The Italian’s Cinderella Bride

by Lucy Gordon

  Now and then Gino returned to Venice, seeming more cheerful. But always his first question was whether there had been any news from England, and Pietro realised that this young woman had callously broken his heart.

  Her name had been Ruth Denver.

  ‘But it can’t be her,’ he growled to himself. ‘She doesn’t look anything like her. I’ve seen her picture-’

  In a cupboard he found a book full of photographs and went through them until he found the one he wanted. It showed Gino just over a year ago, handsome, laughing, his arm around a young girl. She too was laughing, her face full of joy as she gazed at him. Peering closer, Pietro managed to recognise her as Ruth Denver. But only just.

  This was a big, buxom girl, generously made, with a broad, confident smile. Her hair was thick and long, flowing over her shoulders, somehow hinting at an equally expansive nature.

  The ethereal creature who had invaded his home tonight was a ghost of her former self. Her hair was short, almost boyish, her smile had died, her eyes were sad and cautious. Small wonder he hadn’t recognised her at first.

  What had happened to change her from one person into the other?

  When she was exhausted the impressions swirled about her head and ran together. She was asleep, yet not asleep, her dreams haunted by a man who came out of nowhere, seized her and took her to safety. In the darkness and rain she couldn’t make out his face. Only his strength and determination were real.

  Then the rain vanished and she was lying on a sofa while he pressed a brandy on her, forceful yet gentle, both together. She didn’t know who he was yet every detail was mysteriously clear. She could see his face now, handsome but for a tautness about the mouth, giving him a withered look that shouldn’t have been there for several years.

  When he rose and moved about the room there was grace in his movements, except that he seemed always ready against an attack. Or perhaps the attack would come from him, for she sensed something below the surface that might explode at any moment, all the more dangerous for the quietness of his voice.

  Then the impressions shifted, whirled away into the darkness, replaced by another time, another place. Now she was smiling as she was swept back to the time of happiness.

  There was Gino, gazing at her, giving her the fond smile she adored, reaching for her hand across the restaurant table, caressing her fingers with his lips.

  ‘They’re staring at us,’ she whispered, looking around at the other diners.

  ‘So let them,’ he said merrily. ‘Oh you English, you’re so cold.’

  ‘Me? Cold?’

  ‘No, never, carissima. You’re a dream of perfection, and I love you madly.’

  ‘Say it in Venetian,’ she begged. ‘You know I love that.’

  ‘Te voja ben-te voja ben-’

  How could there be such joy in the world? Her handsome Gino had come to England to take her back to Venice where his family were waiting to welcome her. Soon they would be married, living together in that lovely city.

  ‘I love you too,’ she said. ‘Oh, Gino, we’re going to be so happy.’

  But without warning the darkness came down, obscuring first his face, then everything. Suddenly the world was full of pain. He was gone.

  There were flickers-more pictures, but they came from much earlier. There was Gino as he’d been on the day they met in Venice, winning her heart with his cheeky humour and glowing admiration. She’d been struggling with the language, and he’d come to her aid. Somehow they had ended up spending the evening together, and he’d made her talk about herself.

  ‘You know so many languages,’ he’d said, ‘French, German, Spanish, but no Italian. That’s very bad. You should learn Italian without delay.’

  ‘But do I really need another language?’ she’d asked, not because she really objected, but to provoke an answer.

  There had been a special significance in his look as he’d said, ‘Well, I’m glad you couldn’t speak it today, or we wouldn’t have met. But now I really think you should learn.’

  After that he had set himself to teach her his language, and done it very thoroughly.

  More pictures-the airport where he’d seen her off, almost in tears from the strength of his feelings. Then the call to say he was coming to England, the ecstatic meeting, and that last evening together-

  ‘You’re a dream of perfection, and I love you madly-te voja ben-te voja ben-’

  ‘Te voja ben,’ she whispered longingly.

  There was his face as he said it, but it was fading, fading-

  ‘Gino!’

  She screamed again and again, stretching out her arms in a frantic attempt to hold on to him.

  ‘Come back,’ she cried. ‘Come back. Don’t leave me.’

  But then she touched him. She couldn’t see him but she could feel that he’d turned back to her, was taking her in his arms, drawing her against his body.

  ‘Where did you go?’ she sobbed. ‘I was so scared-I longed for you-where were you?’

  Strong arms tightened about her, and she heard the soothing words murmured in her ear.

  ‘It’s all right, don’t panic. I’m here.’

  ‘Don’t leave me again.’

  ‘I won’t leave you as long as you need me.’

  ‘Where have you been?’ she whispered. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’

  She reached for his face and kissed it again and again in her passionate relief, his forehead, his cheeks, his mouth. To her surprise he didn’t kiss her back, but at least he was there.

  ‘Te voja ben,’ she whispered. ‘Te voja ben.’

  ‘Lie back,’ he said, gently pushing her down against the pillow. ‘You’re safe now.’

  She could still feel his hands clasping hers, and their strength calmed her. Her terror began to fade. After so long among nightmares and mystery, Gino had finally returned, his arms open to her.

  ‘Sleep now,’ he whispered. ‘And in the morning everything will be all right.’

  But something perverse in her, something awkward that months of misfortune hadn’t managed to stifle, made her open her eyes.

  A man was sitting on her bed, holding her hands. Even in the semi-darkness she could tell that it wasn’t Gino.

  CHAPTER TWO

  P IETRO was in pyjamas and his hair was tousled. He switched on the small bedside light and watched as the joy died out of her eyes.

  ‘I heard you calling,’ he said. ‘You sounded desperate.’

  ‘I had such dreams,’ she whispered. ‘Gino-’

  He wondered if she knew that she’d kissed him, thinking he was Gino, and cried out; ‘Te voja ben,’ the Venetian for ‘I love you.’ With all his soul he hoped not.

  ‘Talk to me about Gino,’ he said.

  ‘Our last evening together-I have that dream so often, but then it fades-he vanishes, but I don’t know where-and it’s too late to find out because it was so long ago. I’m sorry if I awoke you. I promise to be quiet now.’

  ‘You can’t help a dream.’

  She suddenly put her hands together over her chest, but there was nothing seductive about her appearance. Like him, she was in pyjamas. They were sedate and functional, buttoning high in the front.

  ‘I didn’t mean to stare at you,’ he assured her.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said simply. ‘I’m used to it.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I warned you last night that I was a bit mad.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that,’ he said quickly.

  ‘Why not? It’s true-well, a little bit. For the last year I’ve been officially diagnosed as “disturbed”. I’m a lot better than I was, but I’m not all the way there yet.’

  ‘But what happened? Can you tell me?’

  ‘Gino came to England. We went out to dinner and-’ She stopped, smiling. ‘We talked about how I was going back to Venice with him, to meet his family, and discuss the wedding. It was the most marvellous night of my life, until-until-’

  ‘Don’t
force yourself if it’s too painful.’

  ‘I have to, or I’ll never escape.’

  ‘All right,’ he said quietly. ‘Tell me what happened.’

  At last Ruth began to speak.

  ‘When we’d finished eating we went out to the car park, and found some lads there, trying to break into the car. They attacked us. I was knocked out, and woke up in the hospital. My mind was a blank. I didn’t know what had happened, or who I was. I didn’t even recognise Gino. I only knew there was a young man sitting beside the bed, but to me he was a stranger. Everything in my mind was blank, including myself.

  ‘But seeing him again afterwards, didn’t that help you to remember?’

  ‘I don’t remembering him coming back-but he may have done. I kept blacking out. When I awoke properly it was some time later and he wasn’t there. I never saw him again. Perhaps he couldn’t bear my not recognising him any longer. I can’t blame him for leaving.’

  Pietro was getting a very bad feeling about this. Gino’s story that he’d been jilted had always sounded unlikely. In truth, he seemed to have deserted her when she most needed him.

  ‘And you had nobody to help you? No family? Nothing?’

  ‘After my parents died I was raised by my mother’s sister, who didn’t really want me. She died while I was away at college. Then I discovered that she’d known for months that she was dying, but never told me. It was like the final slamming of a door.

  ‘So there was nobody who’d known me in the past. I had blinding headaches. There was a lot of pressure on my brain because I’d been beaten so badly about the head. They had to operate to relieve it. I was better after that.’

  ‘But-alone,’ he murmured, stunned by the horror of it.

  She gave a little wry smile.

  ‘I looked awful. I was rather glad there was nobody to see me.’

  Pietro was speechless. Perhaps, he thought, it was a good thing Gino wasn’t present right now. He might have said or done something he would later regret.

  ‘All my hair was shaved off,’ she recalled. ‘I looked like a malignant elf.’

  Something in her self-mocking tone inspired him to say absurdly, ‘Why malignant? I always thought elves were nice.’

  ‘Not this one. I even scared myself. My memory started to return in bits. It was odd, I’m a language teacher and I found I still knew the languages, but not my own identity.

  ‘I was able to get some official records, and the people I knew at work could tell me a few things that I’d told them about myself. But effectively my life started when I awoke in the hospital.’

  ‘How long were you there?’ he asked.

  ‘Three or four months. Then I was moved into sheltered accommodation. I was too full of nerves to go back to teaching in a school, but I managed to get some translation work to do at home. That made me feel better, and my mind seemed to open up a little more every day.

  ‘At last I remembered who I was, and Gino-how much we loved each other-it all came back in a rush, while I was asleep. I went back to the hospital to see if anyone there could remember seeing him, but of course it was in the past, and most of the staff had changed.

  ‘So in the end I decided to come back to Venice. I hoped to find him but if-if not, I can go back to the places where we were together, and see if anything more comes back to me.’

  ‘What are you hoping for?’ he asked. ‘That you’ll rediscover your love?’

  ‘I’m not really sure. But there are so many gaps that only he can fill in. I can’t even remember much of the attack. The lads were never caught. It was a year ago, but to me it was yesterday.’

  Which means that it was yesterday she’d sat in the restaurant with Gino, exchanging words of love. Part of her, at least, was still in love with him. Pietro was sick at heart.

  ‘I suppose he might be married by now,’ she said softly. ‘I can’t hope that he still loves me just because I-’ She broke off.

  ‘No, he isn’t married,’ Pietro said heavily.

  ‘But for him it’s been a long time. I know.’ She suddenly gave him a delightful smile. ‘Don’t worry. I haven’t come to make trouble. I just want him to help me move forward.’

  Ruth seemed to become self-conscious. ‘Perhaps you should go away now. I don’t want to make trouble for you either-I mean your wife. Gino told me about her, and the baby you were expecting. I hope I haven’t disturbed either of them.’

  ‘No, you haven’t disturbed them,’ Pietro said abruptly. ‘They’re both dead. Goodnight.’

  He left quickly.

  Back in his own room he tried to sleep, but now it was impossible. The trouble with letting a ghost into his home was that she had brought other ghosts with her. He spent his life trying to avoid those gentle phantoms, and now they were here, making him feel their sadness.

  Not that Lisetta had ever reproached him. She’d loved him too well for that. More than life, she’d often said. And proved it. And the baby, dead after only a few hours, now sleeping peacefully in his mother’s arms, a reminder of what might have been.

  ‘Go away,’ he cried desperately. ‘Haven’t I been punished enough?’

  It was an hour before he fell into an exhausted sleep, and when he awoke it was broad daylight, and he could hear Minna, his housekeeper, moving about outside. He wondered if the two women had met. But when he went out there was only Minna, large, middle-aged, the epitome of solid reassurance.

  ‘About that lady,’ he said when they had greeted each other.

  ‘What lady, signore?’

  ‘Haven’t you seen her? She stayed the night here because of the storm. Perhaps she’s still in her room.’

  But the room was empty. The bed had been stripped and the bedclothes folded neatly. Ruth’s suitcase was gone.

  ‘There’s a letter for you on the table,’ Minna said.

  With a sense of foreboding he snatched it up and found his worst fears realised.

  ‘I’m really sorry to have bothered you,’ it said. ‘I had no idea about your wife. Please forgive me. Thank you for all you did. Ruth.’

  ‘Stupid woman!’ he growled, crushing the letter.

  ‘Signore?’

  ‘Not you, Minna. Her. What does she think she’s playing at? You didn’t catch a glimpse of her leaving?’

  ‘No, signore. There was nobody here when I came in. Just the letter on the table. What has this woman done?’

  What had she done? he wondered. Only invaded his life, destroyed his peace, turned everything upside down, made him feel responsible for her welfare and then vanished into thin air. Nothing, really.

  ‘I’m sorry, signore.’

  ‘What for? It’s not your fault. It’s just that when I find her I’m going to strangle her.’

  ‘Have some breakfast first.’

  ‘No time. I don’t know how long she’s been gone.’

  He vanished out of the door as he spoke, hurrying down the narrow calle that ran alongside the palazzo. It ended in a small square where there were a few shops, at one of which a man was arranging groceries outside.

  ‘Enrico, have you seen a young woman come out of here?’ Pietro described her.

  ‘Yes, about an hour ago. She went down that turning.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he called over his shoulder.

  Luck was with him. It was January and Venice was almost free of tourists, plus, in that tiny city, he knew almost every other resident, so he was able to consult many kindly friends, and managed to build up a picture of Ruth’s movements, even down to half an hour she spent drinking coffee in a small café.

  In no other city but Venice could he have done this. The word began to spread ahead of him. People telephoned each other to ask if Ruth had passed that way, then they began waiting for him in the squares and alleyways, and one was even able to describe the new coat she’d just bought. It was dark red wool, very stylish, he assured Pietro, and a great improvement on the light coat she’d been wearing, which was damp.

  It was a
help. Now he was able to look for the coat, and finally he spotted her in the Garibaldi Gardens, at the extreme end of Venice, where the land tailed off into the lagoon.

  He almost didn’t see her at first. By now, it was late afternoon, the light was fading fast and she was sitting quite still on a stone bench. Her elbows were resting on her knees and her arms were crossed as if to protect herself, but she didn’t, as he’d feared, have the look of despair he’d seen last night. She merely seemed calm and collected.

  After the frazzled day he’d had, the sight had an unfortunate effect on his temper. He planted himself in front of her.

  ‘I’ve spent all day looking for you,’ were his first cross words.

  ‘But didn’t you get my letter?’

  ‘Yes, I got it, for what good you thought it did. The state you were in-Just running off-Of all the daft-’ He exploded into a stream of Venetian curses while she waited for him to be finished.

  ‘But can’t you see that I had to do it?’ Ruth asked when she could get a word in.

  ‘No, I can’t,’ he snapped.

  ‘I just felt so embarrassed about dumping myself on you like that.’

  ‘You didn’t. I hauled you in. That was my first mistake.’

  ‘You wish you’d left me there?’

  ‘I wish I’d chucked you in the Grand Canal. But I didn’t. I invited you into my home, where you collapsed.’

  ‘But if I’d known about your wife-’

  ‘Why should you? Leave that.’

  There was a silence, then she said awkwardly, ‘And now you’re angry with me.’

  Remembering her frail condition, he knew he should utter comforting words, designed to make her feel better. But something had got hold of him and the words poured out in a stream of ill temper.

  ‘Why should you think that? I only dashed out without any breakfast and spent the day wandering the streets looking for the most awkward, difficult woman I’ve ever met. I’m tired, I’m hungry, I’m cold, and it was all completely unnecessary. Why the devil should I be angry with you?’

  Instead of bursting into tears she regarded him thoughtfully before saying, ‘I expect you feel a lot better now you’ve lost your temper.’

  ‘Yes!’