The Truth About You

by Susan Lewis

  Tierney felt helpless. ‘A few months, I suppose, and you always said you were just friends with benefits, or shag buddies . . .’

  ‘Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he should be inviting someone else to stay while I’m here, and I’m not standing for it. You’ve got to tell him to uninvite her, OK? If you don’t, he’ll be finding out about you and Guy.’

  Tierney paled. ‘You can’t do that,’ she cried. ‘He’ll go mental. He’ll tell Mum or Dad . . .’

  ‘So make him uninvite her.’

  Tierney was desperate. ‘I don’t know how to. I mean, I already tried, but he won’t listen to me.’

  ‘You’ll have to make him.’

  ‘Skye, please don’t be like this. I need your help. I’ve had this text, look.’

  Flaring her nostrils, Skye snatched the phone. As she read the message her eyes grew wide.

  Guess where I am.

  ‘Fuck,’ she murmured.

  ‘What am I going to do?’ Tierney begged. ‘If he’s here . . . Do you reckon that’s what he’s saying?’

  Skye tossed the phone back on the bed. ‘It might not be,’ she said, without much conviction. ‘Text back and say, “Give up.”’

  Tierney quickly tapped it in and pressed send.

  ‘Wherever he is,’ Skye told her, ‘no way are you getting any backup from me until you make Max uninvite that bitch.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  IT WAS SATURDAY morning now, and though Lainey realised it was probably hating seeing Stacy go that was making her so edgy, she still couldn’t shake a feeling of growing anxiety.

  She hadn’t spoken to Tom since their angry words about the tabloid article, nor, thank God, had anyone from the press tried to contact her. However, she’d learned from her aunt that he’d turned up unexpectedly yesterday evening, and as far as Lainey knew he was still there. Thinking of him at home, in his study, moving about the kitchen, probably sleeping in their bed, had made her want to go rushing back to be with him.

  Please God don’t let him be packing.

  ‘Has he said how long he’s intending to stay?’ she’d asked her aunt first thing.

  ‘No,’ Daffs had replied, ‘but I expect he’ll tell us when he comes down. I must say we’re enjoying having him here; he ate with us last night, and put your father to bed, after letting us win a game of Scrabble.’

  As moved by that as she was worried by how hard she was going to find it to manage her father alone, Lainey said, ‘I don’t expect he mentioned it, but we’ve had a bit of a row.’

  ‘Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that,’ Daffs responded. ‘I’m sure you’ll make it up soon enough. It would be good if you could, because I must say, he’s looking quite strained.’

  The churning in Lainey’s heart was increasing painfully. He’d brought this on himself, so how could she feel sorry for his suffering, particularly when she had her own and Tierney’s to consider?

  These past two days Tierney had been unusually quiet, barely eating, and not even joining the others when they’d gone off on their jaunts. She’d even slept in with Lainey last night while Max and Skye went discoing, and as far as Lainey knew she was planning on coming to see Carlotta Calduzzi with her later today.

  ‘I promise, I’m fine,’ Tierney told her again, ‘and no, I’m not involved with a bloody married man. I don’t even know why you’re saying that. I’m not involved with anyone.’

  ‘So why are you seeming so . . . low?’

  ‘Why do you think? It’s you and Dad. I don’t want you to break up. Mum, please don’t break up with him.’

  Swallowing hard on her emotions, Lainey said, ‘It’s not what I want, you have to know that, but if it’s what he wants . . .’

  ‘It isn’t. He still loves you, I know it. It’s just because this woman’s ill. Once she’s better he’ll come back to us. You wait and see.’

  Lainey could only wish she herself felt so certain, but she didn’t. Quite the reverse, in fact, even though she supposed there was a chance it had already happened. After all, he was at Bannerleigh Cross now, so maybe Kirsten’s treatment was over?

  Maybe she should ring to find out. She would if everything didn’t feel so fragile between them, so capable of shattering beyond any chance of repair if even one wrong word was spoken.

  ‘I’ve thought about taking Skye to one side,’ Lainey confided to Stacy as they waited for Lorenzo to arrive, ‘and I will later, if Tierney doesn’t seem any better.’

  ‘Is she still going with you and Marco to see Carlotta Calduzzi?’ Stacy asked, checking she had her passport and boarding pass.

  ‘If she is she’ll have to get her skates on, because Marco’s due here at ten and it’s already twenty to.’

  Glancing up at the sound of a car arriving, Stacy said, ‘That must be Lorenzo,’ and turning to Lainey she wrapped her in her arms. ‘I’m so sorry to be leaving you now,’ she said. ‘I feel such a useless friend, bailing when you need me the most.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Lainey assured her, despite feeling far from it. ‘It’s great that you have this job, and you’re going to be brilliant at it.’

  This was something she was probably going to have to find for herself in the not too distant future, a job that didn’t involve Tom. The thought of it was crushing, for it was impossible to imagine there being such a void in her life when organising his world, running their home, and bringing up their children had given her such purpose and fulfilment. ‘But you surely want something for yourself,’ friends had commented over the years, but what was her family if it wasn’t hers? She had no desire to push paperwork around the legal system, or give herself a breakdown trying to make shareholders even richer than they already were. Much less did she want to hand her children over to someone else to bring up so she could pursue an ambition she didn’t really have, just to satisfy the feminists out there who seemed to feel it was vital for women to ‘have a career’. She was a wife and a mother and felt no need to apologise for it, or to try and escape it, since for her – and she wasn’t ashamed of this, indeed she’d always been proud of it – there was no more important job in the world.

  How on earth was she going to rethink that and find another way, when up to now her family-centred existence had always felt so honest and right?

  ‘I’ll be at the end of the phone, day or night,’ Stacy reminded her, as they walked towards Lorenzo’s car.

  ‘Thanks,’ Lainey whispered.

  Since Max and Skye had taken Zav and Alfie to the village for breakfast, there was only Tierney left for Stacy to say goodbye to, but when Stacy reached the bathroom door the shower was running and music blaring. Nevertheless she called out to let Tierney know she was on her way.

  After a moment the volume went down and Tierney called back, ‘Bye, Stace, have a good flight.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Stacy replied, ‘and you enjoy the rest of your holiday.’

  ‘I will.’

  Going back to the terrace, where Lorenzo was loading her bags into the car, Stacy linked Lainey’s arm as she said, ‘Maybe you could work it so that Skye goes home early, since they’re so clearly not getting along.’

  Sighing, Lainey said, ‘Easier said than done without hurting the poor girl’s feelings. Anyway, I think what Tierney really needs is to speak to her father. I’d do more to encourage it if I weren’t afraid of what he might say, and how it might end up making things worse.’

  ‘Is he still trying to call her?’

  ‘I think so, which’ll be making her feel terrible, because she won’t like hurting him. I’ll have to sit down and talk to her again. We need to sort through this somehow.’

  ‘Marco is on his way,’ Lorenzo announced, coming to join them. ‘He was dropping the children for their horse-riding lessons, so may be a few minutes late.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Lainey assured him. Thank goodness she had something to do today, or she might just find herself packing up and joining Stacy on the next flight home.

  Home. Where Tom
was.

  Unless he’d already left again.

  Embracing Stacy and fighting back the tears that seemed determined to spill, she said, ‘Call when you land to let me know you’ve arrived safely.’

  ‘Of course,’ Stacy promised. ‘And good luck with Carlotta. I’ll be longing to hear all about it.’

  Suppressing a shiver of nerves, Lainey stood back to watch her get into the car.

  Moments later they were gone, and Lainey was trying not to feel the loneliness of being here without her best friend. Not that they’d spent much time together over the past week, but just knowing Stacy was around and there to talk to if she needed to offload had made the darkest moments a little easier to bear.

  Suddenly the need to speak to Tom was so overwhelming that she couldn’t stop herself dialling his mobile. After the third ring her aunt picked up, which was odd, but a relief too since it must mean he hadn’t left yet.

  ‘He’s taken Peter for a walk,’ Daffs told her. ‘I only realised his phone was still here when you rang. Of course I wouldn’t have answered if I hadn’t seen it was you.’

  ‘Has he told you yet when he’s leaving?’ Lainey forced herself to ask.

  ‘No, but he took a few things out to the car earlier, so I suppose it’s sometime today. Would you like me to give him a message?’

  Unable to speak, Lainey urged the despair to pass, but it wouldn’t.

  ‘Are you still there, dear?’ Daffs asked worriedly.

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m here,’ Lainey managed with a sob. ‘I – um . . . No, no message. He’ll see that I’ve rung and if he wants to call back, he will.’

  Picturing him with her father as she rang off, she covered her face with her hands and tried so hard not to cry that it wasn’t until Tierney came to wrap her in her arms that she realised the battle was already lost.

  ‘Oh Mum, don’t, please,’ Tierney wept, ‘I know you’re going to miss Stacy, but it’ll be all right, I promise. We’ll make it all right, me and you, OK?’

  ‘Yes, of course we will,’ Lainey replied, loving her for trying to be so grown up. She squeezed her tight, loving her even more for being Tom’s daughter, a link to him that could never be broken. ‘Are you ready?’ she finally made herself ask. ‘Marco’ll be here any minute.’

  ‘Actually,’ Tierney said, as they started towards the terrace, ‘I thought I’d stay here and wait for the others to come back.’

  Surprised, Lainey said, ‘Are you sure? They shouldn’t be long, but if they decide to go on somewhere . . .’

  ‘I’ll text and get them to come and pick me up.’

  Deciding that a reunion with Skye could only be a good thing at the moment, Lainey let the matter rest. It would be easier not to have Tierney around while she and Marco were talking to Carlotta Calduzzi, if only because Tierney would be sure to keep interrupting. Besides, if Carlotta was going to confirm her worst fears, that she, and therefore her children, were the progeny of incest, Lainey would rather have some time to put it into her own words before breaking it to them.

  As soon as the gates had closed behind Marco’s car, Tierney took out her phone to send a text. Her fingers were shaking, she was close to sobbing, but she didn’t have any choice. She had to do this or nothing in her life would ever be all right again.

  The interior of Carlotta Calduzzi’s apartment turned out to be as grand as the building that housed it, set high in the hilltop town of Cortona on a narrow, cobbled street, which meandered off towards the Sanctuary of Santa Margherita. The salon’s spectacular view over the town’s cluttered red rooftops and dazzling sweep of the valley below was framed, like a painting, in a highly ornate window with a table and chairs in front of it, and the inevitable crucifix above. In a way, the room was a little like a church, with its stained-glass panels in the doors leading to the hallway and kitchen, and fading tapestries hanging from the yellowing walls.

  Signora Calduzzi herself, though no beauty in the obvious sense, was as elegant as any woman her age could wish to be, with small, precise features, neatly combed fair hair and a bearing that perfectly suited her expensively cut dress. Though her eyes were still moist after the rush of emotion she’d experienced on opening the door to find herself confronted by a fantasma dal passato (ghost from the past, Marco had provided), they were shining with fondness now and a touch of sadness too.

  ‘She is so very young to die,’ she murmured in heavily accented English, drawing the sign of the cross in front of her again, while repeating what she’d said when Lainey had broken the news of her mother’s death. ‘Dio fa che la usa anima riposa in pace.’

  Knowing this meant God rest her soul, Lainey smiled her thanks and sat down at the table, in the chair Signora Calduzzi was offering.

  ‘Grazie,’ the signora said to Marco as he held out a chair for her. ‘Will you have a drink?’ she asked, seeming almost fearful that they might refuse.

  ‘I’d love one, thank you,’ Lainey assured her, having no idea what the lemon-coloured liquid was in the crystal jug between them. However, she was eager to try it, if only to be polite. ‘Shall I pour?’

  ‘Si, si, le mie mani tremano ‘in questi giorni,’ she replied, gesturing for Lainey to continue.

  ‘She’s saying that her hands shake a little these days,’ Marco explained, and seeing Lainey grimace as she lifted the heavy jug, he took it from her and did the honours himself.

  Though the drink was sugary it was refreshingly cold, and as soon as Lainey realised Signora Calduzzi was awaiting a verdict, she declared, ‘Delizioso.’

  Seeming almost childlike in her delight, la signora chuckled happily and took a sip herself. She spoke rapidly then to Marco, and for several minutes Lainey simply listened, picking up on the odd word here and there, but unable to make any real sense of what was being said.

  ‘She is telling me that you have a very strong resemblance to your mother around your eyes and the shape of your face,’ Marco explained. ‘Your colouring too, and she is wondering if your spirit is as mischievous.’

  Breaking into a smile, Lainey turned to la signora, saying, ‘Hopefully only on her better days.’

  Marco translated and la signora clapped her hands in amusement. She then continued in Italian, telling Lainey through Marco how close she and Alessandra had been as girls, and how very much she’d missed her friend after she’d left for England. Apparently she’d written to Alessandra many times in the early years, but Alessandra had only replied once, to tell her that she would never come back. After that, all Carlotta’s letters had gone unanswered, until eventually she’d stopped writing. But she’d never stopped praying for Alessandra to change her mind and return home, she said, or simply to send word.

  ‘And now,’ she sighed, a little tearfully, ‘she is with the Blessed Virgin. I am always afraid for this, that I am never seeing her again. Era malate da tanto?’

  ‘Was she ill for long?’ Marco translated.

  Already warming to this woman, simply for seeming to care so much about her mother, Lainey said, ‘She had cancer.’ She glanced at Marco, but la signora said, ‘Si, si, I understand. This is very sad, but you were with her?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lainey replied. ‘My sisters were too, and my father.’

  ‘You have sisters?’ She seemed surprised and pleased.

  ‘Two, Sarah and Esther. They’re my half-sisters, and Peter is my adoptive father.’

  Carlotta nodded gravely.

  ‘Peter’s a wonderful man,’ Lainey told her. ‘My mother was very happy with him, and I couldn’t wish for a better father.’

  Carlotta smiled. ‘I hear long time ago from Maria, your great-grandmother, that our beloved Alessandra marries a nice Englishman. It is very good for my heart when I hear this.’

  ‘You knew Maria?’ Lainey asked.

  ‘Si, si, I know all family of Alessandra. We are children together in Tuoro and on the island where live my grandparents – and Maria.’

  Reaching into her bag, Lainey said, ‘I have a letter
here, or part of one, that I found amongst my mother’s belongings. I was wondering if it might have been from Maria?’

  Having put on her glasses, Carlotta took the single page, and while reading she touched her fingers to her lips as though to stop any emotion escaping. ‘Si,’ she said softly, ‘I believe this is from Maria. She is very sad when Alessandra leave. It break her heart. You understand, she was like a mother for Alessandra. She care for her very much.’

  Lainey swallowed. ‘Why do you think my mother told Maria she’d named me after her mother, Melvina?’

  Carlotta’s eyes darkened as she lowered them. ‘Did Alessandra never tell you what happen between her and her mother?’ she asked.

  Lainey shook her head. ‘I know something did, but she’d never talk about it. It’s why I’m here, to try to find out why she left her family when she was still so young.’ She hesitated a moment. ‘I was also hoping,’ she went on cautiously, ‘that you might be able to tell me who my real father is?’

  At that, Carlotta rose to her feet and began pacing the room. She seemed so agitated as she spoke to Marco in Italian that Lainey almost wished she hadn’t broached the subject. She looked at Marco, who discreetly raised a hand, indicating she should allow la signora to finish whatever she was saying.

  As she waited Lainey realised, with an awful churning inside, that there couldn’t be much doubt now that her ugliest suspicions were being confirmed. It was the only truth she could imagine that would cause such a reaction, and as the shame of it burned into her heart she felt so wretched, and so afraid for her children, that she hardly knew how she could go forward from here.

  In the end, as Carlotta seemed to calm down, Marco attempted a translation.

  ‘Basically, she is saying,’ he began, ‘that as your mother never told you about your father then she feels that she cannot either. It is a truth that is far better to die with those who have kept it a secret all these years.’

  Lainey turned to Carlotta, understanding why she wouldn’t want to put the shame into words, but she couldn’t simply let it go. ‘It was Luigi Valente, wasn’t it? He was both my father and grandfather?’