THE INNOCENT WIFE

CHAPTER FIVE

"Delicious as always, Anna," Roseanne complimented, her smile genuine as she savoured the flavours of Anna's Bolognese sauce. "I don't know how you do it."

Anna cackled and pinched Roseanne's chin. "You too kind, still."

"Not at all," Roseanne demurred with sincerity. "You missed your calling as a chef."

"Signora Manoban keeps me busy enough," she said with a wink. "Always wanting the sandwiches like you make." Anna winked. "You are not the only thing Lisa's missed since you went away."

Anna's cheeks flushed, and she felt a vulnerable affection for her ex-wife. A reminiscence for their early days, when Roseanne'd assembled her favourite chip butties for them to eat from a tray in bed. In the early days, they hadn't had much time for anything outside of the bedroom, least of all meals at a table.

"Chip butties are a terrible habit," Roseanne pointed out with a coldness that made Anna pause.

"But a good reminder of you, no?"

Roseanne didn't think Lisa'd missed her at all. Lisa's ego might have taken a blow, when Roseanne'd walked away. But that was it. After all, if Lisa'd enjoyed spending time with her so much, why had Lisa made such a habit of going out without Roseanne? Of spending time with other women?

"Maybe," Roseanne conceded eventually, because she could see how desperately Anna was hoping for a reconciliation between her boss and the woman Lisa'd married.

"You have helped me all afternoon, Miss Roseanne. You should go now. Do the getting ready."

Roseanne looked down at her outfit. The same clothes she'd been wearing when she'd left the hospital. The clothes Lisa had torn from her body, before making love to her. Roseanne ran a hand down them now, amazed at what they'd seen in a day.

"Yes. Only, Anna?" Roseanne paused just inside the kitchen, and reminded herself that she was strong and independent now. "I don't plan to eat with Lisa. Please don't bother setting a place for me. I'll slip into the kitchen when I'm hungry."

Anna's frown told Roseanne all she needed to know, but Roseanne ignored the pang of guilt. The thought of sitting across from Lisa for an entire evening made her insides roll.

"Okay," Anna shrugged, but the frown lingered long after Roseanne had left the kitchen. She formed the Ciabatta and pounded the olives together with garlic and rosemary, then rolled the fettucine until it was so paper thin she could see through it.

When all was assembled and ready to cook, she picked up the kitchen phone and pressed the button for Lisa's office. It was not her place to interfere in their marriage. But Roseanne was a shadow of the woman Anna had come to love. She was skin, and bone. So pale and English looking. None of that vibrant youth and vitality she'd exhibited years earlier.

"Si?" Lisa was impatient. Anna had worked for him long enough to know that Lisa would never take that emotion out on her.

"I'm sorry for interrupting," she said in their native Italian. "Miss Roseanne says she will not join you for dinner."

Silence met her statement. A silence that seemed to crackle and crisp.

"I see. Did she give a reason for this?" Lisa enquired with deceptive silkiness.

"No. She simply said she'd come to the kitchen when she's hungry."

"I see." Lisa pushed back in her chair, wondering if it was possible to be any angrier with her ex-wife. "Ignore what Roseanne has said, Anna. She will, of course, be joining me. She is my guest, and I expect it of her."

"Si, sir." Anna disconnected the call and returned to preparing the feast. It was right that Roseanne was home. She was no guest at Villa Vista. She was its mistress. She belonged to the home as well as the furnishings. If Anna had her way, Roseanne would be staying.