The glance he flashed her was another that held too much significance. ‘They do all right without me.’
Somehow, she suspected that wasn’t true.
‘You look nice.’ There was something gruff in his tone, as though he didn’t really mean the words, but he wouldn’t be insulting her outfit, so she tried not to dwell on his strange inflection.
‘Thanks,’ she replied half-heartedly, smoothing the grey linen-blend dress that hadn’t quite survived the trip in hersuitcase, even though she’d put it on a hanger when she’d arrived.
Sophie had suggested a couple of clothing chains where she could buy some warm-weather business-casual attire, and she didn’t quite feel herself in the dress with its chunky matching belt. But she did feel more like a wedding planner. Last week, she’d worn sturdy shoes and beach dresses, dirt under her fingernails and sand and salt in her hair, but this week was the end of all that, for now.
‘It will be sad if I never see this house again,’ she blurted out.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he reminded her, but even those words landed differently from how he must have intended them. Gabri needed his island; Toni was a stranger here. They would only intersect for this one impossible week.
‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘I’m still a little sad to say goodbye.’To the house. She would keep in touch with Gabri, as she always had, with little notes about her day. She just didn’t know how she’d feel when she received his, knowing who was on the other end of her messages, knowing how far away he was.
‘It’s not goodbye, especially not since we’ll see each other for the wedding preparations,’ he pointed out – much too easily, as though the week hadn’t touched him as deeply as it had touched her. That was fair enough. They’d never promised each other anything. ‘It’s arrivederci – until we see each other again.’
Toni was in such a strange mood that even that Italian greeting, uttered meaninglessly millions of times a day, struck her in the chest. There had been times when she’d sent up those sentiments to wherever Miro’s soul had disappeared to. But Gabri was very much alive, a body and soul right before her.
‘Let’s go,’ she said, suddenly in a hurry to escape her own wild thoughts.
When they stood awkwardly in front of the hire-car office half an hour later, regarding each other, a string of unspokensentences hanging between them, Toni was horrified by her threatening tears. She couldn’t afford to feel any of this right now. She had a job to do.
Somehow, she had to convince Cilli and her mum that she was still the same Toni who’d left England a week ago, tired and guarded and perennially bitter – that all she’d gained was a tan and a few freckles. Andnevermention the man who had pressed soft kisses to those freckles.
He was the first to find his tongue. ‘I’ll see you at the hotel – maybe tomorrow.’ She barely recognised his voice as he rasped out the words. ‘If you need anything?—’
‘I know where to find you,’ she finished for him.
‘Anything,’ he repeated, finally lifting his gaze to hers.
‘Thank you,’ she mumbled in reply.
‘Ehm—’
‘Shall we?—?’
After a fitful start, his mouth found hers for a lingering kiss that began as deferential, polite, but quickly transformed into an inarticulate expression of the strange goodbye as his fingers tightened in her hair.
But he broke the kiss with a categorical retreat, grasping her shoulders as though she might throw herself at him again. The suspicion wasn’t too far-fetched.
With a wave that was part-salute, he set off for the little powder-blue Fiat that reminded her of the contradictions of the man himself.
‘Arrivederci,’ she whispered after him.
20
The island had seemed so large with Gabri – vast forests and endless coves and coastline – but the drive to the hotel in the southern part took less than half an hour. Despite the short distance she’d travelled, Toni could have believed she was on a different island. The resort hotel with its private beach, swimming pool and jacuzzi ‘landscape’, as they called it, was in a different universe from Gabri’s not-quite-renovated two-room villa up on the cliffs.
But the row of prickly pear forming part of the fencing brought back pleasant memories and the nearest town to the hotel, Capoliveri, had the same clay roofs and hilltop setting as Poggio, the little hamlet where they’d shared a drink after the foraging trip, although Capoliveri was bigger.
The main hotel building was two whitewashed storeys with an arcade overlooking the sea, a few minutes’ walk away. The place was called Innamorata, the lovers’ beach, and the village was little more than a speck on the map, but the long strip of coastline boasted dark-golden sand and an outlook to the west, like the spiaggia delle Buche, where she’d watched the sunset with Gabri.
Donatella, the hotel manager, greeted her warmly and assured her all the arrangements were in place for the arrival of the guests that evening. She mentioned the seating arrangements for the wedding would have to be altered due to changes on the beach, but she reassured Toni the space would still be suitable.
Making a note on the fancy tablet to ask her for more details later and to take a look at the beach herself, she followed Donatella past the hotel building, along a paved path lined with begonias, trimmed hedges and palms. Toni couldn’t help wondering what Gabri thought of the immaculate gardens.
‘We’ve put you in this cabin,’ Donatella explained, ‘since our triple rooms were already booked, but I hope you’ll find it comfortable. The sleeping space is separate and there is a kitchenette in case you prefer to prepare some food for your child yourself.’
