The Italian’s Miracle Family Page 5

  He added heavily, ‘The night I saw them at that window, I knew they had found that world, and I no longer existed for her.’

  Just then a brilliantly lit boat came along the river, casting its glow upward to where he stood leaning forward on the low wall, illuminating his harsh features. Regarding him dispassionately, Alysa realised that, though far from handsome, he had something that many women would have found attractive.

  James had been wonderfully good-looking in a boyish, conventional way. But there was nothing boyish about Drago. He was a man-strong-willed, yielding nothing. His manners could be clumsy, and he lacked what was commonly called ‘charm’.

  Yet he had the mysterious something called ‘presence’. In a room he would draw all eyes, not just because he was large, but because of his uncompromising air, and because he mattered.

  And even Alysa, who had loved James passionately, was fleetingly puzzled that Carlotta, the adored wife of Drago di Luca, had turned away from him and settled for less.

  For herself men no longer existed. Otherwise she guessed she might have found him intriguing.

  Drago was looking into the distance. Suddenly he dropped his head almost down to his chest, as though the burden had become too great to be borne.

  She touched him. ‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘I know.’

  A cold wind was blowing from the river, and she shivered. Drago didn’t speak, but he straightened up, putting his arms tightly around her, and rested his cheek on her head. It was the embrace of a comrade, not a lover, receiving her kindness thankfully, offering the same in return, and she accepted it, glad of the warmth.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked at last.

  ‘I’m fine-fine. But I don’t want to stay here any more.’

  He kept his arm about her on the way back to the car. On the journey back to the hotel she sat in silence, feeling hollowed out. When he drew up outside, he handed her a card.

  ‘Here’s how to contact me if you need to,’ he said. ‘I shall hope to see you tomorrow. If not-thank you for everything you’ve done for me.’

  He leaned over and briefly kissed her cheek. ‘Adio!’

  ‘Goodbye,’ she said. ‘I don’t know if-Goodbye.’

  She hurried into the hotel without looking back.

  That night she dreamed of James as she hadn’t done for months. The shield she’d created against him seemed to dissolve into mist, and he was there, standing at the window with Carlotta, laughing at her. She cried out for help, and for a moment seemed to sense Drago. But he vanished at once, and she knew herself to be alone again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I N THE morning she awoke unrefreshed, and the thought of going to the cemetery was suddenly more than she could bear. She would leave a day early, not risking another meeting with Drago.

  But even as she thought this she was taking out clothes that might be proper for a ceremony in a graveyard. There was a severely tailored, dark-blue business suit complete with trousers. It occurred to her that she now owned very few skirts, and she’d brought none of them with her. Drago had been uncomfortably perceptive.

  She donned the suit which was expensive, elegant and, above all, suitable.

  This was something that had often made James tease her.

  ‘Why does everything have to be so perfectly chosen, so suitable?’ he’d demanded, half-fondly, half-exasperated. Strange that she’d never noticed that note in his voice until now.

  ‘I’m a “suitable” person,’ she’d teased back.

  ‘Suitable for what?’

  ‘Suitable for advising people on what to do with their money. I couldn’t do that in a skimpy top and shorts. Hopefully I’ll be suitable for a partnership in the firm.’ She’d put her arms around him. ‘But what I really want to be is suitable for you.’

  ‘Ah, well, for that you need the skimpy top and shorts.’

  Now, dressing to visit his grave, she tried not to remember that conversation, or the hectic hour in bed that had followed it.

  She took a taxi there and arrived early, finding few other people, so that she had time to wander through the cemetery, studying the graves. Many of them were in family plots, carefully tended and adorned with flowers. One in particular held her attention because of the loving attention that had been lavished on it.

  Everywhere that Alysa looked she saw red roses. They stretched up to the foot of the headstone with its ornate, carved decoration, and its two candle-holders, both with flickering candles that glowed against the picture of the woman buried beneath.

  Looking closer, Alysa recognised Carlotta di Luca.

  She stared. After everything that had happened the day before she’d thought nothing could surprise her again, but this lavish tribute went beyond what she had expected.

  ‘Ciao.’

  ‘Sono Inglese,’ she said, turning to see a priest standing close by. He was elderly and had kindly eyes.

  ‘Are you a friend of the family?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘I was just amazed to see roses at this time of year.’

  ‘Her husband has an arrangement with a firm that imports flowers. This is an exceptional delivery for today, but there’s a new bunch every week.’

  Every week. After a whole year.

  It might only have been for Tina, but she didn’t believe it. They weren’t just flowers, they were red roses, flaunted everywhere like a declaration. Drago was still passionately in love with the wife who had betrayed him.

  ‘Do any of the others have roses?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh no, some of them are almost never visited, which is sad.’

  ‘Just this one,’ she mused.

  ‘It’s good to see a man so devoted to his wife. But I sense that he’s still tormented by his memories, and has a long way to go before he finds peace.’

  ‘Are all the victims buried here?’

  ‘No. Some were visitors from other parts of the country, and their bodies were sent home-except for one, a man, who was a stranger. Nobody knew anything about him except his name and he was English. He didn’t seem to have any family. He was buried over there.’

  He indicated a far corner where several neat rows of small graves lay that were little more than slabs in the earth. The plot was neat and cared-for, but this was clearly the place for those with no relatives to pay for a fine headstone. Alysa wandered over slowly and went along the lines, seeking James. She found him at last at the very far end, near the corner.

  ‘He looks so lonely out here,’ she said.

  ‘I know, this place is very sad. We tried to contact his family in England, but he didn’t seem to have one. I believe someone spoke to a young woman who was supposed to have known him well, but she sent back a message that he was nothing to do with her.’

  ‘She shouldn’t have done that,’ Alysa murmured.

  ‘Perhaps, but we’ll never know what she might have been suffering. Ah, I see people arriving.’

  She hardly noticed him moving away. She was looking at James’s bare little plaque, tucked away in this lonely spot.

  ‘Where I banished you,’ she whispered.

  It had never occurred to her before that James should be pitied, but now she saw him again at his best: young, laughing with the joy of life. She remembered how he’d broken into her austere existence, tempting her to enjoy new delights, teasing her. And his life had been snatched from him just when he had discovered his true joy. For the first time she knew sadness for his tragedy.

  Now everyone was arriving for the ceremony, and Alysa stood back among the trees as Drago appeared. He seemed to be with a large family party that consisted not only of Tina and Elena, but several other adults and two children. Alysa watched until they had gone into the church, then she followed them quietly in and sat down at the back.

  The family stayed close together. Tina’s hand was in her father’s, and on her other side a boy of about six was patting her shoulder. Glancing around the other families, she saw the same thing r
epeated in several different ways. These people were here to support each other in their loss. She was the only one isolated.

  When the short service was over she slipped out of the door and went to stand among the trees once more. From here she could see the second part of the ceremony as the families walked among the graves and honoured their loved ones.

  But for James there was nobody except herself.

  ‘They’ve shunted you away so that you don’t spoil their picture of the perfect wife and mother,’ she told him sadly, looking down at the little slab that seemed so paltry on the ground. ‘To everyone else but me, you don’t exist.’

  A step nearby made her turn to see Drago, looking drawn and tired.

  ‘I sent the car to the hotel for you,’ he said. ‘You’d gone, but I still hoped to find you here.’

  ‘I couldn’t keep away. You knew that would happen, didn’t you?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I guess you know me better than I know myself,’ she said.

  ‘Then it’s the same for both of us,’ he said quietly. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. But you don’t look as though you slept well.’

  ‘I didn’t sleep at all.’

  ‘Was last night worse than you thought?’

  ‘Not really. It was thinking about today that kept me awake. Carlotta’s sister is here, with her husband and children.’

  ‘And they don’t know the truth either, so you have to do the performance for them too,’ she said sympathetically.

  ‘Exactly. But they’ll be going tomorrow, so perhaps we could talk again?’

  For a moment she hesitated. It would be good to enjoy the consolation of speaking freely, just once more. But it was a dangerous pleasure, one that she might come to enjoy too much.

  Drago di Luca disturbed her. He was an impatient, domineering man, implacable in getting his own way, and if she’d met him under other circumstances she might have disliked him. But with her he was defenceless and it touched her heart.

  But that was what made her wary. She’d worked so hard at deadening her heart, and now he threatened her peace.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It might not be a good idea.’

  Drago glanced down at James’s grave.

  ‘Because of him?’ he demanded. ‘Why do you still bother with him?’

  ‘Because he has nobody else.’

  ‘And who do you have? Forget him and live your life. When Carlotta betrayed me, I did what had to be done and cut her out of my heart.’

  ‘Hence the showers of red roses?’

  ‘That’s for Tina’s sake. She needs to believe that I’m grieving.’

  ‘You’re deluding yourself. You’re feeding your little girl nothing but pretty lies-’

  ‘For her sake!’

  ‘Is it? Is it only for her sake?’

  He scowled, and she knew he had no answer. After a moment he said, ‘What about you? Are you managing to cope?’

  ‘Yes, I’m doing fine.’

  ‘We need to talk again. I’ll call you as soon as I can be rid of them.’

  ‘No, Drago, it’s better if we don’t. We sorted out a lot of things last night, but there has to come a time when we say no more.’

  A faint cry of, ‘Poppa,’ from behind made him look around.

  ‘Just a moment,’ he told Alysa. ‘I’ll be back. Don’t go, please.’

  He hurried off to talk to his daughter. After a brief hesitation Alysa began to back away under the trees. Her eyes were still fixed on him, noticing how, as soon as he joined the family, he seemed to become a different person-smiling, seemingly at ease, just as they expected.

  She knew what it was doing to him inside, and part of her longed to respond to his plea for help. But now her sense of self-preservation was telling her to run for safety. When she’d backed away far enough, she turned and slipped out of the cemetery.

  She spent the rest of the day strolling around Florence, looking at the sights without really seeing them. After all, it was only sensible to make the most of her brief trip. Then she blamed herself for prolonging the torment by trying to imagine James and Carlotta here in this lovely place, wandering the streets together, kissing in the shadows.

  Then she admitted the truth: that she was avoiding Drago di Luca.

  Everywhere looked the same, with no one place mattering more than another, no destination luring her.

  ‘Nowhere to go,’ she murmured wryly. ‘That just about says it all.’

  Darkness came early, bringing the lights on in the mediaeval streets. Almost of their own accord her steps turned to the Ponte Vecchio, the magnificent bridge over the River Arno that she had seen at a distance the night before. It was lined with shops on both sides, mostly jewellers and goldsmiths, and she strolled past them until she reached a shop at the end that sold not jewels but padlocks.

  The window was full of them, covering shelves and hanging from the ceiling. The costliest jewels in the world couldn’t have been displayed more lovingly. Looking closer, Alysa saw that many of them had tiny pictures etched on the side.

  Just like the one she’d seen before, she thought. And there it was, nestling among the others-a padlock with a heart daintily engraved on it, so like the one James had given her and then secretly taken back that it might have been the same.

  Alysa stared and blinked, as though hoping that she would see something else next time. But it was the same padlock.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she murmured.

  She didn’t know she’d spoken aloud, but a middle-aged man standing beside her grinned and spoke cheerily, first in Italian, then, when she looked puzzled, in English.

  ‘You like my padlocks? They are the best in Florence.’

  ‘I can see that,’ she said politely. ‘But why so many?’

  ‘Why, for Cellini, of course.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You’ve never heard of Benvenuto Cellini?’

  ‘I know he was a great Florentine goldsmith and sculptor in the sixteenth century, but that’s all.’

  ‘Come and meet him.’

  Taking her arm gently, the man led her to the end of the bridge, where she found a bust of Cellini raised high on an ornate plinth. It was impressive and elegant, but what caught Alysa’s attention were the railings that surrounded it, which were covered with padlocks. Hundreds of them.

  ‘Lovers put them there,’ the shop owner confided. ‘It’s an old tradition. They buy a padlock, lock it onto the railings and throw the key into the River Arno. That means that their love has locked them together for all time, even unto death.’

  ‘How-how beautiful,’ Alysa stammered. A terrible dread was rising in her.

  ‘Isn’t it charming? It’s also good business, because when lovers come to me I usually manage to sell them three. Then they leave one with Cellini, and each gives one to the other, but they also swap keys so that only they can open each other’s locks.’

  ‘Can I see some of them?’ she asked, speaking in a daze.

  ‘Of course. It’s this way back to the shop.’

  Once there he spread a collection on the counter, and she picked up the one that was exactly like James’s gift, the heart studded with tiny stones.

  ‘Ah, yes, everyone likes that,’ the shopkeeper said. ‘They’re real diamonds and it’s the most expensive one I have.’

  ‘Even unto death,’ she murmured.

  ‘That’s the part that always affects them,’ he said. ‘They know they’ll be together for eternity.’

  There in her mind was the picture of James and Carlotta, lying in the smashed chair, dead in the same moment. Together for eternity.

  ‘How much?’ she asked in a bleak voice.

  He told her the price and she gasped.

  ‘Yes, you’d have to be really in love to pay so much,’ he conceded. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘If your lover gives you this one, then you can rely on him for ever.’

  ‘
Oh yes,’ she murmured. ‘For ever.’

  ‘Why don’t you bring him in to see it?’

  ‘I think we’re a bit past that point,’ she said wryly. ‘Thank you, but I must be going.’

  She fled while she still had some self-command, turning back across the bridge so that she didn’t have to pass the statue again with its terrible display of lovers’ vows.

  James and Carlotta had been here, hung a padlock on the railings, tossed the key into the Arno and swore love unto death. Then they had exchanged padlocks, each taking the other’s key. That was what she’d found in his bag, and that was why the key hadn’t fitted. It was all so clear when you knew.

  She’d told herself that nothing could hurt her any more, but she found she was shaking as she’d done so often in the past. But, instead of weeping, she began to laugh at this last deadly joke that had lain in wait for her. It was hilarious, the funniest thing that had ever happened.

  She made her way blindly along the streets, shuddering, laughing, pressing her hand to her mouth, knowing that she was receiving strange looks, caring nothing for them, or even for the fact that she was lost.

  Now she was in a quiet part of the city, within sight of the river, and went down to lean on a low wall overlooking the water. Vaguely, downstream, she thought she could see the apartment building where Drago had taken her last night-the place where James and Carlotta had been free to indulge their love.

  And, to her dismay, she was swept with longing for the one person in the world who she could reach out to at this moment. If Drago were here she would run to him, blurt out her misery, knowing that he would understand everything that was too hard for her to say. And she would find his powerful arms open to her in comfort. She had no doubt of it.

  He’d known that soon her brave façade would collapse, leaving her defenceless. He alone had seen the fear behind the mask, because it was so like his own.

  The need for him was so strong that she took out her mobile phone and found the card with his number. But when she’d dialled two figures she stopped and hurriedly turned the phone off.