The Wedding Arrangement

by Lucy Gordon

  ‘You’ve been sleeping like a baby,’ she said, her eyes gleaming at him in the darkness.

  ‘Oh, Lord, did anyone notice I was gone?’ he groaned.

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘That place is full of young lads who can carouse all night and then start again without any sleep. At one time I could have done it, too, and I’m damned if I’ll let them suspect I can’t do it still.’

  Minnie smiled and produced the bottle of mineral water, unscrewing it for him.

  ‘Thanks.’ He drank deeply and felt better. ‘Whatever happened to my misspent youth?’

  ‘You spent it,’ she said sympathetically.

  ‘Yes, I guess I did.’

  ‘I wonder how. I’ll bet you’d never seen the inside of a cell before last night.’

  ‘There’s no need to insult me,’ he said drowsily. ‘When I was younger I had my moments-I should be heading back to the hotel soon. I’ll say goodbye to Netta and then-’

  He tried to get up and sank back. His brief doze, far from refreshing him, had started dragging him down to the depths of sleep, and there would be no escape until he’d gone all the way to the bottom and surfaced gradually.

  ‘You’ll never make it,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a better idea. Stay here a moment.’

  He fell asleep again as soon as she left, and awoke to the feel of her shaking him by the shoulder.

  ‘Come on,’ she said in a tone of command.

  He had a vague awareness of going down a flight of stairs and along a corridor until they stopped outside a door. She took out the key that she had been to fetch, and opened the door of an empty apartment.

  ‘This is between tenants at the moment,’ she said. ‘Of course you’ll find it a bit of a comedown after the Contini-’

  ‘If it’s got a bed, it’s fine,’ he murmured.

  ‘It’s got a bed, but it’s not made up.’

  She reached into a cupboard to find a pillow that she tossed onto the bed, followed by some blankets.

  ‘Hey, steady there,’ she said, catching him swaying. ‘Now lie down.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he mumbled, collapsing thankfully, and doing it so fast that she went down onto the bed with him.

  ‘OK, let me go,’ she said.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Let me go.’

  But the grip of his arms was unrelenting. He was too far out of it to heed her protests, but he was holding her against his chest in a grip she couldn’t break.

  She told herself that there was nothing lover-like about his clasp, and she must be as unaware of him as he presumably was of her. But the warmth of his great body was reaching her, enveloping her, taking control in a way that was alarming.

  For a moment she was almost tempted. It was so long since she’d known the first moments of thrilling sensation with their implicit promise of what was to come, and it was hard to turn away now.

  Yet she forced herself. Weakness was something she couldn’t afford. That was the code she lived by, and she wasn’t going to forget it now. Putting out all her strength, she managed to prop herself up a few inches, just far enough to deliver a well-aimed sock on his jaw.

  Like magic he went limp, and she managed to get free.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ she said, untruthfully.

  ‘Mmm?’

  She tucked a blanket around him, and slipped quietly away.

  At dawn Luke awoke and lay with his eyes still closed, trying to sort out his impressions. They were very confused.

  A soft, warm, female body lying against his own-his head spinning-

  He opened his eyes.

  He was in a place he didn’t recognise. The narrow bed beneath him stood in the corner of a small room which had a chest of drawers, a chair and a lamp. Nothing else.

  He rose and pushed open the door leading to a living room with a small kitchen leading off. Like the bedroom it was sparsely furnished, containing only a sofa, two chairs and a table. The only other room was a small bathroom.

  If only he could remember, but he’d been barely awake and had received only impressions. He’d held a woman close to his body and she’d been moving urgently-in the motions of love? Or trying to get away?

  And who? Not the gazelle-like Olympia, who had sometimes filled his dreams, but someone shorter, more strongly built, with a powerful right hook he thought, as he recalled the reason his jaw was tender.

  The sound of the front door made him turn. It was Signora Pepino, sauntering in and standing there, surveying him with a cheeky grin.

  He barely recognised her. He’d seen her as ‘Portia’ in an elegant black gown, giving a commanding performance in the courtroom. Last night at the party she’d been glamorous in silk and velvet. Both of those women had been ‘Signora Pepino’.

  But this was ‘Minnie’, an urchin in old jeans and blue T-shirt. He wished she would stay the same woman for more than a few hours.

  ‘So you’re up at last,’ she said with an air of teasing. ‘This is the third time I’ve been back. You were dead to the world. Do you feel better?’

  ‘Ye-es,’ he said cautiously, making the word half a question, and feeling his jaw tenderly.

  To his relief, she burst out laughing.

  ‘I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘It was you?’

  She surveyed him with hilarity. ‘Another woman would feel insulted by that question. Do women thump you so often that you can’t remember them?’

  ‘You’re the first-I think.’

  ‘Are we back to your misspent youth again? I’m not sure I want to know the details.’

  ‘Fine, because I can’t recall them.’ He felt his jaw again. ‘But I won’t forget you in a hurry.’ He looked around. ‘Where did I see a bathroom?’

  ‘No use. Everything’s turned off. Come up to my place and I’ll make you some breakfast.’

  Now he could see the courtyard in broad daylight, and appreciate how cleverly the tenants had made the best of it. It might have been a dreary place with its dark bricks, plain construction and the staircase that ran around the inner wall looking like a fire escape. Indeed, it probably doubled as a fire escape, but it was also the way to get from one home to another.

  But the dwellers here had fought back with flowers. There were several different kinds, but mostly geraniums, for Italians had a passion for geraniums, with their ability to spread colour and cheerfulness over the grimmest scene.

  They were everywhere-white, red, purple, rioting over railings, trailing from pots, smothering ugliness. Just the sight of them lifted his spirits.

  Minnie’s apartment turned out to be opposite the one they’d left, but one floor higher. Whereas his had been a shoe box, barely big enough for one person, hers could manage two, three at a pinch, and had a cosy, friendly air.

  She produced some towels and directed him to the bathroom.

  ‘Breakfast will be ready when you’ve showered,’ she said.

  She hadn’t quite finished cooking when he came out, and it gave him a chance to look around and see her home. Anything he could learn about her would be useful in the coming battle.

  It was cosy and unpretentious, slightly shabby but delightful. He suddenly noticed a photograph standing on a shelf, with a small vase of flowers beside it. The man resembled Charlie, although he was older, and Luke realised this must be Gianni.

  ‘That was my husband,’ Minnie said, coming to stand beside him.

  Gianni had a wide, laughing mouth, gleefully wicked eyes and the same air of irresponsible charm as Charlie.

  ‘You can see that he’s a Pepino,’ Luke observed.

  ‘Yes, they’re a tribe of madmen,’ she said with a slightly wistful smile. ‘I love them all. He used to say that I’d have married any one of his brothers, just to be part of the family, but he knew he was special to me as no other man could be. Put it away, please.’

  When he hesitated she took the picture from his hand and replaced it on the shelf.

  ‘I’m sorry; I didn�
�t mean to pry,’ he said.

  ‘You weren’t. It’s just that I find him hard to talk about.’

  ‘After four years?’

  ‘Yes, after four years. Sit down and have your breakfast.’

  She was still smiling, still pleasant, but unmistakeably a door had been shut.

  She served him eggs done to perfection and coffee that was hot, black and sweet. He was in heaven.

  ‘I’ve seen people collapse at the end of a party before,’ she said, sitting opposite him, ‘but never from orange juice.’

  ‘That’s right, rub it in. At one time I could have seen that crowd under the table.’

  ‘I doubt if you could ever have competed with Charlie,’ she advised him.

  ‘Was he really named after the Emperor Charlemagne?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because of Charlemagne’s father. He was a king called Pepino.’

  ‘And since the family name is Pepino-?’ he hazarded.

  ‘It stands to reason that they’re descended from royalty.’

  ‘But that was twelve hundred years ago.’

  ‘So?’ She shrugged. ‘What’s twelve hundred years to an ancient and royal family?’

  ‘Do they really believe it?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘But surely it can’t really be true?’

  ‘Who cares as long as it makes them happy?’

  ‘Isn’t a lawyer supposed to care about the truth?’

  ‘No, a lawyer cares about the facts. It’s quite different. Anyway, that’s for the courtroom. In real life a nice, satisfying fantasy is better.’

  ‘You’re like no lawyer I’ve ever known. You’ve got that office in the Via Veneto, which is the most expensive part of town, and yet you live here which is far from expensive. Perhaps I should double your rent.’

  Her head jerked up. ‘You dare-?’

  ‘Calm down; I was only teasing. It seemed right to play up to your idea of me as Scrooge-sorry, Scrooge was an English villain-’

  ‘You don’t have to explain that to me. I’m half English.’

  ‘You are?’

  ‘My father was Italian, my mother was English. I was born here, and lived here until I was eight. Then my father died, my mother returned to England and I was raised there.’

  Luke stared at her. ‘That’s incredible.’

  ‘Unusual, maybe, but hardly incredible.’

  ‘I mean that it’s a sort of mirror image of my own experience. I’m completely English by birth. When my parents died I was adopted. But my adoptive parents divorced after a few years and my mother married an Italian called Toni Rinucci, from Naples. I’ve lived in Naples ever since.’

  ‘So that’s why you have an English name?’

  ‘Yes. The Rinuccis are a family of English-Italian hybrids. Primo, my nearest adoptive brother, had an Italian mother, so he calls me Inglese, as an insult.’

  She gave a gasp of delighted recognition. ‘When Gianni and I were teasing each other he used to say, “Of course you’re half English so you wouldn’t understand,” and I used to throw things at him.’

  ‘Didn’t you like being half English?’

  She shook her head vigorously. ‘I always wanted to think of myself as Italian. I got back here as soon as I could, and I knew at once that I’d come home, my real home. I met Gianni soon after, and we were married quickly. We had ten years. Then he died.’

  She delivered the last few words briefly, and got up to make some more coffee. Luke said nothing, wondering at the sudden change that had come over her.

  After a moment she returned, apparently cheerful again.

  ‘So now you know why I live here. I love the whole family. Netta’s a mother to me. Gianni’s brothers became my brothers. I shall never leave.’

  ‘But don’t you ever feel the need to move on? I don’t just mean to another address, but emotionally, to the next stage in life?’

  She frowned a little, as though wondering what the words meant.

  ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘I was happy with Gianni. He was a wonderful man and we loved each other totally. Why would I want to move on from that? After total happiness, what is the “next stage”?’

  ‘But it’s over,’ he said gently. ‘It was over four years ago.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, it’s not over just because he died. When two people have been so close, and loved each other so much, death doesn’t end it. Gianni will be with me as long as I live. I can’t see him, but he’s still with me, here in this apartment. That’s my “next stage”.’

  ‘But you’re too young to settle for permanent widowhood,’ he burst out.

  ‘Who are you to say?’ she demanded with a touch of anger. ‘It’s my decision. Gianni was faithful to me. What’s wrong with me being faithful to him?’

  ‘He’s dead, that’s what’s wrong with it. Can’t there be more than one man in the world?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said simply, ‘but only if I want there to be.’

  There was no more to say. She had closed the subject quietly but firmly. For a moment he glimpsed an iron will beneath the charming exterior. She would not be easily moved from a decision once taken.

  ‘Thank you for breakfast,’ he said. ‘I’ll be going now.’

  ‘Let’s fix an appointment so that we can go over this building and I can show you what needs to be done.’

  ‘You’ve already given me a comprehensive list.’

  ‘Yes, but the reality is worse. Shall we say tomorrow? I have a free afternoon.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t,’ he said untruthfully. ‘I’d like to arrange my own timetable. I’ll call and speak to your secretary.’

  Her wry look told him that she wasn’t fooled. He met her eyes, letting her know that he wasn’t going to be a pushover.

  Before leaving he said, ‘Can I have the key to the place where I slept last night? I’d like to look at it again. Thank you.’

  The next few days were packed with work. The day she’d lost had to be made up and she had several new clients, so there was little time to reflect on the fact that Luke didn’t contact her.

  She took to going home late to avoid the curious looks of her fellow tenants. She knew they were excited at the prospect that she could really help them now, and they would be disappointed to know that matters had stalled. If Signor Cayman, as she persisted in thinking of him, did not call her, they would expect her to call him, and she didn’t know how to explain that pigs would roost in trees first.

  Nor could she have told them that one part of her was glad not to meet him again. When she thought of what she’d told him about Gianni and their lasting love, she was aghast at herself. She never discussed her husband with strangers, yet she’d found herself saying things to this man that she’d barely confided to Gianni’s family. For some reason she cared that he should understand, but it made no sense, and it obscurely alarmed her.

  Then a client suffered a crisis, forcing her to travel to Milan and stay for a week. During that time there was no call from him, according to her secretary. On the night before her return to Rome she decided that enough was enough, and called the Contini.

  ‘I’m sorry, signora,’ the receptionist said, ‘but Signor Cayman checked out this morning.’

  She flew back to Rome calling herself every name she could think of. He’d returned to Naples and her best chance was gone.

  It was late but as she entered the courtyard Netta, followed by her menfolk, came hurrying to meet her, arms open.

  ‘Darling, you’re so clever,’ Netta cried, enfolding her in a gigantic hug.

  ‘No, I’m not. Netta, I’ve been stupid-’

  ‘Don’t be silly! You’re a genius! Charlie, Benito, take her bags. Can’t you see she’s tired?’

  Minnie found herself swept in and up the stairs.

  ‘We’ve been longing for you to come home so that we could tell you how proud of you we are,’ Netta said gleefully. ‘It was a m
aster stroke. You’re simply a genius. Everyone says so.’

  ‘Netta, will somebody please tell me what I’ve done that’s so clever?’

  ‘Oh, listen to her!’ Netta chortled.

  ‘But what-?’

  Minnie fell silent as they reached the second floor. The door to the vacant apartment opened and a man emerged, regarding her satirically.

  ‘What-are you doing here?’ she asked slowly.

  ‘I live here,’ Luke informed her. ‘I’ve just taken this apartment, although I have to say it’s in shocking condition. First thing tomorrow I shall complain to the landlord.’

  Meetings of the Residenza Tenants’ Association always took place in Netta’s home. This time the atmosphere was buzzing.

  Netta dispensed coffee and cakes, besieged on all sides by neighbours who assumed that she was in the know. But what she could tell them was disappointingly thin.

  ‘I’ve hardly seen her since she came home. She’s been in her office early and late. There’s been no chance to discuss anything.’

  ‘But she must be talking to him privately,’ was the consensus. ‘Look at what he did today. She must have made him do it.’

  But Netta said no more, unwilling to confide her suspicion that Minnie knew nothing about Signor Cayman’s interesting activities that day.

  At last the door opened and Minnie swept in, a mass of files under her arm, the picture of efficiency. To their disappointment, she was alone.

  ‘All right, everyone,’ she said crisply. ‘We have a lot to talk about tonight. Things have changed, but we can turn this to our advantage-’

  She stopped as the door opened, and her face showed her dismay.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Luke said.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ The words were out before Minnie could stop them.

  Luke’s face assumed a look of diffidence. ‘I thought this was the meeting of the Tenants’ Association,’ he said meekly. ‘Did I come to the wrong place?’

  He was drowned out by a chorus of welcome. Arms reached out to him. At first he seemed inclined to hold back, as if unsure, but then he let himself be drawn in.

  And it was all an act, Minnie thought indignantly. If you believed this man was shy, you’d believe anything.

  ‘Yes, this is the tenants’ meeting,’ she said, ‘but I hardly think it’s appropriate for you to be here.’