LITMIR.BIZ

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with its uninterrupted use of space, now looked cold and spartan, as if someone had come along and wiped it clean of its heartbeat.

      So the few small items carefully placed on the smooth bed caught his attention. Walking over to them, he just stood staring down at the set of keys to this apartment, the tear-drop diamond necklace, the stack of credit cards and the mobile telephone.

      His skin suddenly felt as if it didn’t fit his body any more. Was that all she felt she was worth to him? Even the bed was playing its part here. He began to feel sick. If she’d tossed down a set of scarlet underwear she could not have made her feelings more clear.

      The phone gave a beep. He looked at it, saw there was a message written on it in text. Picking it up he stared at the words she had left for him. ‘I’m sorry,’ was all that it said.

      In English too. He sometimes forgot she spoke English her Italian was so good. But, maybe in this case I’m sorry said it better for her than mi despiace did.

      It didn’t for him, because sorry wasn’t enough! He wanted to know more. He wanted to know why! Could she not have held faith with him for just one more day?

      ‘When did she leave?’ He was aware of Carlotta standing in the doorway, watching him with anxious eyes. She obviously had something to tell him or she wouldn’t be there invading his private moment like this.

      ‘Just after the signor left,’ the housekeeper answered.

      Signor. Marcos swung round. ‘Signor Kranst?’ he demanded.

      But Carlotta shook her head. ‘A Signor Gabrielli,’ she informed him. ‘I think they argued,’ she added, looking uncomfortable for saying so. ‘The signorina had me see him out. It is when he gave me the cheque to give to Signorina Antonia.’ Her eyes flickered, then dropped to the waste-paper basket standing by the dressing table. ‘She was very upset,’ she added, as Marco’s gaze followed hers to the basket.

      A bell sounded then, saying that someone was in the foyer wanting to come up. ‘I don’t want to see anyone,’ Marco grimly instructed.

      With a nod, Carlotta left, leaving him alone to walk over to the waste-paper basket.

      About the same time that Stefan was using tough talk on Carlotta to gain his way into the apartment, Antonia’s flight was being called at last.

      It was now two hours late and her nerves were completely frazzled. Gathering her things together, she stood up, then paused to take in a careful breath. This was it, she told herself. She could leave now. No more arguing with herself. No more agonising over what she really wanted to do. It had to be better to go while she still had the strength to do it, rather than wait until she was thrown out then spend five years pining for his return, as her mother had—wasn’t it?

      So move, Antonia, she told her feet. Follow the general exodus towards the gate as if you’re just another tourist on her way back home.

      ‘No luggage slip, signorina?’

      She looked down at the cabin-weight suitcase which suddenly seemed a pathetic judgement on her year in Milan. When she’d packed it, in London, she had meant to send for her other things once she was settled with Marco. But he had done away with the need by buying her new things. Anything else of value to her would be coming back to London with Stefan.

      She shook her head at the attendant who was checking her boarding pass. ‘This is all I have,’ she said. And a heart full of tears, she added silently.

      Marco was leaning against the open window, which led out onto the terrace, when Stefan Kranst had the arrogance to stride into the room.

      ‘I want words with you,’ he insisted grimly. ‘I don’t know what happened last night after you left Romano’s with Antonia. But—’

      ‘Anton Gabrielli happened,’ Marco inserted, without bothering to turn.

      The name met with silence. Not the blank, who-are-you-talking-about kind of silence. But the dear-God-in-heaven kind, that throbbed with grim recognition.

      ‘What did he want?’ Stefan asked him. ‘I see you know the man,’ Marco drily responded. ‘What did he want?’ Stefan repeated harshly.

      His anger jolted Marco enough for him to wave a hand towards the bed. ‘See for yourself,’ he invited. And turned to study Stefan Kranst’s face as he walked over to look down at the neat row of items set out on the bed. The diamond, the keys, the credit cards, the phone still displaying its message. And the cheque, carefully pieced back together. Stefan stared at it for a long time before he spoke.

      ‘I saw him at the gallery last night,’ he admitted. ‘I hoped you’d got Antonia away before he arrived.’

      ‘They came face to face. He called her Anastasia…’

      Other than for a tightening of his lips, Stefan made no comment. ‘When did this arrive?’ he asked grimly instead.

      ‘The man delivered it himself this morning,’ Marco told him, ‘while I was out,’

      ‘No wonder she left in a hurry. He threatened her, didn’t he?’ Hard eyes lifted to Marco. ‘Do you know who he is?’

      The question earned him a grimace. ‘Her father, at a guess.’

      ‘She told you that?’ Stefan looked so surprised that Marco couldn’t hold back the wry smile.

      ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘I managed to work it out.’ She didn’t feel able to trust me with it, he added silently, and sent his gaze flicking back to the view beyond the terrace. She hadn’t really trusted him with anything, when he came to think about it. Not the truth about the Mirror Woman. Not the father he hadn’t known she had. Even her innocent relationship with Kranst had been kept a titillating secret.

      Out there, above the city, he saw a flash of light as the sun caught the tips of a plane as it took off. ‘Do you know where she is?’ he asked quietly.

      ‘Not on that flight, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ Stefan Kranst replied. ‘She left for England hours ago, Marco,’ he added almost gently.

      The gentleness was almost his undoing. Moisture dared to slide across his eyes. He stiffened up, shoved his hands in his pockets, heaved in a deep breath. Felt the ring box, felt some other emotion wreak havoc with the wall of his chest.

      ‘I’m going after her,’ he announced, keeping his face turned away from Kranst as he shifted towards the bedroom door.

      ‘I came here for a reason,’ Stefan reminded him. Marco paused. ‘To gloat?’ he suggested.

      Stefan released a heavy sigh. ‘Give me a break for once, Marco,’ he begged wearily. ‘I care about Antonia more than her real father does. That means I care about what’s been happening here! She came to see me before she left,’ he went on tightly. ‘I didn’t like the way she looked. Now I know why, if Gabrielli’s been here,’ he added cynically. ‘But the point is, she gave me something I think you should know about…’

      Marco spun around.

      ‘Keys.’ Stefan took them out of his pocket. ‘And an address in Milan. I came to see if you were as interested as I am in finding out what the hell she has been keeping from both of us!’

      She couldn’t do it.

      Standing here at the departure gate, with her boarding pass in her hand and only a short walk to freedom, she couldn’t take another single step!

      Tears clogged her throat, burned her eyes, hurt her stomach. I love him! she cried inside, and just couldn’t go!

      ‘Are you all right?’ someone asked her. Someone else pushed impatiently past. ‘You don’t look well, signorina…’

      I’m not. I’m sick with love. ‘I’ve just r-remembered s-something,’ she murmured shakily. ‘I have to go back to Milan.’ She swallowed

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