Page 152 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 1-4

His body warmth...

It was a disturbing consciousness. Evoking memories...

They didn’t speak as they walked—but, again, it was not a tension-filled silence.

At the entrance to the apartment block he stopped. ‘Mi dispiace, but I must relieve you of my jacket. My key is in the pocket.’

‘Oh...oh, yes...’

Siena slipped the jacket from her, felt the beautiful soft silk lining sliding over her shoulders. Vincenzo took it from her, fetched out his key, and opened the door into the lobby.

‘I’ll see you to your door, then bid you goodnight,’ he said.

And he did just that, ushering her into the lift, and then out again, and on to the apartment. By then she’d got her own key out of her handbag, and she used it to open the front door. Then she turned.

In the low light of the landing he seemed very tall, his face half shadowed, his profile thrown into relief. She felt something go through her, but she didn’t know what it was.

Didn’t want to know.

Because it’s not relevant. Not any more. Nor is it appropriate.

‘Thank you for dinner,’ she said, self-conscious suddenly.

He’d shrugged himself back into his jacket as she’d opened her apartment door. His eyes were resting on her. In the dim light she could not make out his expression. But perhaps that was just as well.

‘I think the evening did some good,’ he said. ‘I will leave you now. You have my contact details, should you need anything, otherwise I will be in touch at the end of next week.’ He paused. ‘I would ask you to consider what I suggested. See whether you think that our going away together might also do some good?’

She gave a half-nod, not wanting to commit.

‘I hope it goes well in Geneva and Turin,’ she said instead. It seemed a polite thing to say.

He nodded in the same grave fashion. ‘Thank you. And now,buona notte.’

‘Goodnight,’ she echoed, awkward again, and then stepped inside the apartment, closing the door. Shutting him out.

There was a studied expression on her face as she walked into the kitchen. It seemed a long time since she had set off from here earlier in the evening. As if she’d travelled a great distance.

But where she had reached she did not know...

CHAPTER EIGHT

THESEAWASa mix of grey and blue. Blue when the intermittent sun came out from behind a scudding cloud, grey when it went behind.

‘Would you care to sit down? Are you feeling tired? We’ve walked some way.’ Vincenzo’s enquiry was polite.

‘Thank you, yes.’ Siena’s reply was equally polite.

She lowered herself onto the empty bench they had paused beside on the paved promenade. Beyond the railing the tide was in, leaving only a strip of shingle below. Gulls swooped haphazardly, and though the sea breeze was light, white caps dotted the changing surface of the water. Further off shore Vincenzo could see a sailing boat, skimming west to east along the English Channel.

Memory pierced. He’d been watching the yachts off the Sardinian coast, having a leisurely lunch, when that call had come through and had ripped through his life like a cannonball through tissue paper.

And now...

Now he was here, at this genteel seaside resort in east Devon on the coast, sitting beside the woman who had changed his life completely. Changed it irreversibly and for ever.

‘Are you warm enough?’ he asked her now.

‘Thank you, yes,’ she said, in the same polite tone.

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