by Unknown
This was it. This was the conversation. About where they were going when they got back to London, her stupid secret fantasies on the verge of coming true. Ruby forced herself to sit still and listen, which was hard with her heart fluttering about madly inside her ribcage like a trapped bird. She nodded, encouraging him to keep going.
‘Well, I think it’s time your contract came to an end.’
Ruby blinked. That wasn’t what she’d expected him to say at all. Was this a particularly ‘Max’ way of saying their relationship was moving fully from professional to personal? ‘Okay. So when are we heading back to London?’
He swallowed. ‘I’m not, but you are.’
Ruby removed her hand from on top of his and sat back. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I can’t begin to thank you for the way you’ve helped me change,’ he said, and while his expression remained granite-like his eyes warmed. She could feel her heart reaching out to him, even as all her other instincts told her to back away. ‘But it’s time for me to fly solo.’
‘What does that mean?’
He broke eye contact. ‘I need to learn to interact with my family without having you there as both catalyst and buffer. I need to learn to do it on my own, Ruby.’
She shook her head, not really sure which bit of information she was rejecting, or why. ‘But I can just keep out of the way... I can...’
He shook his head. ‘You’ve been amazing, but now it’s time for you to go home.’ A gruff laugh followed. ‘I’d say it was time for you to travel, to explore, to find whatever it is you’re looking for in life, but you’re determined to take that damn job with your father.’
She frowned. ‘Yes, I am. But what has that got to do with anything?’
He just looked at her, as if he was trying to send a message with his eyes, but she got nothing. Those walls were back up, weren’t they? He was shutting her out. Her stomach dropped as she realised that was what this had all been about. He’d been pulling away slowly for the last couple of days, hadn’t he? She’d just been too stupidly in love with him to notice.
You’ve finally done it, Ruby. Brava. You’ve jumped in with your heart, given it wholly and completely, and the man you’ve given it to doesn’t want it. He’s handing it back to you on a plate. Thanks, but no, thanks.
Part of her couldn’t quite believe it.
‘But when you get back to London, will we...?’
Now the message from his eyes got through. Loud and clear.
No.
There would be no London.
There would be no Max for her. All they would ever have was what had happened here in Venice.
‘Max?’ she croaked.
He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Ruby. Professionally speaking, I don’t need you any longer.’
She swallowed. ‘And personally?’
Max didn’t say anything, just sat ramrod straight in his chair, jaw tense, eyes empty.
That was when the bird inside stopped fluttering madly. In fact, Ruby wasn’t sure there was any movement at all any more.
* * *
She’d never been fired from a job—mainly because she always left before that kind of eventuality arose—but Max had managed to make her first experience of it a real doozy.
I don’t need you.
Professional and personal rejection in one go. Nice shot.
She got up, threw her napkin down and walked out of the restaurant.
Thankfully, the fact they’d walked here meant she could find her way back to the palazzo on her own, and once there she’d pack. In three minutes. And then she’d be out of here, and there was no way Max Martin would stop her this time.
He caught up with her not long afterwards, as she was leaving a wider street and turning into a narrow, cobbled one.
‘Ruby!’
Heavy footsteps pounded behind her, getting closer. She kept walking.
‘Where are you going?’ He didn’t sound flustered or bothered at all, just slightly out of breath from the running. It made her want to scream.
Home, she almost said, but then she realised just how stupidly inaccurate that was. ‘Back to the palazzo,’ she said. ‘I thought that was obvious.’
He fell into step beside her, and the narrowness of the calle meant he was far too close. ‘You don’t have to leave straight away. Wait until the morning.’
That sounded so generous, so reasonable. She regretted not having that contract now, because maybe, just maybe, she could have found something in it so she could sue his sorry hide for breaching it, for false advertising...something. There was no way she was staying here overnight. What did he want her to do? Lie in bed and cry over him? She wasn’t that girl. It was time to move on. Onwards and upwards, remember?
She stomped down the street, glad she was wearing her ballet flats. They might not produce a satisfying echo, but they did make for a quick getaway. How could she have read him so wrong?
A series of images flashed through her head: kissing on the boat as the sun set over the lagoon, watching him building castles with Sofia the very first time, the moment that stupid little crab had bit her on the finger, and, last, the way he’d whistled for an island to appear out of the sea.
She stopped walking.
That was the real Max. She was sure of it.
He froze beside her, but she kept staring straight ahead.
She’d lived in the same house as this man for two weeks, and one thing she knew: he wasn’t that good of a liar. He might keep things locked away, but he wasn’t a man to kiss and run, to promise one thing with his eyes and smiles and lips and then deliver another. Was he?
She turned to face him. His features gave nothing away.
That should have made her angry, but it didn’t. Instead, the fire she’d been ready to unleash on him flickered out. This was the façade, wasn’t it? The face he showed when he wanted to pretend to the world that nothing got to him. The face he was showing to her to let her know the same. If there was a lie Max Martin told, this was it. The only one.
She searched his face, desperately looking for some hint she was right. His expression remained blank, but his jaw tightened. She started walking again, until they reached the little wooden door that led to the palazzo’s tiny courtyard. Once there, she pushed the gate open and walked inside. She waited while he closed it behind him.
Nothing about this evening made sense, except the one truth she kept coming back to. Max Martin did the right thing, even if it killed him, even if it cost all that he had. So what about sending her away was ‘right’, and how on earth did she go about changing his mind?
Something drastic. Something shocking. Something he couldn’t ignore. She was usually good at that. She dug down inside herself, poking in the dark corners of her imagination, to see if she could find anything to help, and came away empty, save for one thing—the only thing she’d been able to think about for the last few days.
‘I love you,’ she blurted out, and waited for his reaction.
He seemed to grow another layer of cement. ‘I know.’
‘Is that why you’re sending me away?’ she asked, a small wobble in her voice betraying her.
He nodded.
No breaking ranks and pulling her into his arms as he had done countless times since that evening on the lagoon. No echoed protestations of love. The silence grew around them. Here in the tiny courtyard with its high wall, it was complete.
So I tried to make him angry...
Fina’s words floated through her head. It wasn’t a great plan, but telling him she loved him had been a worse one. If at least she could get him to show some emotion, those walls might start to crack; she might be able to tell if he really felt anything for her at all, or whether it had just been another mirage this city had thrown up. Her
heart was telling her one thing and her brain another and she had to stop the Ping-Pong match between them and just know.
It shouldn’t be too hard. She seemed to have a special talent for lighting Max’s fuse.
‘You paint yourself as this big, strong man, who can rule the universe and isn’t scared of anything, but underneath it you’re nothing but a coward.’
He blinked. Very slowly.
Ruby felt the air pulse around her head. It had felt good to say those words. She hadn’t anticipated how much.
‘No wonder you can’t get that design for the institute right, no wonder they had reservations about going with you. Because to create something stupendous, first you’d have to feel, to dream, but you don’t have the courage.’
This time he didn’t move at all. Now the air in the whole courtyard throbbed.
She was running out of things to say, things she thought might wound him, provoke some kind of a reaction. He might seem to be made of stone, but her blood was rushing round her veins, her cheeks heating. Feigned anger was quickly becoming the real deal.
He had to feel something for her—he had to. She drew in a deep breath, then gave it her best shot. ‘Your father dug his own grave, you know. He finally imploded with the effort of keeping himself under lock and key, and you’re going to end up the same way. He didn’t deserve your mother, who’s more patient and loving and forgiving than you will ever realise, and you’re going to turn out just the same if you’re not careful.’
She was on a roll now, couldn’t stop herself if she wanted to. Hot tears began to stream down her face and her throat grew tight, making her voice scratchy. ‘And you know what? Maybe it is better if I go, if I get as far away from you as I can, because I don’t think I could stand being with a man like you anyway. I need someone who actually knows how to live and breathe, who knows how to love and be loved. Who, when he feels something for a woman, comes out and says so—not just stands there like a lump of stone doing nothing!’
And he was like stone. Still.
She had no volume left now, only a hoarse whisper that only just made it past her lips. She started walking backwards towards the door. ‘Well, you’ve got your wish. I’m leaving. And not because you’re telling me to, but because I want to. I know you feel something for me!’ She thumped her chest with her closed fist. ‘I know it! But you can’t—or won’t—bring yourself to show it. And that means you don’t deserve me, Max Martin, and you never will.’
* * *
Max stood in the courtyard long after Ruby had left him. It had taken all his effort to take what she’d thrown at him, every last ounce of his strength, and he had none left to open the door and follow. He’d wanted to kiss her fiercely, deeply, as if his very life depended on it—which it well might—and tell her just how much he cared, but he couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
He wondered if he was actually dripping blood, because that was what it felt like. Her words had stabbed him in the heart. This was what he’d always tried to avoid, what he’d always protected himself against. Did she think he didn’t know that he didn’t deserve her, that he wasn’t what she needed? That was why he hadn’t answered her question, had just let her assume the worst. He was letting her go, setting her free.
It felt as if he hadn’t taken a breath in minutes, and he dragged one in now, the cool night air burning his lungs. He could see the lights on in the piano nobile of Ca’ Damiani, could imagine her shoving clothes into her scruffy little rucksack, calling him every name under the sun.
A foolish part of him hoped that this wasn’t it. That one day they’d meet again, and it would be the right time, that they’d both be ready, but he knew it was probably impossible. He didn’t think she’d ever forgive him. And she had every reason not to.
But he’d had to do it this way. Otherwise she wouldn’t have left, she’d have just kept trying, killing herself off piece by piece in the process. Damn her resilience.
He closed his eyes and swore out loud. In Italian. And then he walked through the ground floor of the palazzo, the space that used to be the merchants’ warehouse when the Damiani family had been part of the city’s elite, and out of the boat door.
He needed to get out of this place, out of this glittering city that promised with one hand then took away with another.
He knew of somewhere much more appropriate. There were a number of deserted islands scattered across the lagoon that had once been quarantine islands, places where those with the plague had been imprisoned to stop them infecting the city, places where forgotten souls were still supposed to howl on a moonless night like this.
As the mist descended across the lagoon he started up the launch and headed away from the deceptive lights of the city, fully intending to join the dead in their howling.
* * *
Ruby flung all her belongings in her rucksack, but it took her considerably longer than three minutes. More like twenty. Maybe because she had to keep stopping to either wipe her eyes so she could see what she was doing or shout at the painting of the old man in a large black hat on the wall about what a pig-headed idiot his descendant was being.
When she was finally finished she crept next door to Sofia’s room and watched the little girl sleeping, legs and arms flung carelessly over the covers. She pressed the gentlest of kisses to her temple, then quickly left, before she dripped tears on her and woke her up.
She met Fina in the hallway. ‘You’re back early!’ she said, smiling, and then she stopped smiling. ‘What has that fool of a son of mine done now?’
Ruby shrugged. ‘He fired me.’
Fina went pale. ‘What?’
‘Maybe “fired” is a little dramatic.’ She sighed. ‘It’s the end of my contract. I knew it was only going to be a couple of weeks, but—’ The tears clogging her throat prevented her from saying more.
Fina just walked forward and drew her into a hug. The kind of hug Ruby’s mother used to give her when she was small and she hadn’t realised she’d missed quite so badly. Ruby’s torso shuddered and she clung on to Fina for a few long minutes before pulling away, putting the pieces of herself back together.
‘You must come again,’ Fina said, her eyes shining and her voice husky.
Ruby looked at her helplessly. She didn’t know if she could return to this place. Somehow it had burrowed under her skin and she feared she’d always be reminded of what she’d almost had, of what it had snatched away from her on a fickle whim.
Fina must have understood that look, because she smiled softly. ‘Well, when I come to London, then... You must take me out for tea and scones.’
A watery giggle escaped Ruby’s lips. ‘It’s a deal.’ She could just imagine Fina at the Ritz tea room, holding court and charming all the waiters, while the pianist played and the china clinked.
She checked her watch. ‘I’ve ordered a taxi, so I really should go and get my things.’
‘So soon?’ Fina asked, looking a little forlorn.
Ruby nodded, and then Fina did, too. She was a woman who understood that when the time came a swift exit was the cleanest, if not the least painful, method of departure. Ruby was grateful for that.
She went and fetched her rucksack, hugged Fina once more, then descended the stone staircase for the last time and pushed the boat door open to walk onto the dock. The water taxi arrived only a few minutes later and Ruby climbed inside and looked steadfastly at the buildings on the other side of the canal as it turned around and pulled away.
She kept staring like that, stiff and unseeing, all the way to the train station. She didn’t want to see any more of Venice. Not the details, anyway. Not the shapes of the arches or the patterns in the lace-like gothic façades. She was happier if it all just blurred into one big pool of light before her eyes.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘NO, I’M AFRAID the four
o’clock flight won’t do. The crew need to catch another connection out of Paris to Antananarivo at five. We need them on the two forty-five.’
The travel agent on the other end of Ruby’s phone huffed.
She lowered her voice, made it softer. ‘Mr Lange would be ever so grateful if you could swing it. I’d even arrange to have a box set of his last series sent round as a thank-you.’
She could tell he’d just opened his mouth to give her an excuse, but he paused. ‘My mum really does love his programmes. Have you got the one with the penguins in it?’
‘The Ice World of Antarctica?’ Ruby asked, drawing a little black-and-white penguin with a bobble hat on in the corner of her office pad. Now, they’d make a great subject for a series of drawings. What was not to like? They were cute and walked funny.
‘That’s the one,’ the man said, then chortled most unappealingly. ‘And I’d have one less Christmas present to buy come December.’
Ruby pulled a face at the phone. Cheapskate. ‘So can you help me?’ she asked, almost purring down the line.
‘Leave it with me,’ he said, sounding a bit chirpier than when she’d first started talking to him. ‘What did you say your name was again?’
‘Ruby,’ she said with a sigh in her voice. ‘Ruby Lange.’
‘Wow! You related?’
She resisted the urge to say I’m his grandmother.
‘Yep. He’s my dad.’
Ruby wilted a little further towards her desk. Just about every conversation she had these days ended up like this one. And she made hundreds of calls a week.
‘It must be really cool to be Patrick Lange’s daughter!’ he said. ‘What’s it like working for him?’
Okay, now he wanted to be friendly and chatty, after making the last twenty minutes trying to get the flights for the next filming trip booked like squeezing blood from a stone.
‘It’s a blast,’ she said as she drew a jagged crevice that her cartoon penguin was about to fall into. Still, she said her thank-yous and goodbyes politely and sweetly. No point zinging him until after the flights were booked.
