The Decision

by Penny Vincenzi

  ‘Good luck, darling, and I’ll have Emmie there at three, don’t worry.’

  ‘Thank you, Mummy. On second thoughts, I think the Pollyanna sailor dress. It’s her favourite and it’s very little girly. The judge will like it.’

  ‘She – she says she wants to wear her stripy dungarees. You know, the Osh Kosh ones.’

  ‘Well, she can’t. Mummy, you are not to bring her to court in dungarees.’

  ‘No, darling, of course not.’

  Toby and Philip were waiting on the steps for Eliza when she arrived; she was feeling different today, she realised, more positive, stronger, after her low of the day before, without knowing quite why. Not beaten. Not yet.

  ‘My lord,’ said Toby Gilmour, ‘I would like to call Signora Mariella Crespi.’

  Judge Rogers nodded rather curtly; he had already formed an opinion of Signora Crespi and it was not benign.

  Mariella did not do anything as prosaic as walk; she swept into the courtroom and the witness box. She looked incredible; even Bruce Hayward appeared slightly stunned. She was wearing a white trouser suit, with apparently nothing under the jacket, a thick, thick gold and pearl rope round her neck, and matching gold bracelets on her slender wrists. Her make-up was flawless, her eyes hugely dark, her lips a brilliant red gloss. Her dark hair was piled high on her head and in her ears were large pearl and gilt studs – Chanel, thought Eliza automatically, and that suit was undoubtedly Yves Saint Laurent, the very same design as Bianca had worn for her wedding to Mick.

  Toby turned to face her. His face was admirably blank.

  ‘Signora Crespi, you met Eliza Shaw, I believe, while she was fashion editor of Charisma.’

  ‘Yes, that is correct. She was very, very important to me, she made me famous. Famous enough to win the best dressed title early this year.’

  Clearly no one was to be left in any doubt as to how important she was.

  ‘And then she became one of my dearest, closest friends. She is a most wonderful person, generous, good, so, so kind and loyal, and a most wonderful mother.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. Now – Signora Crespi, perhaps you could tell us about the time Mrs Shaw came to visit you in Milan. In December 1969.’

  ‘Of course. She had been very depressed, after losing the baby, so, so sad, and I invited her to join us for a week or so. It was the beginning of the Milanese season, which starts, as I am sure you know, on the seventh of December, when there is a gala opera performance, usually of Verdi. My husband and I always attend, and entertain in our box at La Scala. It was not Eliza’s first visit, she had come two or three years earlier, and brought the little Emmie with her. She would never, ever come without her, even though sometimes I thought it would have done her good, made a better holiday for her.’

  ‘I see. And what did you do, the day Emmie went missing?’

  ‘Well, we drove into Milan—’

  ‘You don’t live in the city itself?’

  ‘No, no, of course not.’ Clearly they were all expected to know this. ‘We live in our villa on the shores of Lake Como.’

  ‘I see. Yes.’

  ‘It is perhaps an hour’s drive into Milan. There was myself, Eliza, Emmie and one of my maids, Anna-Maria, who cares for Emmie on her visits. Emmie loved her, I cannot tell you how she loved Anna-Maria, and Anna-Maria her.’

  ‘I see,’ said Toby again. ‘And when you got to Milan?’

  ‘We looked at all the shops and the Christmas displays. Then I had to visit my dressmaker and buy some shoes, and Emmie wanted to go into Rinascente, that is the department store. I suggested she went with Anna-Maria. Eliza was very, very worried about this, but I insisted, I needed her opinion on some buttons—’

  ‘Buttons?’

  ‘Buttons, yes. So it was agreed that we should meet with Maria and Emmie in one half of an hour in the Café Cova, perhaps you know the Café Cova—’

  ‘I do indeed. Delightful!’

  Did he? Eliza wondered, jerked out of the fairy story Mariella was telling them all. He was managing her very well.

  ‘But after a little while Anna-Maria arrived, in tears, having hysteria I would say, Emmie had run away from her, she is a very, very naughty little girl, however dolce. Anna-Maria had worked very, very hard at finding Emmie, but with no success. But we quickly found her, within a very few minutes, I would say—’

  ‘And where was she?’

  ‘She was in Rinascente still, in the children’s shoe department. She had found it by herself, she had said she wanted some new shoes, and when a girl wants shoes, she must have them.’

  ‘And – what was she doing, was she crying, was she distressed?’

  ‘Of course she was not,’ said Mariella dismissively, ‘she was trying to decide which of two pairs she should buy, she had one on each foot, I often do that myself.’

  ‘And – what did she say when she saw you?’

  ‘She said, and I shall always remember, it was so sweet, so adorable, she said, “Which do you think?” Well of course I said she should have them both.’

  ‘And – how was Mrs Shaw while Emmie was missing?’

  ‘She was very, very upset, quite distraught of course, of course. But it was not for long and there was a happy end. Later that night, over dinner, she said Emmie had run away before, more than once. She is very, very naughty, as I have said.’

  ‘Well, thank you, Signora Crespi.’

  Bruce Hayward stood up.

  ‘Signora Crespi, thank you for that very – very vivid account. I wonder – in a crowded, strange city, perhaps it would have been better for your maid to restrain Emmeline in some way. With some reins, for example.’

  ‘Reins? She is not a horse.’

  ‘No, of course not, but there are reins, I believe, for keeping children close to you in such situations.’

  ‘Well, we did not have any reins,’ said Mariella with a slightly impatient frown, ‘and believe me, Emmie would not have worn them if we had. She knows her own head, that one.’

  ‘Or – perhaps she should have stayed with you?’

  ‘What, in the dressmakers? Of course not. Children have no place in such establishments, and besides I could not have concentrated. No, it was my insisting that Eliza came without her that was to blame.’

  ‘I see. No more questions.’

  Clearly even Bruce Hayward could see there was not a great deal of future in cross-examination at this point.

  Then a clerk came in with a note for Philip Gordon; he read it, looked at Eliza, looked across at Toby and then whispered, ‘Excuse me,’ to Eliza and left the courtroom. She felt irritated. How could he leave now, when this was so crucial to her survival? She tried to concentrate on Toby, who had returned to his task – and to Mariella.

  ‘So, Signora Crespi, perhaps you could tell us now about the following evening? When the fog left you stranded in the city?’

  ‘Ah, yes. Our famous nebbia. This time it was the fault of Fate, not me, that kept Eliza from her little one. When we left Como, it was clear. When we came out of La Scala, it was impossible to see more than a few metres. No, I would say a few centimetres. It would have been hugely dangerous to try to get back to Como. Emmie would have been left motherless. And – how dreadful that would have been.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘So, Eliza stayed with some friends in their apartment. She did not sleep for one moment, I know. And then she very bravely set out next day, before we would dare to risk it, with some friends, some very, very brave friends, and an exceedingly brave driver, and made a way back to Como through the nebbia, to be with Emmie once more.’

  ‘And – who was looking after Emmie at the villa?’

  ‘Oh – so many people. Anna-Maria. The cook. The butler. My husband’s valet. All waiting upon her. Eliza spoke to her on the phone many times …’

  ‘Signora Crespi—’

  ‘Yes?’ Mariella looked at Bruce Hayward disdainfully. She clearly greatly preferred Toby Gilmour.

  ‘Would
it not have been better if Mrs Shaw had stayed at the villa with Emmie, rather than gone into Milan in the fog?’

  ‘That would have been extremely rude, do you not think?’ said Mariella. ‘My husband would have been most offended, having made so many arrangements for her.’

  ‘I think perhaps even so—’

  ‘And besides,’ said Mariella, interrupting him, ‘we did not know the fog would come. It arrives from nowhere.’

  Bruce Hayward gave up. Clifford Rogers would surely see through this ridiculous creature.

  But Clifford Rogers was gazing at Mariella in something approaching incredulity; and then called an early break.

  ‘This afternoon I shall see the child. And if there is time we can begin the summing up. Otherwise, that can take place in the morning.’

  ‘All rise.’

  Eliza walked out of the courtroom, down into the atrium. It was all beginning to seem rather familiar.

  ‘Eliza—’ It was Toby. ‘I need to talk to you most urgently. Let’s go to my rooms. We have a little time and it’s very important—’

  She followed him in silence.

  ‘Something has cropped up this morning. Something which could really influence our chances. But – it has to be your call.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Toby? Why now, why not sooner?’

  ‘I didn’t know sooner. It’s all happened this morning. Philip has been dealing with it.’

  ‘Was that why he rushed out?’

  ‘Yes. Anyway, we have a new witness, but – but I need your permission to call her.’

  ‘What are you talking about? My permission? Who is it?’

  ‘It’s Georgina Barker. She rang on Monday, and said she would like to come and see us to discuss the case, but then cancelled; we didn’t think it worth worrying you. And then she called again yesterday, but of course I’d left and my clerk couldn’t contact me until much later.’

  ‘But – why? I don’t understand.’

  ‘She wants to give evidence against Matt. Reading between the lines, I would say he’s upset her in some way and she’s having her revenge. Pretty ugly actually.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Apparently he told her he’d hit you once.’

  ‘Oh! Oh, Toby, no—’

  ‘Yes. Well, I always suspected there’s been some violence. Was – was that the only instance?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it was. Oh, my God. How – how weird. I mean that, she should come back.’

  ‘Indeed. But—’

  She was silent. Then, ‘Toby, I don’t think I want that coming out. I don’t want her standing up in court and telling everyone.’

  He sighed. ‘I had a hunch you’d say that.’

  ‘I really don’t.’

  ‘It could make all the difference, Eliza. It could win you the case. Win you Emmie. I’m not exaggerating. Please think very, very carefully about it.’

  She was silent.

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yes. Yes. I’m OK. I think – um – when – when would she be called?’

  ‘This afternoon, possibly. After the judge sees Emmie. Possibly tomorrow morning.’

  ‘So I have a little time to decide?’

  ‘Yes, but only a little. Until Emmie has had her interview with Clifford Rogers at the very latest. We have to get her in, she’s at Philip’s office, waiting. Eliza, for the love of God, why are you so against it?’

  ‘Two reasons,’ she said slowly. ‘I’d better tell you what it was about. Not the row itself, it was about the article, in the paper, but what I said to provoke it. To provoke him. I said something appalling to Matt, really appalling, I couldn’t even tell you, I’m so ashamed of it – and it would come out, and, well and anyway, I – I don’t think I want Emmie knowing her daddy hit me. I really don’t. It would get in the papers, God, I can see the headline now, they’d love it, I just can’t risk it, Toby.’

  ‘Well – as I say, it could win you the case. It’s a gift from God, I’d say.’

  ‘Or the devil.’

  She looked at him; he smiled at her.

  ‘Please think about it really carefully. This is probably the most important decision you’ll ever make. You have to understand just how important. We are very far from being in a position of strength, you know.’

  ‘I do know. Can we – I mean is it all right not to call her?’

  ‘Yes, of course. No one owns a witness. And besides, we are so far into the proceedings, the judge would be extremely irritated if we produced her now, to put it mildly. I can simply tell Georgina it is too late.’

  ‘But – we could call her? If we wanted to.’

  ‘Oh yes. I’m pretty confident he’d agree. It’s pretty compelling evidence. Look – Eliza, please don’t rush this, I beg of you. Take your time.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘yes, all right.’

  Mariella got back to the Ritz just after one. The pain and the suffocating sense of loss had eased with her court appearance; she had enjoyed it, given it her all. It had been a most wonderful distraction: but now she was back, back in the real world, and she had to have lunch with Giovanni and Jeremy.

  Panic overwhelmed her; she went and sat in the Ladies and smoked a cigarette to calm her nerves; and then, having sprayed herself with Arpège, smoothed her hair, checked her lipstick, she took a deep breath, lifted her head and walked with great determination into the vast gilded foyer of the Ritz.

  In his office at the agency, Jeremy was also smoking; and on his second glass of champagne. The ordeal ahead of him was considerable; lunching with the woman he loved more than anything in the world, and with whom he had experienced extreme passion and extraordinary intimacy, while behaving throughout as if she was simply a friend, and all in the company of her husband – combined with the very real danger that they might give themselves away. Giovanni was no foolish old man, he was sharp and sharp-eyed, endowed with much perspicacity; it was not impossible that he would observe a glance, a smile, an awkwardness even, and construe it correctly.

  But – there was no help for it. He had considered illness, urgent meetings, pressing family business, and rejected them all. Giovanni would read, correctly, that these were excuses and wonder why they were being proffered.

  He walked into the lobby as Mariella did; smiled at her, bowed slightly, and brushed his lips against the cheek she lifted to his.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello, Jeremy.’

  ‘How did the court appearance go?’

  ‘I think very well. Thank you. Shall we go in?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The maître d’ bustled to greet them; Jeremy put his hand on her back, very gently, to usher her forward; she turned very briefly – clearly quite unable to help herself – to smile at him; her eyes were huge and very soft; he smiled back into them, unable to help himself either.

  Giovanni was already at the table; he saw them approaching, stood up to greet them, clearly delighted that they had arrived together. He was looking particularly wonderful, Mariella noticed distractedly, wearing a soft linen suit, and a shirt of palest blue, his white hair, thick and wavy still, brushed back, perfectly groomed: altogether the epitome of old-world elegance.

  He smiled, his enchanting, embracing smile, and his eyes, those piercing blue eyes were, she noticed, particularly brilliant; he held out both his hands in greeting, took a step forward, said ‘my’ and stopped, then said it again, ‘my’, and then his face changed, distorted, twisted, his legs buckled and Jeremy only just reached him in time to catch him as he fell, and laid him on the floor where he lay, struggling with dreadful rasping breaths, his eyes wide, his body rigid.

  Mariella sank onto the floor beside him, cradling his head; Jeremy knelt beside her, loosening Giovanni’s tie, calling for cushions, for help; and just for a moment the world shrank to the three of them, held there, a shocking tableau; and then others moved in, the maître d’ said a doctor was coming, a nurse appeared, issuing instructions, and then with extraordinary
speed a doctor who took his pulse, listened to his heart, and said he should be taken to the medical room, to await the ambulance he had already called; and Jeremy and Mariella found themselves moved away from the centre of the storm, mere helpless onlookers, and terribly afraid.

  But by the time they had reached the medical room, and the stretcher had been placed on the floor, the dreadful rasping breathing had first eased and then stopped; the brilliant eyes had become dim and dull, the face somehow collapsed; and with a final whispery sigh, Giovanni’s long and wonderfully blessed life was ended.

  The ambulance had arrived, and the medics with it, but Mariella sent them away: ‘He is gone now, there is no rush, I want him taken to our room, I want to spend time with him. Please.’

  Her tone, initially shaky, became peremptory on that ‘please’; the doctor looked at her, looked at Jeremy, paused for a moment and then nodded.

  And in a very little while, Mariella and Giovanni were alone together in their room.

  She felt strangely calm; they had lain him on the bed, and she sat there beside him, cradling his fine old head, stroking his face, telling him she loved him; the window was open, the table on the balcony still set with the morning coffee he had sent for; and the sweet fresh air filled the room, along with the birdsong, overlaid now with the sounds of London, but it was still very much a safe and private space, and she could still inhabit it with him, and wanted to do so.

  And sitting with Giovanni, looking at him as he lay there so sweetly peaceful, she thought that she had anticipated this moment many times over the years, of course she had, but had feared that since the advent of Jeremy into her life there might be something unseemly, unloving, a sense of relief even about it, but she felt only sorrow and loss and a wave of intense gratitude to this man, this brilliant, beautiful, loving man who had done so much to make her into the creature she was and been so proud that he had done so; and she bent and kissed his forehead, and his still, white, oddly empty face, and a tear fell on it, and then another, and she sat there for a long time, holding his hand and remembering all that they had shared and done together and thinking what a truly immense loss to her this was.