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 furnishing 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 shirt 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 shirt 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 dashing 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 ishing 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.

'Here you are.'

She held the can and a gla.s.s out to him, thereby remov ing any pathos from the situation, but he only took the can from her. He flipped the tab and raised it to his lips, the muscles in his throat moving rhythmically as he swallowed. Then, panting a little, he licked a curl of foam from his upper lip before saying, 'Thanks.'

Grace shrugged, making no response, and, deciding she couldn't go on towering over him, she subsided onto an upholstered chair at the other side of the room. She thought a faint look of self-mockery crossed his face at this rather obvious separation, but he finished his c.o.ke before going on.

'I spoke to your mother,' he said, returning to the subject of her changed circ.u.mstances. 'She said you'd moved back to London.'

'Did she?' Grace nodded. 'Well, as you can see, I have.'

'Did something go wrong at home?' he asked, and al though she told herself it was nothing to do with him she found herself explaining that her sister's husband had lost his job, and that it was obviously easier for them if they didn't have a household's bills to pay.

'This would be-Giles, am I right?' he enquired, and she acknowledged that very little escaped his attention.

'Giles, that's right. He used to work for an insurance company in Brighton.'

'And what happened? Were they downsizing, or what?'

Grace thought how crazy it was that they should be dis cussing her brother-in-law, but it was easier than talking about the real reason Matteo was here.

My brother-in-law likes-gambling,' she conceded after a moment. 'Unfortunately, he can't always afford to do so.'

;I see.' Matteo nodded, and she was quite sure he knew exactly what she was talking about. 'So he was fired.'

'That's right.' Grace sighed, and then muttered barely audibly, 'If only that was all.'

"So he is to be-charged with-what? Embezzlement?'

"Something like that.' Grace felt as if she'd said more than enough. She squared her shoulders. 'But that isn't why you came, is it?'

No.' He subjected her to the kind of intent appraisal that had always been able to turn her knees to water. 'I had to see you again.'

'Oh, please-'

Grace's hands came to grip the edge of her seat in an instinctive preliminary to flight, and he spread his hands in a desperate gesture. 'Listen to me,' he begged. And then, as if realising he was still holding the empty can, he crushed it with savage fingers and tossed it onto the coffee table between them.

'You have to know,' he went on in a harsh voice. 'I did-/ do-care about you-'

Grace sprang to her feet. 'I think you'd better go.'

'Why?' He got to his feet, too, and although there was at least eight feet between them Grace was sure she could feel his frustration. 'I'm not suggesting I abandon my re sponsibilities to Julia. G.o.d knows, if she is expecting my child, then naturally I owe her my name and my support.' He paused for a moment, as if to calm himself, and then went on, 'Nonna told me that she'd explained to you about the way Luisa died, so I know you'll understand when I say that I would not have been thrilled about her condition in any circ.u.mstances, but be a.s.sured she will have the best of care.'

Grace nodded. '1 never doubted it.'

'No.' Matteo's lips twisted. 'No, you didn't, did you? From the very beginning of our a.s.sociation, you tried to tell me that I was wasting my time, but I didn't want to listen.'

Grace swallowed. 'Julia should have told you sooner.'

'Yes, she should.' Matteo conceded the point. 'She should have trusted in the fact that we are Roman Catholics. We do not believe in taking the life of an unborn child, however inconvenient its existence might be.'

Grace looked down at her hands. 'I'm sorry.'

'Why are you sorry?' Matteo took an involuntary step towards her and then halted when he saw the apprehension in her face.

'Oh, Grace, this whole sorry mess is my fault. Mine! You have nothing to reproach yourself for. Be thank ful you can forget it, move on with your life, find someone else who will not bring the pitiful baggage of a weekend's madness to destroy your future-'

'Don't.' Grace couldn't bear it. She had thought she could handle this, but she couldn't. Watching him visibly destroying himself just tore her up and she couldn't let him go on. 'It was as much my fault as yours,' she told him doggedly. 'I knew-I knew about the pregnancy all along, but I still-I still-'

'What? What?'

Matteo was waiting for her answer with an anguished expression, and Grace had to steel herself against the urge she had to go and comfort him. 'I-I still wanted you,' she confessed helplessly, and heard the agonised moan that es caped his lips.

'Dio, Grace,' he said, his voice ragged with emotion. 'What have I done?'

Grace turned away. 'It doesn't matter-'

'Don't say that.'

He was behind her now. She could feel the draught of his breath against her neck, and she expected any moment for his hands to descend on her shoulders and for him to turn her towards him. She didn't know what she'd do when that happened; she hadn't got that far in her reasoning, but- A door slammed.

The thud echoed in her head long after the sound had died away, and her shoulders began to shake as the tears she'd been fighting for weeks streamed down her cheeks. She didn't need to look round to know he'd gone. Something, some extra sensitivity they shared, was gone, and she knew it wasn't coming back...

CHAPTER TWELVE.

In the weeks that followed, Grace did her best to put her life back together.

She was glad to be able to give up working at the pub. but now she applied herself to her job at the museum with renewed enthusiasm. Keeping busy was the only way she knew to keep her personal demons at bay, and she was seldom home before seven o'clock.

She also started accepting the odd social invitation that came her way. It used to be rare indeed that she attended the theatre or the opera with a male companion, but she'd decided that dating was all part of her emotional convales cence. And, if no one actually got across the threshold of her St John's Wood apartment, it wasn't through want of trying.

But it was a hollow existence. She knew she was only fooling herself by thinking that anything-or anyone- could banish Matteo from her life. He was there; he was a fixture; and everything else was just a pa.s.sing diversion.

The only person who came close to discovering the truth was her mother. All Grace's family had been curious about the s.e.xy Italian who had come to the house in Islington Crescent looking for her, but only Mrs Horton had guessed that Grace's flippant dismissal of his appearance was just an act.

'Are you in love with him?' she asked frankly, a couple of weeks after Matteo's visit when Grace had driven down to see her. She frowned. 'What is it? Is he married?'

'He probably is by now,' replied Grace with a.s.sumed brightness, but her mother wasn't letting her get away with that.

'Did he-hurt you?'

'Not intentionally,' said Grace, deciding she had to put an end to all these questions before she broke down com pletely.

'Now-' she got out of her chair '-I'm going to make us both a nice cup of tea, and then you can tell me how things are working out with Pauline and Giles.' She managed a conspiratorial wink.