‘I told you, there will be no need for you to do that,’ Vivek said, smiling broadly as Ari, his favourite son, entered the room. ‘Your mother was in a panic, as always,’ he told Ari, smiling as he clasped his son in a warm embrace.
‘You promised to be there at the station. We waited an hour! Where were you?’ Samina frowned at her handsome son but, as always, she knew it was a losing battle against the tide of his charm.
‘Ma, forgive me.’ Ari gave his mother a winning smile and took her hands in his. ‘I was delayed, and I did try to call your cellphone. But, as usual, it was switched off.’
Ari and his father shared a smirk. Samina’s inability to use her cellphone was a family joke.
‘Anyway, I’m here now,’ he said, looking around at the rest of his clan. ‘Did I miss anything?’
‘No, and your great-grandmother has been so busy greeting the rest of her family, let’s hope she hasn’t noticed your late arrival,’ replied Vivek.
Ari turned and looked through the crowd of his own blood to the matriarch whose genes had spun invisible threads down through the generations. As he did so, he saw her bright, inquisitive eyes pinned on him.
‘Ari! You have thought to join us at last.’ She smiled. ‘Come and kiss your great-grandmother.’
‘She may be a hundred today, but your grandmother misses nothing,’ Samina whispered to Vivek.
As Anahita opened her frail arms to Ari, the crowd of relations parted and all eyes in the room turned to him. Ari walked towards her and knelt in front of her, showing his respect with a deep pranaam and waiting for her blessing.
‘Nani,’ he greeted her using the affectionate pet name that all her grandchildren and great-grandchildren addressed her by. ‘Forgive me for being late. It’s a long journey from Mumbai,’ he explained.
As he looked up, he could see her eyes boring into him in the peculiar way they always did, as if she were assessing his soul.
‘No matter,’ she said as her shrunken, childlike fingers touched his cheek with the light brush of a butterfly wing. ‘Although –’ she lowered her voice to a whisper so only he could hear – ‘I always find it useful to check I have set my alarm to the correct time the night before.’ She gave him a surreptitious wink, then indicated that he was to stand. ‘You and I will speak later. I can see Keva is eager to start the proceedings.’
‘Yes, Nani, of course,’ said Ari, feeling a blush rising to his cheeks as he stood. ‘Happy birthday.’
As he walked back towards his parents, Ari wondered just how his great-grandmother could have known the exact reason why he was late today.
The day progressed as planned, with Vivek, as the eldest of Anahita’s grandchildren, making a moving speech about her remarkable life. As the champagne flowed, tongues loosened and the peculiar tension of a family gathered together after too long apart began to ease. The naturally competitive edge of the siblings blurred as they re-established their places in the family hierarchy, and the younger cousins lost their shyness and found common ground.
‘Look at your son!’ commented Muna, Anahita’s daughter, to Vivek. ‘His girl cousins are swooning all over him. It will be time for him to think of marriage soon,’ she added.
‘I doubt that’s how he sees it,’ grumbled Samina to her mother-in-law. ‘These days, young men seem to play the field into their thirties.’
‘You will not arrange anything for him, then?’ enquired Muna.
‘We will, of course, but I doubt he’ll agree.’ Vivek sighed. ‘Ari is of a new generation, the master of his own universe. He has his business and travels the world. Times have changed, Ma, and Samina and I must allow our children some choice in picking their husbands and wives.’
‘Really?’ Muna raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s very modern of you, Vivek. After all, you two haven’t done so badly together.’
‘Yes, Ma,’ agreed Vivek, taking his wife’s hand. ‘You made a good choice for me.’ He smiled.
‘But we’re swimming against an impossible current,’ said Samina. ‘The young do as they wish these days, and make their own decisions.’ Wishing to change the subject, she glanced across to Anahita. ‘Your mother seems to be enjoying the day,’ she commented to Muna. ‘She really is a miracle, a wonder of nature.’
‘Yes,’ Muna sighed, ‘but I do worry about her up here in the hills with only Keva to care for her. It gets so cold in the winter and it can’t be good for her old bones. I’ve asked her many times to come and live with us in Guhagar so that we can watch over her. But, of course, she refuses. She says she feels closer to her spirits up here and, of course, her past too.’
‘Her mysterious past.’ Vivek raised an eyebrow. ‘Ma, do you think you’ll ever persuade her to tell you who your father was? I know he died before you were born, but the details have always seemed sketchy to me.’
‘It mattered when I was growing up, and I remember plaguing her with questions, but now,’ Muna shrugged, ‘if she wants to keep her secrets, she can. She could not have been a more loving parent to me and I don’t wish to upset her.’ As Muna glanced over and looked at her mother fondly, Anahita caught her eye and beckoned her daughter towards her.
‘Yes, Maaji, what is it?’ Muna asked as she joined her mother.
‘I’m a little tired now.’ Anahita stifled a yawn. ‘I wish to rest. And in one hour I want you to bring my great-grandson, Ari, to see me.’
‘Of course.’ Muna helped her mother to stand, and walked her through her relations. Keva, as ever hovering close by her mistress, stepped forward. ‘My mother wishes to have a rest, Keva. Can you take her and settle her?’
‘Of course, it has been a long day.’
Muna watched them leave the room and went back to join Vivek and his wife. ‘She’s taking a rest, but she’s asked me if Ari will go and see her in one hour.’
‘Really?’ Vivek frowned. ‘I wonder why.’
‘Who knows the workings of my mother’s mind?’ Muna said, sighing.
‘Well, I’d better tell him, I know he was talking about leaving soon. He has some business meeting in Mumbai first thing tomorrow morning.’
‘Well, just for once, his family will come first,’ said Samina firmly. ‘I will go and find him.’
When Ari was told by his mother that his great-grandmother wished an audience with him in an hour’s time, he was, as his father had predicted, not happy at all.
‘I can’t miss that plane,’ he explained. ‘You must understand, Ma, that I have a business to run.’
‘Then I will ask your father to go and tell his grandmother that on her hundredth birthday, her eldest great-grandchild could not spare the time to speak with her as she had requested.’
‘But, Ma—’ Ari saw his mother’s grim expression and sighed. ‘Okay,’ he nodded. ‘I will stay. Excuse me, I must try and find a signal somewhere in this place to make a call and postpone the meeting.’
Samina watched her son as he walked away from her, staring intently at his cellphone. He’d been a determined child from the day he was born, and there was no doubt that she had indulged her firstborn, as any mother did. He’d always been special, from the moment he’d opened his eyes and she’d stared at the blueness of them in shock. Vivek had teased her endlessly about them, questioning his wife’s fidelity. Until they’d visited Anahita and she’d announced that Muna’s dead father had also been the owner of eyes of a similar colour.
Ari’s skin was lighter than that of the rest of his siblings, and his startling looks had always attracted attention. With the amount of it he had received over his twenty-five years, there was no doubt he had an arrogance about him. But his saving grace had always been his sweetness of character. Out of all her children, Ari had always been the most loving towards her, at her side in an instant if there was a problem. Up until the time he’d taken off for Mumbai, announcing he was starting his own business . . .
Nowadays, the Ari who visited his family seemed harder, self-absorbed, and if she were being frank, S
amina found she liked him less and less. Walking back towards her husband, she prayed it was a stage that would pass.
‘My great-grandson may come in now,’ Anahita announced, as Keva sat her up in bed and fluffed the pillows behind her head.
‘Yes, Madam. I will get him.’
‘And I do not wish for us to be disturbed.’
‘No, Madam.’
‘Good afternoon, Nani,’ said Ari as he walked briskly into the room a few seconds later. ‘I hope you are feeling more rested now?’
‘Yes.’ Anahita indicated the chair. ‘Please, Ari, sit down. And I apologise for disrupting your business plans tomorrow.’
‘Really,’ Ari felt the blood rushing to his cheeks for the second time that day, ‘it’s no problem at all.’ He watched as she gazed at him with her penetrating eyes, and wondered how she seemed to be able to read his mind.
‘Your father tells me you’re living in Mumbai and that you now run a successful business.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t describe it as successful right now,’ Ari said. ‘But I’m working very hard to make it so in the future.’
‘I can see that you’re an ambitious young man. And I’m sure that one day your business will bear fruit as you hope it will.’
‘Thank you, Nani.’
Ari watched as his great-grandmother gave the ghost of a smile. ‘Of course, it may not bring you the contentment you believe it will. There’s more to life than work and riches. Still, that’s for you to discover,’ she added. ‘Now, Ari, I have something I wish to give you. Please, open the writing bureau with this key, and take out the pile of paper you’ll find inside it.’
Ari took the key from his great-grandmother’s fingers, twisted it in the lock and removed an ageing manuscript from inside it.
‘What is this?’ he asked her.
‘It is the story of your great-grandmother’s life. I wrote it to keep a record for my lost son. Sadly, I’ve never found him.’
Ari watched as Anahita’s eyes became watery. He’d heard some talk from his father years ago about the son who had been over there during the Great War. If his memory served him right, he thought she’d had to leave him behind when she returned to India. Apparently, Anahita had refused to believe that her son was dead.
‘But I thought—’
‘Yes, I’m sure you’ve been told I have his death certificate. And I’m simply a sad and perhaps mad mother who is unable to accept her beloved son’s passing.’
Ari shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘I have heard of the story,’ he admitted.
‘I know what my family think, and what you almost certainly think too,’ Anahita stated firmly. ‘But believe me, there are more things in heaven and earth than can be explained in a man-made document. There is a mother’s heart, and her soul, which tells her things that cannot be ignored. And I will tell you now that my son is not dead.’
‘Nani, I believe you.’
‘I understand that you do not.’ Anahita shrugged. ‘But I don’t mind. However, it’s partly my fault that my family don’t believe me. I’ve never explained to them what happened all those years ago.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because . . .’ Anahita gazed out of the window to her beloved mountains. She gave a slight shake of her head. ‘It isn’t right for me to tell you now. It’s all in there.’ She pointed a finger at the pages in Ari’s hands. ‘When the moment is right for you – and you will know when that is – perhaps you will read my story. And then, you will decide for yourself whether to investigate it.’
‘I see,’ said Ari, but he didn’t.
‘All I ask of you is that you share its contents with no one in our family until I die. It is my life I entrust to you, Ari. As you know –’ Anahita paused – ‘sadly, my time on this earth is running out.’
Ari stared at her, confused as to what his great-grandmother wished him to do. ‘You want me to read this and then make investigations as to the whereabouts of your son?’ he clarified.
‘Yes.’
‘But where would I start?’
‘In England, of course.’ Anahita stared at him. ‘You would retrace my footsteps. Everything you need to know you now hold in the palms of your hands. And besides, your father tells me you run some kind of computer company. You, of all people, have the webbing at your disposal.’
‘You mean the “web”?’ Ari held back a chuckle.
‘Yes, so I’m sure it would only take you a few seconds to find the place where it all began,’ Anahita concluded.
Ari followed his great-grandmother’s eye-line out to the mountains beyond the window. ‘It’s a beautiful view,’ he said, for want of something better to say.
‘Yes, and it’s why I stay here, even though my daughter disapproves. One day soon, I’ll travel upwards, way beyond those peaks, and I’ll be happy for it. I will see many people there whom I’ve mourned in my life. But of course, as it stands –’ Anahita’s gaze landed on her great-grandson once more – ‘not the one I wish to see most of all.’
‘How do you know he’s still alive?’
Anahita’s eyes reverted to the skyline, then she closed them wearily. ‘As I said, it’s all in my story.’
‘Of course.’ Ari knew he was dismissed. ‘So, I’ll let you rest, Nani.’
Anahita nodded. Ari stood up, made a pranaam, then kissed his great-grandmother on each cheek.
‘Goodbye, and I’m sure I’ll see you soon,’ he commented as he walked towards the door.
‘Perhaps,’ she answered.
As Ari made to leave the room, he turned back suddenly on instinct. ‘Nani, why me? Why not give this story to your daughter, or my father?’
Anahita stared at him. ‘Because, Ari, the story you hold in your hands might be my past, but it is also your future.’
Ari left the room feeling drained. Walking through the bungalow, he made for the coat rack by the front door, underneath which his briefcase sat. Stowing the yellowing pages inside it, he continued into the drawing room. His grandmother, Muna, approached him immediately.
‘Why did she want to see you?’ she asked him.
‘Oh,’ Ari replied airily, ‘she doesn’t believe her son is dead and wants me to go and investigate in England.’ He rolled his eyes for full effect.
‘Not again!’ Muna rolled her own eyes equally dramatically. ‘Listen, I can show you the death certificate. Her son died when he was about three. Please, Ari,’ Muna laid a hand on her grandson’s shoulder, ‘take no notice. She’s been going on about this for years. Sadly, it’s an old woman’s fantasy, and certainly not worth wasting your precious time with. Take my word for it. I’ve listened to it for much longer than you. Now,’ his grandmother smiled, ‘come and have a last glass of champagne with your family.’
Ari sat on the last plane from Bagdogra back to Mumbai. He tried to concentrate on the figures in front of him, but Anahita’s face kept floating into his vision. Surely his grandmother was right when she’d told him Anahita was deluded? And yet, there were things his great-grandmother had said when they were alone – things she couldn’t have known about him, which had unsettled him. Perhaps there was something in her story . . . maybe he would take the time to glance through the manuscript when he arrived back home.
At Mumbai airport, even though it was past midnight, Bambi, his current girlfriend, was there at Arrivals to greet him. The rest of the night was spent pleasantly in his apartment overlooking the Arabian Sea, enjoying her slim young body.
The following morning, he was already late for his meeting, and as he packed his briefcase with the documents he needed, he removed the papers Anahita had given him.
One day I will have time to read it, he thought, as he shoved the manuscript into the bottom drawer of his desk and hurriedly left his apartment.
Author’s Note on
The Italian Girl
I originally wrote the story of Rosanna and Roberto seventeen years ago and it was published as Aria in 1996, under my old ‘pe
n’ name, Lucinda Edmonds. Last year, some of my publishers asked me about my backlist. I told them all the books were currently out of print, but they asked for some copies. Into my cellar I ventured, and pulled out the eight books I’d written all those years ago. They were covered in mouse-droppings and spiders’ webs and smelt of damp, but I sent them off, explaining that I had been very young then and I completely understood if they wanted to bin them then and there. To my surprise, the reaction was incredibly positive and they asked me whether I would like to re-publish them.
This meant that I had to begin reading them too, and as any writer who looks back on their work from the past, I opened the first page of Aria with trepidation. It was a bizarre experience, because I couldn’t remember much of the story, so I became involved just as a reader does, turning the pages faster and faster to find out what happens next. I felt the book needed some updating and re-editing, but the story and the characters were all there. So I set to work for a few weeks and the finished result is The Italian Girl. I hope you enjoy it.
Lucinda Riley, January 2014
Praise for The Light Behind the Window
‘A fast-paced, suspenseful story, flitting between the present day and World War II narrative . . . Brilliant escapism’
Red
‘A beautifully written book that secures Riley’s authorial status and proves that her golden penmanship is no mere fluke . . . This is the perfect literary novel to move those readers who wish for something more fulfilling than chicklit, yet just as entertaining, witty and heart-stopping. The language is dramatic yet truthful and Riley has such a delicate touch with mystery and intrigue that it’s difficult to predict where the plot is going . . . Riley’s descriptive nuances are so evocative a TV drama is bound to be imminent. A literal and literary page-turner’
WeLoveThisBook.co.uk
‘Just sink in and wallow’
Kate Saunders, Saga
‘Yet again, I have been totally entertained by another great story that is well written with an intricate plot that is multi-layered but tied together so well . . . I became really emotionally attached to these characters . . . This novel really is a joy to read, expertly woven together and mixing social history with family dramas and love and relationships – the perfect blend’
The Italian Girl Page 47
