Read Unmasked for Free Online

sensual interlude that never sought the deeper regions of their hearts. A holiday from themselves.
    Paul woke first. He said they should move on, and when he said it he believed he was suggesting they both move on together. Another town, another country.
    But a day later he realised he didn’t want her to join him. He had not stopped loving her – heloved her more than ever. He was very happy that he had been there for her, that he had been able to rescue her and that their time together had been so like his dreams. This all made him happy. What wasn’t so great was that it was obvious she didn’t love him. Not in the way he had hoped.
    They were sitting in a café when he decided he had to put an end to it. But there was no way he was going to reveal how hurt he was. He played it cool. He set her free with no strings attached.
    ‘There is something about us, Emma. We work best together in stolen moments.’ He took a sip of his coffee. She was watching him. He hoped she wouldn’t notice his hand shaking. ‘This is no longer a stolen moment.’
    And that was that. Emma knew exactly what he meant. It was just like Paul, she thought. As soon as he said it she knew it was over and that he would be gone in a day or two. She went back to the hotel by herself, threw the clothes she had bought into a bag and left.
    Paul stayed another week in the room he had shared with Emma, lingering against all of his better instincts, before hopping on a flight out of Italy.

    Emma headed north to Florence and for the next few months – December, January and February – toured the north of Italy like a backpacker – San Gimignano, Pisa, Lucca, Cinque Terra, Genova, Turin, Milan, Padova, Verona, Venice … Then turned south again to Bologna, Ravenna, Urbino, back to Rome, Naples …
    Italiy was empty in winter, so she was able to do everything on the cheap. She took her time. She stayed in hostels. She linked up with other lone women travellers, accepting lifts from those with rental cars, travelling on trains with others for safety and sharing beds on occasion to save money. They were short-lived, mutually beneficial friendships. She saw all the sights. She lingered. She ate the food and tried her hardest to avoid the men. She had had enough of men. She had had enough of desire. She had had enough.

EIGHT
    Otranto was the end of her Italian road. She was exhausted. She had taken in as much as she could. It was now April. Every day, every hour, had been spent studying Italy’s past in an attempt to avoid her own. In the freezing winter winds she had toured ancient ruins, cathedrals, churches, palaces, town halls, hill towns and fortresses. In over-heated galleries she had examined thousands of paintings, sculptures, objects. In her bed at night, footsore and tired, she had read guidebooks and histories.
    But when she arrived in Otranto she knew her travels were over. She walked from the trainstation towards the old town with her bag on her back. The way was longer than it looked on her map. The streets were ugly and decaying: headless palm trees, faded pastel colours, twenty-year-old unkempt holiday villas and grasses growing in the cracks on the road, the pavement and walls. Otranto had the appearance of an abandoned resort town. Her bag was heavy, she was tired and she lost her way.
    The sea appeared at the end of a congested laneway and she found herself on a windswept esplanade. The old town was before her, raised on a low hill surrounded by fortress walls. Keeping to the edge of the harbour she walked slowly onwards, crossing a tree-lined park and reaching a large open piazza which jutted out into the harbour. She walked to the low wall and placed her hands on the cold white stone. She had no desire to visit the cathedral, even though the guidebook said the mosaic floor was a ‘must see’. She had no desire to visit the castle made famous by Walpole, either. She glanced north to the over-developed and cluttered promontory,