Emma finished her coffee, and they went in to lunch. She asked for a glass of Soave. It was nice enough, but not a patch on Marco’s wine.

“Tell me what happened in Italy,” Gillian demanded as they were served.

“Nothing to tell, really. I don’t remember all that much about the shipwreck, just that I was washed ashore and some Italian peasants found me. There was a doctor who helped me find my way back to Naples.”

“Hmm. That’s it?’

“That’s it.”

Gillian picked up the last lettuce leaf and sat back. “So, are you going to tell me about him?”

“About whom?”

“The man who gave you the wine.” She placed her elbows on the table and propped her chin on her hands. “Was it the mysterious doctor? I know there’s more. I want every detail.” She dropped her voice. “Or at least every detail that’s fit to print, as Sam Parfitt used to say.”

Emma laughed. “You don’t miss the newspaper, do you?”

“God, no. Sometimes I do some office work for Johnny. Typing and stuff.” Her face grew serious. “There’s a lot going on in Europe, you know, Emma. In Germany and in Italy…”

“I know.”

Reminded that Gillian and Johnny were associated with the British secret services, Emma launched into a modified account of the village hidden in the caves and Marco’s struggle with the government forces. She still wasn’t ready to share too much and refrained from giving details of the torture and death of Claudia. She only mentioned Marco in passing as the leader of the outlawed group.

Gillian listened wide eyed. “This is all so useful,” she said. “Would you talk to Johnny about some of this?”

“I suppose so.”

“So keep the political details for him and tell me more about this Doctor Marco.”

Emma smiled as she sipped her wine. “There’s not much more to tell.”

“Of course there is. I can see it in your face every time you mention his name. What does he look like?”

She had never realized how good Gillian was at worming information out of someone. She tried to describe Marco without making him sound like a Hollywood star.

Gillian sighed again. “He sounds dreamy. What was he like in bed?”

Emma choked on her last sip of wine. “Gilly!”

“You can tell me. I’m a married woman. How often, where?”

“Several times, wherever we could, and that’s all you’re getting out of me, Mrs. Gillian Westmarland.”

“So are you going to marry him?”

“Oh, Gillian, I don’t know.”

“Of course you know. I knew I was going to marry Johnny as soon as I met him, although I had horrible doubts at times. Did he ask you?”

“Well, not in so many words, but he wanted me to stay with him.”

“Hmm. Do you care about getting married?”

“I should, but I’d take him under any conditions.” Suddenly that truth was as clear as daylight to her. “I’m so torn. My father-”

“Your father,” Gillian said decisively, “would let you marry the local ratcatcher if that’s what you wanted. And he’d book St. Margaret’s, Westminster, for it.”

“Marco’s been on the run and could be again. I’ve been reading a bit about Mussolini since I came back. I’m worried about him.”

“You have reason to be worried,” Gillian broke in. “Rule of iron, but not as brutal as in Germany, although not far off. The Blackshirts enforce authority, those who disagree and speak out can be murdered. A lot of people have left, rather than face death or the prisons on remote islands. I quote from the revered leader, ‘ Italy wants peace and quiet, work and calm. I will give these things with love if possible and with force if necessary.’”

Emma felt a tiny, cold shiver snake through her. “You know a lot.”

“It’s Johnny’s job to know, and I help him now. In 1927 they launched the Battle for Births. They want every family to have at least five children. Next it will be land, then currency, then crops. It’s in their manifesto. They’ll ride roughshod over anyone who dissents.”

Emma thought of the newspaper started by Marco’s father.

Gillian leaned forward. “Sorry to give you a current affairs lecture, but if you love this man, he will soon need you by his side. You need to decide where you want to be. And where he should be. Ask yourself what your real dilemma is… If you marry an Italian at this time you will have to make difficult choices. Think back, Emma. We both know what kind of life you led. Do you still want that?”

Emma shook her head. “The things that came easily to me turned out to be not worth having. I could care less about my social position, although it’s important to my father and I can’t hurt him.”

“Think about the things worth having that are harder to attain. The things you would fight and die for are precious and few, aren’t they?”

Emma took a gulp of water. “Very precious and very few.”

On the way home in the train from London, Emma did a lot of thinking. Talking to Gillian had made her put her feelings into words. To her surprise she’d heard herself say she would take Marco under any conditions. Did she really mean that?

Yes, she did.

In the empty railway carriage she summoned up his face, imagined him sitting opposite her in his loose shirt, one leg propped on the other knee. If he were really here he would sit back and flash her that wicked grin that told her he was undressing her in his mind, taking her to bed-

“Tickets please.”

She came to with a start and felt herself blush as if the ticket collector could read her thoughts. The burly man gave her a swift glance as he punched her ticket. “Next stop is yours, miss,” he said.

“Yes, thank you.” She stood and collected her thoughts. She knew what she had to do.

That evening when dinner was over and coffee served, she took her father his daily cigar. He’d taught her how to select one from the sweet-smelling box that was imported from Cuba, how to cut the end and hold the match just so to light it evenly.

When it was drawing to his satisfaction, she took her place on a padded stool.

“What do you want to tell me?” he asked from behind a spiral of smoke.

“What makes you think I have something to tell?”

He tapped the ash carefully into an ashtray. “My girl, I haven’t watched you grow up without knowing most of what goes through your head. Sometimes I lost track, but when your mother died I promised myself I would never be a distant father.”

She got up and sat on the arm of his big, leather chair. “You’ve been a wonderful father,” she said, placing a kiss on the bald spot on his head.

“And you know how to twist me ‘round your little finger.” He sounded grumpy, but she knew he was pleased.

She leaned her cheek on his head. “You never married again.”

“No.” He tapped the end of his cigar again. “I always felt what your mother and I had couldn’t be duplicated. Then I was busy with the House of Lords, the estate…” He sighed. “Time slips by very fast, Emmy.”

“How did you know you loved my mother?”

“Goodness, child, what brought this on?” He cleared his throat. “Bit embarrassing, really. I couldn’t get her out of my head. Couldn’t imagine living without her, I suppose.”

“So you asked her to marry you. Had you known each other long?”

“Three weeks, actually. Raised a few eyebrows, I can tell you.”

“What did you say when you asked her to marry you?”

He cleared his throat again. “We were standing by the water jump at a cross-country meet. I had a new horse I was trying out, and she came with me. She had on a very pretty frock, I remember, and a big hat-”

“What did you say?”

“I think we waited for the horses to go by and I looked at her, held her hand you know, and said, ‘I suppose you wouldn’t care to marry me, would you, old girl?’”

Emma burst out laughing. “Oh, Daddy. You are so unromantic.”

“Well it worked. She said yes. We had ten years together and I had you. Ten years is more than many people ever get.”