Indiscretions - Elizabeth Adler [128]
India pondered the question. “We’ll always care about each other,” she decided finally, “but it was really finished long ago. I just was too stupid to understand that.”
Aldo was late. He sped up the driveway in his little black VW and pulled to a halt in a spurt of gravel. Climbing out of the car he took the steps two at a time, smoothed down his hair, shrugged on his jacket, and presented himself at the salon.
“Please forgive me,” he called, smiling. “I got held up at the carpenter’s in Naples. India, they’ll have the new shutters ready next week.” He kissed her, taking her hand in his.
India blushed as all eyes in the room riveted on her.
“I’d like you to meet my sister Paris,” she said, pulling back her hand.
Paris was dazzling, thought Aldo, and six feet tall!
“I’m happy to meet you,” he said. “I knew India had a beautiful sister, but I didn’t realize quite how lovely. Welcome to Montefiore.” Paris towered over him as he kissed her hand.
“Marisa, Renata.” He kissed them equally—lightly. “And Fabrizio, it’s good to see you. I can’t tell you what a fantastic job India is doing … in fact, I won’t tell you, I’ll show you. We’ll go through the place together this afternoon.”
“Surely you’re not going to mix business with pleasure, Fabrizio,” snapped Marisa. “I thought you wanted to spend time with the children.”
“But, cara, you said yourself what a good opportunity it would be to see how things were progressing,” said Fabrizio mildly, “and anyway, where are the children?”
“They had an early lunch,” Marisa said curtly. “Now they’re taking a rest so that they can be with their father later.”
At the long refectory table in the vaulted dining room Aldo placed India opposite Fabrizio, seating Renata between Fabrizio and his mother at the end of the table, and Marisa on his left with Paris on his right. Catching Marisa’s glare of surprise that she hadn’t been seated on the right, he turned to Paris.
“I’m very happy that you could come to us.” Aldo smiled warmly at Paris. “It’s good sometimes to get away from the city. India tells me you were modeling for Mitsoko. Isn’t that a tedious occupation for someone like you?”
Aldo had tuned in perfectly to what was wrong with Paris’s life. Without the excitement of her designing and with no other creative outlet, just striding around a salon looking beautiful held no appeal. She found herself chatting easily with him while Marisa ate her melon in stony silence, ignoring India on her left.
Renata was talking to the Contessa and Fabrizio caught India’s eye.
“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.
“Fine, just fine … sending me here was the best thing you could have done. It was you, wasn’t it, Fabrizio,” she added in a lower voice, “not Marisa?”
“A little of both,” he admitted. “I had no choice, India.”
India was aware of Marisa tuning in to their conversation. “Thank you, Fabrizio, for everything.”
“And you.”
What a way to end a love affair, at the lunch table with five other people present—one of whom you were already falling in love with. But it had been over long ago, even before he sent her to the palazzo; this was just a formality.
“What are you thanking Fabrizio for, India?” Marisa’s voice cut through her thoughts.
“I was thanking him for trusting me with this job, for giving me a free hand, and allowing me the opportunity to be here, at the Palazzo di Montefiore.”
“It’s we at the palazzo who should be thanking you,” said Aldo. “Your work will probably change the fortunes of the Montefiore family.”
“Then I suggest you make the most of your stay, India, said Marisa nastily. “You won’t be able to afford Aldo’s prices once he opens his hotel, and he’ll be so busy he won’t have time for any of us, especially after he’s married.”
“Are you planning marriage soon, then, Aldo?” Fabrizio’s voice was innocent.
Aldo beamed happily at them.
“Yes,” he said positively, “yes, I hope to get married very soon.”
The silence in the room was total as all eyes suddenly focused on him.
“Well, Aldo,” said Fabrizio, breaking the spell, “let us know who the