The Italian’s Miracle Family Page 8

  Her mind was focussed. Keep calm. Stay in control. Don’t go mad. Above all, cling onto your sanity.

  ‘It doesn’t really change anything,’ she muttered. ‘What difference can it make now?’

  But even as the words came she wrapped her arms around herself and bent double, as if to protect the child who was already lost. Still doubled up, she managed to get to the bed, where she breathed deeply until she felt her strength return a little.

  ‘Unpack,’ she said as though it was only by giving herself instructions that she could function. ‘I’ve got to make sure it’s there.’

  ‘It’ was a small bag containing underwear and make-up that she always carried in her hand luggage ever since an airline had lost her bags for three days. She found it quickly, much to her relief, as no power on earth would have made her wear Carlotta’s clothes.

  But curiosity made her pull open drawers to see what was there. Carlotta hadn’t got round to clearing out this place, and there were still traces of her in lacy bras and panties, delicately made and shaped to be sexy rather than functional. There were nightdresses too, frothy and transparent, cut low.

  How could any woman bear to leave such beautiful things behind? Because she was buying a new wardrobe for a new lover, of course. Alysa regarded them with cold contempt.

  She thought of Carlotta’s photographs, which had emphasised intelligence over beauty, but these items told another story. This was a woman totally at ease with her own sexuality, happy to emphasise it-flaunt it, even-with more than one man.

  She had shared this place with her husband, entrancing him with garments so sparely cut that they were almost nonexistent. Then she had gone to James and worked her magic on him until she, Alysa, had vanished from his mind.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, repeating the mantra that sustained her. ‘Nothing that happens now makes any difference.’

  But the mantra was becoming meaningless. The more she tried to hold it up as a shield, the more useless it became. The strength that had kept her controlled for a year was vanishing fast so that the grief came welling up inside.

  ‘No,’ she said hoarsely. ‘No, no! I won’t let it-’

  She couldn’t have said what she meant. Her hands were moving independently of her mind, pulling open drawers, tossing the contents out onto the bed, the floor, reaching into the bag for scissors. She didn’t know that tears were streaming down her face as she made the first slash and saw a filmy nightdress disintegrate.

  Another slash, another, and now she was no longer destroying clothes but plunging a knife into the heart of the woman who’d stolen her love, killed her child and turned her life into a desert. She’d longed to do this for a year. She knew that now.

  She stopped only when her strength had drained away. Sitting on the bed, she surveyed the devastation around her. None of Carlotta’s clothes were intact; some had been ripped to tiny shreds. Shocked, she stared at them while her body heaved, as the dam broke and the sobs that had been repressed too long forced their way to the surface.

  The scream that broke from her might have come from someone else. It went on and on, louder, more shrill, full of an agony that would never end.

  The next moment the door burst open and Drago stood there.

  ‘Alysa, what-?’ He stopped as he took in the sight of the devastated room, then froze as he saw the scissors still in her hand.

  Following his gaze, Alysa tossed the scissors into a corner and stood facing him, breathing heavily.

  ‘For pity’s sake, what’s the matter?’ he breathed. ‘Come here.’

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ she screamed. ‘Don’t touch me!’

  He reached for her but she eluded him, dodging past him, out and down the stairs to the front door.

  ‘Alysa!’ he cried vainly, trying to catch up. ‘Don’t go out into the snow. You’ll catch your death.’

  But she was gone. Drago raced down the stairs and out of the front door to find himself confronting a blizzard. The snow had whipped up to a storm into which she had vanished without trace.

  ‘Alysa!’ Drago shouted. ‘Come back. It’s dangerous out there.’

  But she was gone in the whirling wall of flakes. Appalled, Drago realised that she could have taken any direction, have slipped on the steep slope, perhaps broken her neck.

  ‘Alysa!’ he cried again, but the only reply was the scream of the wind.

  He began to stumble after her, but, without knowing which way she’d turned, he was lost. He doubled back, calling her name fruitlessly, becoming more alarmed by the minute.

  He lost track of time. It might have been five minutes before the wind died, or it might have been hours, but at last the noise was replaced by an eerie silence. He called again and again, hoping to hear her call back, but all that returned was the echo.

  He tried not to think of the worst that could have happened to her. Then a sound from nearby made him turn sharply, but he couldn’t see her. He listened and heard it again; it was coming from the ground, like an animal whimpering in pain. He began to move around cautiously until he nearly fell over a mound at the foot of a tree. It was covered in snow and it took him a moment to realise that this was Alysa.

  ‘Mio dio!’ He dropped to his knees, urgently brushing snow away from her. ‘What are you doing?’

  She didn’t seem to hear, but lay with her eyes closed, shaking violently and uttering a long, agonised moan. He said her name again and again, shaking her gently. When she didn’t respond he pulled her to her feet.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, lifting her in his arms. ‘The sooner I get you into the warm, the better.’

  Moving as fast as he could he made it back to the villa and ran upstairs to the bathroom. To his relief her eyes were open, and she seemed a little more aware of her surroundings.

  ‘Take off those wet clothes and get under a hot shower,’ he said.

  He hung a towelling robe on the door and got out, hurrying back to her room. The sight of it covered in ripped-up clothes shocked him anew, but he got to work quickly, clearing everything out of sight. He’d only just finished when Alysa came in slowly.

  She was wearing the towelling robe, and walked hesitantly, as if in a daze. For a moment Drago wondered if she knew who he was.

  ‘Warmer now?’ he asked.

  She nodded and he moved cautiously forward, brushing her cheeks, which were still wet.

  ‘You haven’t dried your face properly,’ he said.

  But he realised with a shock that she was still weeping-not in gasps and sobs, but quietly, endlessly.

  He didn’t waste time asking what the matter was. He guessed that this was rooted in the grim, emotionless front she’d presented when she’d learned about Carlotta’s pregnancy, and in the explosion that had made her destroy Carlotta’s things. He didn’t understand anything, and he knew that only patience would help him now.

  ‘Go to bed,’ he said. ‘And keep warm. No-’ He stopped her as she turned to the bed. ‘Not in that robe. It’s damp.’

  ‘I haven’t got anything else.’

  ‘Then I’ll get you something.’

  He returned after a moment with one of his own shirts.

  ‘It’s thick, for winter,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

  She stared at the shirt while tears streamed, unheeded, down her cheeks. Her brain was moving slowly, realising at last that she was meant to take off the robe and put on the shirt. She did so, but then remembered that there was something else to be done. Yes: get into bed. She managed that, and was lying staring at the ceiling when he returned with a glass of brandy.

  ‘Drink this,’ he commanded, raising her with one arm and holding the glass to her lips with the other hand.

  She obeyed without protest, which worried him more than anything. When he laid her back down, her tears were still flowing.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ he said. ‘I want to know everything. It’s not just the baby, is it? There’s something more.’

&nbs
p; ‘Baby,’ she whispered. ‘Baby…baby…’

  ‘Yes, neither of us thought of her being pregnant by him,’ he said gently.

  ‘Baby-my baby,’ she gasped. ‘My baby!’

  At first he thought he hadn’t heard properly. Then he saw her hands outside the blanket, placed flat across her stomach as though trying to protect something there-or something that was no longer there.

  ‘Baby-baby!’ she screamed. ‘No, no, no!’

  ‘Alysa, did you have James’s baby?’

  ‘I was going to tell him just before Christmas,’ she whispered, looking far beyond Drago. ‘I was so happy to be carrying his child. I waited for him but he phoned to say he wasn’t coming. I thought, just be patient, tell him next time. But when we met he told me about Carlotta, and I couldn’t say anything then, could I?’

  ‘You might have reminded him that he had responsibilities.’

  ‘I didn’t want his pity,’ she said fiercely. ‘I didn’t want his duty, or to be a responsibility. If he didn’t love me any more, there was nothing else.’

  ‘You’re right, I’m sorry,’ Drago agreed quietly. He brushed her hair back. ‘So the bastard made you both pregnant at the same time. He’s lucky to be dead. If he was here now I think I’d kill him. What happened to your baby?’

  ‘I lost it. It was just after they died, when I’d found out her full name and was looking her up on the internet. I couldn’t stop-night after night-and then one night the pain started, and that was that.’

  ‘Oh, dear lord!’ He bowed his head. ‘And then I made you find out about this. Perhaps someone should shoot me. I deserve it.’

  ‘No-you didn’t know. But I was all right before today. I didn’t really mind very much-it was for the best.’

  ‘You don’t mean that.’

  ‘Don’t I?’ she asked with a small hiccup. ‘I’m not sure what I mean any more, but it was what I believed then. I thought I’d cry for ages, but then I found I couldn’t cry at all. So I put it behind me.’

  But she hadn’t, he thought, discovering that he could see into her with shocking clarity. She’d coped by turning herself into a pillar of ice, freezing all emotion because that was the only way she’d been able to bear it. And all the time this had been lying in wait for her.

  ‘Didn’t your friends or family help you?’ he asked.

  ‘I never told anyone I was pregnant.’

  ‘But wasn’t there anybody at home to look after you? Hospitals usually ask about that before they’ll discharge you.’

  ‘I didn’t go to hospital. It happened at home, on a Friday night. I stayed in bed for the weekend, and on Monday I went back to work.’

  ‘Are you saying that you never told anyone?’

  ‘You’re the first,’ she said simply.

  He thought of her in that appalling isolation, and inwardly he shivered. His own loneliness seemed nothing in comparison. At least he’d never awoken to find himself alone in the house. In his bleakest moments he’d been able to go along the corridor, quietly open the door of Tina’s room and stand listening to her breathing before retreating, at peace, even if only for a while.

  But even that short-lived peace was denied Alysa. She had no child to provide a reason for living. Until this moment he hadn’t known he was blessed.

  Alysa had turned away from him to bury her face in the pillow, overwhelmed by choking sobs.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he said desperately. ‘I should never have brought you here. I had no idea-I thought only of myself.’

  He reached out to touch her trembling shoulders.

  ‘Alysa, please, talk to me.’

  ‘Go away,’ she choked. ‘I can’t talk-I can’t. Please go away.’

  He could do nothing but leave, although it was the last thing he wanted. If he’d dared he would have put his arms around her and offered her all the comfort in his power, although he knew how inadequate it must be. But all she wanted from him was his absence, so he slipped away.

  As he reached his own room his mobile phone was ringing. It was Tina.

  ‘Poppa, I’ve been ringing and ringing.’

  ‘I’m sorry, little one. It’s snowing up here and I got lost in the woods.’ It was a feeble excuse, and Tina thought so too because she cackled hilariously.

  ‘Poppa! You never get lost.’

  ‘I used to think so too,’ he said wryly. ‘But I was wrong. I’ve taken a lot of wrong turnings up here.’

  Tina spoke with childish sternness. ‘You’re talking itty-bitty.’

  It meant ‘nonsense’, and was their private joke.

  ‘Don’t be angry with me, cara. Are you enjoying yourself at Aunt Maria’s?’

  ‘Oh yes, we played hide and seek all over the house, and Nonna was cross, but Aunt Maria said…’

  She babbled on innocently for a few minutes, and he sensed with relief that she would be happy for a few days.

  ‘Are you snowed in, Poppa?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. It may be a few days before I can get down.’

  ‘Have you got enough to eat?’ she asked like a little housewife.

  ‘Plenty, thank you. The cupboard is full.’

  ‘And you will be careful?’

  ‘Stop nagging me,’ he protested, grinning. ‘It’s time you were in bed.’

  ‘That’s what Nonna said, but Aunt Maria says I can stay up, and my uncle wants me to teach him how to play dice better, because I keep beating him, and…’

  Her chatter was like balm. He bid her a cheerful goodnight, and hung up.

  But his cheerfulness faded as he remembered Alysa and the state he’d reduced her to. After a moment he did as he’d often done with Tina-went to stand at her door, listening. From within came the sounds of violent distress, unabated. He leaned back against the wall, wondering if he dared go inside. She’d banished him, yet she needed him. Torn in two, he couldn’t move.

  Then the sobbing ceased suddenly, to be replaced by a violent coughing. That did it. He gave up struggling with himself and hurried inside.

  The light was off but the curtains were drawn back, and in the moonlight he could see her outline heaving.

  ‘Alysa, sit up,’ he said, sitting on the bed and taking hold of her. ‘It’ll be much easier that way.’

  She sat up, holding him for support, then leaned forward, seeming to be torn apart by the coughs that wracked her.

  ‘You stupid woman!’ he groaned. ‘Going out in that snow. You’ve caught your death of cold now.’

  She couldn’t answer, too caught up in her distress to have any breath left.

  ‘I’ve got to keep you warm,’ he muttered. ‘Wait here. Don’t go away.’

  The idiocy of the words struck him before he was out of the door, but he was moving fast, dashing to his bedroom to seize up his own thick dressing-gown, then back to her, ordering, ‘Put this on. I’ll be right back.’

  He returned to find her wearing the dressing gown, but not exactly as he wanted.

  ‘Pull it right across the front to protect your chest,’ he commanded, demonstrating. ‘Now get back into bed, and drink this.’

  He produced another glass of brandy which he almost poured down her throat. She choked but finished it.

  ‘That’s better. Now lie down so that I can pull the bedclothes over you. What’s that?’

  She was struggling to speak, but another bout of coughing tore her. When she’d calmed down she gasped, ‘Made-a mess-of everything.’

  ‘I couldn’t have made a bigger mess if I’d tried,’ he said with feeling.

  ‘Not you-me. Going out like that.’

  ‘Shut up. The blame is mine and we both know it. What was I thinking of? I should have read those letters first instead of just dumping them on you.’

  ‘Makes no difference,’ she said in a hoarse whisper. ‘You couldn’t have known about my baby. Not your fault.’

  ‘Don’t be generous,’ he begged. ‘It makes me feel worse. I’d rather you yelled at me.’

  ‘Can’t
-no breath.’

  He managed a brief laugh. ‘Then chuck something at my head. Shall I find you a heavy object?’

  ‘No energy-consider it chucked.’ The words ended in another coughing fit. ‘Oh dear,’ she said.

  ‘I agree. Wait a minute, I’ve just thought of something.’

  He left and returned after a few minutes with a bottle and spoon.

  ‘We always kept medicine up here, just in case. I wasn’t sure there was any left after all this time. This is good cough-mixture. Open your mouth.’

  She let him coax her until she’d swallowed some, and felt it soothing her as it went down.

  ‘Now lie down and try to get to sleep,’ he said as he’d said so often to his child. Right this minute, that was how he felt about Alysa-she was his to protect.

  Alysa lay back, exhausted from coughing and weeping. She no longer had the energy to do anything except sink into the warmth and let the world fade away. She was safe, as she hadn’t been for a long time, and it was blissful to let go.

  ‘I’m OK now,’ she murmured. ‘You don’t have to mother-hen me.’

  ‘Just go to sleep.’

  She closed her eyes at once.

  Hours later she awoke in the same position, feeling rested after a dreamless sleep. She stretched, and discovered that she was not alone on the bed. Drago lay just behind her, fully dressed and outside the bedclothes, evidently taking his nursing duties seriously.

  ‘Mother hen,’ she said tenderly.

  Moving carefully, not wanting to disturb him, she eased herself out of the bed and made her way to the bathroom. When she returned Drago was lying in the same position, except that his arm was stretched out over the space she had occupied, as though he’d been searching for her. She contrived to slide in underneath his arm without disturbing him, and held quite still in case he should awake. He seemed dead to the world, but after a moment his arm tightened around her. She slept.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  W HEN Alysa next awoke she was alone, and the sound of frying was coming from the kitchen. She made haste to get up, although she felt feverish, and another coughing fit attacked her. She took some more of the medicine, noting with dismay that the bottle was now empty.