by Unknown
His mind made up, he swept his papers into a file and snapped the laptop shut. He’d be home in ten minutes.
* * *
Thank God.
As Luca turned into the driveway, the first thing he noticed was the small Fiat parked haphazardly across the driveway. At least she was here, not in a ditch, overturned in a field or wrapped around a tree.
Even by his standards, though, his panic had been over the top. After all, he knew that he overreacted—the grief therapy Rose had insisted he undergo had taught him that much self-awareness, after all. Did it mean his feelings went further than affection and attraction, further than the sense of responsibility he felt for her?
Luca was afraid of the answer. Afraid his feelings didn’t just go further but also deeper.
Much deeper.
She had never promised anything more than a short time. She had never promised him anything at all.
He’d never asked her to. But what if he did? What if she agreed to stay? Not just tomorrow and for the rest of the summer but permanently?
For a moment Luca sat still, the car door half-open, paralysed by the sense that somehow his life would never be the same. Even if he said nothing, did nothing, he’d know. He’d know that maybe this was something more. What had she said—that he might find love somewhere unexpected?
* * *
The short walk to the house seemed to take an eternity, with Luca torn between a growing excitement at the thought of seeing Minty and finding out if he was right, that this was more than just a fling, and the same old dread. The dread that someone he cared about was ill, unconscious or worse.
This was the downside of letting someone in.
The possibility of losing them.
The door was unlocked. Luca opened it as quietly as he could and stepped carefully into the hall. If Minty was asleep, then he didn’t want to wake her. It struck him how transformed the hallway was. Before, it had been neat, impersonal. The coat he used had hung tidily on the hat stand, a pair of polished shoes by the door. Now the hat stand was draped in an array of jackets, wraps and scarves like a rainbow Christmas tree. Shoes were piled up by the door in a heap of velvet and leather, his own providing a sturdy, dark contrast to the light, flimsy ballet shoes and flip-flops.
And hitting him the second he walked in was that elusive scent of lemons.
Luca stopped for a moment and inhaled, letting the fragrance wrap round him, breathing her in. He had been born in this house, raised in it, and now he owned it. It finally felt like home.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs listening out for a clue to Minty’s whereabouts. Despite the shift in their relationship, she still had her own room—although she hadn’t slept in there since their trip.
But the house was silent and empty. A quick search later, Luca admitted defeat. She was nowhere to be seen.
Luca paused at the open doorway to her room. The hallway was a haven of tidiness and order compared to here: clothes, shoes and bags lay tangled on the floor, the chairs and the pretty wooden bed Minty had used since she’d been a child. Powder was spilled on the cluttered chest of drawers and Luca could count at least three empty glasses and two cups. He smiled, remembering Rose’s exasperation with Minty’s untidiness. It was only ever in her personal space, though; in the office, in the living areas of the house, she was perfectly tidy.
Boarding-school training, she always said.
He turned around to check the spare bedrooms, unlikely as it was she would be in there, and stopped. He usually wouldn’t invade her space but the glasses had been in there for several days now; she wouldn’t mind if he collected them up and took them downstairs, would she?
After all, they were no longer warring teenagers with Keep Out signs plastered aggressively to their doors.
There was more crockery than Luca had been expecting and he ended up with a pile by the door bigger than he could safely carry. Deciding to return with a tray, he had one last quick scan round the room, making sure he hadn’t missed anything, his eyes moving quickly past the heap of clothes on the bed before tracking back. Wasn’t that the dress she had been wearing today? So whatever she was doing, wherever she was, she had come home and got changed.
Luca walked over to the bed and picked up the discarded outfit, a light shift-dress in a pretty sky-blue. It was definitely today’s outfit; he recognised the white piping on the seams and the neckline. As he lifted it off the bed, he caught sight of a white leather bag underneath it, her phone and keys clearly visible through the open zip.
So that was why she hadn’t picked up. And if her bag was here she must be close by. He’d put himself through all that for nothing. Again. Let that be a lesson to you, Luca told himself sternly, although his heart was racing with relief. He picked up the bag, meaning to put it on the floor so he could lay the dress flat, and froze. Inside, next to the keys, the purse, the phone and all the other paraphernalia she insisted on carrying around with her, was a white box. In black letters Luca saw just one word.
Gravidanza.
It was a pregnancy test.
And hope soared through him as true and sweet as a perfect summer’s day.
* * *
‘Luca?’
Minty stopped at the doorway. Had he seen it? What was he thinking?
Nausea twisted her stomach.
‘What are you doing in here?’
Luca turned to her and her heart sank. He had the box in his hands.
But much worse was the look on his face. The hope.
She tried to speak, but her throat was so dry the words wouldn’t come. Minty swallowed and tried again. ‘I was just checking,’ she said. ‘I knew we’d been careful, but I was late. I’m never late. I got a bit panicky and bought three more tests than I needed.’
He was still looking so damned hopeful, so expectant. She grimaced at the unfortunate choice of words.
‘I’d have come with you.’
She acknowledged his words with a faint nod. ‘I know, but I didn’t want to worry you, not if there wasn’t a reason.’
‘What did it say?’ She knew he was trying to sound calm, but the excitement lit up his eyes; his body was held so still.
Minty closed her eyes briefly; it hurt to look at him. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘False alarm.’ She could hear her voice, light and inconsequential, as if they were discussing the weather or what to have for dinner. Her eyes skittered to his and reluctantly registered the disappointment on his face. She quickly looked away and stared down at her hands twisting nervously.
Luca moved closer, the hope fading fast, replaced with concern. ‘Are you okay?’
She laughed, the brittle sound foreign to her own ears. ‘Of course, I was worried for a few minutes, naturally, but everything is okay. Nothing’s changed. Only I’m a bit tired; I might have a bath.’
Only, of course, everything had changed—and he knew it too.
‘Minty,’ he said coaxingly. ‘Let’s go and have a glass of wine first. I want to talk to you.’
She considered refusing. The last thing she wanted was to talk to him about this, to disappoint him. She stood still for a second, still looking at him, then took a deep breath and nodded.
Neither of them spoke as they walked down the stairs and into the kitchen, Minty clutching the bag containing the traitorous box. Luca selected a bottle of Barolo and opened it, pouring out a glass for Minty and handing it to her. Their hands touched as she took the glass and she jumped, the contact shocking her. She took a large mouthful, barely registering the taste.
Luca took a sip of the wine, looking at her steadily. His voice was calm, steady. Completely sincere. ‘This is real, you and me.’
Minty had heard many declarations of love but nothing this raw, this honest. His words burned themselves on her heart, a painful bra
nding. He didn’t need to say it. She knew.
She couldn’t answer him. The tears were choking her throat, filling her eyes, sheer willpower alone keeping them from falling.
‘Minty.’ He gestured to her bag, at the box and all it implied. ‘We could have this, share this, if you want to. I know we haven’t been together long.’ He laughed, an abrupt sound, loud in the quiet room. ‘But in a way it feels like we’ve been heading here for ever.’
‘No.’ Just one quiet word. She moved forward slightly, her hands in front of her, as if she were warding him off. ‘Don’t say anything else, please.’
She couldn’t bear it if he said anything else. Because he was right: they had been heading here all along and she had been too much of a coward to stop it.
‘I want to,’ Minty went on. Because she owed him that at least; she owed him the truth. She didn’t give that to most people, she was rarely honest with herself, but it was all she had for him now. ‘I can see it, you know. Working together, living here. And you; most of all I can see you, and I can see us. I can even imagine this.’ She pulled the box out of the bag and threw it on the counter.
His head jerked up at that and she saw the hope, real and desperate. She had to crush it. ‘It wouldn’t last. I’m a player, Luca. I don’t mean to be, but eventually you’ll realise that I’m not real enough. They always do.’
‘You don’t know that.’ Luca stepped forward and grasped her wrists, pulling her in close, the length of her body pulled next to him. She closed her eyes for a moment and breathed him in, allowed herself one last moment of safety, of contentment. ‘We could try.’
Minty stepped back decisively, shaking her head. One day he would understand. When he was sat round the table with his wife and four children, and she was in yet another toxic break-up, he’d know that he was much, much better off without her.
This man had lost too much. He needed stability; he needed a family, love, someone who would put him first. And how she wanted to be that person; the need burned through her. But she couldn’t risk it. ‘It’s too dangerous,’ she said, begging him to understand, to see that she was doing this for him. That she loved him enough to be strong where he couldn’t.
She’d always hoped that one day she could be a better person. She’d had no idea it would hurt so much.
‘Dangerous how?’
Minty looked at him in surprise. ‘Because of the children, of course.’
‘Children?’ he echoed.
‘You want children, don’t you?’
She could see the indecision on his face as he tried to work out how to answer her, but she knew. Of course he wanted children. Desperately. The look on his face as he’d looked at the darned test had told her everything she needed to know.
He wanted a family, the whole deal: children, in the plural; lots of them. One of those big family cars with sliding doors; a dog with a waving, feathery tail.
‘Yes.’ In the end he couldn’t lie to her and she was grateful for that.
She smiled at him through the tears now free-falling down her face. ‘When I’m with you, I want them too. You’ll be a great dad—’ Her voice broke and she swallowed convulsively. ‘I’d rush into it, because that’s what I do. We’d have a baby within a year.’
‘And would that be so bad?’
Minty swallowed. Right now it sounded pretty close to perfect. But that was how things always were with her. ‘Not at first. At first it would be amazing. But then I’d be tired; you’d be away, and I wouldn’t mean to get bored and lonely, but I would. And the fantasy would fade.’
‘You don’t know that.’
She shook her head, trying to convince him, to make him see. ‘Oh, I do. And as it faded you would get more and more disappointed in me.’ Her voice quavered again. ‘Because I wouldn’t be the woman you wanted me to be, the person you thought I was. You see, I am very good at turning myself into the perfect partner, but I haven’t learnt to sustain it yet.’
‘I don’t want you to sustain anything.’ The sincerity in his voice nearly broke her. ‘I just want you, the real you.’
But she had to stay strong. This wasn’t for her, it was for him. ‘I’d drift away, to Hollywood, or Spain or Argentina. Find a new person to be. I’d break your heart and that would be bad. But worse, much worse, I’d break my daughter’s heart and I don’t want to be that person. I can’t be that person.’
‘Minty!’ With a muttered curse Luca stepped forward, his hands on her shoulders, swivelling her round to face him. ‘You are not your mother!’
He was so wrong. ‘I’m her daughter, in every way. And you deserve better, Luca.’ She stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek, inhaling the scent of him one last time. ‘I hope you find her,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘And she won’t be a fantasy girl, she’ll be real and loving and warm, and she will be a great mother.’ She stepped back. ‘You’ll be so busy you’ll forget all about me,’ she said brightly. ‘And that’s the way it should be.’
‘Don’t do this again,’ Luca said urgently. ‘Don’t run away.’
‘It’s what I do, Luca. I’m so, so sorry.’
Every fibre in her body was screaming at her to go to him, to change her mind, to try. But she wouldn’t. He deserved better; he deserved more than she would ever be able to give him. He deserved somebody real who would be there no matter what.
If she’d loved him a little less, she might have stayed. Instead, she turned and she walked away.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘HOW DO I LOOK? Like a junior account executive?’ Minty twirled round, showing off the sharp lines of her black trouser suit. ‘I quite like the collar, don’t you? And the white piping is pretty sharp.’
‘You look like you are going to a funeral, darling. Oh, Min, the interview sounds so dreary. PowerPoint presentations and pitches? Eurgh. Ditch it and come shopping with me instead. You know you want to. I’ll treat you to a blow-dry and treatment, and then you can stop with those horrid chignons.’
Minty smiled at Fenella, who was stretched out like a cat on the extremely trendy and extremely uncomfortable sofa. ‘I can’t, Fen. I know it’s a shock, but I actually need a job.’
‘I don’t see why,’ Fenella grumbled. ‘Your daddy will give in eventually, they always do. And you can stay here as long as you need. Besides, when your shares money comes in, you won’t need to work, will you?’
‘It’s not enough to sustain me in privileged idleness for ever, and you know I’m planning to invest in a flat.’ A sharp pain stabbed through her at the thought of the shares. The sooner they were sold back to Luca, the better, then all ties would be cut. Finally, this time.
‘Ooh, you could be in luck. I heard from Mrs Harrison that there may be an opening here.’ Fenella brightened up. ‘Not as lovely as my penthouse but a very reasonable corner apartment, so nice and light. We could go and have a look this afternoon.’
‘Chelsea is a little out of my league now,’ Minty said, repressing a sigh. She wasn’t asking for more than market value for her shares and, thanks to Luca’s policy of reinvesting most of the profits straight back into the business, she doubted she would get enough to buy a shoebox in central London. ‘I’ll be lucky to manage Zone Two; I may even have to venture south of the river.’
‘Don’t be so barbaric, darling. And you can’t possibly live in a building without a concierge and a gym! Oh, Minty, it all sounds so grim. Forget the job; there must be another way. I know, I’ll talk to Hugo. He always said he’d love to have you at the gallery because you actually know something about art. Think of all the lovely, rich men you’ll meet, and you can stay here as long as you want. It’ll be fun.’
Fun and really tempting: sinking back into her old carefree ways; pretending Italy had never happened, pretending Luca had never happened. After all, she had done it before.
<
br /> Only, last time she had slipped away in the night, hadn’t had to face the consequences of her actions. But it had been better to hurt him now than later on. Better to hurt him now than allow him the time to become disillusioned with her. The shock and pain in his eyes had wounded her; facing his inevitable disappointment and rejection would have been a fatal blow. She should have got out sooner.
She should never have started at all. But no more. She was a new Minty. If she didn’t learn from this, if the constant pain didn’t remind her, then she wasn’t worth saving.
‘That’s really sweet, but I think I have to do this on my own. I do really appreciate everything you are doing, but it’s not just about the money. I actually enjoyed working,’ Minty said, smiling at the shock on Fenella’s face. ‘And I do really want this job. So, tell me, do I look like a sober, responsible, hard-working young lady?’
Fenella looked her up and down then shook her head in disgust. ‘Why are women’s suits so ugly?’ she complained. ‘But, if boring and neat is the look you are going for, then you have achieved it.’
‘Thank you, I think.’
‘So this is it?’ Fenella said. ‘Nine to five, a small flat somewhere on the end of a Tube line, suits and flat boots? Too tired to come out on a weeknight, and homemade lasagne and bring-your-own on a Saturday? I don’t know what happened in Italy, Minty, but you need to get over it. Punishing yourself helps nobody.’
‘This is how most people live, Fen.’ But the vision that Fenella’s words conjured up was depressing: long days, long commutes back to a small flat for a ready meal for one and the latest reality show on TV. Minty tried desperately to remember the positives: the creativity of work, being self-sufficient, being herself.
Whoever that may be.
It’s time to find out, she told herself grimly. Before she blundered into anyone else’s life, hurt anyone else. Before she hurt herself even more than she had done. Each time it got harder and harder to pick herself up.
