Married Under the Italian Sun Read online

  Vittorio swore under his breath. ‘I can’t wait. He mustn’t get away from me.’ He flashed a glance at Angel. ‘Forgive me!’

  Then he was gone, vaulting out of the carriage and tearing back down the road until he vanished down a side street.

  ‘Follow him,’ Angel called frantically to the driver. ‘Keep him in sight.’

  At last the horse managed to turn, gather speed, and head for the street, arriving just in time for her to see Vittorio at the far end. In another moment he’d turned the corner and vanished.

  ‘Can’t you go any faster?’ she urged.

  ‘She is not a racehorse, signora.’

  After what seemed like an age they reached the end of the street and found themselves facing the little harbour. There was no sign of Vittorio and nothing to show in which direction he’d gone.

  ‘Where now?’ the driver asked, drawing to a halt.

  ‘I don’t know. He’s vanished. I don’t know where he could be now.’

  ‘Some people will do anything to avoid paying,’ the man said cynically.

  ‘That’s not-’

  ‘I suppose he took your purse with him. It’s the oldest trick in the book.’

  ‘How dare you say that?’ she flashed, furious at his cynical judgement. ‘You know nothing about him.’

  ‘I know that he ran away without paying.’

  ‘Here’s your money.’

  Angel pulled out some notes and pushed them into his hand before jumping out of the carriage. At the last moment she reached back for the lottery tickets which were still lying, unnoticed, on the floor.

  But when she was alone there was a sense of anti-climax. What was she supposed to do now? Vittorio could have gone in either direction, and even if she turned the right way there were a hundred streets to choose from. She could be wandering for hours.

  But at least walking would help calm her temper, which had risen to boiling point. The driver’s slander of Vittorio had caused an explosion inside her, astonishing in its force. What amazed her most was that she discovered how much of it was protectiveness.

  He was the last man she would have thought of as needing protection: a hard man, unyielding, unforgiving, confident in his own knowledge and strength, his own power to dominate. That was Vittorio.

  But then the need to stand between him and the world’s harsh judgement had come surging out of nowhere, shaking her, making her almost ready to kill to defend him. And suddenly she’d understood how vulnerable he was, more than he knew.

  She had rejoiced in the passion that united them. Now she discovered that the longing to protect could be as powerful as desire, and far sweeter.

  For the first time she dared to use the word love, and wonder at it. Her life had involved so much falseness, so many games of pretended love, that now she wondered if she could recognise the real thing. She only knew that she could not bear Vittorio to be hurt.

  It was for that reason that she stayed there, going from street to street, while the daylight faded and the lamps came on, and all the while her heart was with him, wandering somewhere, tortured by a mixture of hope and despair.

  At last she gave up and made her way back to the car. And there he was, sitting on a low wall, his hands clasped between his knees, his head sunk. Angel dropped beside him, slipping an arm around his shoulders.

  ‘You didn’t catch him?’

  He shook his head. His body was trembling and she could feel his exhaustion.

  ‘Are you sure it was him?’ she asked gently.

  Vittorio shook his head.

  ‘No, I can’t even be sure of that. I see him everywhere, but I never find him. It’s useless, hopeless.’

  ‘That’s not true. Nothing’s ever completely hopeless,’ she said, knowing how empty the words really were.

  He took her hand.

  ‘I ran off and left you without warning, and you couldn’t even get into the car because I had the key. Why aren’t you angry with me?’

  ‘I guess I just can’t manage that. Besides, I could have called a taxi.’

  ‘You should have.’

  ‘No, I couldn’t go off and leave you alone while you were in trouble.’

  He squeezed her hand. ‘You should have done,’ he said. ‘Let the madman wander on his own, until he wises up enough to know that he’s beyond help.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that.’

  ‘How else should I talk?’

  ‘You’re forgetting the lottery. You might win.’

  He managed a faint grin. ‘Yes, I suppose I might win, but somehow I don’t think I’ll count on it.’ He gave her a weary smile that broke her heart. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to get angry at me?’

  ‘Not now. I haven’t the energy. Nor have you, from the look of you. When did you last eat?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘There’s a little place over there. Come on.’

  Vittorio was almost too tired to move, but Angel took charge, drawing him firmly to his feet and towards the little trattoria. They managed spaghetti, wine and coffee. They didn’t speak. She would gladly have talked but she could tell that he was silent not only because he was tired, but because he was exhausted to the point of emptiness. It was as if he had been hollowed out inside, leaving only a barely functioning shell. So she left him in peace.

  ‘I’ll drive you home,’ Vittorio said at last.

  ‘You’re not driving anywhere tonight,’ Angel said. ‘Tell me where you live. I’m going to take you there. You need to collapse, and the sooner the better.’

  ‘No,’ he said at once. ‘Not there.’

  ‘Then I’ll take you back to the estate.’

  ‘And sleep in your room? The padrona is too kind.’

  ‘Then you can have a room of your own. You should have one anyway, so that you don’t have to come all the way back here when you’ve been working late, which you often do, and…’

  The words died at the look he gave her.

  ‘You are offering me a room in that house? A temporary room, of course, and only when the work justifies it.’

  ‘Don’t,’ she whispered. ‘Please don’t.’

  His shoulders sagged. ‘I’m sorry. It’s unforgivable of me to take it out on you, especially when you’re being so kind. I know that, but I do it anyway, and I probably can’t stop. I warned you.’

  ‘Warning duly noted,’ she said tenderly. ‘Now, you’re tired, and I’m taking you home.’

  He gave a faint, wry smile. ‘Which home is that?’

  ‘The one here in Amalfi, because it’s nearest and you need to get to bed. No more argument. It’s settled.’

  ‘Giving me orders?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And if I refuse to give you the address?’

  For an answer, Angel simply laid her hand over his, looking at him tenderly.

  ‘All right,’ he said.

  There was no pleasure in her small victory. The cost to him was too high.

  Following his directions, she found her way to a tiny, narrow street, and even in the semi-darkness she could see enough to dismay her. Berta had warned her of the worst, and the worst was true. Inside she found the meanest rooms in the meanest house in the meanest street.

  Somehow the atmosphere was even more depressing with the light on. There was one main room, which doubled as bedroom and living room, with a tiny alcove that did duty as a kitchen, and a bathroom that looked like a converted cupboard.

  The man who had once owned the Villa Tazzini now lived here. No wonder he’d been ashamed for her to see it. She wondered if he would have more bitter words, but he only looked at her without speaking.

  ‘You should go,’ he said. ‘I’ll call a taxi.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not leaving you alone tonight.’

  He managed a half-smile, full of wry defeat. ‘I’m good for nothing now.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that. I want us to talk.’ She took him by the shoulders. ‘We never have talked. We’ve fought and
quarrelled and loved, but never simply talked as friends.’

  ‘Friends?’

  ‘We said once we were friends. We have to be that, too. Don’t you see?’

  A gentle push made him sit down on the narrow bed. He didn’t speak at first, and she had to prompt him.

  ‘You told me about Leo, the friend who cheated you, but you didn’t say much about him. It doesn’t sound like you to be taken in, even by a friend.’

  ‘I trusted him totally. I’d known him all my life. Years ago we got into mischief together, courted the same girls and compared notes later.’

  ‘Shocking,’ Angel said fondly.

  ‘True. I was a rather disreputable character in those days.’

  ‘You and every young man who’s ever lived. I’d have liked to know you in your disreputable days.’

  ‘You wouldn’t. I was a rogue,’ he replied.

  ‘But I thought you devoted your whole life to running the estate. You made yourself sound like a positive puritan.’

  ‘If I did, I lied. I worked hard, but I had my fun. My father had to bail me out a few times.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘The usual.’

  ‘Drunk and disorderly?’

  ‘Things like that, yes. Innocent fun. Leo was always there with me, and that’s when the firmest bonds were formed. With anyone else I’d have been on my guard, but when he guaranteed my safety I believed him. And when he turned out to be wrong, even then I’d have forgiven him if he hadn’t vanished and left me to face everything alone. I was easy prey for the creditors because I knew nothing. He’d taken the books with him. All that was left was a mess.’

  Vittorio threw himself back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as though he could see his life being played out there, and Angel lay down beside him, with her head against his chest so that she could hear the deep, soft thunder of his heart. When he spoke it caused a soft vibration against her ear.

  ‘What happened today has happened before. I see him all the time, in crowds, at the end of streets, going into shops, only he’s never there when I follow him. Because he never is there, except in my mind. Sometimes I think I’ll spend the rest of my life chasing down endless roads that lead to nothing, or round and round in a maze that has no centre, and no exit.

  ‘But even if I did find him, what good would it do? The money’s gone. I’ll never get it back from him.’

  ‘You could hand him over to the police,’ she suggested.

  ‘For what? He didn’t commit a crime. He just arranged things so that the debts fell on me. It was legal. I’ve got no comeback.’

  It was true. For the first time Angel understood the sheer blank nothingness that faced him.

  She was all he had to defend himself from that nothingness. And suddenly she was afraid for him.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I N THE morning Angel made Vittorio breakfast in his minute kitchen, and they sat drinking coffee like an old married couple. They had passed the night in each other’s arms, not making love, but being comfortable.

  ‘Oh, by the way, we forgot these,’ she said, rummaging in her purse and producing the lottery tickets. ‘I’m not sure which one is yours any more.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He took one without looking. ‘When will we know if we’re millionaires?’

  ‘Tonight, I think.’

  ‘What do you want to do today?’

  ‘I don’t mind, as long as it isn’t energetic,’ she said, smiling. ‘And you’re there.’

  They spent the morning on the beach, doing nothing much except being sleepy and content. In the afternoon they bought rolls and wine and took them back to his shabby home, where they spent the afternoon in sleepy contentment.

  ‘I could stay here for ever,’ she murmured.

  ‘So could I. But I suppose we have to go.’

  ‘Back to the world,’ she sighed. ‘I hate the world.’

  He kissed her forehead. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  They arrived at the villa to find Sam in good spirits and Berta about to serve the evening meal. Watching Vittorio across the table, Angel was happy to see that he seemed relaxed, as though their peaceful time together had wiped out the despair of the day before.

  ‘Sam seems to have enjoyed his weekend,’ she observed quietly to Roy. ‘You were right about him needing his television.’

  ‘He’s got all tonight’s programmes marked out.’

  ‘Well, I want to watch the lottery programme.’

  ‘Have you had a flutter?’

  ‘You bet. I’m probably a millionaire by now.’

  ‘Let me get you another coffee,’ Roy said with comic deference.

  ‘Maybe a multi-millionaire,’ she teased.

  ‘In that case, two coffees and some cake.’

  ‘Vittorio’s got a ticket too,’ she said, laughing. ‘It would be a shame for you to waste your energies buttering me up if he’s going to be the millionaire.’

  Frank’s eyes gleamed. ‘Vittorio, old friend,’ he declared, ‘why have I been neglecting you?’

  Vittorio grinned, enjoying the joke, and everyone laughed. Sam declared that they would all watch the programme together, and at nine o’clock they gathered in front of the television. Even Berta and the maids crept in, refusing to miss the excitement.

  ‘What numbers are we looking for?’ Sam demanded.

  They obediently read out from their tickets, and the opening credits of the show came up.

  ‘Quiet everyone!’ Sam insisted.

  Almost at once it was clear that Vittorio had no hope, but Angel grew tense. The first number was hers, then the second, and the third, the fourth…

  ‘What do you need?’ Sam demanded in a stage whisper.

  ‘Fifty-four and eighty-seven,’ she said, hardly able to speak.

  ‘Fifty-four!’ came booming from the set, and everyone held their breath.

  And the last one…

  ‘And finally, the number you’ve all been waiting for…’

  ‘Get on with it,’ Sam begged in agony.

  ‘Eighty-’ There was a collective intake of breath from everyone in the room.

  ‘Eighty-nine!’

  The intake turned into a groan of disappointment.

  ‘So near and yet so far,’ Frank mourned.

  Berta was the first to recover. ‘But signora, you will still be a winner-not millions, but you have five numbers. The last man who had five received twenty-thousand euros.’

  ‘In that case,’ Sam yelled, ‘let’s have some champagne.’

  ‘Twenty thousand,’ Angel murmured.

  The next moment she grabbed Vittorio’s hand and dragged him out into the garden.

  ‘Twenty thousand,’ she said ecstatically. ‘You can get out of that dump where you live.’

  ‘But this money is yours.’

  ‘No, it’s ours. We bought the tickets together.’

  ‘You bought them.’

  ‘But you paid for your ticket,’ she argued.

  ‘It was your ticket that won.’

  ‘Who’s to say? I don’t even remember which numbers I picked for yours or mine, and then the tickets got dropped in the carriage, and there’s no way of knowing which one belongs to who. You’re probably the real winner.’

  The look he gave her was as gentle as it was implacable, and she knew that she’d done this all wrong.

  ‘We divided the tickets and the winning numbers are yours,’ he said quietly.

  ‘But I want you to have this money. You need it.’

  His voice was suddenly iron-hard. ‘Understand me once and for all, I will not take your charity.’

  ‘It isn’t charity. I told you.’

  ‘Yes, you were very clever in finding excuses to make me a gift of money, and if I had no pride I would let you.’

  ‘Look,’ Angel said, beginning to be desperate, for she could see she was against a brick wall. ‘I do understand about your pride-’

  ‘No, my dearest, you don’t under
stand at all. You think you do, but there’s no way you can even begin to understand.’

  ‘But this is me,’ she pleaded.

  ‘And you think I have no pride with you? You think I’d find it easier to take money from you than from anyone else?’

  ‘No, I suppose you’d find it harder,’ she said wretchedly.

  ‘Thank God you at least understand something. My pride seems a contemptible little thing to you, but it’s all I have. Let me at least keep that.’

  ‘After I took everything else from you. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?’

  ‘It wasn’t you who robbed me, I know. But now my pride is in your safekeeping and you must protect it for me. Only you can do so, and, if you don’t, then you will truly have destroyed me.’

  She made a last effort.

  ‘All right. Half each. That’s fair.’

  For a moment she thought she’d persuaded him, but then an iron curtain seemed to come down over his face and she knew how far apart they really were.

  ‘Please, Vittorio…’

  He shook his head, gentle but unyielding.

  ‘Oh, damn you!’ she said, in tears.

  He managed a smile then.

  ‘Yes, damn me,’ he said, touching her face. ‘I can’t say or do any of the things you want. I’m like a man with a leg missing. You’d gladly offer me a crutch but I can’t learn how to use it. You should forget me and find a nice, sweet-tempered man who can say everything you want to hear.’

  ‘I don’t want a nice, sweet-tempered man,’ she said, exasperated. ‘I want you.’

  Vittorio even managed to laugh at that, but he was very pale, as though something was gnawing at him painfully inside.

  ‘You’d better get back,’ he said. ‘You can’t miss the celebrations.’

  ‘Come with me.’

  ‘No, I’d rather go home.’ He touched her face. ‘I’m sorry. I can only be the way I am.’

  If he had shouted and cursed, Angel could have born it better than this sad resignation. It showed her something she had tried not to see. He had nothing, and she had everything that should be his, and perhaps the greatest love in the world would be too little to survive that.

  He walked away around the curve of the house, without looking back. A moment later she heard his car starting up, then fading into the distance.