A Family For Keeps Read online

  After that there had been his sister, his twin, discounted by their parents as a mere girl, and therefore loved by him the more. They had been close all their lives until she had cruelly repaid his devotion by dying, and leaving him bereft.

  He had loved a woman, refusing to see her grasping nature, until she'd callously abandoned him.

  Now he would have said that his days of opening his heart to people were over. No man could afford to be like that, and he'd developed armour in self-defence.

  He made an exception for Piero, whom he'd known in better days. There was something about the old man's gentle madness, his humour in the face of misfortune, that called to him despite his resolutions.

  As for the awkward, half-hostile woman he'd found sleeping here, he couldn't imagine why he'd allowed her to stay. Perhaps because she wanted nothing from him, and seemed consumed by a bitterness that matched his own.

  Suddenly a long sigh came from the bed. As they watched she threw back the blanket and eased her legs over the side.

  Vincenzo tensed, about to speak to her, but then something in her demeanour alerted him and he stopped. She stood for a moment, staring into the distance with eyes that were vague. Slowly Vincenzo got to his feet and went to stand before her. 'Julia,' he said softly.

  She made no response and he realised that she was still asleep. When he spoke her name she did not see or hear him. After a moment she turned away and began to walk slowly to the door.

  She seemed to know her way as well in the darkness and in the light. Without stumbling she opened the door, and went out into the main hall.

  At the foot of the stairs she stopped, remaining still for a long time. Moonlight, streaming through the windows, showed her shrouded in a soft blue glow, like a phantom. She raised her head so that her long hair fell back and they could both see that her eyes were fixed on the picture of Annina, at the top of the stairs.

  'Can she see it?' Piero muttered.

  'It's the only thing she can see,' Vincenzo told him. 'Nothing else exists for her.'

  She began to move again, slowly setting one foot in front of the other, climbing the broad stairs.

  'Stop her,' Piero said urgently.

  Vincenzo shook his head. 'This is her decision. We can't interfere.'

  Moving quietly, he began to follow her up the stairs until she came to a halt in front of the fresco showing the distraught Annina. It too lay in the path of the moonlight that entered through windows high up in the hall.

  'Julia,' Vincenzo said again, speaking very quietly.

  Silence. She was not aware of him.

  'Dammit, that's not her real name,' Vincenzo said frantically. 'How can I reach her with it?'

  'There's another name you might try,' Piero murmured.

  Vincenzo shot him an uneasy glance. 'Don't talk like that, Piero. Enough of superstition.'

  'Is it superstition?'

  'You know as well as I do that the dead don't come back.'

  'Then who is she?'

  Vincenzo didn't reply. He couldn't.

  A soft moan broke from her. She was reaching up to touch the picture, beginning to talk in soft, anguished tones.

  'I loved him, and he shut me away-for years-until I died-I died-'

  'Julia,' Vincenzo said, knowing it would be useless.

  Instead of answering she began to thump the wall.

  'I died-' she screamed. 'Just as he meant me to. My baby-my baby-'

  Abruptly all the strength went out of her and she leaned against the wall. Vincenzo grasped her gently and drew her away.

  'It's all right,' he said. 'I'm here. Don't give in. Stay strong whatever you do.'

  She looked up at him out of despairing eyes, and he knew that she couldn't see him. For her, he didn't exist.

  'Let's go,' he said.

  She shook her head and tried to pull away. 'I must find him,' she said hoarsely. 'Don't you understand?'

  'Of course, but not tonight. Get some rest, and later I'll help you find him.'

  'You can't help me. Nobody can.'

  'But I will,' he insisted. "There has to be a way if there's a friend to help you. And you have a friend now.'

  Whether she understood the words or whether it was his tone that reached her, she stopped struggling and stood passive.

  It was the first time he'd seen her face turned towards him without suspicion or defensiveness. But he could still feel her trembling, and it made him do something on impulse.

  Putting his hands on either side of her face, he kissed her softly again and again, her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth.

  'It's all right,' he said again. 'I'm here.'

  She did not reply, but her eyes closed. He wrapped his arms right around her, leading her carefully down the stairs. She held onto him, eyes still closed, but moving with confidence while he was there.

  Step by step they made their way to the bottom of the stairs, then back into the little room, where Vincenzo guided her to the bed so that she could lie down again.

  She murmured something that he could not catch, then seemed to relax all at once. Vincenzo pulled the blanket up and tucked it tenderly around her.

  'Not a word of this, my friend,' he said, joining Piero. 'Not to anyone else and especially not to her.'

  Piero nodded. 'We wait until she mentions it.'

  'If she ever does.'

  'You think she won't remember what happened tonight?'

  'I don't think she even knows what happened tonight. She wasn't here.'

  'Then where was she?'

  'In some far place where nobody else is invited. It's dark and fearful, and it's from there that she draws her strength.'

  'Her head must be very muddled if she thinks she's Annina.' Piero sighed. 'It was like meeting a ghost in the flesh.'

  Vincenzo raised an eyebrow. 'Rid yourself of that idea my friend. She is no ghost.'

  'But you heard what she said. She was buried-she died-the child-she was speaking as Annina.'

  'No,' Vincenzo said sombrely. 'What's really horrifying is that she was speaking as herself.'

  At last Julia awoke to find everything clear. Her body was cool again and the inside of her head was orderly.

  'Have you come back to us?'

  Looking around, she saw Vincenzo sitting nearby, and wondered how long he'd been there.

  'Yes, I think I have,' she said. 'More or less. I may even be in one piece.'

  She swung her legs gingerly to the floor and began to ease herself up. He crossed the floor quickly and held out a hand.

  'Steady,' he said as she clung to him. 'You haven't been eating enough to keep a mouse alive. No wonder you're weak.'

  'I'm not weak. You can let me go.'

  He did so and she promptly sat down again.

  'OK, I'm weak.'

  'Give yourself time. Don't rush it.'

  He spoke in his normal way, but she had an odd sensation that something was different. He was looking at her curiously, with a question in his eyes.

  'What's the matter?' she asked. 'How do you mean?'

  'You're giving me a strange look.'

  For once she seemed to have caught him off guard. 'I was just-wondering if you're really better. You certainly seem-' He seemed to be searching for the right words. 'You seem more like your normal self.'

  'That's how I feel,' she said, wondering what he was implying.

  'Good,' he said, sounding deflated. 'Stay there while I

  make you some soup.'

  The hot soup was straight from heaven. When she'd eaten she went down to the pump for a wash.

  She returned to find Vincenzo still there. He was sitting by the window, sunk in his own thoughts, and didn't at first hear her. When she hailed him he seemed to come out of a dream. 'OK?'

  'Yes. Who'd have thought washing in freezing water could, feel so good? How long was I out of it?'

  'Just over a week.'

  'I slept for a week?'

  'Not all the time. You kept recovering slightly, t
hen you'd insist on getting up and walking around before you were ready. So you got worse again.'

  'But to sleep for a week!'

  'Or a hundred years,' he said ironically.

  'Yes, now I know how the sleeping princess felt. I've even lost track of the date. Mind you, I often-'

  She checked, as if about to reveal something, but then thinking better of it. Vincenzo's curiosity was heightened.

  'You often forget the date?' he asked. 'How come?'

  'Nothing. I didn't mean that.'

  She met his gaze, defying him to disbelieve her openly, although she knew he wasn't convinced. He backed down first.

  'Well, anyway, it's December second,' he said.

  'That's weird, to fall asleep in one month and awake in another. And no newspapers or television. It's strange how nice life can be without them.'

  'To shut the world out!' he mused. 'Yes, that would be nice. What is it?'

  He asked because she had suddenly stopped in the middle of the floor, and her eyes became vague, as though she were listening to distant voices.

  'I don't know,' she said. 'It's just that-I had such dreams-such dreams-'

  'Can you recall any of them?' Nobody could have told from Vincenzo's voice that the answer mattered to him.

  'I think so-there was-there was-'

  She closed her eyes, fighting desperately to summon back a memory that lay just beyond reach. It was disturbing, and yet in its heart lay a feeling of peace, the very one she was seeking.

  'Try,' Vincenzo said, unable to keep a hint of urgency out of his voice.

  But it was a fatal thing to say. The minute she reached out for the dream it vanished.

  'It's gone,' she said with a sigh. 'I hope it comes back. I think it was lovely.'

  He shrugged. 'If you can't remember it, how do you know it was lovely?'

  'You know how it is with dreams. They leave you with a kind of feeling, even when you forget the details.'

  'And what feeling did this one leave behind?'

  'It was peaceful and-happy-' She said the last word in a tone of astonishment. 'Oh, heck, it was probably nothing at all.'

  'Nothing at all,' Vincenzo agreed.

  She looked around. 'Where's Piero?'

  'He's gone to the landing stage.'

  'Looking for Elena? Perhaps she'll come today.'

  Vincenzo shook his head. 'She'll never come. She died several years ago.'

  Julia sighed. 'I wondered about that. I can't make him out. How does he come to be living like this?'

  'At one time he was a university professor. Elena, his daughter, was everything to him, especially after his wife died. Then she died too and everything finished for him.'

  'He lost a child?' she murmured.

  She felt something tearing at her at the thought of Piero and his lost child. There was no pain like it. How could anyone recover?

  'She was drowned while out sailing. They found her body three days later. I was on the quay when they brought her home, and I saw Piero, staring out to sea as the boat came in. But when it landed he didn't seem to see it, just walked away. He didn't even go to her funeral because he refused to believe she was dead.

  'He's never accepted it. I've tried to make him understand. I've even taken him to the cemetery at San Michele, to show him her grave, but he won't look at it.'

  'Of course not. You shouldn't have done that.'

  'Isn't it better for him to face reality?'

  'Why?' she asked quickly. 'What's so marvellous about reality?'

  'Nothing, I suppose.'

  'Let him cling to his hope. Without it he'd go crazy.'

  'But he's already a little crazy.'

  'Then let him be crazy, if that's the only way to stop his heart breaking,' Julia said, almost pleading with him. 'How can you understand?'

  'Perhaps I can,' he said wryly. 'Anyway, I know what you mean. Tell me-are you crazy?'

  'Oh, yes,' she said, almost cheerfully. 'I'm as mad as a hatter.'

  'Because of the ghosts inside you? That's what you said.'

  'If I did, I was feverish. I don't remember.'

  'I think you do. I think you remember what you want to remember.'

  Her relaxed mood vanished and his probing made her nerves taut again.

  'I don't know who you are,' she said in a low, angry voice, 'but I can't see why you come here.'

  'Must there be a reason?'

  'Well, you don't need a place to sleep, do you? And why else would you be here except to patronise us? No,I I'm sorry-' She threw up her hand. 'I didn't mean to say that. But just don't start getting clever with me.'

  'Not even to stop you hurting someone?'

  'I'm not going to hurt anyone.'

  'Except yourself.'

  'That's my problem.'

  'Mio Dio, it's like trying to argue with a hornet. I only said you picked your memories to suit yourself.'

  She gave an edgy laugh.

  'If I could do that I'd forget a lot of things. It's the ones I can't help remembering that are the problem. Piero's the wise one. He's found a way to choose what to remember.'

  'Yes, I guess he has,' Vincenzo said wryly. 'And I think I hear him coming, so can we delay our hostilities for another time?'

  She walked over to the window, annoyed with herself. For a brief moment she had been at ease with him, regaining human feelings that she had thought lost for ever. Then he had stepped over an invisible line, actually daring to understand her. And he had become an enemy again.

  The door opened and Piero appeared.

  'Not today?' Julia asked sympathetically.

  'Not today,' he said brightly. 'Never mind. Maybe next time.'

  Abruptly Vincenzo remembered that he had to be somewhere else, clapped Piero on the shoulder, and departed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The next afternoon, while Piero was out, Julia spent the time looking around the great building. The sight was both melancholy and magnificent.

  The grandeur was still there. The Counts di Montese had lived like kings, secure in their wealth and authority. Now it was all gone. The rooms were silent and draughts whispered down the corridors.

  The walls of the grand staircase were lined with frescoes, leading to a large one at the top, that she now knew was Annina. Watching it gave her a vague sensation of disturbance that grew with every moment. She wanted to run away, but she forced herself to keep climbing until she was facing the painted woman with her wild hair and her tormented eyes. Her heart raced faster and faster; she was suffocating-

  And then it stopped. As suddenly as it had started the suffocating misery and terror ceased, leaving her with a feeling of calm release, almost as though someone had laid a comforting hand on her, and said, 'I'm here. I'll make it all right.'

  The sensation was so clear that she looked around to see who had spoken. It was almost a surprise to find herself alone, the awareness of another presence was so intense.

  She moved away from the picture. The disturbing currents that had flowed from it a moment ago had vanished. Now it was just a picture again.

  Walking on through the building, she explored the rooms that were almost bare of furniture. She grew more fascinated as she went from room to room. She knew and understood places like this.

  She took her time, studying the frescoes on the ceilings, some of which were very fine. Unlike the pictures, they were fixed, impossible to sell without tearing down the building. They gave her an idea of how magnificent this place must have been at its height.

  At last she went into the great bedroom where the Count di Montese must have lived and held court. It was empty except for the huge bed and a few chairs, but the sense of grandeur lingered. She looked up at the ceiling frescoes. Then she tensed.

  Was it her imagination, or was there a patch where the colours were darker? The afternoon light was fading fast, and she could not be sure.

  Hurriedly she found a chair, pulled it out and reached up. By standing on tiptoe she could
just touch the patch and feel that it was damp.

  And that meant it was recent, she thought. Somehow water was coming through that ceiling right now.

  But where did it come from? She ran to the window and pushed it open, leaning out to look up. Just above her was a row of small windows, suggesting an attic.

  She hurried out and down the corridor, urgently seeking a way of getting up to the next floor. At last she found a small, plain door that looked as if it might be the one. But it was locked.

  There was no time to lose. She was assailed by a vision of water pouring down through ceilings, over walls, unstoppably ruining the beautiful building.

  She rattled the door, which was old and shaky on its hinges. There was only one way to do this. Gathering all the strength she could muster, she gave a hard kick, and knew an unbelievable sense of satisfaction when the door gave way.

  Oh, the blissful release of one violent action!

  She sprinted up the stairs and found herself in the great attic at the top of the building.

  It was long and low, and seemed to be used as a store room. There was some furniture here, and what looked like pictures, wrapped in heavy brown paper.

  And there, by the wall, was a water tank, with a pipe leading from it across the floor. The pipe was old and broken, and water was pouring from it with terrible inevitability. If not stopped it would flood the floor, soaking down until the whole building was damaged.

  Then she set her chin.

  'Not if I have anything to do with it!' she breathed.

  She needed something to wrap around the pipe! But what? Rags would do for now.

  A frantic search around the attic revealed nothing of any use, and the water was pooling across the floor, threatening the wrapped pictures that were leaning against the wall.

  Her handkerchief was too small. She would have to use her woollen sweater. Wrenching it off, she wound it frantically around the belching pipe, but already water was seeping through.

  Something else! Her shirt. She managed to tear this into strips and tie them around the pipe, but the water just kept coming. Soon she would need a torch, as the light was fading every moment.

  She must dash downstairs to find something more reliable, and put more clothes on, since with both her sweater and shirt gone she was freezing in her bra. She headed for the door, but stopped to rush back to the pipe and tighten the rough bandage. Then she raced back to the door, not looking where she was going, and colliding with someone.