TUSCAN BYWAYS

By Jo

PART NINE:

Terry cut through the olive grove uphill to the sprawling villa Hadrian Thane had dubbed Carrara. It was late morning and he figured Hadrian had had time to get his sister, Amalie, home from the hospital and settled in. He felt in himself this odd sense of a commingling of anticipation and awkwardness. If not for his chance stumbling across Amalie Thane trapped under the crumbled wall, he'd be back in London now, back in his own flat, surrounded
by his own stuff, what little of it there was. He'd never really 'nested'. Was on the go too much for that. He didn't collect doodads from his travels, but lived clean and spare. There were no curving pieces of furniture, no wide-handled vases, no gilded picture frames...nothing that would ever hook your heart and give it a place to hang. He'd learned from his marriage, had it confirmed by Alice, that a heart kept itself intact best when it was securely wrapped and stored on a closet shelf behind the stacks of linen. So why was he even now walking to the Thane villa?

Maybe the Sinclairs had something to do with it? He wasn't sure, but guessed that might well be the case. He'd spent time with Eden after Marshall had been first kidnapped and her love for him was poignant, palpable...real. And Marshall himself had made it through hell to get back to her. He'd done that more than once from what Terry had heard. And watching them now they were together again, well, it was simply grand. They had something he'd never experienced, certainly not with his ex-wife. And Alice? He'd gone and let a little seed there begin sprouting into life. He'd let himself...imagine. It had been wrong. He'd always known that, right from the beginning, but he'd indulged himself in stupid dreams with that woman, that woman who belonged to another man. That was a mistake he'd not repeat, ever. So he'd stacked more linens in front of the box on the shelf, piled them high. Then yesterday he'd talked with Amalie in the Siena hospital. While he was there, he'd heard the sound, the clothy swish of linen falling on a closet floor. He'd tried to clutch at them, grab them before they all fell, but she, damn it, she liked too many of the same things he did, thought too much in the same way he did, and he'd stood there beside her bed, crumpled linen burying his shoes.

When he got to the far edge of the big olive grove, he stopped, leaning against the gnarled trunk of one of them, gazing at Carrara.  It was made of unstuccoed light-colored stone, with many levels of roofs, sections of it jutting out here and there. There was probably a lot more of it that he couldn't see yet from his vantage point.  And she was somewhere inside. And he had come, on his own two feet he'd come, nary a wild horse in sight. He did an inward check to make sure the lid was still on his box, but the linens had definitely fallen to the floor. That concerned him. He was a cautious man, more so since Tecala.

"You don't have to walk down there, Thorne," he said softly to himself. "You don't." 

But, eyes locked on the villa, he stepped out of the grove, tripping just slightly on an exposed root. He didn't look down at it. He knew it was an unfolded towel.
 
The lawn leading up to Carrara was flat and he didn't trip again. Off to his right he saw several workmen rebuilding a garden wall, two more laying pavers for a new patio closer to the trees there. A gardener was planting some shrubs, another arranging bedding plants in bright colors. The lower, larger of the two front porches had been glassed in and as he approached, he could see Amalie in there on a lounge chair, reading. He stopped, just watching her for a while. Her chocolate hair, and that was how he'd come to think of it, was loose, waving over her shoulders. It wasn't actually a conscious thought, but he was glad it was so different from Alice's, that she was so different. Alice had been haunted by loss, by a level of unhappiness she lived with. Amalie
was vibrant. Even injured, she was vibrant.  He smiled, watching her, then tapped lightly on the glass to alert her to his presence.

Amalie looked up, an instant bright smile lighting her face. She motioned him to a side door that opened directly into the sun porch. "Terry," she said as he entered, making his name sound round and full, filling its two syllables with her vitality.

There was no way he couldn't smile back at her. "You look better today."

"Less horrible than I did yesterday or on the island?" she teased.

"Much less horrible. A great deal less."  His lips twitched.

"I'm glad you came."

"It's not far at all from where I'm staying."

"I understand you ran all the way from there to Lake Trasimene."

"Was my first long run in a while. Has taken me longer than I thought to get my energy level up enough for something of that length."

"Yucatan was hard?"

"Yucatan was very hard. Hot, too."  He remembered all too well the feel of salty sweat in his wounds.

"Do you go...anywhere?"

"I go where the job takes me. That's pretty much anywhere, yes."

"I'm glad your current anywhere is Italy. I might not be here otherwise."

"I'm glad you're here. You...." He was going to say 'you brighten the world', but he didn't.

"We still on for pearl diving?"

"If you like."

"I would. I would like you to show me the Blue Grotto. I have to see it, you know, after your description of it."

"Do you swim?"

"Do I...? Yes, quite well."

"Good. There are two ways to see the Grotto, in a little boat full of people and a guide, or swimming."

"You and me, swimming?"

"You and me."

"Definitely that."  Her eyes ran over him. He'd pulled a chair closer to her chaise and sat, his hands loosely clasped between his jeans-clad knees, wearing a blue shirt, its sleeves rolled up.  To her mind, he filled the bill of white knight quite remarkably.

"I'm glad you came," she said again.

"I wanted to see how you're doing today. I wanted...."  His voice trailed off.

"What did you want, Terry?"

"I wanted to see...you."

"I wanted to see you, too," she smiled.

They were silent a long moment, each just looking at the other. Finally he cleared his throat. "So where's Hadrian?"

"He brought me home then went into town to check on some building supplies that didn't arrive when they should have.  Since he owns a trucking company back in England, he has little patience for delayed shipments. He'll be sorry he missed you. I can tell he likes you."

"I thought there would be a lot of noise here, hammering, sawing, that sort of thing, but all I've seen is workmen out in the yard."

"Hadrian called work on the villa off for today. Said he wanted me to be able to rest. I'd like to be able to show you around the place." She nodded to a wheel chair over to one side. "He said I should use that for the next couple of days, stay off my feet. If you'd bring it over, I'll give you a tour. Well, of the lower levels at least."

Terry brought the chair over and instead of just helping her hop to it, simply scooped her up in his arms. "I understand you did this on the island. Wish I remembered it." 

"You'd been pinned there for two and a half days. Probably just as well you don't. It was rough going. I stumbled a lot."

Unabashedly she slid her arms around her neck. "I still wish I remembered it, being in your arms."

"You can remember this instead."

"I will," she murmured, lifting a hand, lightly touching his hair. "I love your hair."

He grinned a little. "It can't compare with your chocolate."

"Chocolate?"

"Yes, you have liquid chocolate hair. Didn't you know?"

"No one ever said that before."

"They should have."

Her face was very close to his, her deep blue eyes looking into his green. He could feel his heart rate increasing. "I'd better get you into that chair."

"No," she whispered.

"No?"

"No. I like it right here."

It was actually beginning to pull on his still-healing shoulders so instead of setting her in the wheelchair, he sat back down on his seat, taking most of her weight across his lap. This was so fast, what he was feeling, and he was afraid to trust it. "Amalie," he said, "I...."

"There is a lady in your heart?"

He closed his eyes. "No, no lady there."

"There's one on your lap," she added, studying his face.

He opened his eyes. "There is, indeed."

"And it's me. I'm glad it's me."

"Because of pearl diving?"

"Because...." But she ran her fingertips down the line of his jaw and he gasped. 

"I know you, Terry Thorne."

"What...?"

"This is only the third day, but I know who you are."

He locked his eyes into hers, probing. No woman had ever looked at him quite as she was doing.  "I think...," he began.

She touched a finger to his lips. "Be," she whispered. "Just be."

So he lowered his head, his lips warm and soft, finding hers, paying no attention to the nearly silent sound of a box lid landing atop crumpled linen.

ON TO PART TEN

BACK TO PART EIGHT

BACK TO PART SEVEN

BACK TO PART SIX

BACK TO PART FIVE

BACK TO PART FOUR

BACK TO PART THREE

BACK TO PART TWO

BACK TO PART ONE

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