Page 54 of 2 Books in One Bundle

And the letter that had arrived since from Connie’s London lawyer, requesting a meeting.

‘Connie—how are you?’

Rafaello’s greeting was courteous as he came forward to meet her. She’d arrived by taxi from Paddington Station to an elegant eighteenth-century townhouse in the Inns of Court, the premises of the law firm Rafaello had recommended, and he had been waiting for her in the narrow lobby.

She swallowed as he shook her hand. It was hard to see him again, even though she was grateful for his support through this whole agonising business. He helped her off with her coat, and came with her as she was shown upstairs to a wood-panelled office, where she was introduced to the senior partner to whom she had only spoken virtually so far.

He got to his feet behind an old-fashioned mahogany desk. ‘Ah, Mrs Cavelli—how good to finally meet you in person.’

Numbly, she returned his handshake, took the chair Rafaello drew up for her. She felt frozen all over, inside and out.

‘What...what happens next?’ she asked.

The man resumed his seat and looked at her in a kindly fashion over the rim of his spectacles.

‘Well, as you know, your husband has been served with your petition. You were married in the United Kingdom, so that is good—it keeps things simpler. However, your husband being an Italian citizen adds a degree of complication...as I believe you already appreciate.’

He nodded at Rafaello who, sitting beside her, said, ‘But not to a great degree, as I have explained to you.’

She looked bleakly at him, and then the senior partner.

‘I just want it done as quickly as possible with the minimum fuss.’ Her voice was low and strained, as her fingers knotted in her lap over her handbag.

‘Of course. Very understandable...’ said the lawyer, nodding in agreement. ‘Very well, let us continue—’

The phone on his desk suddenly rang, and with a murmured apology to Connie he picked it up.

He listened a moment. Then: ‘Thank you. Yes, right away, if you please.’

He replaced the handset and looked across at Connie. His expression was unreadable.

And so, she realised with a sudden stab of alarm in her breast, was Rafaello’s.

Through the oak door of the office she heard rapid footsteps, and then the door was unceremoniously pushed open.

Dante strode in.

He stopped dead. A man, middle-aged, bespectacled, was getting to his feet, politely greeting him. Dante ignored him. He had eyes for one person in the room, and one only.

His wife.

His wife, upon whose shoulder Rafaello Ranieri’s hand was pressing.

All the emotions that had been hammered down so ruthlessly on his journey here smashed through.

Rage ignited.

Explosively.

‘Get your hands off my wife!’

A shocked sound came from the man behind the desk.

‘Mr Cavelli! If you please!’

Dante ignored him. Ignored everything but the sight of Rafaello touching Connie.

Rage came again.

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