A Final Reckoning
Page 28
She was still talking as they led her away and down the stairs. Someone remained behind and took statements from us. I explained that I’d asked Malcolm to stay in the kitchen, just in case. After all, Paula and I had nothing in common, nothing to say to each other; I’d last seen her at Gavin’s trial and had never expected to see her again. So why had she come? I had been fairly sure her arrival at my front door had not been intended as a social visit.
When everyone had gone, and the flat was quiet again, Malcolm and I fell into each other’s arms. ‘Please, God,’ I said. ‘Please let there not be any more of this. It’s been going on for so long, and now I just want rid of it. I want to be free of it all.’
‘It’s over,’ Malcolm said. ‘Trust me.’
And I did.
Epilogue
Two years later
Malcolm and I went over to Rome for Christmas. Each day it was warm enough at noon for the four of us to sit out on the balcony with a glass of wine and smile at each other. We ate out, in a number of small restaurants lit by candlelight and full of laughter. One evening, Dad poured champagne into crystal flutes which I recognized as having belonged to my French grandmother.
‘Two announcements to make, guys,’ he said. ‘First of all, I’ve finally persuaded Ingrid, my wonderful companion, to let me make an honest woman of her … and believe me, it was a hard sell.’
‘I am very independent, Allessandro.’
‘And will continue to be, cara. The other thing I very much want to say is this: life is like a river, it constantly flows onward, and there’s little you can do to change it. Sometimes it hits rocks or falls over cliffs and then there’s sadness and pain. And sometimes it just runs smoothly between banks full of flowers. Please forgive the homespun and unoriginal sentiments: they are nonetheless deeply felt, and I am joyful beyond words to see my dearest daughter happy again, after more vicissitudes than most people have had to endure at her tender age.’
‘What is “vicissitudes”, caro?’ murmured the contessa.
‘I’ll explain in a moment. But first, let’s drink to all that is lovely in our lives and try not to remember those things which have not been.’
Malcolm put his arm round my shoulders, and I knew with certainty that I was a woman not made for glamour and excitement, for obsession and madness, for fire and frenzy. I knew, too, that for the rest of my life I would sometimes wake sweating in the middle of the night, seeing again that axe-blade, listening to Gavin’s demented words, wondering what malign influences had shaped him. And that I would turn to my husband, and he would soothe me, assure me in his soft Scottish accent, that everything was fine, there was no more danger, no more heartache. That there never would be.
And the words ‘quiet’ and ‘comforting’ had never seemed more beautiful.