The church door was open. Running up the steps she went inside, sliding into a pew at the back. The interior was beautiful, rich with gold and with incredibly vibrant frescoes.
As her eyes became accustomed to the surroundings she noted that there were several women kneeling in the front pews, their heads covered. Perhaps she and Luca had married in this very church. Luca, how the name tripped from her tongue. Yesterday he had been the conte and now in her mind he had become Luca and it had happened so naturally, as if she had never lost her memory of him. Yet as she pursued him further in her mind, nothing came to the fore. Just his name, Luca; she murmured it out loud as if this would trigger something but it did not, yet it sounded so sweet on her tongue and with it came a rush of feeling so potent it knocked the very breath from her body.
Her stomach grumbled. It had been so foolish to come all this way without eating something. Yesterday she had not gone down to dinner and had sent word that she was going to bed early. She had eaten nothing but a couple of biscuits and now she had walked at least four miles. Having no purse with her, she knew she would have to walk back to the palazzo and uphill all the way, on an empty stomach.
When she left the church the sun had dominance, it beat down on the shiny surface of the square. The men were still outside the bar; a man near the general store was swilling down the area in front of the shop with a bucket of water.
The sound of a car’s engine caused her to pause before crossing the square. The car, a low-slung white two-seater sporty model, pulled up suddenly and the door opened to reveal Luca.
With restrained elegance he pulled himself from the car and crossed to her side. ‘Alva,’ he murmured, ‘get in.’ Although he spoke softly, there was a command in his voice. She looked up at him, thought of saying she preferred to walk, but then realized that would be foolish. Her legs felt rather like a young foal’s and twice as unsteady. Gratefully, she slid into the passenger seat as he opened the door. Without looking at her, he slammed the door to close it; the noise of it seemed to echo around the square.
As he drove past the bar, she saw the men watching their progress with interest. Turning she looked at Luca. He was looking stern and uncompromising. Obviously he was annoyed with her.
‘How did you know where I was?’ she asked.
‘A telephone call.’
She clicked her tongue impatiently. ‘There was no need for that. Why would anyone do that anyway?’
‘Because they know you are not, shall I say, yourself, and they are concerned. You wander in the square at seven a.m. and you think it will not cause comment. Dio mio you must be mad if you think that!’
‘Well I am mad, in a way, isn’t that so?’
‘If you like.’
Her stomach swelled yet not from hunger, there was a dull pain there and she could not explain it to herself. He was after all only agreeing with her and what did she expect? That he would understand her confusion.
‘You really don’t like me very much do you?’ She dared, even though she dreaded the confirmation.
He said after a while. ‘Va bene.’
‘What did I do to make you dislike me?’ She dared the question, yet dreaded the reply.
‘Now is not the time for this,’ he said sternly. His hands moved confidently across the steering wheel. They were capable, strong hands, darkly tanned. She thought of them touching her body and gave a little gasp. He turned to give her a quick glance.
‘What is it?’
‘Nothing, I think I should know everything. It’s cruel to be this way and not to tell me the reason.’
‘Being what way, Alva? Have I been rude to you? Have I made you uncomfortable?’
‘Of course not, you are almost too polite.’ Then looking at him she added, ‘Frigidly so.’
‘I am sorry; I cannot help how I feel, Alva.’
His apology made her feel suddenly sad; it was possible that she had done something unforgivable and it troubled her. That in itself did not really make sense, for surely if she had done something so bad that her husband no longer loved her, then it followed that she would not care. But she did care, cared too much for her own peace of mind.
‘Did you love me?’ she asked.
‘Love you?’ He rasped out the question, his jaw was set firm. ‘What is love?’
‘Deep feelings for another person, emotional involvement, a willingness to do anything to make that person happy, putting them before yourself,’ she shrugged. ‘Something like that I would imagine.’
‘Emotional involvement?’ he reflected on the words, saying them softly, almost under his breath. When he next said something she knew it was meant as a rebuttal of any feelings of love she might suspect him of once having. It was also meant as an insult. ‘The sex was good.’
She waited a moment, the car now turned into the gates. ‘I’m pleased I was able to get something right.’
He made a slight hiss as he took a deep breath. So, he was not expecting that. Perhaps the other Alva had never spoken up to him, was it possible she had been a doormat and then for some reason done something reprehensible? It could be that the reprehensible act had been a cry for help. She had only his word that she had been bad, it could be that she was not bad in other people’s eyes. Claudia seemed to respect and like her, so obviously she had been good to her maid. Yet Alva knew she could not ask anything of Claudia, it would not be fair on the woman and it would not be the done thing anyway.
The car drew to a stop outside the entrance to the palazzo, Luca got out and she waited until he had gone around the front and opened the door for her. As elegantly as she could, she swung her legs around and climbed out of the car. There was a little frisson of pleasure as she realized she had left the car with style. As she passed him, for he stood still holding the door like a smart chauffeur, her sleeve brushed his arm. He recoiled from her as if she had stuck a needle in his arm. Alva looked up at him, staring into his haughty handsome face, his dark-golden coloured eyes met her gaze and he made no attempt to avert his eyes from her scrutiny.
‘I must have been a real bitch,’ she said.
‘I would not use that word,’ he said.
‘You wouldn’t?’
‘Definitely not, Alva. You were difficult, you made things difficult but there was nothing bitchy in what you did.’
Her stomach heaved, she felt the urge to be sick, felt an acrid taste crawl up her throat.
‘Excuse me,’ she said and then she turned and ran away. She reached the bathroom; her stomach had to be empty but nevertheless something came gushing from her mouth. Waves of dizziness came over her and she sank on to the cool tiles, resting her cheek against the coldness, longing for the vertigo and the pain to go away.
It was Claudia who came and found her, helping her up, pushing aside her apologies with kind words. Soon Alva was lying on the bed, a cool damp towel over her eyes and forehead. Her eyes closed, she felt herself drifting away into nothingness.
Later, perhaps an hour had passed, when Claudia came with a tray of tea and warm rolls, urging Alva to eat a little.
‘I forgot about my medication, Claudia, in my bag. Would you please … ?’
‘A moment, Contessa.’ The woman moved confidently across the room and retrieved Alva’s handbag from the wardrobe.
Alva took the cocktail of tablets. Perhaps that was what had made her feel so ill, yet she knew that could not be the reason for her nausea. The medication had not had any effect on her before. Besides, she was nearly finished with taking them. The doctor had given her just enough and once they were finished she was to try to get by without them.
‘Eat a little,’ Claudia urged.
Alva did so, her stomach yawning even more emptily and, surprisingly, after the second bite, she found that the food slid down easily. The rolls were delicious and the tea hot and weak, as she liked it.
Claudia came later and ran a bath for her. It all seemed a little strange to have someone do these tasks for her. She was certain
it was not how she had been brought up. Obviously, she had to have been independent, being away at school and then living with an unpleasant aunt. Her aunt, if she disliked her so much, was unlikely to have fussed around her.
‘Claudia, what was I like … before?’ Curiosity got the better of her, the words slipping out when the woman came and said that her bath was ready.
‘Why, Contessa, just like now, gentile, Contessa, simpatico.’
Claudia smiled, her head to one side, as if she thought that Alva was crazy for asking the question. ‘You will not change your character, Contessa, just because you cannot remember. How can you do such a thing?’
‘Maybe,’ Alva murmured.
She crossed the room towards the bathroom. Claudia put her hands on her hips.
‘The signorina,’ she shook her head despairingly. ‘But I must not say — except — she is not simpatico.’
Alva went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She dare not go there with Claudia. Of course, Alva knew that the woman was referring to Renata, the girl to whom supposedly Alva was unkind. Glancing at herself in the mirror she saw that she looked pale and sickly still. She examined herself not out of vanity but of a wish to try to understand who she was. Was she really the archetypical wicked stepmother or was there more to Renata than her father saw? She would never find out — not only would she not see Renata apparently, but Luca thought his daughter above suspicion. She had not handled the relationship with her stepdaughter very well. It had to have been difficult for them both, but as the more mature woman she should have perhaps tried harder.
‘I don’t feel I’m a spiteful person. I’m not a bitch, he said that.’
She lay in the tub, Claudia had tipped a generous amount of bath foam and the bubbles were abundant and deliciously sweet. She rested her head and enjoyed the experience.
Eventually leaving the bath, she wrapped herself in a large soft towel, and then went to lie on the bed.
Hearing the door open, expecting Claudia, she turned her head and saw to her dismay that it was not Claudia but that it was Luca.
‘I heard you were ill,’ he said sternly.
‘I’m all right,’ she murmured.
‘I think we should call the doctor,’ he insisted, moving deeper into the bedroom.
‘Do you need assurance that I am not faking.’
‘I think we already established, Alva, that you are not faking, but you are obviously not well, Alva, and I would be happy if the doctor came to check you over.’
‘Very well,’ she agreed, before turning away from him.
He closed the door; she turned to make sure he had gone through it. Of course it was obvious that everything she did or would do would be reported to him. He had to have set the servants to spy on her — and was Claudia also part of the conspiracy? She realized that she had better be careful what she said and of what questions she asked.
In spite of knowing that the doctor would come to visit, she decided to dress.
The strength had returned to her limbs and now that she had eaten something and bathed, she felt quite refreshed. From the chest of drawers she took some underwear, it was silky and flimsy and there were many brassieres and panties in a variety of colours. She chose a lavender set and then from the closet, she took out a linen skirt with a matching top in a delicious shade of deep pink. Looking at herself when dressed she realized she had chosen well. The vivid pink suited her pale complexion and her sleek blonde hair. She had her make-up bag with her and she took out a lipstick that would not clash with the colour of her outfit, slicked it over her lips and then, after fluffing out her bobbed hair, went to look for a pair of shoes. There were lots of shoes. Was she a spendthrift? It certainly looked as if she was a woman who could shop with a vengeance. There was a pair of strappy white sandals with a slim not-too-high heel, and she slipped her feet into them.
There was no one about when she went downstairs. She remembered the sun lounge, the place that Luca had said she liked, and so she made her way there. Someone was there already, a dark, very slender girl. She was not quite beautiful but had perfectly formed features and a fine aristocratic bone structure. Her nose was not as large as her father’s and her eyes were the colour of dark, rich chocolate. Alva guessed that she was Renata Mazareeze, her stepdaughter.
The girl was exquisitely dressed, having that strong sense of style that many Italians had. The way she wore a silk scarf at her neck, the casual way the cuff on her satin blouse was turned, the well-cut black trousers, all looked expensive but worn with aplomb.
The girl said before Alva could speak, ‘I didn’t want to see you. Weren’t you told that?’ She spoke in a rude tone of voice. Obviously, the girl had no idea about good manners. She looked such a well-bred girl but Alva realized that appearance could be deceptive, and it certainly was as far as her stepdaughter was concerned.
‘Yes, Renata I was told that. However, your father told me that I liked to sit in this room. I was not following you nor was I looking for you. I’m just looking for somewhere to sit and pass the time.’
‘Why don’t you sit and pass the time in London?’
‘I don’t know,’ Alva said. She crossed the room and took the pale cream armchair.
‘Your father invited me here until I get well.’
‘Get well!’ The girl scoffed. ‘As if you are really ill. Don’t think I believe your story, Alva, I know why you’re here. You lost your pampered lifestyle and you want it back.’
‘If you say so, Renata,’ Alva said smoothly.
‘You’ll give yourself away, Alva. You aren’t that clever.’
‘Renata, you are a lovely young girl and you are obviously very clever, so why do you waste so much energy hating me?’
The girl stared at her as if the question had somehow confused her. Alva allowed herself to meet the gaze of her stepdaughter and at the same time, to try to drive away the misery that was there inside her. For this young girl to feel such passionate dislike must mean that it was in some way warranted. It could not just be that Renata was jealous that her father had married another woman. It could not be that simple.
‘You know why and you know what you did to my father; don’t pretend you don’t remember because I will never believe it. You cannot forget something so bad.’ The girl stared at Alva, her eyes spewing out such raw hatred that Alva shivered.
However, managing to maintain a cool exterior she said, ‘That’s up to you, Renata. But I am telling the truth and if you want me to feel really remorseful then you should tell me what I did that was so bad.’
‘What you did?’ Renata asked. ‘You want me to say it. You did lots of things. You were horrid to me.’ She took a breath and waited for a long moment, as if expecting Alva to deny it. ‘You flirted with men — probably you did even more than flirt only I could never prove that — but that’s not all, the most unspeakable thing you did was to — ’
‘Renata!’
The voice whipped across the room. The girl turned around to meet the furious gaze of her father.
‘The helicopter has returned. Do you have your things ready?’
‘Why don’t you tell her, Papa? Tell her what she did and then you’ll see how she’s lying. She’s so good at lying, Papa, you know that.’
‘Do you have your things, Renata?’ He repeated the question. He was so cold, Alva thought, that he made her shiver. After defying her father by holding his gaze in the end Renata shrugged.
‘I won’t be long!’
‘Don’t be, Antonio will fly us to Roma but I must be back here for a meeting.’
‘Very well, Papa, give me ten minutes.’ The girl swept out, dramatically slamming the door behind her.
Alva started at the echoing sound but then sought to gain her composure.
‘You must not pay any attention to Renata, she is young,’ he shrugged, as if age excused bad manners.
Alva wanted to say something, to let him know how she felt, but she managed with effort to
say nothing.
‘The doctor is here. I will send him to you. He will stay for lunch and then Guido will take him to the port and he will take the ferry back to the mainland.’
The idea of having lunch with a stranger, and a doctor at that, filled Alva with apprehension but again she said nothing. Obviously, the doctor had come from the mainland and so she could hardly send him back without some sustenance.
‘There is a ferry, to and from the mainland?’
‘Of course there is, Alva, but it would not be polite to send him back without lunch.’
‘Of course not, I was not meaning to suggest I do that, I was just curious.’
‘There are two ferries a day and that is all. The first is in the early morning and then there is one at three o clock. The last ferry leaves the mainland at 7 p.m. winter and summer. However, if you should wish to go then Antonio will take you in the launch.’
‘Antonio seems to do everything,’ she murmured.
‘Yes, he does.’
She wondered what this paragon was actually like — was he young and handsome or more mature? She recalled that the conte had said she had liked him, had she liked him too much? Was he one of the men she had flirted with? The thoughts tormented her — each one led her nowhere, just to a dark place where there was no past and seemed also to be no future.
‘Will you see Doctor Martino here?’
‘Yes, if that’s all right.’
‘He may wish to examine you,’ Luca suggested.
‘Then I will make other arrangements.’
‘As you wish. A più tardi.’
‘Arrivederci!’
*
Doctor Martino was a man in his sixties with a shock of white hair. He had a kind face and at once Alva realized he was someone that she could relate to. He came and sat opposite her and launched into a warm explanation of who he was, that he had known her when she had first come as a bride and that he had treated her previously. He was very efficient and explained that he had already been in touch with the hospital in London to have access to her medical records.
Shadows of the Past Page 3
