Shadows of the Past

by Blake, Margaret

  She had been with Luca a year. Their love affair, after an initial reluctance on her part, was known to everyone. At first she had not wanted people to know but Luca had persuaded her that they were both free of ties and they had nothing to be ashamed of.

  She did not know whose fault it was — or maybe it was neither of their faults — it was just one of those things. She found herself pregnant. That was why he had married her.

  Did Luca think she had tricked him into marriage? That she had used the age-old gamble — but it could have failed. He could have said he would accept the child but not matrimony. If only she could remember the whys and wherefores. Instead there was a void between knowing that he had had to marry her, and what he felt about it. She could not remember what was said, or even how he reacted. She just recalled that she was pregnant before the marriage.

  Now with his attention being focused on his daughter she did not want to question him. It would come into her mind, it had to … these intervals now, when forgotten things came into her mind, were becoming more frequent. She had to be patient, but it was oh, so difficult, when she longed to know everything.

  Arriving back at the palazzo she was met with silence. Nothing seemed to stir, there were not even any servants preparing dinner, or going about any tasks they had to do. Searching the downstairs she found each room empty. There was laughter from the kitchen so the staff had to be on afternoon break.

  Going up the stairs she went first to Luca’s bedroom. Opening the door she saw him, he had not heard her coming in. He was standing at the window looking out, a hand at the back of his neck as if he were suffering pain.

  Murmuring his name she went to him. He turned and greeted her but there was a far-away look in his eyes — then, as she slid an arm on his shoulder, it was as if the gesture had chased it away and he smiled down at her.

  ‘Did you have a nice day?’

  ‘So, so, I was just buying some gifts. How are you, Luca, that is all that matters?’

  ‘Oh,’ he shrugged, ‘you know … ’

  ‘No, I don’t, that’s why I asked. Where’s Renata?’

  ‘Resting in her room. She’s exhausted; all this self-flagellation has completely destroyed her. I knew she felt guilty about the crash — I thought it was because she had lived and Silvia had died. I had no idea she was blaming herself.’

  ‘How could you know if she didn’t tell you? But she wanted to protect you, Luca.’

  ‘Do you think I did not know? I wish I could have cared but Silvia and I were over, Alva, if we ever were something. I did not care what Silvia did, only that she was discreet. I had not realized what she was doing to Renata and that makes me feel miserable. That she was doing that to her daughter … ’ Luca was angry for a moment, then, as if he realized that it was nothing to do with Alva, he shook the anger aside. ‘I can help her now, and you were wonderful when she told you, Alva. You have not lost your gift for helping people out of tight spots … that is what Tony used to say. If you want out of a tight spot then Alva is the girl to see the way.’

  ‘I don’t know how,’ she said. ‘Luca … ’

  ‘Yes?’

  Yet how could she bring it up now when there were important things on his mind? The man was tormented about his daughter and yet she was going to go on about whether he felt forced to marry her or not. That was long ago and mattered only to herself.

  ‘Nothing … I’m just pleased I could be there. But feeling about me as she did, I can’t understand why Renata would have confided in me.’

  ‘You were there when she needed someone. I think perhaps you two could have made a go of it were you given time and had things not been so … so miserable … ’

  Ah, she thought, miserable. The key word, miserable. That was it, they were miserable in their marriage. That was why Renata had been unhappy; she had more than likely sensed that things were going badly between her father and his new wife. The young girl must have thought, here we go again … I am going to spiral down into hell once more!

  Renata was quiet at dinner although Luca and Alva gave her all their attention. Now and again she came out of her monosyllabic answers to share something with them. Her liking for a movie or a book she had recently read. This little spurt of normality was a hopeful sign but they both knew it was too soon to settle back. Renata would need a lot of care and attention lavished on her if she were ever to feel worthy again.

  ‘Renata, do you like to ride? Perhaps we could go riding tomorrow, would you like that?’

  ‘Yes, perhaps,’ the girl said, looking at her father, then back to Alva once more. ‘But I do not ride as well as you, Alva.’

  ‘I can’t believe that.’

  ‘No, it’s true,’ Luca said. ‘You’re a very skilled horsewoman, Alva. I remember you telling me that when you were at college and on break you used to take people on hacking holidays, as well as give riding lessons.’

  ‘My, I hadn’t realized I was that good.’

  ‘Well, you are, and I will go with you, if it isn’t raining. I don’t like being out in the rain,’ Renata said.

  ‘I think I don’t mind it,’ Alva mulled it over in her mind. ‘But being English I’m probably used to it.’

  After Renata had gone to her room and Luca had announced he had some work to catch up on in the library, Alva decided to go up early and take a leisurely bath. She went past Renata’s room and wondered whether to look in on her stepdaughter or if the girl was asleep. Putting her ear to the door she was surprised to hear the faint mumble of voices. It was not that Renata was on the phone because there were two voices although it was impossible to distinguish whose voices they were.

  Curious and wanting to be certain that Renata was all right, Alva knocked on the door.

  The girl called. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s Alva, Renata, are you all right.’

  ‘I’m fine, Alva — buona notte.’

  ‘Buona notte, Renata,’ Alva answered. When she reached her own room Alva had already made up her mind that Renata either was watching the television or had on the radio. Just because she did not have a television in her bedroom, it did not mean that Renata did not.

  *

  Renata came and found her the following morning to say she did not feel like riding but preferred to rest. Alva understood and after finding Carlo they went across to the stables and saddled their horses.

  They took their usual ride down to the beach, racing the tide and enjoying the exhilaration. It was cold but fresh, with a sun that, although it was winter, had the hint of spring in it. ‘I love the climate here,’ she confessed to Carlo.

  ‘I do also. It is better than in Firenze where it can be so cold in winter and so hot in summer.’

  ‘You’re from Firenze?’ she asked.

  ‘No, but I have worked there. Did you forget, Contessa, that I am from the north? I did tell you.’

  ‘Of course you did. Sorry, I’ve had a lot on my mind. I just love Italy, I always have. I do remember I used to come here with my friend Chloe and her parents. They had a house in Chianti … ’ She felt a warm rush. There a memory, something from her past had come naturally into her mind. ‘Her father used to paint. He worked in advertising I think, yes I am sure, but in the summer at the house, he did what he dreamed of doing. Painting. We were so happy there, we had such freedom.’

  ‘That is why you speak Italian so well, Contessa.’

  ‘Well yes, I think so. They didn’t offer Italian at the school I was at but I used to have private lessons with this wonderful old lady. Then the holidays with Chloe helped tremendously. I think I studied it at university too, but I can’t remember exactly … it really is such a pain that I can’t remember certain things and other things … I think it’s the little things that I remember … the really important things … ’ Her voice trailed away. However, it was not quite true for didn’t she remember Luca, and he was important. Luca had been a momentous happening in her life. However, she said none of this to Carlo, real
izing she had probably said too much anyway.

  Arriving back at the stables she was surprised to see Renata coming from the pool house. She called her name but Renata either did not hear her or did not want to.

  Leaving Carlo to help the stable boy unsaddle her horse she went to the pool house herself. Pushing open the door she looked inside. There was nothing of interest, just the huge empty swimming-room and pool furniture that was covered with a white cloth.

  The dilapidated building next door looked as if someone had been and cleaned the windows, peering in she saw it had been tidied up since she had last been there.

  Going to the door she pushed it open. It was completely empty and had indeed been swept clean. In various corners there was some blue chemical stuff; obviously it was to kill any rats. Thoughts of rats had her slamming the door and walking quickly across the courtyard.

  In the hallway she all but bumped into Antonio. She rarely saw the man and was glad about that. Now, as she came on him again, she wondered how everyone had assumed that they were friends. Even now he was frigidly polite, merely inclining his head and murmuring her title. There was nothing there to hold on to, nothing about him awoke memories or that happy feeling when you met someone you really liked. Somehow she had given the wrong impression to someone about the man.

  ‘Have you been to see the conte?’ she asked.

  ‘I delivered something for the conte,’ the man said. ‘I think the conte is visiting tenants.’

  ‘Alone? He didn’t take you with him?’

  ‘Why should he do that, Contessa?’

  ‘I don’t know, I just thought he might have liked company.’

  ‘He had Guido drive him today. Usually he goes alone; it is merely a social call to see if anyone has problems that they might like to share with him. He is very generous with his time.’

  ‘Yes, I know that. Thank you.’

  She turned and left him, swinging into the library. Sure enough, there was a parcel on the conte’s desk. She went to examine it, not because she was curious but because she wanted to see what it was that Antonio had had to go and bring to her husband. However, the brown-paper-wrapped parcel gave no clues. Touching it, she discovered it was soft to the touch. Probably something that he had ordered from his tailor and Antonio had taken the launch to collect it from the mainland.

  For a moment she looked around the library, seeing the shelves of books, some doubtless priceless. There were pictures on the opposite wall, even more of the severe-looking ancestors who graced the walls on the staircase. There was one she particularly liked; it was of a girl with long red hair, sitting on a balcony wearing some kind of medieval shift. Her luxurious hair was spread over her hand, her fingers splayed holding up a bunch of it, and obviously she was drying it in the sun. Alva knew of the tradition of Venetian ladies colouring their hair red and allowing it to dry this way, letting the sun naturally bleach their hair even lighter.

  ‘It isn’t an old painting.’

  The voice caused her to leap up from the desk, but it was Renata.

  ‘It is one of my mother’s — see here is the signature — this “s”, shaped like a snake. Appropriate don’t you think?’

  Alva ignored the statement. She felt as if somehow she was being set up to say something derogatory. It was an unsettling feeling but it lay heavily there in the centre of her stomach like an undigested piece of food. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘Yes, it is … hardly original — there are lots of paintings of this kind by old masters and their assistants. The bold ladies of Venice were a favourite subject.’

  ‘I haven’t seen a painting quite like that though.’ Alva went closer to it. The oil painting was exquisite. What a clever and talented woman Luca’s first wife must have been and yet he never spoke of her talent. He rarely spoke of Silvia, but that was hardly surprising given how she had been to him.

  ‘My wife is dead,’ he had told her when they had first gone out. But she had known that because she had checked with Tony whether he was married or not. ‘She was killed in an automobile accident … ’ Rarely after that had he spoken about Silvia.

  Only as recently as yesterday had he hinted that the marriage was over and that he had not loved his first wife. A marriage for the family, he had said.

  ‘She squandered her talent,’ Renata went on. ‘But it was her choice. You know what they did — what she did? Those paintings in the gallery, they are fakes you know. They sold the originals to a private buyer. Papa needed money so she copied them. Only an expert would tell the difference.’

  ‘I thought they were genuine,’ Alva said, showing her surprise. ‘Your mother was a genius but I suppose it was her choice not to do anything about it.’

  ‘She preferred to do what she did best,’ Renata said, with a little laugh. ‘And I guess you can guess what that was. Tell me, Alva don’t you remember anything about when you were here before?’

  The question was said so lightly that Alva felt she could have just shaken her head, but she had the feeling that more was implied. Again, it was that instinctive feeling that Renata was not saying exactly what she intended. That there was more behind everything she said just then. Something had happened to change her slightly. There was the faintest hint of that arrogance that the girl had had before her confession.

  ‘No, I don’t. I wish I did … ’

  ‘You don’t remember what happened when Alessandro died?’

  Darts, straight for the heart. Little pinpricks that really hurt.

  ‘No, Renata, I don’t even remember Alessandro.’

  ‘It’s as well,’ the girl said. ‘You would suffer if you knew. You might even end up like me.’

  Before she could say anything the girl ran from the room, swinging the door closed behind her, leaving Alva feeling weak and wounded and able only to sink into the chair.

  End up like her? Renata was riddled with guilt, her opinion of herself torn to ribbons but Alva knew she would never be like that. Alva was certain, no matter what they all thought, that she had not deliberately thrown herself down the stairs. It was clear that Renata believed the story. It might even offer a slight balm to the girl’s own guilt to know that her stepmother had done something wicked, too. Renata blamed herself for her mother’s death; it would take wiser counselling than either she or Luca could offer to rid the girl of that feeling.

  Feeling low, the exhilaration that her ride had brought about, fast ebbing, she ordered coffee and went to sit by the fire.

  Claudia came at once, lightening Alva’s mood slightly. Alva kept the woman chatting, for Claudia, if only she knew it, brought normality and light into Alva’s life. The woman’s warm and sunny personality did her more good than any pill would have done.

  Before she finished her coffee Luca arrived. Immediately, she ordered coffee for him and then went and lowered herself on to his knee, running a finger over the tiny lines that had formed across his brow. His worry lines she mentally called them.

  ‘You shouldn’t have to put up with all this, you have enough suffering of your own,’ he said, meaning, of course, Renata.

  ‘I’m glad to help — it helps take my problems from my mind and to tell the truth, my concern for Renata always chases away the terrible thing that happened to Rosa. Does that make me sound shallow, Luca?’

  ‘You could never be shallow, Alva.’

  She slid from his knee and waited until the coffee came, standing by the fireplace. Luca watched her, admiring the lean lines of her body in the riding breeches. The suede jerkin she wore left room for him to admire the rounded curve of her hips, clearly outlined in the tight-fitting clothes. He felt an overwhelming desire for her and recalled how that had always been there. Of course he had tried to drive it away, even at one time to pretend it never was, but his body and its reaction to the physical Alva, always betrayed him.

  That was how it had been at first, purely physical and it was later that he realized how her personality soothed and pleased him too. Alva and
he fitted together in every way which was why it had been so devastating when it had gone awry. She had done a wicked thing — but perhaps there was justification, everything then was unwinding between them. She had been making a nuisance of herself and he had tried to control her. Alva was not a woman who would accept control. Now, now things were different. They had a second chance. She had forgotten so much and was more … malleable.

  Had he forgiven her? He was not sure that forgive was the right word but he had accepted that she could not help herself. That was a huge step for him to take mentally but he was making himself do that. One thing was for certain, when she had disappeared this time, when he knew she was in danger, it was as if his heart had been wrenched from inside him. He had never wanted her to be in danger.

  ‘Luca,’ she said, and her husky voice sounded troubled. She turned to look at him, pushing her hands into the pockets of her jerkin. ‘Do you think it was because we had to get married that … ’

  ‘Cosa?’

  ‘With me being pregnant, we married and then.’

  He held up a hand. ‘No, no, you are wrong, so wrong.’

  ‘Luca? I had a dream; it came to me that we had to get married. I was pregnant and … ’

  ‘No, bella … come here, sit beside me, you are confusing things.’

  ‘I am?’

  ‘Of course.’

  She sat beside him, her mesmerizing green eyes looking deeply into his own. Her lashes were long and thick and far darker than her hair. He used to think that she dyed them only to find out that they were naturally dark, as were her well-shaped brows.

  Nothing about her was artificial, that much he knew.

  He smiled at her confusion. It was an easy thing for her to do with the muddled jumble that her mind was.

  ‘No, it was not how you think. Let me explain to you. You thought you were pregnant at one time. I wanted us to marry right away but you wouldn’t, you said it was all for the wrong reasons. You were so stubborn. Oh, my dear, you imagine that was Alessandro, that you were here such a short length of time?’