Catherine Spencer – The Man from Tuscany (страница 10)

Brian put in long days at the college during the early part of the new year, hoping to complete his studies by the end of the spring session. During the hours he was gone, I kept busy setting up the nursery and fulfilling my social obligations as a married woman.

Helped by my mother’s housekeeper, I learned to cook, and tried to have the evening meal prepared when Brian came home. We ate by candlelight, in the dining room, using our everyday china and silver-plate cutlery. On weekends, when we often entertained, I brought out the fine china and the sterling.

“Were you really happy during those early months, Gran?” Carly asks hopefully.

“In all honesty, darling girl, no, I was not. Too often at night, Marco stole in while I slept. My dreams—sometimes painful, sometimes glorious but always vivid—took me hostage. I relived those precious weeks we’d shared, hearing his voice, seeing his face. Some days, I’d wake up smiling and happy—until reality intruded and made me cry.”

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