‘What’s she saying?’ she asked, and Lavinia turned to look at her, tugging at her father and pleading, and he met her eyes reluctantly.
‘She wants you to stay. She said—’
He broke off, but Francesca wouldn’t let him stop.
‘Tell her what Lavinia said, Papà,’ she prompted, and he closed his eyes briefly and then went on.
‘Papà is unhappy when you aren’t here,’ he said grudgingly, translating directly as Lavinia spoke. ‘Please don’t go. We missed you when you went home before.’ He hesitated, and she nudged him. ‘It’s lovely when you’re here,’ he went on, his bleak eyes locked with hers, ‘because you make Papà laugh. He never laughs when you’re not here.’
A tear slipped over and slid down her cheek, but she didn’t seem to notice. Their eyes were locked, and he could see the anguish in them. He swallowed hard, his arm around Lavinia’s skinny little shoulders holding her tight at his side.
Was it true? Was he unhappy when she wasn’t there, unhappy enough that even the children could see it? Did he really not laugh when she wasn’t there?
Maybe.
Lydia pressed her fingers to her lips, and shook her head. ‘Oh, Lavinia. I’m sorry. I don’t want to make your papà unhappy, or any of you, but I have to go home to my family.’
She felt little arms around her hips, and looked down to find Antonino hugging her, his face buried in her side. She laid a hand gently on his hair and stroked it, aching unbearably inside. She’d done this, spent so much time with them that she was hurting them now by leaving, and she never meant to hurt them. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said to him, ‘mi dispiace.’ And his little arms tightened.
‘Will you read us a story?’ Francesca asked.
She’d be leaving for the airport before three in the morning, long before the children were up, so this was her last chance to read to them. Her last chance ever? ‘Of course I will,’ she said, feeling choked. She’d done it a few times since the night of the frantoio breakdown, and she loved it. Too much.
They were already in their pyjamas, and she ushered them up to bed, supervised the teeth cleaning as she’d done before, and then they settled down on Antonino’s bed, all crowded round while she read haltingly to them in her awful, amateurish Italian.
She could get the expressions right, make it exciting—that was the easy bit. The pronunciation was harder, but it was a book they knew, so it didn’t really matter.
What mattered was lying propped up against the wall, with Antonino under one arm and Lavinia under the other, and Francesca curled up by her knees leaning against the wall and watching her with wounded eyes.
She was the only one of them to remember her mother, and for a few short weeks, Lydia realised, she’d slipped into the role without thinking, unconsciously taking over some of the many little things a mother did. Things like making cupcakes, and birthday cards for Roberto. She’d stopped the two little ones fighting, and hugged them when they’d hurt themselves, and all the time she’d been playing happy families and ignoring the fact that she’d be going away soon, going back to her real life at home.
And now she had to go.
She closed the book, and the children snuggled closer, stretching out the moment.
Then Massimo’s frame filled the doorway, his eyes shadowed in the dim light.
‘Come on. Bedtime now. Lydia needs to pack.’
It was a tearful goodnight, for all of them, and as soon as she could she fled to her room, stifling the tears.
She didn’t have to pack. She’d done it ages ago, been round all the places she might have left anything, and there was nothing to do now, nothing to distract her.
Only Lavinia’s words echoing in her head.
He never laughs when you’re not here.
The knock was so quiet she almost didn’t hear it.
‘Lydia?’
She opened the door, unable to speak, and met his tortured eyes.
And then his arms closed around her, and he held her hard against his chest while she felt the shudders run through him.
They stayed like that for an age, and then he eased back and looked down at her.
His eyes were raw with need, and she led him into the room and closed the door.
Just one last time…
CHAPTER TEN
‘IS IT true?’
He turned his head and met her eyes in the soft glow of the bedside light, and his face was shuttered and remote.
‘Is what true?’
‘That you don’t laugh when I’m not here?’
He looked away again. ‘You don’t want to listen to what the children say.’
‘Why not, if it’s true? Is it?’
He didn’t answer, so she took it as a yes. It made her heart ache. If only he’d believe in them, if only he’d let her into his heart, his life, but all he would say was no.
‘Talk to me,’ she pleaded.
He turned his head back, his eyes unreadable.
‘What is there to say?’
‘You could tell me how you really feel. That would be a good start.’
He laughed, a harsh, abrupt grunt full of pain. ‘I can’t,’ he said, his accent stronger than she’d ever heard it. ‘I can’t find the words, I don’t have the language to do this in English.’
‘Then tell me in Italian. I won’t understand, but you can say it then out loud. You can tell me whatever you like, and I can’t hold you to it.’
He frowned, but then he reached out and stroked her face, his fingers trembling. His mouth flickered in a sad smile, and then he started to speak, as if she’d released something inside him that had been held back for a long, long time.
She didn’t understand it, but she understood the tone—the gentleness, the anguish, the pain of separation.
And then, his eyes locked with hers, he said softly, ‘Ciao, mia bella ragazza. Te amo…’
She reached out and cradled his jaw, her heart breaking. Ciao meant hello, but it also meant goodbye.
‘It doesn’t have to be goodbye,’ she said softly. ‘I love you, too—so much.’
He shook his head. ‘No. No, cara, please. I can’t let you love me. I can’t let you stay. You’ll be hurt.’
‘No!’
‘Yes. I won’t let you.’
‘Would you stop that?’ she demanded, angry now. ‘The first time I met you, you said I couldn’t go in the plane with Nico because it wasn’t safe. Now you’re telling me I can’t love you because I’ll get hurt! Maybe I want to take the risk, Massimo? Maybe I need to take the risk.’
‘No. You have a life waiting for you, and one day there will be some lucky man…’
‘I don’t want another man, I want you.’
‘No! I have nothing to give you. I’m already pulled in so many ways. How can I be fair to you, or the children, or my work, my family? How can I do another relationship justice?’
‘Maybe I could help you. Maybe I could make it easier. Maybe we could work together?’
‘No. You love your family, you have your career. If I let you give it all up for me, what then? What happens when we’ve all let you into our hearts and then you leave?’
‘I won’t leave!’
‘You don’t know that. You’ve been here less than three months. What happens in three years, when we have another child and you decide you’re unhappy and want to go? I don’t have time for you, I can’t give you what you need. I don’t even have enough time now to sleep! Please, cara. Don’t make it harder. You’ll forget me soon.’
‘No. I’ll never forget you. I’ll never stop loving you.’
‘You will. You’ll move on. You’ll meet someone and marry him and have children of your own i
n England, close to your family, and you’ll look back and wonder what you saw in this sad and lonely old man.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, you’re not old, and you’re only sad and lonely because you won’t let anybody in!’
His eyes closed, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her any longer. ‘I can’t. The last time I let anyone into my life, she lost her own, and it was because I was too busy, too tired, too overstretched to be there for her.’
‘It wasn’t your fault!’
‘Yes, it was! I was here! I was supposed to be looking after her, but I was lying in my bed asleep while she was dying.’
‘She should have woken you! She should have told you she was sick. It was not your fault!’
‘No? Then why do I wake every night hearing her calling me?’
He threw off the covers and sat up, his legs over the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, his whole body vibrating with tension. ‘I can’t do this, Lydia! Please, don’t ask me to. I can’t do it.’
Why do I wake every night hearing her calling me?
His words echoing in her head, her heart pounding, she knelt up behind him, her arms around him, her body pressed to his in comfort.
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she said gently. ‘You weren’t responsible, but you’re holding yourself responsible, and you have to forgive yourself. It wasn’t my fault Jen had her accident, but I’ve blamed myself, and it has taken months to accept that it wasn’t my fault and to forgive myself for not stopping him. You have to do the same. You have to accept that you weren’t at fault—’
‘But I was! I should have checked on her.’
‘You were asleep! What time of year was it?’
‘Harvest,’ he admitted, his voice raw. ‘The end of La Raccolta.’
Right at the end of the season. Now, in fact. Any time now. Her heart contracted, and she sank back down onto her feet, her hands against his back.
‘You were exhausted, weren’t you? Just as you’re exhausted now. And she didn’t want to disturb you, so she went down to the kitchen for painkillers.’
He sucked in a breath, and she knew she was right.
‘She probably wasn’t thinking clearly. Did she suffer from headaches?’
‘Yes. All the time. They said she had a weakness in the vessels.’
‘So it could have happened at any time?’
‘Sì. But it happened when I was there, and it happened slowly, and if I’d realised, if I hadn’t thought she was with the baby, if I’d known…’
‘If you’d been God, in fact? If you’d been able to see inside her head?’
‘They could have seen inside her head. She’d talked of going to the doctor about her headaches, but we were too busy, and she’d just had the baby, and it was the harvest, and…’
‘And there was just no time. Oh, Massimo. I’m so sorry, but you know it wasn’t your fault. You can’t blame yourself.’
‘Yes, I can. I can, and I have to, because my guilt and my grief is all I have left to give her! I can’t even love her any more because you’ve taken that from me!’ he said harshly, his voice cracking.
The pain ran through her like a shockwave.
How could he tell her that he loved her, and yet cling to his guilt and grief so that he could hold onto Angelina?
He couldn’t. Not if he really loved her. Unless…
‘Why are you doing this to me?’ she asked quietly. ‘To yourself? To your children? You wear your grief and your guilt like a hair shirt to torture yourself with, but it’s not just you you’re torturing, you’re torturing me, as well, and your children. And they don’t deserve to be tortured just because you’re too much of a coward to let yourself love again!’
‘I am not a coward!’
‘Then prove it!’ she begged. ‘Let yourself love again!’
He didn’t answer, his shoulders rigid, unmoving, and after what felt like forever, she gave up. She’d tried, and she could do no more.
Shaking, she eased away from him and glanced at her watch.
‘We have to leave in half an hour. I’m going to shower,’ she said, as steadily as she could.
And she walked into the bathroom, closed the door and let the tears fall…
* * *
He didn’t come into the airport building this time.
He gave her a handful of notes to pay for her excess baggage, put her luggage on the pavement at the drop-off point and then hesitated.
‘I’ll see you in May,’ he said, his voice clipped and harsh.
His eyes were raw with pain, and she wanted to weep for him, and for herself, and for the children, but now wasn’t the time.
‘Yes. I’ll be in touch.’
‘Anita will email you. She’s in charge. I’ll be too busy.’
Of course he would.
‘Take care of yourself,’ she said softly. And going up on tiptoe, she pressed her lips to his cheek.
His arms came round her, and for the briefest moment he rested his head against hers. ‘Ciao, bella,’ he said softly, so softly that she scarcely heard him, and then he was straightening up, moving back, getting into the car.
He started the engine and drove away, and she watched his tail lights until they disappeared. Then she gathered up her luggage and headed for the doors.
* * *
It was the worst winter of her life.
The weather was glorious, bright winter sunshine that seemed to bounce right off her, leaving her cold inside. She found work in the pub down the road, and she created a website and tried to promote her catering business.
It did well, better than she’d expected, but without him her life was meaningless.
Jen found her one day in mid-January, staring into space.
‘Hey,’ she said softly, and came and perched beside her on the back of the sofa, staring out across the valley.
‘Hey yourself. How are you doing?’
‘OK. We’ve had another email from Anita. She wants to know about food.’
She could hardly bring herself to think about food. For a while she’d thought she was pregnant she’d felt so sick, but she wasn’t. The test said no, her body said no and her heart grieved for a child that never was and never would be. And still she felt sick.
‘What does she want to know? I’ve given her menu plans.’
‘Something about the carpaccio of beef?’
She sighed. ‘OK. I’ll contact her.’
It was nothing to do with the beef. It was about Massimo.
‘He’s looking awful,’ Anita said. ‘He hasn’t smiled since you left.’
Nor have I, she thought, but there’s nothing I can do, either for him or me.
She didn’t reply to the email. Two hours later her phone rang.
‘I can’t help you, Anita,’ she said desperately. ‘He won’t listen to me.’
‘He won’t listen to anyone—Luca, Carlotta, his mother—even Gio’s on your side, amazingly, but he just says he doesn’t want to talk about it. And we’re all worried. We’re really worried.’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t do any more,’ she said again, choked, and hung up.
Jen found her in her room, face down on the bed sobbing her heart out, and she lay down beside her and held her, and gradually it stopped hurting and she was numb again.
Better, in a strange kind of way.
January turned into February, and then March, and finally Jen was able to walk without the crutches.
‘That’s amazing,’ Lydia said, hugging her, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I’m so glad.’
‘So am I.’ Jen touched her cheek gently. ‘I’m all right now, Lydia. I’m going to be OK. Please stop hurting yourself about it.�
�
‘I’m not,’ she said, and realised it was true, to an extent. Oh, it would always hurt to know that she’d been part of the sequence of events that had led to Jen’s accident, but she’d stopped taking the blame for it, and now she could share in the joy of Jen’s recovery. If only Massimo…
‘You need to buy your wedding dress, we’re leaving it awfully late,’ she said, changing the subject before her mind dragged her off down that route.
‘I know. There’s a shop in town that does them to take away, so they don’t need to be ordered. Will you come with me?’
She ignored the stab of pain, and hugged her sister. ‘Of course I will.’
* * *
It was bittersweet.
They all went together—Lydia, Jen and their mother, and she found a dress that laced up the back, with an inner elasticated corset that was perfect for giving her some extra back support.
‘Oh, that’s so comfy!’ she said, and then looked in the mirror and her eyes filled.
‘Oh…’
Lydia grabbed her mother’s hand and hung on. It was definitely The Dress, and everybody’s eyes were filling now.
‘Oh, darling,’ her mother said, and hugged her, laughing and crying at the same time, because it might never have come to this. They could have lost her, and yet here she was, standing on her own two feet, unaided, and in her wedding dress. Their tears were well and truly earned.
After she’d done another twirl and taken the dress off, the manageress of the little wedding shop poured them another glass of Prosecco to toast Jen’s choice.
As the bubbles burst in her mouth, Lydia closed her eyes and thought of him.
Sitting on the terrace outside her bedroom, sipping Prosecco and talking into the night. They’d done it more than once, before the weather had turned. Pre-dinner drinks when Jen and Andy had come to visit. Sitting in the trattoria waiting for their food to come, the second time they’d made love.
‘Lydia?’
She opened her eyes and dredged up a smile. ‘You looked stunning in it, Jen. Absolutely beautiful. Andy’ll be bowled over.’
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