up in his arms to kiss her.
She pushed him away. ‘I think you have some explaining to do,’ she said, indicating the flame-haired beauty now standing behind him.
‘I told you she had the wrong end of the stick,’ the woman said with another of her infuriating smiles. ‘For which, given your reputation, you have only yourself to blame.’
Even more infuriating, Red laughed. ‘Romily, meet my sister, Patsy.’
Romily did a double take. ‘Your sister?’
‘Yep, she’s a regular pain in the proberbial butt, always has been. I told you about her.’
‘Yes,’ Romily said vaguely, ‘I . . . I do remember you mentioning a sister, but you didn’t say how beautiful she was.’
‘Nor would he,’ said Patsy, stepping forward to shake hands. ‘He only flags up my bad points. But I apologise for not saying who I was earlier, that was mischievous of me, especially as I’d guessed who you were. Now if you’ll both excuse me, I have an appointment at the Racquet Club to keep.’ She winked at Red. ‘And don’t worry, I’ll be leaving town first thing in the morning to go back to Chuck, leaving you two love-birds to enjoy yourselves.’
‘No chance you could leave before then, is there?’ asked Red. ‘I could help you pack if you like.’
She wagged a finger at him. ‘Not a hope, I want the opportunity to get to know the woman who has finally captured your heart. I have a feeling Romily and I are going to be the best of friends.’
Red groaned. ‘Just what I need, the two of you ganging up against me.’
When Patsy was gone, and Red had his arms around Romily, and they had kissed to make up for the time they had been apart, she said, ‘Have I really captured your heart?’
‘What the hell kind of a question is that? Damned straight you have!’
She kissed him again. ‘You have no idea how delighted I am to hear that. Or how relieved I am that Patsy is your sister.’
He frowned. ‘I hope you didn’t really think I was seeing another woman while—’
She silenced him with another kiss. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m here now.’
‘But you have to trust me, Romily. You really do.’
‘I know,’ she said with a sigh. ‘It’s just that it’s a long time since I have trusted someone.’