The Italian’s Wife by Sunset

by Lucy Gordon

  The ceremony began. Factual programmes were dealt with first, and in half an hour the announcer was proclaiming, ‘Now the award for the best documentary series. The contenders are-’

  He read out five names, and the screen showed five brief extracts from the programmes.

  ‘And the winner is-Della Hadley for The Past is the Future.’

  She was a popular choice, and the applause swelled as she approached the stage. There she delivered a brief acceptance speech and departed quickly, to more applause. As she went back down the room lights flashed, blinding her, and when she’d blinked and recovered she found herself looking straight at the one person she’d thought never to meet again.

  People were pushing past in each direction, but neither of them noticed. The world had stopped, leaving them on an island.

  ‘Congratulations,’ he said, seeming to speak from a distance.

  ‘I-thank you.’ He didn’t say any more, but stood looking at her with something in his eyes that she didn’t want to see. It saddened her too much. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here,’ she said, for something to say.

  ‘I was invited at the last minute. You’re looking well.’

  ‘So are you,’ she said. ‘But I wouldn’t have recognised you if I hadn’t seen you on the box the other night.’

  ‘You saw that?’

  ‘You slaughtered the opposition. I couldn’t follow a word, but I understood that much.’ She gave an awkward laugh. ‘I was right about you. You’re a natural on television.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said lamely. After a moment he asked, ‘What happened about the series?’

  ‘I’m still doing it, using several different presenters.’

  ‘Will you be going to the same places?’

  ‘Not all of them. I changed some. I’ve included the wreck of the Britannic.’

  ‘You managed to find someone who wasn’t chicken, then?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  Silence.

  ‘I’m glad you’re still doing the series,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, so am I.’

  It was months since their last meeting, and now the air about them seemed to clamour with unspoken thoughts and feelings. But these commonplaces were all that would come.

  There was a brief agitation around them as people tried to get past.

  ‘We’re in everyone’s way,’ she said. ‘It was nice seeing you again.’

  ‘And you.’

  Carlo watched her return to her table, waiting for the moment when she would look back at him. It never came. He saw a middle-aged man rise, put his arm around her and kiss her cheek. So that was her escort, he thought, no doubt chosen for his suitability.

  He’d said she was looking well, but the truth was she was looking fantastic: beautiful, glamorous, sexy, every man’s dream. After the way she’d claimed to be getting old it was like another rejection hurled at him.

  He returned to his own table, where his family were regarding him with curiosity, and Alan Forest with awe.

  ‘You know her?’ he asked, wide-eyed.

  ‘We met once briefly.’ He was still standing, watching her, willing her to turn and look at him.

  ‘Get her over here-we’ll all celebrate together.’

  ‘I’m sure she has her own arrangements,’ Carlo said, trying to keep the tension out of his voice.

  ‘Nonsense. We’ll have a great time-’

  ‘I don’t think we should trouble them,’ Evie broke in quickly. ‘She’s with a party of her own.’

  Della was certainly having a night of triumph. People were coming up to congratulate her, kiss her, admire the award. The man with her was regarding her with proprietary pride, and it was clear to Carlo that everyone else saw them as a couple.

  As he watched, Della lifted the statuette, so that it glittered in the light, and her crowd of admirers cheered and applauded.

  Then she finally turned his way, and for a moment their glances locked. He thought her smile grew broader, her eyes more triumphant, as though she was telling him something.

  He understood. She did very well without him. Just as she had always known she would. She had tried to warn him, but in his blind arrogance and stupidity he’d refused to see it.

  ‘I guess you’re right,’ Alan Forest said, beside him. ‘That lady doesn’t need us. She’s got everything she could ever want in the world.’

  ‘Yes,’ Carlo said, almost inaudibly. ‘She has.’

  He sat down, and after a moment he felt Evie’s hand creep into his and give a sympathetic squeeze.

  The next day he went home.

  The award was the most prestigious there was, and it set the seal on her career. Congratulations poured in, also offers. Now everyone wanted her.

  As well as work, she could occupy herself with Gina’s pregnancy, but she soon discovered that she was no longer needed. The Christmas visit to the grandmother had been a success, and it wasn’t long before Mrs Burton invited Gina to make her home with her.

  ‘I still want you to be part of the baby’s life,’ Gina explained to Della. ‘But-’

  ‘But you want to be with your own family. Of course you do.’

  ‘I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me.’

  Her new home was a hundred miles away, just too far for easy visiting.

  On the last day of February Della escorted the girl there herself, and it was a happy occasion. Mrs Burton was a vigorous woman in her sixties, prosperous enough to take on the new responsibility, and eager to do so. She and Della established cordial relations, and there was an open invitation to visit.

  It had ended well, but as she returned home Della realised that she was more alone than ever.

  She reached the houseboat in the middle of a thunderstorm. Rain poured down in torrents, and it was a relief to get inside. Soon she’d dried off and done her best to get warm, but somehow it didn’t work. There was a part of her that remained trapped in a chill desert, and no amount of heating could reach it.

  She went to look at the statuette, high on a shelf where it could broadcast her achievement, trying to draw comfort from it. But it only reminded her of that night, and his face, tense and drawn. Something was destroying him, just as it was destroying her.

  She wondered if he, like her, had an ache in his heart so intense that it was an actual physical pain that went on and on. It had been there for months and she was beginning to wonder if it would ever fade.

  But surely she’d made the right decision?

  She listened, almost as though expecting a voice to answer her. But the only sound was the drumming of the rain in a bleak universe.

  Reaching into a drawer, she took out the folder of pictures from her time in Naples. There were a hundred stills, plus a disk recorded in a camcorder, taken by a friendly passerby. Since returning she’d rarely allowed herself to look at it, but now she slipped it into the machine.

  It was like watching strangers. The man and the woman were totally in love, totally right for each other, rejoicing in that rightness. Nobody watching would have known that her thoughts were far away, planning to leave him. Certainly he hadn’t known. There was a defenceless innocence in his manner towards her because he trusted her totally.

  And he was wrong, she thought, tears streaming down her face. He shouldn’t have trusted her for a moment, because she’d been planning to betray him. He’d never suspected because there wasn’t a dishonest bone in his body, and when he found out it had nearly ruined him. Even then he’d wanted her back, and she’d refused because she hadn’t one tenth of his courage.

  She could hardly bear to look at the blissfully happy young joker before her eyes. He’d gone, replaced by the haggard, distant man she’d seen at the awards. And she had done that to him.

  She switched off and sat in the darkness for a long time.

  If I go to Naples, he’ll know the truth as soon as he sees me. He’ll know I can’t keep away from him. How can I tell him that, after what happened?

 
Pride. It mattered, didn’t it?

  The drumming of the rain seemed to give her the answer. Pride. Emptiness. A lifetime without love. Years of endless, searing misery.

  Or the flowering that was there inside her at the thought of seeing him again. It spread, streaming through her veins, taking her over until there was nothing left but joy.

  I could tell him that I love him, and that I got it wrong. Maybe there’s even a chance we can still find the way. But if not, if it’s too late, at least I can tell him that I’m sorry.

  While she waited for the flight to be called she sat down for a coffee, and at once her cellphone went. It was Sol.

  ‘Where are you?’ he demanded. ‘I just got a text saying you were going away for a few days-’

  ‘I’m going to Naples.’

  ‘To see him?’

  ‘No,’ she said quickly. She couldn’t bear Sol to know the truth just yet. ‘I’m still looking over sites-tying up loose ends. I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Yeah. Right. How long will you be gone?’

  ‘I don’t know. I have to go now.’

  Della was hardly aware of taking her seat, fastening the belt. She was on edge until the plane rose from the ground, and then there was the relief of knowing that the decision was final.

  The flight to Naples was three hours. She began to wonder what she would do, having made no plan of action beyond putting up at the Vallini.

  I don’t even know where he is. He may not be at Pompeii now, or even be in Naples any more.

  She tried not to think that she might arrive too late, closing her eyes, fighting the fear. But the thought took hold of her. Her whole life might be haunted by her failure to find him in time. Then a sudden violent lurch brought her back to the present. She opened her eyes to find everyone looking around in alarm.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are experiencing a little turbulence. Please fasten your seatbelts…’

  She hated this, but comforted herself with the thought that it wasn’t far now. It was hard to fasten the belt because another lurch made it fly out of her hand.

  You’re nearly there now. Concentrate on that thought, and on seeing him again.

  She finally managed to fasten the clasp and sat back, taking deep breaths. She could feel that they were going down, so this was nearly over.

  But then she heard the screams begin, and she knew that it wasn’t nearly over. The worst was just beginning.

  ‘So you’re off to Egypt?’ Hope asked.

  ‘I thought you said Egypt had been done to death?’ observed Ruggiero from further down the table, where the three of them were breakfasting on the terrace of the villa.

  ‘It’s just a stop on the way,’ Carlo said. ‘Then Thailand. Then-I forget.’

  ‘You sound as though it doesn’t matter,’ Hope said, alarmed. ‘But in the past when you started a new job you were always lit up inside. Today-you shrug. You do that too often, as though nothing mattered any more.’

  ‘You’re being fanciful, Mamma. Of course something matters-my new contract with Mr Forest, which will give me freedom to go anywhere and research anything.’

  ‘And it will keep you away for a long time-which is what you really want, isn’t it?’ she asked shrewdly.

  He almost shrugged again, but stopped himself, conscious of his mother’s all-seeing eyes. It was true that he’d seized the chance of an alliance with the man he’d met in England. Alan Forest could fund his research, freeing him to travel anywhere for as long as he pleased. But he reasoned that any ambitious archaeologist would have done the same, whatever Hope might imply.

  ‘You’re lucky to be able to run away,’ Ruggiero remarked.

  ‘I am not running away,’ Carlo said sharply.

  ‘Like hell you’re not! You even tried to talk Forest out of staying in the Hotel Vallini.’

  ‘Because there are better hotels in Naples,’ Carlo said indifferently.

  Ruggiero’s answer was to make a sound like a chicken clucking.

  ‘I’m going,’ Carlo said.

  ‘But you haven’t finished your breakfast,’ Hope protested.

  ‘I prefer not to listen to the ravings of this person,’ Carlo said coolly, jerking his head in his brother’s direction.

  ‘I just like a man who’s honest with himself,’ Ruggiero observed. ‘Running to the other side of the world is the reverse of honest.’

  ‘Now, listen, you two,’ Carlo said, in the voice of a man exasperated beyond endurance. ‘I am not running away. I’m simply not going to spend the rest of my life brooding. It’s over. Finished. Della made her decision and that’s that. And the more I think of it, the more I realise that she was right. Life goes on.’

  Ruggiero drew in his breath. He might or might not have been going to cluck again. It was impossible to say since the look Carlo turned on him effectively froze his blood.

  ‘I’m off,’ Carlo said, draining his cup. ‘We should have signed that contract two days ago, but better late than never.’

  ‘And after you’ve gone, when will I see you again?’ Hope wanted to know.

  ‘That’s in the lap of the gods.’ He kissed her cheek and departed.

  ‘He’s really changed,’ Hope sighed.

  ‘I’ll say!’ Ruggiero exclaimed with feeling. ‘Another moment and he’d have killed me. You know why this is happening suddenly, don’t you? It’s because he saw her in England.’

  ‘He never talks about that,’ Hope said sadly. ‘We wouldn’t even know if Evie hadn’t told us.’

  ‘After that he thought she’d get in touch with him.’

  ‘He said so?’

  ‘No, but he jumped every time his phone went. It was never her.’

  ‘Why didn’t he just call her?’

  ‘Mamma, don’t you understand him yet? She rejected him. Very finally. He won’t go back to her and beg.’

  ‘But perhaps she called him when you weren’t there.’

  ‘No, she never called him.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘Because he’s going away,’ Ruggiero said.

  The sight of Alan Forest gave Carlo a shock. He had one arm in a sling, and a black eye.

  ‘Were you mugged?’ Carlo asked.

  ‘No, I was on that plane that crashed at the airport a couple of days ago. I expect you saw it on the news. It was a terrible business. Fifteen people dead, several more expected to die.’

  ‘But when you called me to say there’d be a delay in the contract you didn’t mention the crash,’ Carlo said. ‘You just said something had come up.’

  ‘I was out of my mind on sedatives and I just wanted to sleep. They take very good care of you in the Berrotti Hospital. But I’m fine now.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Carlo asked worriedly.

  ‘Believe me, I was one of the lucky ones. But the others-there was even someone I knew-by sight, anyway. That TV producer you talked to at the awards ceremony.’

  ‘What?’ Carlo’s cup clattered into the saucer.

  ‘Della somebody-’

  ‘She was in that crash?’ Carlo asked in a tense voice.

  ‘I saw them carry her off on a stretcher, and she wasn’t moving. She could be dead by now. Hey! What are you-?’

  He was talking to empty air. Carlo had fled.

  Afterwards he couldn’t remember how he got to the hospital. He was functioning on automatic, blotting out the hideous truth. For two days she’d been lying within a few miles of him-alone, perhaps dying. And he hadn’t known.

  At the hospital he parked the car in a hurry and hurled himself inside.

  ‘Signora Hadley,’ he said fiercely to the young woman receptionist. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Are you a relative, signore?’

  ‘No, but I-know her very well.’

  ‘I’m afraid we have strict rules-’

  ‘For the love of God, tell me she’s alive,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Just say that. Say it!’

  ‘She’s alive,’ she said, regarding him
in alarm. ‘Signore, please-don’t force me to call Security.’

  ‘No-’ He ran his hand through his hair. ‘There’s no need. I just want to know how badly hurt she is-she was in the crash.’

  She relented, taking pity on his haggard face sufficient to say, ‘Yes, she was on the plane, and she was brought here.’

  ‘And she’s still alive? You said so, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I did. She’s alive, although I must warn you-Perhaps you’d better talk to her son.’

  ‘He’s here?’

  ‘We sent for him at once. If you go up to the second floor, you should find him.’

  He was gone before she’d finished talking. As he ran, the receptionist’s words hammered in his head. ‘I must warn you-I must warn you-’

  He shut them out. He was afraid.

  He saw Sol as soon as he turned into the corridor, standing at the far end, staring out of the window, so that at first he was unaware of Carlo’s approach. Even when he looked up he didn’t seem to recognise the man hurrying towards him, his face harsh and desperate.

  ‘How is she?’ Carlo demanded.

  ‘My God, it’s you!’

  Carlo took a step towards him. He was closer to losing control than he’d ever been in his life.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘She’s been unconscious since they dragged her off that plane,’ Sol declared in a flat voice. ‘The doctors talk a lot of guff, but we all know what’s going to happen.’

  Suddenly his voice shook.

  ‘She’s dying, and there’s nothing anyone can do.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘THAT can’t be true,’ Carlo said harshly. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘Do you think I haven’t said that to myself?’ Sol demanded. ‘When I first got here and found her unconscious I thought she’d wake up at any moment, but she didn’t. It goes on and on. The longer she’s unconscious the worse it is. They had to operate, but she should have come round by now.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Behind that door. They sent me out while they did something with the machines. You should see all the things she’s attached to.’