The Italian’s Miracle Family Page 11

  One night she took home a tape-recording of a conference that had been held within the firm eight months previously, wanting to check whether she had really said what the notes stated.

  The sound of her own voice made her lean back in her chair, shocked. It might have been a machine talking, so dead and cold did she sound. Now she knew what Drago had heard, and why he had feared for her.

  He was with her-unseen, unheard, but a constant presence. She had only to think of him to feel safe again, as though his arms were still holding her. With James there had been a constant yearning for a man who, she now realised, had never really been there. But she did not miss Drago, for how could you miss someone who was always with you?

  At last a letter came from him.

  I wanted you to know how different things are with me since you were here. Not all the ghosts have been laid to rest, but the worst of them leave me in peace now. I sleep at night, and when I awake I confront the day ahead without despair. I once thought this could never happen, but now I know that there is one person who knows and understands, and that knowledge is enough to give me strength. Even if we never meet again, you are still here with me in spirit, and you give me the courage I need. I hope with all my heart that it is the same with you. God bless you.

  She wrote back.

  You brought me back to life. I had become dead inside, and would have stayed that way always, but for you. It’s a strange and confusing feeling to reawaken, and I don’t yet know who this new person is. But, whoever she is, you made her free to grieve and one day, perhaps soon, she will be well again. For this you will always be dear to me.

  He did not write again, nor did she expect him to. They had set each other on a new path, but it led away into the unknown, and they must travel it separately. Sometimes she remembered his words-that he was glad they had not met before because she would have threatened his loyalty to his wife. Who knew where that road might have led? But not yet. Perhaps not ever.

  Her sleep, once so blank, had begun to be troubled with dreams. James seemed to haunt her as he’d never done before. She would see his face in that last meeting, but when she approached him he always vanished.

  ‘Where are you?’ she cried. ‘Where are you?’

  But when she awoke to find herself sitting up in bed she knew that she hadn’t been calling to James, but to someone else, and that he was already with her. Then she would lie down and sleep again in peace.

  She began studying him again on the internet, and soon managed to access Italian newspapers, including one that was local to Florence. It was a ready source of information, as excitement was rising about a mediaeval church that Drago was restoring. Work had slowed the previous year owing to many unexpected problems, but now things were moving again, as Drago seemed infused with new inspiration. It had caused him to insist on changing things that had previously seemed settled, replacing them with better ideas.

  There were pictures, showing her the building before Drago had started work-tired-looking and down-at-heel. Now as it neared completion she could see its magnificence restored through his genius, and she felt a sudden happiness, for she thought she knew the source of his new life.

  An increase of work left her no time to follow his progress for a while, and it was almost a week before she was able to seek him out on-line. Then she saw something that almost made her heart stop:

  Di Luca critical after near-death plunge.

  Struggling through the Italian prose, Alysa managed to understand that Drago had climbed high on some scaffolding, intent on examining a carved stone to make sure that it was perfect, had missed his footing and had plunged down to the ground.

  It was dated five days ago. He could be dead by now.

  Frantically she searched through the following days, terrified lest she find the fatal announcement. There was nothing, but she searched again, and this time she spotted a small item saying that he’d regained consciousness and seemed better. She read it over and over, terrified that she’d misread it.

  To her relief there had been no mistake, but she couldn’t rest until she knew more. After a few minutes, summoning up her courage, she lifted the phone and dialled his home.

  Who would answer? she wondered. The housekeeper? Or perhaps Elena was there again? She was still running through the possibilities when Drago’s voice said, ‘Pronto.’

  At first she was too startled to speak and he had to say it again before she answered.

  ‘It’s me.’

  She wondered if she should identify herself properly, but he recognised ‘me’ at once.

  ‘Ciao, Alysa. How nice to hear from you.’

  Trying to pull herself together, she blurted out, ‘What are you doing there? You’re supposed to be at death’s door.’

  ‘Is that disappointment I hear in your voice?’ He sounded amused.

  ‘Of course not. They said you’d had a terrible fall and took days to regain consciousness.’

  ‘As usual, the press exaggerates. My fall was broken by a ledge. I had a slight concussion and a couple of cracked ribs, but that’s all. I left hospital yesterday. Tomorrow I’ll go back to work.’

  ‘With cracked ribs?’ she echoed, aghast.

  ‘Why not? They’re painful, but I can still bark orders and be generally overbearing.’

  ‘And climb scaffolding?’

  ‘No, not that. I’ll be careful, but I have to be there to make sure that everything is done the way I want.’

  ‘That sounds like you,’ she said, feeling her heart slow to a more normal rhythm.

  ‘Slave-driver?’

  ‘Perfectionist. Everyone says you’re doing a wonderful job on that church.’

  ‘I hope so. It must be finished soon. I’ve made so many changes recently that it held things up, but we’re nearly there. Tell me, how did you know what had happened?’

  ‘The internet. I can access the local Florence paper, and it was all there.’

  She paused, embarrassed by what she had just revealed.

  For a few moments there was silence from the other end. Then he said, ‘You’re not so easy to trace. There’s your firm’s website, which has just a little about you. And a picture of you at some official dinner last week. That’s all.’

  So he’d been watching her from a distance too. She smiled.

  ‘What kind of a function was it?’ he asked casually.

  ‘Like you said, official. Accountants, lawyers, businessmen, a few politicians, lots of boring speeches.’

  ‘You didn’t seem bored by the man sitting next to you. You were sharing a laugh.’

  ‘That’s my boss, Brian. He thinks he’s a wit, so I guess I play up.’

  ‘Ah, the one who can make you a partner?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Then you were right to laugh. Was the joke any good?’

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘That’s handy. You’ll be able to laugh again next time he tells it.’

  His voice was warm, turning the remark into a friendly joke, so that she could say, ‘I might just do that.’

  ‘You’ve grown your hair. It’s nicer this way.’

  ‘I wonder why I did,’ she said lightly. ‘Someone may have suggested it, but I can’t remember who.’

  He laughed but stopped at once.

  ‘Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.’

  ‘Please, Drago, I wish you wouldn’t go back to work yet. Give yourself a few more days.’

  ‘All right. Just a couple more days. Because you say so.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Then his voice changed, becoming gentler. ‘Alysa-how are things with you?’

  ‘I’m managing better now.’

  ‘So am I. Thank you.’

  Silence. She felt awkward, and she could sense that he did too.

  ‘Am I forgiven?’ he asked at last.

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive. You know that.’

  ‘I didn’t. But I hoped.’

  ‘Goodbye,
Drago.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  The line went dead. Alysa hung up and sat looking at the phone, wondering at the strange feeling that had overtaken her. It was disturbingly like happiness.

  So he’d seen her with Brian, and had wondered. But there was nothing romantic in their association, even though he was an outrageously handsome man. A well-preserved fifty-three, he’d been married three times and now determinedly ‘avoided shackles’.

  He both worked and played hard, but the pleasure was strictly out of office hours. None of his female employees had anything to fear from him, which had caused one of them to mutter that this was because ‘the old goat’ preferred women who were too stupid to spell, never mind add.

  He’d invited Alysa to the dinner as a professional courtesy, introducing her to a lot of influential people, congratulating her on her networking skills, showing the road that led to a partnership. Afterwards he’d taken her home, kissed her on the cheek, and had gone to spend the rest of the night with a lady whose talents were as legendary as her prices.

  She wondered if Drago would call her back, or write, but a month passed with no word from him. Then a large gold envelope came through her door. Opening it, she found an invitation to the ceremonies that would accompany the reopening of the church he’d been restoring.

  The card was practically a work of art in itself, elaborately embossed, the wording formal with nothing personal about it. He’d included a brief note, saying he would book a hotel for her, and inviting her to join him and his other guests at his home the night before the dedication, and again the following evening. It could have been written to almost any guest, but she knew better than to attach importance to its formality.

  The true message was that, like her, he longed for another meeting but, also like her, he was cautious. Across the miles his heart and mind reached out to her, as perfectly in harmony as before.

  CHAPTER NINE

  S HE went to see Brian to ask for a week off.

  ‘I know I’ve already had a week this year-’ she began.

  ‘Hey, don’t make me sound like a slave-driver. A week is nothing, and you’re due for some time off. Planning anything special?’ He looked suddenly alarmed. ‘I need you in the firm. You haven’t got a lover trying to take you away from us, have you?’

  ‘No, I leave that kind of thing to you,’ she teased. ‘I’m pursuing business. I met a well-known architect in Italy, and he’s invited me to the opening of a church he’s just finished restoring.’

  ‘Drago di Luca,’ Brian mused, looking at the card. ‘I’ve heard of him. Even in this country he’s beginning to be talked about. Well done. If he accepts commissions over here, his business could be valuable.’

  She murmured a reply and escaped. He could think she was making a cool move, but the truth was she felt anything but cool.

  Drago’s chauffeur was waiting to help her at the airport, smiling as he recognised her and took her bags, and handing her an envelope as she got into the car. As he drove her to the same hotel where she’d stayed last time, she opened it and read:

  I would have liked to meet you myself but I’m drowning in formalities. You will wish some time alone this afternoon to rest, and a car will collect you at six o’clock and bring you to my home for dinner. Tina is very much looking forward to seeing you again. And so am I.

  Once at the hotel, a shower refreshed her so that she had no need of rest. She wanted to go out and see Florence in the sunshine. It was high summer and everything was different, bathed in sunlight. It was hard to believe that this was the same place she’d seen in February, when the cold and damp had seemed to seep into her bones, and become one with her sadness.

  Walking down by the river, she watched the light glinting on the water, and was suddenly assailed by a feeling of irrational joy. She tried to be rational. After all, it was only sun. But she didn’t want to be rational. She wanted to rejoice in the light and let her steps take her where they would.

  At first she thought she was wandering aimlessly, but then she admitted the truth-that she was heading for the apartment where James and Carlotta had briefly lived. She found it easily, and it was looking more cheerful now than it had done in winter. From inside came the sound of laughter, a man’s voice, then a woman’s, sounding young and happy.

  The man might have been James if fate had been kinder to him. But it had not been kind, she thought, from the depths of her new-found peace.

  Turning away, she walked on along the river until she came to the Ponte Vecchio, and went to stand before the statue of Cellini, where James and Carlotta had pledged their love with padlocks along with many others. But there were no padlocks there today. The railings that had once been covered with love tokens were stark and bare.

  She heard a sigh and turned to see the proprietor of the shop who’d told her the significance of the padlocks, way back in February-a lifetime ago.

  ‘What’s happened to them all?’ she asked him. ‘Don’t lovers come here any more?’

  ‘They do when they dare,’ he said. ‘But the council has ruled against them. If you get caught hanging a padlock there’s a fine, and every now and then they clear them all away.’

  ‘That’s terrible!’

  ‘Yes, isn’t it? Ah well, it all brings me new business.’

  ‘But do people still buy padlocks if they can’t hang them?’

  ‘Who says they can’t? You don’t think lovers let a few fines put them off, do you? Every single one of them who hung a token there before will be back to hang another one. Good day.’

  When he’d bustled away, Alysa stood looking at the bare railings.

  ‘Not every single one,’ she whispered. ‘I lost a great deal, but I didn’t lose everything. You lost everything, and I didn’t see it until now.’

  Again she felt the stirring of pity, and suddenly she knew that there was another place she must see.

  A few minutes in a taxi brought her to the Church of All Angels. Like everywhere else it was transformed by the sun, making even the graves look somehow cheerful, especially the monument to Carlotta di Luca, which glowed with a fresh delivery of flowers.

  Red roses, Alysa noted: a silent message from Drago that she was still in his heart. She had often wondered if she’d done the right thing in taking the letter, sparing him that pain. Now she thought she had her answer.

  At last she wandered over to the far corner where the unimportant graves lay, and there the illusion of cheer was dispelled.

  The little slabs had received minimum care. Someone had cut the grass, but casually, so that a fringe of long grass surrounded every slab. Here there were no flowers or tributes. Only the bleakness of indifference. Suddenly James’s lonely end seemed intolerable.

  It was very quiet in this corner. She stood looking up at the beauty of the sky, feeling the sun bless her as she had never thought to be blessed again. Overhead a bird began to sing.

  ‘I don’t hate you,’ she told him sadly. ‘How can I, when it all ended so sadly for you? I wish there was something I could-But perhaps there is. If only I knew how to go about it.’

  Then a memory returned to her from the day she’d first come here in February-the young journalist talking about Drago, saying, ‘They say he has the ear of every important person in town, and he pulls strings whenever it suits him.’

  Drago, the dear friend whose support had saved her: she could turn to him again. Suddenly decisive, she left the cemetery and hailed a taxi.

  For a party in the elegant surroundings of the villa, she guessed that only grandeur would do, and accordingly chose a long dress of dark-blue satin. The neckline was modest for an evening gown, but the narrow waist hugged her figure, and the mirror showed an elegant woman.

  A hairdresser from the hotel came to whip her newly grown locks into a confection on her head. A moment to fix the dainty diamond necklace about her neck, adjust a velvet wrap about her shoulders, a last check in the mirror, and it was time to go.

&nb
sp; The car was there for her ten minutes early, and to make friendly conversation she congratulated the driver on his punctuality.

  ‘Signor di Luca came looking for me and demanded to know why I hadn’t gone yet,’ he said with a grin. ‘I told him I still have plenty of time, but he said, go now! So I did. It doesn’t do to argue with the boss.’

  ‘I gather he can be a real slave-driver,’ she laughed.

  ‘He’s been worse recently. It’s like the devil has got into him. Maybe it’s because he had to waste time in hospital. He hated that.’

  It might be no more than that, Alysa thought. But she couldn’t help wondering if there might be something else. She would know when she saw him.

  Elena was waiting for her on the step as the car drew up.

  ‘How charming to see you again,’ she said. ‘Drago is detained for the moment, but he’ll be down soon. Let me introduce you to Signorina Leona Alecco. Our families have been friends for years.’

  Leona was in her late thirties, slightly heavily built, not pretty, but with an intelligent face that would have been better with less make-up. Her neckline was just too low for her build, and made Alysa glad that she had opted for caution in her own dress.

  The same idea might have occurred to Leona, for she gave Alysa a shrewd look, taking in every detail of her glamorous appearance before becoming carefully blank-faced.

  ‘It’s just a small gathering tonight,’ Elena continued, ushering her inside. ‘Only family and friends. Tomorrow we’ll be inundated with businessmen and really important people.’

  Just in case I delude myself that I’m important, Alysa thought wryly.

  She took a glass of wine from the proffered tray and sipped it, looking around at the little gathering. Carlotta’s sister was there again, with her husband and children. Leona seemed practically one of the family. She herself was the only outsider.

  But not for long. Tina had spotted her and came scurrying across the floor to seize her hands, beaming upwards as if Alysa was a dear friend.