by Diana Fraser
“What?” She jumped up and slammed the file of papers onto his desk and stood there, eyes blazing.
“Surely you realized? I may be Italian but I don’t stoop to the old ways of blackmail.”
The normally peaceful, double-height room echoed to the sound of her angry footsteps on the parquet floor, pacing away from him. She stopped suddenly and turned back to face him.
“You,” she stabbed a finger at Giovanni, “are impossible. I have no idea why I ever married you in the first place; why I ever got myself tangled up in such a dysfunctional family, with such a, such a, well,” she paused as she glared at him, her eyes straying around his face before settling on his lips, “with such an unreasonable man.”
He laughed. “Is ‘unreasonable’ the best you can do for an insult? It’s true I am unreasonable. But, I am proud of that. Because reason is cold. And one should only be cold when one is dead. Not before.”
It was her turn to laugh. She dropped back down into the chair.
He was relieved to see the brittle defense shatter and disappear as the tension dissolved.
She shook her head, the laughter fading as quickly as it had arrived.
“I am returning to New Zealand, Giovanni. I have no reason to stay.”
He felt the pain, like the heat of ice, burn deep inside, but he controlled it. It would never be easy for him to control his feelings, never easy to think, rather than act, first. But he’d learnt in recent months that he was strong enough to do so.
“Go if you must, but not until the end of the week. Give us time to complete the business.”
She nodded in agreement.
He’d known she would. He’d purposely framed the suggestion in way that would appeal to her rational nature.
“OK. The end of the week.”
Because of many of the books’ rarity, the lighting was strictly controlled except for the area around his desk. Rose stood up and began to walk away.
“Rose!” She hesitated just outside of the pool of light, her expression enigmatic. He thought he knew her but could not read the expression he now saw in her grey-blue eyes, huge in the dim light. “You will be rewarded for your hard work appropriately of course.”
“Of course.”
“But before you go there are a few things we need to do.”
“Like what? Not more sight-seeing?”
Laughter flared in her eyes as she groaned. That was better.
“Come, cara. So cynical. It is not good in one so young.” The echo of her words of the previous night was deliberate. “But no, no more sight-seeing for the present.”
“What then?”
“I said earlier I wanted to tell you the reason why you should let me help you.”
The only sound that broke the silence was the sound of the gardener in the courtyard beyond the window.
“Yes?”
“But first we need to eat. You are still too skinny.”
“Many women would take that as a compliment you know.”
“There are many stupid women in this world, but you are not one of them, thank God.”
“Thank you for that vote of confidence. But I can look after myself.”
His smile dropped as he watched her walk away.
“Stop fighting me Rose.” He didn’t react to the confusion that briefly filled her face as she instinctively turned to him. “We will go to Lugano. I want some time alone with you.”
She hesitated briefly before closing the door behind her.
Don’t fight me Rose, because you won’t win. Not this time.
They drove in silence, turning off the highway and climbing up towards the northern lakes. As they climbed higher she could see across the Po valley to Milan, stretching out behind them, glittering faintly under a veil of mist in the filtered late afternoon sunshine. The modern tower blocks rose above the mist and gleamed dully. The massive complex of the Duomo, too, was visible, carving up the regular city streets. A city of contrasts; Giovanni’s city.
A city she knew to be dear to his heart, but from which he also needed to escape at times. His villa on an island near Lugano provided that retreat for him and, while they’d been together, for them both.
The thought of returning there filled her with pleasure and apprehension at the same time. They’d spent the first week after they’d met on the island—it had been a time of discovery and incredible intimacy. But those times had gone. And she had no idea what the future held, for either of them.
Lake Lugano was a rich cerulean blue under clear and sunny skies.
After a misty Milan, the vivid brightness of Lugano, with its Mediterranean climate, was stimulating to the senses. It was only half an hour away and yet a world apart in climate and atmosphere.
Geraniums, abundant and vivid, spilled from the window boxes of the cafes and townhouses. The scent of lemon verbena, that tumbled from terracotta pots, filled the air, and light filtering through the golden-topped trees, flickered on the paving stones.
They walked slowly down through the steep lanes of the Old Town to the Piazza della Riforma. The huge café-lined square was only meters away from the lake and was crowded with both tourists and locals. There were more people than usual and Rose remembered it was the week-end of the firework display. She didn’t know the reason for the display; it could have been purely for the joy of celebrating the long summer of the Italian lakes. For whatever reason it was staged, people came from miles around to witness the incendiary celebration of summer.
The square was buzzing but Giovanni found a table inside their favorite café by an open window.
Rose looked around her. She’d always enjoyed coming here but, for some reason, she felt uncomfortable. She surveyed the people once more inside the restaurant, before scanning the busy square. But the sun was too bright to see properly. She shivered.
“Anything wrong?”
“Just someone walking over my grave.”
“Such a charming expression. You used to enjoy coming here.”
She smiled, determined to discard the shadows that seemed to follow her.
“I do. And nothing’s changed, which makes it perfect.” She looked across the room at the staff. “Same waiters.”
“And the same menu.” Giovanni dropped the menu on the table and poured Rose a glass of water.
“I guess if things work well, there’s no need to change.”
Giovanni took a sip of his coffee and sat back in his chair, facing her, his features obscured by the bright light that shone in from the window behind him. “Like good coffee?”
“There is that.”
“The light and scents of the Italian lakes in late summer?”
“And that too.”
“What else? What else doesn’t change? What else have you missed?”
Rose nibbled a biscotti, sipped the hot, strong coffee and smiled.
“I’ve missed this whole thing.”
“This ‘whole thing’ being Italy or—”
“You. I’ve missed you Giovanni.”
He sat back then. “Finalmente. I wondered how long it would take you to admit it. Life in New Zealand wasn’t so good for you.”
“It was just what I needed at the time. It was healing.”
He shook his head at that. “It was somewhere for you to hide.”
“But you found me.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You overestimate your ability to disappear without trace. Would you have ever returned if I had not come for you?”
Would she? She didn’t know the answer. She shrugged. “From what I’d heard, you haven’t exactly stayed at home, pining for me.”
“I take pleasure in the company of beautiful women and I was no longer tied to a wife.”
Rose swallowed tightly. “And it was enjoyable?”
“Of course. I don’t do anything that isn’t enjoyable. Life is too short.”
“Then why bother coming for me?”
“Unfinished business.”
“Ah ye
s. Business. I’m surprised you didn’t haul me back to Milan at the first sign of Alberto’s transgressions. You must have suspected long ago.”
“Of course, but I was not in a hurry to take it further, until recent circumstances made it a necessity. No, there is other business that prompted me to seek you out.”
Rose shook her head, confused. “What other business? Us? You seemed to have replaced me pretty easily.”
An enigmatic smile briefly filled his face before fading as quickly.
“I had a chance meeting with an old acquaintance of yours.”
She jerked her head and stared at him. “Who?”
“A colleague of yours from your time in Hong Kong. She asked after our child.”
He sipped his coffee once more as if he hadn’t just landed a bombshell on her.
Unprepared, she felt the blood drain from her veins, and a deadly numbness take its place. She opened her lips to speak but they were dry and refused to form an appropriate reply. For what reply could be appropriate?
“I see you are at a loss for words. I can understand that. However I was not at a loss for words and she happily reminisced about how overjoyed you were when you discovered you were pregnant.”
Rose shook her head. “No.”
“Sorry. Perhaps I misunderstood. You were not happy?”
“No, I don’t believe this.” She sat on the edge of her seat. “How, how could you, Giovanni, sit there and—”
Tears threatened and Rose looked up at the ornately pressed ceiling briefly before meeting his gaze, his dark eyes not angry as she’d expected but curious, sympathetic almost.
“Sit there and ask you how you felt when you discovered you were pregnant? Easy. I want to know. How did you feel Rose?”
“I was happy.” Rose could feel a tear track down her suddenly over-heated skin. Whatever his reason for admitting his knowledge here and now, there was no way in this world that she could ever deny the joy that she’d experienced when she discovered she was pregnant with Giovanni’s child.
“I assume I am the father?” His voice was quiet and his eyes were calm, devoid of anger, revealing only pain.
“How could you even doubt it?”
“Because I don’t know; because you told me nothing. I lived away from you for the last six months—hadn’t seen you for the last four. You constantly made excuses. What was I to think? You could have had an affair, got pregnant, the affair went wrong and you left. That is how it appeared.” His voice was eerily quiet.
“I don’t care about everyone else. What do you believe?”
“You should have told me. Sometimes it is hard to believe the truth when everybody and everything tells you something different. Tell me now.”
She took a deep breath and let her words out in a rush.
“Carina died. She was in my body for only a little over seven months. I killed her. It was my fault.”
Even though he’d known the facts she could see the effect of her bald statement on him, as color leached from his face. He shook his head as if to bring him back to reality.
“I doubt that.”
“Why?”
“How could you hurt your own baby? I know it wasn’t planned but you would have been a wonderful mother.”
“You don’t understand. If I’d found help earlier she might have lived. But I couldn’t get to the hospital and I lost her. It was my fault.”
She turned away and noticed for the first time that the hum of conversation had stopped and all eyes were on her. She must have been shouting but she hadn’t noticed: because she was used to living with the shouting in her own head.
It was my fault.
She felt his hand grip her arm and twist it to him, the pain layering onto her other pain.
“Listen to me. You could not have killed your child. You would not have. But something happened that you’re not telling me. How could a baby die when it has been well for seven months? What happened? An accident of some kind?”
Rose stood up quickly, feeling trapped, feeling panic rising. She gripped her bag and tried to move but Giovanni still held her arm fast.
“I’ve got to get out of here.”
“And run away again? Keep running whenever you remember? It will not go away. It will haunt your dreams forever.”
“Don’t you see?” She pulled herself away from his arm, oblivious to the curious stares. “I’m terrified she’ll leave my dreams forever. That my baby will go, that I’ll forget her, will forget that we ever had a child.” Tears ran unchecked down her face now but she was past caring. “I don’t want to forget. And I can’t live with remembering.”
She slammed, unseeing out of the doors. Within seconds Giovanni was beside her, had pulled her into the relative privacy of a closed shop entrance and held her tightly. His arms, his legs, his body were pressed against hers, controlling her, stopping her from moving, from screaming, from running. She could barely breathe with the heat and total control his muscles exerted over her small frame.
“Let me go!” Her voice was muffled against his chest.
“No.”
She tried to wriggle out of his grip and get away, anywhere, so long as she was alone. She needed to be alone, needed him not to see the grief she kept inside.
But his grip simply grew tighter as he pulled her to him, trying to quell her struggle and calm her. She had no chance of escape.
She tried one last attempt to pull away. But frustration and grief emerged in a wail that escaped her lips before she could stop it. Heaving sobs wracked her body as she still struggled to escape and as he fought to hold her. The stronger she tried to wrestle her arms away from his, the tighter his hold grew. And still the sobs kept coming. He was not going to let her run from it this time.
She couldn’t stop shaking but he held her firm. All thoughts of where she was, who she was with, had gone. She could only think of the child she’d lost.
The emptiness and pain hit her like a wall. She’d pushed it out, held it back with control, with purpose, but Giovanni’s cool admission of knowledge had hammered down the defenses instantly. The tears that had been suppressed for so long came in floods, but still he held her.
Slowly she came round. He held her loosely now, stroking her hair, soothing her. She could feel his wet shirt beneath her cheek. She could feel his strength seeping into her, comforting her, upholding her. She wanted to stay that way forever—in a place of comfort from her pain. She knew when the moment was over the pain would return and she’d have to re-build those defenses that he’d so effectively shattered. Because she couldn’t do it without him.
Gradually the movement of people and traffic filtered through to her but inside this place of refuge there was only Giovanni with his arms around her, and the ebb and flow of life around them.
Slowly Giovanni relaxed his hold and drew away from her. She could see the dark stain that her tears had made on his shirt and wondered at his compassion for her.
“That wasn’t just about Carina, was it Rose?”
She didn’t reply, but closed her eyes and pulled away from him, as if to walk towards the lakeside.
But he held her hand tight.
“You’re going to have to tell me some time.”
She tried to pull away from him.
“You’re hurting me.”
“Not as much as you’re hurting yourself.”
Small groups of firework displays had already sparked into life as they drove along the lakeside, a taste of the elaborate display to come. Rose watched through the open top of the car as brilliant sparkles of light flung heavenwards with a bang, before crackling as if in delight to find themselves so high in sky, and falling, evaporating into the air as they descended into nothing.
Neither of them spoke and the silence grew heavy and uneasy, laden with need—the need to know the answer to questions not asked, and the physical need for each other that they could hardly keep at bay.
“I’m sorry Giovanni.” She looked out the car
window, not daring to face him. “I should have told you.”
The silence concerned her more than any sharp retort could have done. The only indication that he’d heard what she’d said was a tightening of his grip on the steering wheel. He kept his eyes firmly on the road ahead.
She closed her eyes briefly before turning to him. He was staring at the road ahead as they wound along the shore of the lake.
“Talk to me Giovanni.”
“What do you want me to say? Of course you should have told me. There are many things you should have told me. But that’s not your style, is it Rose?”
“I have no ‘style’. All I have is an upbringing that made it important to keep things close.”
“You don’t have to any more. You can tell me everything now. You can trust me, you know. You must tell me everything. It’s our last chance, Rose.”
She nodded. She knew it. But knowing it in her mind was entirely different to feeling it in her heart. Had he really changed so much that she could trust him with something that could destroy him? It was too big a risk to take—even now.
He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards him. “When you’re ready. We have tonight.”
“Just tell me that you don’t hate me for keeping Carina a secret from you, for leaving you without a word.”
She waited long minutes before he answered.
“How can you hate the person you adore most in the world?”
She sank against him, heavy with relief, groping for his hand, holding it tight in hers, determined never, ever to let go of it again.
He was right. She’d have to tell him soon.
CHAPTER NINE
The boathouse stood alone at the water’s edge—a sentinel guarding access to the Visconti islet. Beyond it, despite the fact the sun had not yet set, the formal firework display had begun; an extravagant celebration of color and sound that lent an unreal, picture-book quality to the scene.
Giovanni slammed shut Rose’s door behind her and watched as she walked over to the boathouse and looked across the lake. The fireworks exploded their brilliant array of rainbow colors into the sky. He watched as her gaze followed their upward arc until they disappeared in the deepening blue.
