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But he did kiss you – and more. He wasn’t too reticent for that, was he? a different voice said.
He’d barely known he was going to do it, and afterwards, he wanted to apologise for overstepping. But the evening they’d spent together was instinctive. It was wonderful. It was destiny.
She smiled to herself. Always making excuses for Peter; always ready to forgive and to love him. She stood, walked to the mirror by the door and checked her hair, smoothed her frock; it was too warm for a coat or a hat. Danjel was asleep. He would barely know she was gone, but she left him a quick note anyway, explaining that she would be out for twenty minutes.
It was time for action. Time for her to make decisions about her life and Danjel’s future.
It was time to take control.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Maria found Valentina humming to herself as she prepared the picnic lunch.
Valentina laughed at the older woman’s look of surprise. ‘Yes, I’m feeling bright,’ she admitted. ‘How are you?’
‘Not as jolly as you are, clearly,’ her elder said, kissing her cheek. ‘Where’s the boy?’
‘Oh, he’s getting changed. I need to do that in a moment. We’re almost ready, though.’
Valentina was glad she’d closed the bar while the royals visited and for the days beyond. It was like a holiday. She’d have to return to it all too soon, to make sure the earnings were high enough that Lawrenz wouldn’t ask, but she was going to enjoy the time to herself while she could. She’d forgiven Peter his attitude, convinced that she’d been overly sensitive to his lacklustre response to her question. It wasn’t for Peter to say anyway; this was her life, her decision, her opportunity. She hoped there would be no lingering fractiousness between them; she didn’t think so, not given how vague Peter could be. Robertu had supported her when she’d told him she wanted to have some time to herself, agreeing that she should take the opportunity while she could.
‘So it’s a farewell to Peter then?’ Maria said, her gaze on Valentina.
‘Yes, he’s got to get back to England, to his life.’
‘And what about your life?’ The woman’s eyes were piercing.
Valentina could all but hear the wheels turning in Maria’s mind, and before she could say anything else, Valentina moved her on. ‘You haven’t got any fresh lemonade at home, have you?’
‘I’ll gladly nip back and make some now.’
‘Really?’ Valentina felt the rush of relief.
The former nurse nodded. ‘I have an almond cake I made last night too.’
‘No need, save that for—’
Maria gave a tutting sound. ‘I insist.’
‘All right, perfect. We’ll see you soon.’
Maria left, and Valentina finished packing the picnic before getting dressed in another pretty frock she had never worn, other than to try it on when it was first presented to her, nearly four years ago. It was a pale lemon floral with a halter neck; she had ordered the pattern from London and could still remember how excited she’d been when she’d had it made by a local woman who was clever with a sewing machine. When Valentina had tried it on for the final fitting, the maker had sighed with pleasure.
‘Valentina Falzon, you are an illusion.’
‘What do you mean?’ she’d asked, suddenly shy.
‘Well, just look at yourself,’ the woman called Angela said, spinning Valentina around to see her reflection in the mirror. ‘This tiny waist! These beautifully squared shoulders, and this perfect skin that has never seen our sun, it looks like.’
‘That’s not true,’ Valentina said, embarrassed by the attention.
‘I’ve seen you walking quietly in your shapeless clothes, Leni; it’s as though you’re frightened to show yourself. And if they’re not loose and hiding your figure, then you’re in your cleaning rags, doing your penance at the cathedral.’
‘It’s not penance,’ Valentina said. ‘I enjoy it.’
‘Who enjoys cleaning?’
Valentina had laughed, simply to get past the feeling of scrutiny, but that evening, she had made the mistake of showing Lawrenz the dress.
