by Lucy Gordon
CHAPTER TWELVE
S HE took a step towards him. ‘I’m not going anywhere. You’re my husband and I love you, and I’m staying right here with you.’
‘Don’t play games with me,’ he said hoarsely. ‘You’ve already told me that you slept with him.’
‘I said no such thing. I’ve said that I slept in Lorenzo’s bed last night-’ in her eagerness she seized his arms and gave him a little shake ‘-but I didn’t say that Lorenzo was there with me.’
‘What?’ he whispered.
His wretchedness made her heart ache. ‘Oh, darling!’ She touched his face. ‘What a fool you are! While I was sleeping in Lorenzo’s bed, he was sleeping in a police cell.’
‘What-did-you-say?’
‘He wasn’t with me. He spent the night under lock and key, sleeping on a bunk, with a blanket. Why do you think he looks as if he’s slept in his clothes? Because he has.’
He stared at her as her words pierced his cloud of misery. And suddenly the sun shone more brilliantly, the steeple bells rang and the trumpets sounded a fanfare.
‘A police cell?’ he echoed, as though repeating her words was all he could do.
‘He called me yesterday from a police station in London. He’d been arrested for driving under the influence and taking a swipe at a policeman. I figured I’d better get over there fast. Mamma was out and I thought the fewer people who knew about it the better, so I just caught the first plane to London.
‘I arrived yesterday evening and went straight to the station, but I couldn’t get him out because they were afraid he’d skip the country. So he had to spend the night in the cell. I stayed in his hotel room. It seemed silly to pay for another when his was empt-’
She was silenced by the crushing pressure of his mouth on hers. There were no words for the feelings that possessed them. For each the declaration of love had come in the unlikeliest way, catching them unawares, trapping them into admissions that their pride might have made impossible for years. Joy, triumph and blazing, overwhelming relief mingled in their kiss, lighting up the world.
‘Tell me it’s true,’ he said against her mouth. ‘Promise me that I won’t wake up in a minute-kiss me-kiss me-’
‘It’s all true, I swear it. I never slept with Lorenzo.’
‘No, not that-the other thing you said-about loving me-’
‘I do love you, Renato. There’s nobody I want but you. But I never thought you’d say you love me.’
‘Does a man go insane for a woman, the way I have, unless he loves her?’
‘You always had so many good reasons that were nothing to do with love.’
‘Fool’s reasons. I swore I’d never let a woman matter that much to me again. And then I met you, but it was already too late because you loved another man. I had to tell myself anything except that I loved you.’ He kissed her fiercely again and again. ‘I’ve been so afraid…’
Lost in happiness, she was only vaguely aware that she was moving, climbing, somehow they were upstairs. The sudden sound was the door of their bedroom being kicked shut then their clothes being hastily torn off as they reached feverishly for each other.
They made love like people who’d met for the first time. There was pleasure, but also relief and reassurance. Above all there was boundless hope. Only a few minutes ago the future hadn’t existed. Now it stretched to infinity, full of joy and fulfilment.
‘I suppose we ought to get up,’ Heather said at last, reluctantly. ‘Mamma will be awake, and she’ll wonder why Lorenzo is home. I wonder what he’s telling her. We must find out and make sure we don’t give him away.’
‘You wrong Lorenzo,’ Renato said at once. ‘He’ll tell her the truth. Whatever else you can say about him-and you can say a good deal-he’s honest.’
‘Yes. Do you realise how much we owe his honesty?’
But Renato didn’t answer, and she realised that his wounds were still raw, and he had some way to go yet.
‘Tell me the rest of the story,’ he said at last. ‘What happened? Did you spring him from gaol? Are the two of you on the run?’
‘Luckily, desperate measures weren’t needed. I got him a lawyer, and first thing this morning he was up before the magistrate. It wasn’t very serious. He was only a little bit over the limit, and there was no accident, nobody hurt.’
‘What about assaulting the policeman?’
‘It was just a little swipe. He barely touched him. He was fined and bound over to keep the peace. I know he has a lot of appointments in England but I thought I’d better get him back here quickly.’
‘You did the right thing. I won’t send him back for a while. But somebody has to visit his customers, and you’re the best person. You did brilliantly on that Scottish trip-’
‘Brilliantly? You were breathing down my neck-checking up on me-’
He kissed her. ‘It’s nice to know I’m not the only fool in the family. I went to Scotland because I couldn’t stand being apart from you another day.’
She snuggled against him, wondering if Lorenzo’s proximity in England might also have had something to do with it. But she didn’t ask. She no longer needed to.
‘So there it is,’ he murmured, ‘the last piece in that jigsaw you were talking about. We fit it exactly.’
‘It’s odd, I’m not quite sure-’ She brooded.
‘If we love each other, what else can there be?’
‘I don’t know. It’s just that I have an odd feeling that there are still two pieces missing.’
‘Forget it,’ he said, holding her tightly. ‘We’ve found each other. I’d nearly given up hope of that happening.’
She let it go and snuggled against him, revelling in her happiness. But the thought wouldn’t be entirely dismissed that the jigsaw wasn’t quite complete.
Two pieces to go.
She made the trip to England and returned to be plunged into the preparations for Baptista’s birthday party, to be given in the Great Hall of the Residenza.
‘We can kill two birds with one stone,’ Renato said to her one evening. ‘You know I’ve been thinking of branching out into flowers. There are some that we grow here better than anywhere else in the world, and it’s an area you might take charge of.’
‘I’d love to,’ she said eagerly.
‘Then you should start meeting some of the specialist growers. ‘I’m especially interested in this man,’ he said, handing her a business card bearing the name Vincenzo Tordone. ‘He has acres of greenhouses that can supply everything in winter. I’d like you to look him over and let me know what you think. If his stuff is high quality we can use him to fill the house with flowers on Mamma’s birthday, and set up a deal afterwards.’
Pleased, Heather visited Vincenzo Tordone in his office in Palermo. He was a tall, thin man in his late sixties, with white hair and a gently courteous manner that won her over at once. He took her on a visit to his glass-covered acres just outside the city, and she marvelled at the variety of perfect blooms that flourished under his hands.
‘I have a business in Rome,’ he told her as they sipped Marsala afterwards. ‘It’s a good business. My wife was Roman, and when she was alive she helped me to run it. Now she’s dead I’ve handed the reins to my son and daughter, and returned to my home.’
‘You’re Sicilian, then?’
‘Oh, yes. I was born in this country, and lived here until my twenties. One day I shall die and be buried here.’ He sighed with pleasure. ‘This is the best land in the world to grow plants. There’s nowhere so fertile, nowhere else where the flowers raise their heads so eagerly.’
He made her talk about herself, and she gave a carefully edited description of how she had come from England and ended up marrying into the Martelli family.
‘Do you find our ways strange?’ he asked courteously.
‘Not really. Everyone has been so kind, especially my mother-in-law, Baptista. She took me under her wing right from the start. She even gave me her own estate of Bella Rosari
a.’
‘Ah, yes, I’ve heard of it-who has not? They say the flowers there are very fine.’
‘They are, especially the rose bushes. Some of them have been there for years. She tends and protects them like children.’
They plunged into a discussion of the best way to make rose bushes long-lasting. She liked the simple old man, and when she got home it was a pleasure to be able to tell Renato honestly that his blooms were first-rate. The deal was duly signed, covering the export of his produce both from Sicily and Rome, with a separate deal covering the provision of flowers for the party.
On the day Baptista spent the afternoon asleep, so as to be at her best for the evening. She rose bright-eyed and cheerful and sat calmly while her maid arrayed her in pearls. When Renato and Heather looked in, she took his hand and said in a pleading voice, ‘My son, this may be my last birthday on earth-’
‘Mamma, you say that every year,’ he reminded her tenderly.
‘And it’s true every year. But this year there is one special gift that I long for above all others.’
‘It’s yours if it’s in my power.’
‘If I could believe that there is truly no more bad blood between you and your brother-’
‘Believe it. That was over long ago.’
Baptista smiled, but Heather sensed that she had hoped for something more.
There was a knock on the door, and Bernardo and Lorenzo entered, one carrying wine, the other glasses, to toast their mother privately before the festivities began.
When they had all saluted her Baptista half rose to go, but Renato said, ‘Stay a moment. I have another toast.’ When he was sure he had everyone’s attention he said, ‘I drink to my brother, Lorenzo, to whose courage and honesty I owe my happiness. I made a terrible mistake that almost destroyed three lives. When we went to the cathedral, all three of us knew that that marriage ought never to take place. But it seemed too late. The juggernaut was grinding on and nobody knew how to stop it. Only one person found the nerve to halt it in its tracks. My brother, you gave me the woman I love, and for this I thank you with all my heart.’
‘And so do I,’ Heather said happily.
Baptista was weeping with joy. Lorenzo looked about to sink with embarrassment. Renato set down his glass and seized him in a bear hug while Bernardo thumped them both on the back.
‘Thank you,’ Heather whispered when Renato had returned to her.
‘I should have said it long ago.’
One piece down and one to go.
It was time for the party to begin. As Baptista descended on Renato’s arm, to applause from the assembled guests, the profusion of blooms made her stop and gasp with pleasure.
‘They are so beautiful, my dears,’ she said as she settled in the throne-like chair from which she would preside over the evening. ‘Thank you.’
‘There is one more thing,’ Renato said. ‘The man who arranged all this would like to offer you his own congratulations, with a special gift.’
‘That is very kind of him.’
‘But-’ Renato looked a little uncertain. ‘Mamma, are you strong enough for a little shock-if it is a happy one?’
‘Certainly. You have prepared me. Is Signor Tordone going to give me a shock?’
‘I think he just might.’
Renato nodded and a servant opened the door. Through it came the tall figure of Vincenzo. He walked calmly towards Baptista, never taking his eyes from her.
Nor did she take her eyes from him. As Heather watched she half rose from her seat, then fell back with a little gasp. Her hand flew to her throat as Vincenzo came to stand before her, holding in his hand one perfect red rose.
Baptista didn’t seem to see it. All her attention was for the old man’s face, and at last a glad cry broke from her.
‘Fede!’ she said in joyful disbelief. ‘Fede!’
‘I don’t believe it!’ Heather gasped. ‘That can’t be-’
‘It is,’ Renato grinned. ‘His real name is Federico Marcello. My grandfather was a fearsome character, but never quite the monster people thought. He drove Federico out of Sicily with threats and ordered him to change his name so that Mamma couldn’t trace him. But then he arranged for friends to help him get started in his own business, and put quite a lot of work his way.’
‘But how did you find him?’
‘I set a private enquiry agent onto it. He traced him to Rome and then all the way back here. I was fairly sure who he was when you went to see him, but when you told me about the talk you had, that clinched it.’
‘But why didn’t you tell me?’
Renato gave her a strange look. ‘Perhaps I wanted to surprise you, too. I wonder if I have.’
‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘I thought I knew you, but I never imagined that you could think of this.’
He touched her cheek gently. ‘It takes a lifetime to know someone, my dearest.’
‘And we have a lifetime,’ she whispered.
‘Do we?’
‘Yes. I wasn’t sure. But I am now.’
Her heart rejoiced at what she had discovered tonight. Renato was a proud, difficult man, who would never be easy to live with. But he understood things about love that even she had never dreamed of. This hadn’t been only to please his mother. It had also been to prove something to herself that he couldn’t have explained in words.
Something caught in her throat as she saw Baptista and Fede sitting side by side, their hands entwined. Moving very quietly, she and Renato crept close enough to hear.
‘I returned to Sicily to be close to you,’ Fede was saying. ‘But I never dared to hope that you would recognise me.’
‘I knew you at once,’ Baptista said through her joyful tears.
‘And I would have known you anywhere. You are just as you have lived in my heart, all these years.’
‘All these years.’ She said the words slowly. ‘And yet I hope you haven’t been alone. I would rather think of you having a good life, even without me.’
‘Then think it,’ Fede said firmly. ‘My wife was a wonderful woman. She gave me two fine children, and while she lived we were devoted.’ His voice changed. ‘But it was not with her as it had been with you.’
‘Yes,’ Baptista murmured. ‘Yes, that’s just how it was.’
He kissed her hand. ‘We have done our duty to others. Now we may think of ourselves for the time that is left.’
The last guest had gone. The house was quiet as Renato and Heather, arms entwined, climbed the stairs in the semi-darkness.
‘They really mean it,’ Heather said in wonder. ‘When they look at each other they see what used to be.’
‘Or maybe they see what truly is,’ Renato suggested. ‘They see a truth that years and wrinkles can never change.’
‘Will it be like that with us?’
‘I can only speak for myself. And I tell you that no other woman will ever hold my heart. If you were to die tomorrow I would live alone for the rest of my life, rather than try to replace you. I think Mamma and Fede were each right to marry other people. That’s the sensible way. But I can’t be sensible where you’re concerned. Without you, my life would be only a long wait until we could be together again.’
‘And I-’
‘Hush!’ He laid a gentle hand over her lips. ‘Don’t say it unless it’s true.’
‘Do you think my love is less than yours?’
‘I don’t ask. It doesn’t matter. As long as you love me a little. Where you are concerned, I have never been as proud as I seemed. I can live on crumbs.’
It was true. His pride was gone, replaced by a trust in his beloved that made pride needless. She saw it in his eyes, heard it in the gentleness of his voice.
‘Not crumbs,’ she whispered. ‘But a feast.’ She took his hand, led him to their room and opened the door. ‘Come,’ she said as she drew him inside. ‘Let me tell you about it.’
The last piece in place.
Lying quietly in her bed that night, B
aptista listened until she heard the sound of two sets of footsteps climbing the stairs and going along the corridor. They moved slowly, as if the owners were drifting contentedly, their arms about each other. Outside Heather and Renato’s room they stopped. Baptista’s sharp ears caught the soft murmur of voices, then the click as the door opened, and another one as it closed.
She smiled to herself in the darkness. She had been right all along. When her time came, she could go in peace, knowing that her son had found deep, lasting love.
But perhaps her time wouldn’t come so soon after all. She had much to live for, including the child that Heather was carrying. Not that Heather knew yet, but she, Baptista knew. A grandson would be nice, but perhaps a little girl would be better. A girl, to wind herself around her father’s heart and teach him about love.
And yet, already he’d shown that he knew more about true love than either his mother or his wife had guessed. Who would have imagined that it would be Renato who brought Fede back to her, that he would have understood…?
However much time she had left, Fede would be there. He had promised to visit her every day, and they would sit together talking, or just holding hands. Like hers his body was aged and his face wrinkled, but she had looked into his eyes and known that he was still Fede.
This she owed to Renato, who’d been rescued from harshness and cynicism by the one woman who’d known how to reach him.
And then there was Bernardo, her son and yet not her son, a man with a wild, dark heart that allowed nobody inside. She thought of Angie, the young English woman who had loved him but been defeated by his pride. At least, men called it pride. Baptista called it stupidity. Angie might have saved him. In fact, she still might if certain plans of Baptista’s worked out as she meant them to.
A knowing gleam came into her eye. Death could wait until she was ready. There were things to do. Arrangements to make. Heads to knock together. She was feeling stronger every moment…
Lucy Gordon
***
