‘I told you that night, if you made me leave without giving me a chance to explain, I would never return. Think back, Rosanna. Try to remember how angry you were. I shall never forget the way you looked at me on the doorstep. Your face was filled with such disgust, such hatred. I thought you would prefer it if I left for good. Was I wrong?’
‘No, of course not,’ she lied bravely. ‘It was what I told you I wanted. But I thought you would contact me, if only to see Nico.’
‘But don’t you understand that I couldn’t bear to see you or our child, knowing that I’d have to leave you both after an hour, two hours? You know how we are, Rosanna. With us, it’s all or nothing. I understood you didn’t want me back, so, for all our sakes, I made a complete break. Even so,’ he admitted, ‘I’ve tried to call you several times. You were obviously not at home.’
‘Even I have to leave the house sometimes, Roberto.’ He’s lying, he’s lying, she told herself firmly. He’s hardly thought about us at all.
‘Please, Rosanna. This might be one of the last times we talk. I’m being honest with you. I swear I have called you. At the very least, believe I still love Nico, if nothing else.’
‘It’s hard when you’ve made no effort to see him,’ she countered, at last glad to feel genuine anger on behalf of her son. ‘But I will try to believe it for Nico’s sake, if not for my own.’
‘Oh principessa.’ Roberto swept a hand through his hair. ‘Why did it turn out like this? We were so happy, the three of us. We’ve both lost so much. And it’s all my fault, I know, I know.’
The doorbell rang, a shrill noise penetrating the tension.
Rosanna stood up. ‘My taxi is here. I must go.’
‘Of course.’ Roberto stood up too. ‘You know, cara, that I will never stop loving you,’ he said softly.
Say it back, Rosanna, say it, she urged herself. You know you belong with him, no matter what he is and how he might hurt you.
But she didn’t reply, and instead, with a huge effort of will, walked upstairs to the front door, Roberto following behind her.
‘Goodbye, Roberto.’ She walked down the steps, then turned back and looked up at him. ‘If you want to see your son in the future, please let me know.’
Then she turned and hurried to the cab, the world a blur through her tears.
Roberto watched the taxi leave. Then he shut the front door and slowly made his way back down the stairs to the kitchen. He sat down at the table and poured himself another brandy. He could still smell her perfume hanging in the air. He felt devastated and completely empty.
Another six hours and he’d be leaving for New York, back to Donatella and a life that had everything, yet meant nothing. Roberto opened his eyes; every time he shut them, he saw her sitting in the kitchen, her lovely face still wet with the tears he had forced her to shed.
Two hours later, Roberto closed the front door behind him and stepped into the back of the car. As the driver set off, he looked behind him as the house disappeared in the fog; a dream that had become a living nightmare.
Rosanna arrived home three and a half hours after she’d left London. The fog had been dreadful and the train had been delayed. She stepped into the hall feeling emotionally and mentally drained.
‘Ciao, Rosanna. Are you okay? You look very pale.’ Ella appeared from the sitting room.
‘It was a bad journey back. Is Nico okay?’
‘He’s fine. I’ve just put him to bed. Can I get you something to eat?’
‘No thank you, Ella. I think I’ll go upstairs and take a bath.’
‘Okay. Where are your things?’ asked Ella.
‘What things?’
‘The things you went to London to collect.’
‘Oh, I . . .’ Rosanna shook her head, realising that she’d forgotten all about them. ‘I decided it was best if I left them there after all. Too many memories.’
Ella nodded as Rosanna slipped off her shoes and began to walk up the stairs. ‘Stephen called from New York.’
‘Did you tell him where I was?’
‘Yes.’ Ella looked confused. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise I wasn’t meant to.’
‘No, it’s fine, Ella.’
‘He sent his love and said he would call again tomorrow.’
Rosanna nodded wearily. ‘Thank you. Goodnight.’
It was past midnight and, although Rosanna had tried, sleep would not come. Eventually, she got up and rifled through the bathroom cabinet for the sleeping tablets that the doctor had prescribed when Roberto had first left her. She’d never dared to take one in case Nico was ill in the night and she didn’t hear him. Knowing pills were not the answer, she replaced the bottle in the cabinet, and padded downstairs to the kitchen to make herself a hot drink. Switching on the kettle, Rosanna gazed out of the window. The fog was so thick she couldn’t see the tree that stood a few feet from the house. She took her mug into the sitting room and switched on a lamp.
Then she heard a knocking sound.
Rosanna froze in fear. This was the moment she had always dreaded. Two women and a baby alone and defenceless against intruders.
The knocking came again from the front door.
But surely burglars wouldn’t knock? she rationalised as she crept into the hall to try and see who it was.
‘Rosanna. It’s me. Let me in,’ called a voice through the letterbox.
Her hands fumbling with the bolts and the chain, her heart racing, she opened the door.
‘You said I was to let you know if I wished to see my son. Well, I do, so here I am. I love you, my principessa.’
Roberto gazed at her and held open his arms, his tired eyes filled with uncertainty.
She hesitated for a few seconds, but, unable to fight any longer, Rosanna walked tentatively back into them.
The Metropolitan Opera House, New York
So, Nico, that was how your father reappeared in our lives. When he’d arrived at Heathrow he was told his plane to New York had been cancelled due to the fog. He said later that he knew then it was fate.
Our reunion was passionate and emotional. We were two people in love who had been denied each other for over eighteen months. There were no more recriminations that night. We simply drowned in the relief of finally being reunited.
The following morning I studied my face in the mirror and knew I would not be asking Roberto to leave. I saw the sparkle had returned to my eyes. I looked genuinely happy for the first time in a year. Whatever had gone before, Roberto was my husband, and your father. We belonged together and that was all that mattered.
Nico, when I tell you what happened after this, I ask you please to try and understand how I felt about your father. The love I had for him overtook everything else. Having him back was so joyful that I was blind to the pain it would cause everyone else around me. I behaved selfishly, hurt people by actions that, under any other circumstances, I would never have contemplated.
On reflection, I’ve realised that we can love someone with all our hearts, but that does not mean that person is good for us. Roberto did not bring out the best in me. When I was with him, I was never in control. His very presence was like a drug. I now see clearly that it changed me for the worse.
I had Roberto back, but in having him, I lost myself.
It must be hard for you to read what I’m telling you. I’ve wondered many times if it’s right to share these things with you, or whether I’m simply trying to assuage my own guilt. But my heart tells me you have the strength to understand. All I can say is that I always tried to do my best for you, protect you and bring you up in an atmosphere of love and security. And yet, when you really needed me, I wasn’t there. And I will never forgive myself for that. Never.
44
Gloucestershire, December 1982
Rosanna awoke the following morning and turned over, hardly daring to look in case it had simply been a dream.
He was there, really there, beside her. The nightmare was ended. Life could begin again.
She lay watching him for a few moments longer, relishing the thought of their lovemaking, which had continued until just before the dawn broke. She didn’t feel in the least bit weary. Every cell inside her tingled with a new energy.
Desperate to feel his arms around her again, to confirm he was there, that he did love her, she rolled closer and gently put a hand on his arm. There was no response. He didn’t even stir. Poor Roberto, she thought, he must be exhausted.
Rosanna crept quietly out of bed and put on her robe. Unusually, there were no noises from Nico’s nursery. She opened her bedroom door and padded along the corridor to his room. The cot was empty and she realised Ella must have already taken him downstairs for breakfast.
Ella . . . she must go and try to explain Roberto’s presence.
Nico was sitting happily in his high chair being fed toast and honey.
‘Good morning, Ella.’ She greeted her niece with a smile. ‘What time did he wake up? I’m so sorry I didn’t hear him. Hello, darling.’ She gave Nico a kiss and a hug and he painted his sticky fingers across her face.
‘About half an hour ago. I knew you were tired, so I got him up.’
‘Thank you, you’re an angel.’ Rosanna sat down at the table.
‘Would you like some coffee? I’ve just made some.’ Ella stood up and went to the machine that stood on the countertop.
‘I’d love some. Ella, there is something I must tell you.’
‘Yes?’
‘Come and sit down and I’ll try to explain.’
Ella brought two cups of coffee over to the table and sat back down, looking expectantly at Rosanna.
‘You know my husband, Roberto, and I were going to be divorced?’
‘Yes. That’s why you went to your old house in London yesterday, to collect your things.’
‘Yes. Well, when I was there, completely by coincidence I saw him. He arrived just as I was about to leave. We talked, and late last night he came here to see me.’
‘Oh. Where is he?’
‘He’s upstairs asleep.’
Ella nodded silently. Then she said, ‘So, now you will not divorce him?’
‘No, well, that is . . . I shouldn’t think so. He’s going to stay here for the next few days. Obviously, we have many things to discuss. And he wants to see his son.’
‘Of course. What about Stephen?’
Rosanna shook her head guiltily. ‘Ella, I really don’t know. Roberto is my husband and Nico’s father. If there’s a chance we can become a family again, surely it’s worth trying, don’t you think?’
Ella nodded again, her face expressionless. ‘Yes, I understand, but I like Stephen. He’ll be hurt, no?’
‘Yes, but . . .’ Rosanna shook her head. ‘To be truthful, I can’t think about that now. I’ll take some coffee up to Roberto. And tomorrow, as a thank you present for caring for Nico yesterday, I think we should go into Cheltenham and buy you a dress for your concert,’ she offered as a weak, conciliatory gesture.
‘Thank you, but I must wear my school uniform like the others.’ Ella’s tone was formal and distant.
‘Well, for Christmas then.’
‘That would be nice,’ Ella agreed stiffly.
Rosanna lifted Nico out of his chair. ‘Now, let us go upstairs and see your papa.’
Twenty minutes later, Rosanna came out of the bathroom and walked along the corridor to the bedroom. She stopped in the doorway and watched father and son curled up in bed together reading Nico’s favourite Winnie the Pooh storybook. The picture was one she had dreamt of on so many occasions that it brought a lump to her throat.
‘You must come down soon and meet my niece, Ella,’ she said as she walked into the room.
‘Of course.’ Roberto looked at her over Nico’s head. ‘He’s so beautiful, Rosanna, and so bright. I’d forgotten how wonderful it is to spend time with him.’
‘Don’t forget again, will you?’ she whispered.
Roberto shook his head. ‘Never.’
‘Papa?’
Roberto winked at her. ‘See? He didn’t forget me.’ He bent his head forward. ‘Yes, Nico?’
Nico pointed to the book in Roberto’s hand. ‘Read again, thank you, please.’
Ella turned as Roberto came into the kitchen an hour later. Rosanna followed behind him, carrying Nico.
‘So, you are Ella,’ Roberto said.
‘Yes. I’m pleased to meet you,’ she replied warily.
‘Your aunt is treating you well, I hope?’ he asked.
‘Sī¸ I mean, yes, thank you, signor.’
‘Please, call me Roberto. After all, I’m your uncle.’ Roberto turned to Rosanna. ‘Today, I’ve decided we will all of us go out to lunch at that wonderful restaurant we used to go to in Chipping Campden.’
‘But, Roberto, you have to book weeks in advance,’ objected Rosanna.
Roberto turned to her patiently. ‘Cara, you seem to have forgotten, there is always room for Roberto Rossini and his wife and family. I will call the maître d’ now.’ Roberto walked across to use the phone. He made a reservation, then came to sit down at the kitchen table. Rosanna bustled around the kitchen, making fresh coffee and toast.
‘Whose are those?’ Roberto pointed to a large pair of wellington boots standing by the kitchen door.
Rosanna blushed. ‘They are my friend Stephen’s.’
Roberto stood up and marched across the kitchen, picked up the boots, then opened the bin and dropped them unceremoniously inside. ‘Now, lunch is at one o’clock. Will you bring the coffee and toast through to the study, Rosanna? I must call Chris and tell him where I am.’
‘Of course, Roberto.’
As Ella watched this exchange, she knew things would be very different at The Manor House from now on.
Over lunch, Roberto was on top form, entertaining the three of them – and the rest of the restaurant – with operatic anecdotes. Ella sat quietly, watching the happiness on Rosanna’s face with trepidation.
Later that night, Roberto and Rosanna lay on the rug in front of the fire.
‘She’s a strange one, your Ella,’ commented Roberto.
‘No, she’s very sweet and kind, but a little shy, especially of you,’ said Rosanna, running to Ella’s defence.
‘Am I that frightening?’ he grinned.
‘You can be a little . . . overpowering, yes.’
‘Then I’m sorry.’
‘You must treat her gently. Although she has come to terms with Carlotta being so ill, she still waits every day to hear the worst, as I do. Please don’t forget that.’
‘Of course. It must be hard for both of you.’
‘It is.’ Rosanna gazed into the fire. ‘Roberto . . .’ – she had to ask him – ‘will you be staying?’
He reached for her hand and squeezed it. ‘Of course, principessa. I belong with my wife and my child, unless you wish to continue with the divorce?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Good. Then I will let my lawyer know.’
‘We’ll have many things to talk about, organise. I mean—’
Roberto put a finger to her lips. ‘Hush, Rosanna, don’t spoil this moment with thoughts of the future. You always did worry too much. I have no engagements until after the New Year. Why don’t we simply enjoy Christmas together and then talk?’
‘Will you tell Donatella?’
‘Will you tell your “friend”?’ Roberto countered.
‘I will have to. He’s expecting to spend Christmas here with us.’
‘Then he’ll be disappointed, but it can’t be helped,’ he replied lightly, but the muscles in his jaw betrayed his tension. ‘I am your husband, the only man who truly loves you and understands you.’ As his lips sought hers and a hand caressed her breast, Rosanna knew there would be no further talking tonight.
The following Tuesday afternoon, Roberto, Rosanna and Nico drove to Ella’s school to watch the carol concert. Every head turned towards Roberto as he entered. He smiled g
raciously as the three of them took their seats towards the back of the hall.
‘Mrs Rossini.’ A flustered headmistress approached them. ‘I had no idea you were bringing your husband. Please, there are seats available in the front row.’
‘Thank you for the offer, but we can see very well from where we are. I don’t wish to put any of the artistes off,’ Roberto whispered.
‘Well, I do hope you’ll both be staying for a cup of coffee afterwards?’
‘Of course,’ Rosanna nodded, and the headmistress hurried off to see if the local paper could send a photographer immediately to take a photo of the coup that was taking place at her school.
The concert began. Roberto looked at Nico, who had fallen asleep on Rosanna’s lap, and wished he could do the same.
Then he heard the voice. A low, deep sound, full of colour, and he looked up with interest at the stage. There stood Ella, her shoulders hunched with nervousness, her thin body almost disapproving that such a strong, powerful sound should be coming out of it. Ella reminded Roberto of the first time he had seen Rosanna – all arms and legs and huge dark eyes. One day, like her aunt, she would be a beauty.
‘. . . All is calm, all is bright,’ she sang. Roberto looked at Rosanna, who was also gazing up at her niece in amazement, and nodded at her in approval, then turned his attention back to Ella. There was no doubt she had an exceptional voice. It was very different from Rosanna’s: it was a mezzo, or possibly even a contralto.
When Ella had finished singing, Rosanna turned to Roberto, her eyes bright with tears. ‘If only Carlotta could have heard that.’
After the concert, Roberto and Rosanna did their duty and chatted to other parents and teachers over coffee.
‘Ella has a voice that must be trained.’ Roberto put his hand proprietorially on his niece’s shoulder as he talked to her headmistress.
‘Well, with your gift and your wife’s, it’s of no surprise, is it?’ The headmistress smiled.
The Italian Girl Page 38
