Masquerade. Anne Mather
whether I had done the right thing?”
“Of course not, but before this letter came there was no doubt.”
“There was no alternative either,” she reminded him, awkwardly. “Please, Benito, try to understand. I’ve never left this country since I was four years old.”
“I have lived here all my life.”
“But you’re Italian.”
“So will you be, when you become my wife.”
“In name only. Benito, I’m English.”
“I’ve never known it bother you before.”
“Oh, Benito, try … try to understand. I do think a lot of you, but if I go away I will be able to see things in perspective. If I love you, I will come back. You know that. If you love me you must know that love does not die simply because the two people concerned are separated.”
Benito frowned. He knew she was right and yet he was also afraid of what the separation might do. He was not as sure of her as he was of himself. He could see that she genuinely did not want to hurt him, and yet if she did go, would he ever see her again?
“If you are determined, there is nothing I can do to stop you,” he said coolly.
“There is,” she said desperately. “You could give me an ultimatum. I don’t think I would dare to refuse you then.”
Benito sighed and shook his head. “No, of course you are right. I could not force you into such a position. You are a free woman, Samantha. But please come back to me.”
Samantha flushed. “Oh, Benito, when you look at me like that, I wish I had never even seen the letter.”
Benito pulled her to him. “So do I,” he groaned, as he pressed his lips to her hair.
“And now,” he said, at last, “you must tell the Cionis of your decision.”
“Yes,” Samantha nodded. “And soon I’ll know the secret of why my mother acted as she did. I only hope she is not as horrid as she sounds.”
PATRICK MALLORY crossed the smooth tarmac of Milan airport. Ahead lay the gleaming aircraft which was to transport him back to London and the busy life from which he had enjoyed a brief respite. He always regretted leaving Italy after staying there for some time. It was his mother’s country and he had spent four idyllic weeks with her in their villa on the shores of Lake Como, soaking up the sun and relaxing completely. His life in London was hectic and sometimes nerve-racking. This holiday had been a godsend. Now he had never felt better. He looked tanned and fit and was ready to assume the responsibilities which were waiting for him in England.
He was a tall lean, attractive man in his middle thirties. His hair was very black and his olive complexion owed much of its darkness to the fact of his being half-Italian. His eyes were hazel, tinged with tawny lights and his expression was rather cynical. He had not the kind of square-cut good looks that are generally called handsome, but he had a whimsical charm which in itself was much more magnetic. He was quite aware of the effect he had on members of the opposite sex and could use his charm to good advantage if it suited his purpose. He had not lived thirty-six years without knowing a great many women, but so far he had found them monotonously the same.
Running a restless hand through his short hair, he mounted the steps to the entrance of the aeroplane, smiling his warm, attractive smile and causing the young stewardess to become blushingly confused.
She directed him to his seat and putting down his briefcase beside him he stretched his long legs luxuriously. Now that he was actually almost on his way, as it were, his mind was already leaping ahead to London and to his immediate plans on arrival. There was the new play, for example. That might take some re-writing to fit the stage.
Reaching up a lazy hand, he loosened the top button of his shirt beneath his impeccable tie. It was hot in the aircraft. It would be cooler when they took off. At least the journey required no further effort from him. He could sit back and enjoy it.
His thoughts turned to the woman who had been occupying much of his mind during the holiday. She would be waiting for him in London. He wondered whether it was time he started thinking seriously about settling down. A bachelor life was fine, but the idea of having a settled home appealed to him. His mother had said much the same thing to him when they had discussed his life. She wanted him to have children. His sister was married with six children and had been married now for over eighteen years. Of course, Gina was ten years his senior, but he ought to be turning his thoughts in that direction, he supposed.
He looked casually out of the window, surveying the airport buildings. Already it was nearly time for take-off. He was glad his mother never insisted on coming to the airport to see him off. He detested long farewells, particularly those made in public.
His attention was caught by two young people by the gate which led over to this aircraft. The young man was obviously upset and was trying, rather unsuccessfully Patrick thought, to hold the girl tightly to him and kiss her. Eventually he succeeded in his objective, but the girl broke away almost immediately and darted from him, and across the tarmac to the waiting plane. Apparently the young man had come to wish her goodbye and things had got rather emotional and out of hand.
Patrick felt amused. The girl looked English, but you never could tell these days. It could have been a holiday romance that had blossomed swiftly in the hot sun, or she could be an Italian leaving home for the first time for some reason. They were too intense, thought Patrick cynically. Why did young people always seem to feel things so intensely? He never had, at least he could never remember having done so. Perhaps he was singularly lucky, or alternatively not the sort of person to feel emotion deeply. At any rate, no woman had ever made a fool of him. He lit a cigarette. Well, he was glad he was past the stage for hearts and flowers. If he married, and it was a big “if”, it would be for practical reasons, not emotional ones.
A few moments later the girl came down the aisle with the stewardess and was deposited on the seat beside him. He looked at her with interest. At close quarters she was remarkably attractive, and he liked the way her hair fell straightly to her shoulders.
At first she was unaware of his scrutiny. She was too absorbed by her own feelings and he was able to regard her openly. He noted the long, curling black lashes, the tanned yet creamy complexion and the slight tip-tilt of her nose. Her dress was not fashionable and her shoes were flat and uninteresting, but in the right clothes he thought she would be quite arresting.
Suddenly, she became aware of him and looked abruptly at him. For a moment, Patrick held her gaze and then withdrew his eyes. Her clear expression did not embarrass him, but the girl’s face suffused with colour and she twisted the strap of the handbag in her lap.
A few minutes later, the engines roared to life and the sign requesting passengers to put out their cigarettes and fasten their safety belts flashed ahead of them.
Patrick fastened his safety belt with the ease of long practise, but the girl fumbled awkwardly with hers. Patrick, unable to prevent himself, took the straps from her unresisting fingers, and fastened it securely.
“Thank you,” she murmured, showing even white teeth, as she smiled shyly at him.
Patrick merely smiled in return and stubbed out his cigarette. The aircraft began to move with slow, deliberate grace and soon they were taxiing along the runway.
The girl gripped the arms of her seat tightly and Patrick found himself watching her again. She was obviously terrified, and for once he felt something akin to sympathy. Usually he had no time for nervous passengers.
“Relax,” he said easily. “We’re almost airborne. Is this your first flight?”
She nodded. “As far as I know,” she replied. “I’m rather a coward, I’m afraid.”
Patrick