They were always busy — kind and friendly but not particularly doting. They wanted to save the world; their interests and ideals meant she had to share their love with all the things they passionately cared about. She was lonely as a little girl, and then when she went to school she had had to fend for herself. She had been seven at the time. There she found love with Chloe and it was to Chloe’s home that she went when her parents were abroad at Christmas and Easter.
Chloe’s parents were conventional parents and they had been so good to her. When Chloe died they retreated into themselves and she remembered them telling her, on one of her visits, not to come and see them again. She reminded them too much of Chloe and the happy times. It hurt so much when Chloe died that it was better they did not see Alva. It broke her heart a second time but she respected their wishes, only later learning that they had gone abroad to live, to try to make a new life. Now, remembering those happy times when she was a child, she hoped that they had found something to salvage from their broken lives.
Lying back against the pillow, she closed her eyes, going over so many small treasured memories that seemed to shoot through her mind. There were little explosions of light, her mind was a shooting star … Aunt Beatrice, hateful woman, so cold and resentful of having to look after the child her sister and her husband had orphaned.
She could have refused but there was the money. Her parents had insurance and a house that was sold at the right time when property values were racing away. Had Aunt Beatrice had control of the estate? When Alva came into her majority perhaps there was very little left. Luca seemed to have hinted at some time that her aunt had charge of her finances. Perhaps any money had been spent — after all, her school was expensive; she never missed a school trip and if she wished to go away with Chloe and her parents, Aunt Beatrice had never refused. There was money to keep her while she was at university. She seemed to recall her aunt saying there would be enough for her to buy a small property of her own. Yet she did not remember if she had bought a house, or what had happened to the proceeds of any sale.
Luca stirred, his eyes opened slowly; turning, he propped himself up on his elbow gazing up at her. ‘You look flushed, Alva, are you all right?’
‘Yes and no, I had vivid dreams last night.’
The words spilled out of her, explaining what the dreams had caused her to remember. He sat up and hugged her to him, running a hand through her hair.
‘I wanted to tell you but I did not think it right. You told me all this — about that dreadful woman. There was money, Alva, but we could not get our hands on it, although we tried.’
‘So she stole from me?’
‘Appropriated perhaps is the word. I think she enjoyed herself but it would be difficult to prove. It would have meant lawyers and court cases and you did not think it worthwhile.’
‘All right,’ she sighed. ‘But that is not what someone tried to kill me for was it?’
‘No.’ His hand tightened on her soft blonde hair, its silvery colour shining out against the brown of his skin, and he threaded her hair through his fingers, as if it were skeins of silk. ‘The idea of your aunt hiring a hit man is a rather bizarre image. I want to laugh at it as a ludicrous idea, but it isn’t funny, cara.’
‘Oh, but it is. I know what you mean. Now that I can see her, small and thin, without my mother’s prettiness. The older sister, resentful of the younger one. I don’t think it was me she hated, but my mother. No, I don’t think she would harm me in a physical way and, as you say, she wouldn’t know how.’
They lay in silence for long moments; beneath her ear she could hear the steady beat of his heart. Luca … it came again that feeling of overwhelming love that had moved her years ago. She stayed where she was, still enjoying the feeling, bathing in the luscious feelings down deep inside her. Head over heels, that was what it was. After that first meeting when he had rubbed her up the wrong way, the second had been more electrifying. She remembered it as if it had always been there, as if she had never forgotten him.
He called to ask her out. At first she prevaricated, only changing her mind when it seemed he was going to give up. They drove out in the country somewhere, a small inn, away from the political crowd. A mind-numbing shyness had come over her; she could not eat, could not talk, only able to respond to what he was saying with monosyllabic words.
‘What is it, Alva? Am I boring you?’ he had asked at last, slightly exasperated by her inability to be herself.
‘On the contrary,’ she had said.
‘I am sorry, I do not understand?’
She had babbled then, going on about a book she had read where the heroine said. ‘I can’t breathe quite right when I’m with you.’
‘The Last Tycoon,’ he said. ‘F Scott Fitzgerald’s wonderful but unfinished novel.’
‘Gosh, how did you know that?’
‘You think I wouldn’t because I am an Italian?’
‘No, it’s just that you don’t look like the type of man who would read books.’
How he had laughed. He had thought that really funny. ‘I do it all the time,’ he confessed, ‘with all the travelling I do, long plane trips, lonely hotel rooms … ’
He took up her hand that was resting on the table, holding it lightly in his own. ‘And perhaps I could say the same thing, only … perhaps it is the opposite … I breathe too much when I am with you.’
Luca, she thought, again. How did you come to fall in love with me? I was so stupid. But she did not ask. Dare not, knowing that Luca when he had a mind, could be brutal with the truth and she was afraid of what the answer might be.
‘Let us go riding today,’ he said. ‘It is a perfect winter morning.’
‘How do you know, the shutters are closed?’
‘I feel it in my bones.’ He left her then, gently parting from her, going across the room and opening the shutters. Sure enough, thin winter sunshine drizzled itself into the room.
‘There, I knew I was right.’
‘Then we will.’ She lay back and stretched. ‘But after coffee and rolls … mm, Luca … everything is going pear-shaped but I feel so happy today … is that wrong?’
‘Of course it isn’t wrong. You deserve that feeling of happiness, Alva, so enjoy it.’
*
She had a flash of memory, it was just after Renata had arrived and it was momentous.
Renata chased away her happiness. Her arrival came with a fierce squall that had windows and doors rattling. Trees were bent backwards, and plant pots fell over. A winter storm, Luca said, and it could last for days.
Renata was not impolite but cold — or rather, cool, Alva amended. She spoke when spoken to by Alva but did not initiate conversation herself. They met mostly at mealtimes, at least the girl came to table and although she picked at her food, she was not rude.
She missed being beautiful. Alva noted that about her: attractive, striking certainly, with that thick dark hair, albeit brutally styled, and flashing dark eyes, but her features were very strong; her nose dominant in a small, high-cheekboned face. Her lips were thin too, although the lower had a curve that showed that somewhere inside her there was warmth and humour.
She dressed beautifully, having a sense of style that belied her nineteen years. Modern but classic was her style but she could certainly put things together and wore clothes well.
Coming across her in the sitting-room, Alva said, ‘It was kind of you to send me the fruit, Renata. I did appreciate it.’
Renata looked up, her lips forming a little pout as if she were mulling over something.
‘It wasn’t my idea. My father told me to do it.’
‘I see. Well, he shouldn’t have forced you to do that, but it was kind of you to take the trouble to do as he asked. You could have refused.’
‘I could have,’ she said.
Alva smiled a little.
‘What’s funny?’ Renata demanded.
‘I was thinking that you are a lot like your father. I think th
at he finds it impossible to lie as well.’
‘You think so?’ Renata shrugged. ‘But I do speak my mind,’ she added.
Instead of retreating, as she did when coming across Renata anywhere, Alva went and sat in the easy chair. Guido had been to light the fire and it roared in the grate. The day was dull and although it was only three o’clock it was turning dark outside.
‘Did you … were you very friendly with Rosa d’Casta?’ Alva asked. Only that day at lunch had she heard Renata asking her father if there would be a funeral and where and when it would be. He had told her in Firenze — Florence — she had left a request in her will to be buried with her family.
Renata was a long time answering. As the seconds ticked away to minutes, Alva thought that perhaps she had pushed too hard. That Renata was not yet ready to have a conversation with her. That the frigid politeness should have given her the clue that Renata would never be friendly towards her, nor accept her marriage to her father.
At last she did speak and her words caused an implosion inside Alva.
‘I hated the bitch.’
Alva tried not to gasp but failed.
‘Shocked? Well you shouldn’t be shocked, Alva, you know how I hated you. I can hate with a passion, you know.’
‘I don’t know how you hated me, Renata, I don’t remember.’
‘That’s good, if you ask me. If you did remember then you would not be sitting there calmly talking to me.’
‘Perhaps not,’ Alva admitted. ‘I’m not a saint.’
‘No, you’re not,’ the girl admitted quietly. ‘But she was a whore,’ Renata went on in a reasonable voice. ‘A pimping little whore. She and my mother … they were the best of friends. Oh, everyone thought that — but I knew what happened at the villa and in Firenze.’
Alva stared at the girl. Renata left her seat and came to stand over Alva. ‘Are you shocked? You’ve gone very pale, Alva. They both were, Silvia and Rosa, whores. You know why my mother was always there — up at the villa? To meet her lovers! She thought I didn’t know, that I thought she was working. Oh, she was working all right but it had nothing to do with her art!’
‘Renata I don’t think you should — ’
‘Tell you? Why not? Didn’t my father ever tell you about her, his first contessa? How she had all these men, she and Rosa. Oh, so classy on the outside but such bitches on the inside. I hated her for what she did to my father. The humiliation she poured on his head!’
As she stood, Alva watched, transfixed, and she saw the girl crumble before her eyes, the little body folding into itself, the great wracking sobs that came from her. There were no tears; it was too late for Renata to shed any tears — all Renata could do was let out these great wracking sobs.
Alva left her seat, gathering the girl to her. At first she struggled from the embrace and then she settled, as if Alva’s soothing voice had a calming effect.
‘It was not your fault, Renata, you must not blame yourself … you were a child … you could not have done anything … ’
‘I thought you would be the same … that you would find other men, that you had found other men … ’
‘Renata, how could I have found other men with that big lump on my tummy? But I understand — oh, Renata you have no idea how much I understand.’
They sat in the dimming light, finding some kind of comfort in the flickering firelight. Renata let everything out; it was as if once she started she could not stop. The humiliation of being used by her mother, for Silvia had used her daughter. If Luca thought she was out with her daughter then she would not be up to her usual carrying-on.
‘He did not care what she did in Firenze, but she brought it here, to the island. He did not want that … I knew that but I thought he would not believe me. And I was tom, not knowing who to turn to. Should I betray my mother, would they both never forgive me? I was so confused.’
‘Renata, you were twelve years old, you should never have had to carry that burden. It was too much.’
‘It was a relief when she died but I felt … I felt so guilty. I was quarrelling with her, you know what that road is like, if I had not been arguing with her she might still be alive. It was my fault she died.’
‘You must not believe that, Renata. It happened, it was an accident, and it was not your fault. If you were arguing then your mother should have stopped the car.’
‘She hit me, turned away from the road and slapped me hard and then we were going down, the car turning around and around, bumping, crashing … I can still hear her screaming.’
‘Oh, Renata, Renata, if only you had told me this before … you should not have carried it all this time … ’ Alva held on to her once more, soothing her, running her hands through the dark hair.
‘I couldn’t tell him. If I told him the truth I would have to tell him what she had been doing. I couldn’t do that!’
‘I understand, but Renata you need to when you are stronger. And you need to talk to someone professional who will make it go away for you.’
Renata looked up at Alva, studying her, showing that she was wondering if she had done the right thing. Alva knew the girl had to be feeling vulnerable and somehow Alva had pressed a button that had made her release it all.
‘I’ve been doing stupid things,’ Renata said, and then she unbuttoned the cuff on her stylish shirt and showed the cuts up her arm.
‘Oh, Renata, my darling … you have punished yourself enough without this. How long has this been going on?’
‘A few months. I’m a freak at university, no one has these feelings inside them, and no one’s been through it all. I don’t think I can stay there; I can’t get on with anyone. And now … now is not the time, what with what has happened but I can’t go on … I’m sorry, Alva, but I can’t.’
Thoughts flashed through Alva’s mind. She remembered someone else who had had this problem. A girl at school, she cut herself and one day went too far and was rushed to hospital. She never returned to school. Renata’s mental state was as bad if not worse. She did not suffer only from a low opinion of herself, nor did she want to seize attention, but she wanted to punish herself.
Alva talked to her about it, not showing how upset and worried she was. Her concern was for Renata and her inability to see how as a child she was an innocent in it all. The older women had used her for their own selfish ends. Yet at the same time she realized she must be careful about what she said about the girl’s mother. If she condemned her it could alienate Renata further. It took all the diplomatic skills she had for her to soothe and comfort Renata and yet not condemn anyone in particular.
‘I think we need to talk to your father,’ Alva said. ‘I know you think he won’t understand but he will … ’
‘I know he’ll understand but I don’t want him to know what those women did … don’t you see how hurt he will be?’
‘Renata, if your father had some idea about your mother he is not going to be hurt by learning even more about her, not now. That has all gone, it’s in the long ago past. The thing that will really hurt him is if you keep this thing to yourself. He will want to help you, Renata, to show you how much he loves you.’
‘Do you think so? He won’t think I’m doing this to get back at you.’
‘Of course not, Renata. Besides, that is not the reason, is it?’
Renata mulled over the question. ‘I didn’t want you back here, I told him that. I said if he got back with you he would lose me’
‘Well he hasn’t lost you, has he? You’re here now and you are sharing your problems.’
‘But he has enough to contend with … there’s the threat to you. Isn’t that enough for anyone?’
‘We can handle both, Renata. The threat to me is a mystery that we might never solve, but we can solve your problem, that is what is important at this moment.’
‘I can’t tell him … but if you tell him — ’ She stopped. ‘Then I won’t be angry with you.’
*
Alva left them
alone the next day. She asked Carlo to go with her to the mainland. It would have been good to have gone without him because she really needed the time alone, but that kind of foolishness, she knew, was forbidden to her for the moment.
She went to Primo, the small department store, and had coffee at the café. Afterwards she went around the store looking for gifts. Christmas was a week away and nothing had been organized. She could not remember a Christmas in Santa Caterina. Luca told her that during her last Christmas there she had been ill and in bed most of the time.
She thought of how he had taken her news about Renata. He had been so calm and accepting. She knew he had to be shocked and that he had to feel guilty too that he had not picked up on exactly how low his daughter’s spirits had become. Yet he handled it perfectly. There was no anger — there was just acceptance and if he did not quite understand how his daughter had got to such a state, there was no condemnation or accusation.
Already wheels were put in motion and after the Christmas holiday, Renata had agreed to visit a psychiatrist with her father. At the moment she was adamant she could not return to university and so Luca had agreed to that as well.
Alva worried whether she could have helped Renata more when she had first been at the palazzo. Perhaps if she had not been so ill with the pregnancy then she would have worked harder at winning the girl around. Yet everything was strange to her at that time.
There were other things on her mind, too. As she looked at the cashmere sweater she thought would suit her stepdaughter, the momentous thing that had popped into her mind came to her again. Renata’s unburdening herself, had, if not knocked it out of her mind, made it impossible to brood on it. It seemed so trivial in comparison to what the young girl had been through, yet it was not trivial. It answered a good few questions.
Shadows of the Past Page 14
