Stolen Beginnings

by Susan Lewis

He put his fingers over her lips. ‘Tonight you must, as I am a mere human, Madeleine, and you are very beautiful.’

  He left the room then, and a few minutes later Orsola came in with a blue silk nightdress which, when Madeleine put it on, made her giggle at the way it covered her from chin to toe, yet somehow contrived to look more sexy than forbidding. But knowing that this wouldn’t please Enrico, she slipped between the sheets to cover herself before he came.

  ‘I must hope that my sons do not wake and go to my room to find me,’ he said as he got into bed wearing a pair of black cotton pyjamas. ‘I think if they do that even Sylvestra would not understand.’

  ‘I’m causing you so many problems,’ Madeleine said, as he slipped an arm beneath her shoulders.

  ‘And before the night is finished you will probably cause me some more,’ he joked.

  ‘I’ll try not to,’ she murmured as he pulled her against him, and she yawned sleepily as she nestled into his embrace.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ he whispered, ‘and think about only nice things. You will have a lot to face tomorrow, so tonight it is imperative that you sleep well. If you like, I will tell you the story I sometimes tell my sons when they are afraid in the night and cannot sleep.’

  ‘That would be nice, but I wouldn’t understand Italian.’

  ‘It is no matter, some of it I will tell in English and some in my own language, and soon you will be so bored you will be snoring in my ear.’

  She smiled, and as he started to tell her the story she closed her eyes to listen to his deep, melodic voice, but it wasn’t long before the steady rhythm of her breathing told him she was fast asleep, exhausted by the traumas of the past two days.

  When she woke in the morning the bed beside her was empty and she ran her fingers over the hollow in the pillow where Enrico’s head had lain. It was the first time in her life that she had slept with a man without making love, and she was baffled by the way she was feeling. It was as if she and Enrico had shared something very special, something that far exceeded the closeness of sex. She wondered where he was now, if he had stayed the whole night, and she realised that probably he hadn’t – because of the little boys who might have needed to hear the story too.

  Eventually she got out of bed and went to let in the morning sunshine, but as she looked out at the pale, distant sea she could feel the weight of dread starting to drag at her as if it would take all the strength from her body. What would she do when she got to England? Where would she go? There would be no one to meet her, no one to take the burden of her misery as Enrico had last night; she would be alone, with no money, no home and nobody. A lump rose in her throat and she closed her eyes. ‘I can’t go,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t face it.’

  ‘Yes you can.’

  She turned and saw Enrico standing in the doorway. He was wearing black trousers and a loose white shirt with the sleeves pulled back over his arms, and on his face was a look both tender and determined.

  She gave him a resigned smile. ‘I know I have to,’ she said quietly, ‘but I’m afraid.’

  ‘There is no need to be. I have made the arrangements for you. I will take you to the airport at Olbia, and from there you will fly to Roma to make the connection for London.’

  ‘I haven’t got a passport. I left it in France.’

  ‘I know, but I have had a courier bring it for you from your agent, so it is all arranged.’

  Her heart sank as this last obstacle to her departure was removed. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. She tried to smile. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you, Enrico. You’re so kind, and I’m going to cry because I don’t want to leave you.’

  ‘Aah,’ he chuckled, ‘you touch my heart with your tears, but to remain here is not good, cara, because it is running away, and whatever you run away from will always come to find you.’

  She bit her lips to stop them trembling. ‘Will I see you again?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘I think not. But I am glad to have known you, Madeleine, and to have loved you just a little. Now you must get dressed and come downstairs to meet the courier who will travel with you to London. And to say good-bye to Sylvestra, yes? I will wait for you in the garden, you will take breakfast with me there. Orsola will bring you the clothes to wear for travelling.’

  ‘Are they Rosaria’s?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘Si.’

  ‘Don’t you mind?’

  ‘No, cara. Rosaria would want you to have them.’

  As she dressed, Madeleine choked back her tears and tried to wrest her mind from the emptiness that lay ahead. She knew Deidre would be pleased to see her, but it didn’t help because she no longer had the desire to continue modelling. All she wanted, deep down in her heart, was for none of this to have happened, to be back in Bristol with Marian, before they’d met Paul, before her jealousy, narcissism and greed had destroyed everything. Again she fought to suppress her tears as the simplicity of her old life made everything that had come after seem worthless and trite. She knew she had got no more than she deserved – public humiliation and rejection. And now there would be no safety net to catch her in her fall from glory, because she had removed it the day she stole the money from Marian and walked out of their home with the man Marian loved.

  By the time she went downstairs, though her face was strained she was still in control, she had not broken down and she wouldn’t. It didn’t matter to her whether she was strong, but she knew it mattered to Enrico, so until he took her to the airport, until the moment when the plane took off and she had seen him for the last time, she would hold on.

  As she passed the small parlour Sylvestra called out to her, and when she walked in, the old lady stood up and embraced her.

  ‘Mia bambina,’ she said in her husky voice. ‘It is goodbye today. You give a little happiness to my Enrico at this difficult time, for that I thank you.’

  Madeleine couldn’t answer, her heart was too full.

  Sylvestra smiled, crinkling the weather-beaten skin of her face so that her eyes almost disappeared. Then turning to the huge black oak chest beside her, she picked up an envelope. ‘Here,’ she said, handing it to Madeleine. ‘I go now with my daughter to take her away from the villa. This is lira e sterlina, maybe it will help a little. Be happy, child.’ And before Madeleine could speak, she turned her round and pushed her towards the door. ‘Enrico wait for you,’ she said, ‘go now to him.’

  As she walked, every muscle in her body was tensed with the effort of trying to hold on. She had done nothing to deserve such kindness, yet this family . . . She swallowed very hard and took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to give in.

  But then, as she walked into the garden and saw Enrico standing beside the table talking to the courier, her whole body was suddenly flooded with emotion and her hands flew to her face.

  ‘Oh no!’ she sobbed.

  At the sound of her voice Enrico and the courier turned. Both were smiling and both watched her as, with tears streaming from her eyes, she ran into Marian’s arms.

  ‘I thought you’d never want to see me again after the way I treated you at the Plaza,’ Madeleine said, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear and staring down at the grass.

  Marian chuckled. ‘I have to confess I didn’t much, then.’

  Madeleine turned to look at her. They were sitting in the hollow where she and Enrico had sat the day before, and Marian was fingering the soft petals of a scarlet pimpernel she had plucked. ‘I’m sorry,’ Madeleine said. ‘I’m sorry for that, I’m sorry for everything.’

  ‘I know,’ Marian said, ‘and so am I.’ She was gazing out to sea, watching the yachts bob on the waves. ‘Who’d have thought it,’ she said, a laugh in her voice, ‘that you and I would end up here, sitting on a hillside in Sardinia. It feels a very long way from Bristol, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In fact, if feels like many years since Bristol, yet it’s only eight months. How could so much have happened in so short
a time?’ She turned to Madeleine and reached for her hand. ‘You’ve been more successful than either of us ever dreamed, and I’ve . . . well, I’m not quite sure what I’ve achieved – at least, I don’t know how to put it into words without sounding indecently pleased with myself – myself-but whatever our accomplishments, I’ve missed you, Maddy.’

  ‘I’ve missed you too. More than I would allow myself to realise. Thank you for coming.’

  ‘I’m just so glad Enrico called me. I only wish you’d come to me when it happened.’ She looked into Madeleine’s face. ‘Poor Maddy,’ she said, lifting a hand to stroke her hair, ‘it must have been terrible.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel so bad now that you’re here.’

  Marian smiled. ‘Good.’ Then after a lengthy pause, during which Madeleine stared down at the ground, lost in her thoughts and looking more vulnerable than Marian had ever seen her, she said, ‘He wants you back, you know.’

  Madeleine’s eyes flew open. ‘You’ve seen him?’

  ‘No, I saw Deidre, to get your passport, she told me.’

  ‘But what about Shamir? He said they were . . .’ She stopped, unable to bring herself to finish the sentence.

  ‘Shamir is in Los Angeles. Apparently she and Paul had a terrible fight the night it happened. Deidre says Shamir knew nothing about it, that it was as much of a surprise to her as it was to you.’

  Madeleine looked away. ‘So he did do it for his book,’ she murmured.

  ‘I don’t know. All I know is what Deidre told me – and that I have the keys to your house in Holland Park. Paul wants you to go back there, but he won’t come himself unless you say you want him.’

  ‘It’s his house now,’ Madeleine said, the remoteness still in her eyes. ‘He bought it from me.’

  ‘Well, it would seem that he’s giving it back to you, at least for the time being. Do you want it?’

  Madeleine shrugged. ‘I haven’t got anywhere else to go, so why not? Unless . . . Where do you live, Marian? Can I come and live with you?’

  Marian laughed. ‘My circumstances are, how shall I put it, difficult and becoming more temporary by the day, otherwise our being together again is the thing I’d like best of all.’

  ‘But we can be,’ Madeleine said, suddenly brightening, ‘you can come to live with me in Holland Park, if Paul’s going to let me have the house. It’s got three bedrooms, so there’s plenty of room. Oh, say you will. Please, Marian!’

  ‘But what about Paul? As I said, he wants you back.’

  Sighing, Madeleine rested her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands.

  ‘Do you still love him?’ Marian asked, after a while.

  ‘I don’t know. Yes, yes, I still love him, but . . . Oh Marian, I don’t know what to do. Please come and stay with me.’

  ‘OK, if that’s what you want, I’d love to.’ She laughed. ‘It’ll certainly ease my situation, anyway. But I’m not so sure about yours. He’ll want an answer, Maddy.’

  ‘I know.’ She lifted her head and looked down over the hillside. ‘But that’s in the future. All I want to think about now is us.’ She turned to look at Marian, and sensing that she wanted to say more, Marian smiled her encouragement.

  ‘There’s something I have to tell you, Marian,’ she began hesitantly. ‘Something that you might not be able to forgive me for, and if you can’t, I won’t blame you. No, no, don’t say anything, please just hear me out. It’s something I did when I left Bristol, when Paul and I left Bristol. I didn’t only steal him from you, I stole something else as well.’

  ‘Really?’ Marian said, her voice submerged in laughter. ‘I didn’t think I had anything else to steal. We were pretty destitute, as I remember.’

  Madeleine nodded. ‘Yes, we were. But then . . . You remember the lottery ticket, the one I shouted at you for buying in Broadmead . . .?’ She stopped. For the moment her courage had failed her.

  Marian’s mouth fell open. ‘You’re not trying to tell me I won?’

  ‘I am,’ Madeleine answered, then before Marian could reach any false conclusions she went on hurriedly, ‘but because you’d filled the ticket out in the name of Miss M. Deacon, the cheque was made out in that name, so . . . so I took it.’

  ‘How much was it?’ Marian asked excitedly. ‘God, I can’t believe it, I actually won something at long last. So come on, did I get first, second or third prize?’

  ‘First. It was three-quarters of a million pounds.’

  Madeleine steeled herself, waiting for the reproaches, the anger, the contempt, but when none of it came she turned to look at Marian and saw that she was too shocked to speak. ‘It’s worse than that, I’m afraid,’ she said quietly, ‘because I’ve spent it all. There’s nothing left.’

  Still Marian was silent, though her grey eyes were blinking as if she were trying to take it in. Eventually she said, ‘You’ve spent it all? Three-quarters of a million pounds? How long did it take you?’

  ‘According to Paul, about five months.’

  ‘What! As long as that? You could spend that much in five minutes when we were planning it! What took you so long?’

  Madeleine looked at her, shaking her head in bewilderment. ‘Aren’t you angry?’ she said.

  ‘Angry? Why should I be? Of course, I might have been if I’d known about it when I was left in Bristol to sort out all the bills, but that’s done, you’ve got your success, I’ve got mine, what’s there to be angry about? It won’t bring it back, will it? And after all, it’s only money.’ She grinned. ‘I bet I could have spent it quicker, though!’

  ‘Marian?’ Madeleine said, looking into her cousin’s smiling face.

  ‘Mm?’

  ‘Can I hug you?’

  ‘Oh, Maddy!’ Marian laughed, ‘of course you can, darling, come here.’ And pulling Madeleine into her arms, she wrapped her in the tightest embrace she could give. ‘Oh, it’s so good to be with you,’ she said. ‘Three-quarters of a million pounds! Madeleine Deacon, what am I going to do with you?’

  ‘Anything you like,’ Madeleine laughed, ‘I deserve it.’

  Eventually, when they let one another go, Madeleine said, ‘The day you came to the Plaza you mentioned Matthew Cornwall. I’m sorry for the way I reacted, Marian, it was cruel, unforgivable. Tell me how things are between you now. Has he fallen in love with you too?’

  Marian sighed deeply. ‘I don’t know, Maddy. I honestly don’t know.’

  ‘Would you like to tell me about it?’

  ‘Not now. Later, when we get home.’ Her face suddenly lit up, and looking at Madeleine from the corner of her eye, she said, ‘You can make us some cocoa and we’ll sit up half the night while I tell you.’

  ‘You’re on,’ Madeleine laughed. ‘But let’s make it wine, shall we? No, champagne, to celebrate us being together again.’

  ‘Very extravagant,’ Marian quipped, ‘and I’m going to hold you to that – champagne it is.’

  ‘Then tomorrow afternoon – our hangovers will be too bad in the morning – shall we go home and see Auntie Celia? I’ve got a lot of . . . Marian, what’s the matter? I know, she doesn’t want to see me, does she?’ Tears stung Madeleine’s eyes and she took a deep breath to steady herself. ‘I don’t blame her, after what I’ve done. She wrote me a letter, you know, asking me to go home and see her, and I ignored it. But please, Marian, will you talk to her, try and persuade her to see me?’

  ‘Oh, Maddy, Maddy, Maddy,’ Marian said, tears coming to her own eyes. ‘You don’t know, do you?’

  ‘Know what?’ Madeleine said, a stab of fear suddenly piercing her heart.

  Marian reached out for her hands and held them tightly. ‘Try and be brave, Maddy, try not to let this . . .’

  ‘What, Marian? What is it?’

  ‘Mum died, Maddy. She had a heart-attack two weeks ago. I’m sorry, I thought you knew.’

  ‘No!’ Madeleine cried. ‘NOOO! She can’t be dead, Marian. Please tell me it’s not true.’

  ‘I’m
sorry, darling.’ Marian could barely speak.

  ‘NO! NO! AUNTIE CELIA!’ Madeleine’s agony echoed round the hills, but when Marian tried to take her in her arms she fought her off, screaming for her aunt and begging Marian to say she was lying.

  Suddenly Enrico was there. ‘What is it?’ he cried, helping Marian to hold Madeleine down.

  ‘It’s my mother,’ Marian sobbed, ‘Maddy didn’t know.’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘That she’d died.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ he breathed. ‘Come on, we’d better get her back to the house. I’ll call the doctor, see if he can give her something to calm her.’

  As they half-carried, half-walked her up the hill Madeleine was still screaming, trying to wrench herself away from them, saying she wanted to die, that there was nothing left now, that it was her fault her aunt had died and she didn’t deserve to live. ‘It’s too late, Enrico!’ she cried. ‘I can’t tell her. I can’t speak to her now. She’s gone. Auntie Celia! Please come back!’

  The enormity of her grief was difficult for Marian to cope with, for she had had so little rime to get over her mother’s death herself, but as she struggled to try and contain Madeleine she felt Enrico’s hand close over hers, as if he was telling her that he understood, and as their eyes met, Marian smiled her gratitude for his concern.

  Madeleine’s hysteria had already lessened by the time the doctor arrived, but nevertheless he gave her a tranquillising injection, telling Enrico that she should rest and that he would come back again the following morning.

  ‘I think, if so much else had not happened to her so recently, maybe she would not have taken this so hard,’ Enrico said, as he and Marian walked down the stairs together, leaving Madeleine in the room that only two hours before she had so reluctantly vacated. ‘But it has been a difficult time for her.’

  ‘Yes,’ Marian said, still too shaken to say more.

  ‘It is early in the day, I know,’ Enrico said, as they crossed the hall, ‘but I think I shall have a little brandy. And you?’

  ‘That would be nice, thank you,’ Marian said. ‘And thank you for everything you’ve done.’