by Lucy Gordon
‘Did you marry him for safety?’ Celia asked cautiously.
‘I thought I did,’ Hope said. ‘But then a strange thing happened. I found that I had married a man who was kind and loveable—who gave everything, asked little in return, and always put my happiness before his own. I ask you, what is to be done with such a man?’
‘There is only one thing to do with him,’ Celia replied at once. ‘And that is to love him.’
‘That’s how I feel, too.’
Warmed by Hope’s trust, Celia ventured say, ‘But it’s not the same as being in love, is it?’
Hope didn’t answer for a moment, and when she did her eyes were focused on a distant place and her voice was soft.
‘As I said, I had my pinnacle and it was glorious.’ She was silent a moment. ‘Perhaps there is more to life than being in love.’
Perhaps, Celia thought. But at this moment she couldn’t believe it.
CHAPTER TEN
FRANCESCO got home late that night. Celia was already in her room, and she heard him moving about quietly, so not to wake her. Once he looked in, but she pretended to be asleep. Anything was better than forcing him to talk to her when he clearly didn’t want to.
For the first time she faced the possibility of defeat—something she’d never done in her life before. Right from the start—the child of two blind parents who’d conquered the world, she’d known that failure wasn’t an option. Aided by a sharp brain and a natural talent, she’d mastered everything that came her way. It also helped to have a bolshie nature, she acknowledged.
Whatever she wanted, she went out and fought for—sometimes with blunt weapons. All those months ago, when she’d first met Francesco, if he hadn’t come to her after the first week she would have sought him out and made him understand that they belonged together.
Throwing him out had been an act of recklessness that she’d soon regretted. So she’d made her plans—travelling to a strange country with a smile on her face, challenging all comers. The one she’d challenged the most was Francesco himself. And she’d been winning; her heart and her singing flesh told her that.
Then something had gone wrong, but exactly what it was still mystified her. It had started with his nightmare—No, before that, earlier in the evening, when Minnie had mentioned Aunt Lisa and Uncle Franco, his secret father.
On the pretext of cooking instructions she’d sought help from Francesco’s mother, who hadn’t been fooled for a moment. The two women had understood each other perfectly, and Celia had learned a good deal. But it didn’t explain the dark mood that had suddenly come down over Francesco’s mind.
At breakfast the next day she said, ‘I had a call from the society yesterday. They think they’ll have a dog for me soon. I’ll have to go and live there for a month, so that we can get used to each other, but then I’ll be all right.’
‘Good. You’ll feel happier. Let’s hope he’s as good as Jacko.’
This was how it would be from now on. His manner to her was pleasant and helpful, but no longer charged with something that made the air vibrate.
He performed his guide-dog duties perfectly, but time was moving on. Those duties would soon be over, and their best chance would be lost. She’d thrown the dice and she had failed.
Worst of all was the knowledge that she’d failed in understanding. He wasn’t sufficiently at ease with her to open up. That was the truth of it.
It’s always been about me, she thought, dismayed. I talk about being exactly like everyone else, but I talk about it too much. When did I ever let the poor man get a word in edgeways? Now it’s too late. No, it mustn’t be. It mustn’t be!
But she didn’t know what to do.
Every two weeks Hope arranged a family gathering at the villa for anyone who happened to be in Naples at the time. Usually this simply meant those who lived there, but occasionally a distant relative passed through and was scooped up for a dinner party. When Toni’s second cousin once removed came to visit, he and his wife were feasted like royalty.
The younger members of the family thought them pleasant, but dull, and were politely relieved when a car arrived to collect them. But Hope and Toni followed them out to say more goodbyes by the car.
‘You should go and join them,’ Della scolded Carlo. ‘Where are your manners?’
‘They died a death when he told that story about the boar for the fifth time,’ he said faintly.
She aimed a playful swipe at him, but she did him an injustice. A slight family resemblance had made Carlo the object of the old man’s attention most of the evening. He’d done his duty with great charm. Now he’d earned a breather.
‘You’re driving us home tonight, aren’t you?’ he checked with his wife.
‘Promise.’
‘In that case I’ll have a large whisky,’ he said with relief.
When they were all sitting around, relaxing, Celia said, ‘Why don’t you tell us the rest of your story?’
This raised a laugh. For most of the evening Carlo had been trying to tell an anecdote of his own, constantly interrupted by their guest, who had led everything back to his own tale of the boar.
‘Right—I’ll tell it fast,’ Carlo said. ‘This man came to the door, and when he—’
He plunged into the story. Francesco watched him, and also Della, who laughed at her husband’s story as freely as if she hadn’t heard it a dozen times already. They were clearly happy and at ease with each other, he thought, remembering how stressed he’d seen them before.
‘I see that you’ve got it sussed,’ Francesco said as Carlo finished the story and came in search of his wife. ‘I wish you’d tell me the secret.’
‘The strange thing,’ Carlo mused, ‘is that it was you who told me the secret. Since your warning I’ve been watching myself—backing off, in case I smother Della with my love. I could end up depriving her of any meaningful life, which would be easier for me but would destroy her.’
‘So why can’t I practise what I preach?’ Francesco sighed in frustration. ‘I can’t seem to find the way.’
‘You won’t,’ Carlo told him. ‘It’ll find you. One day you’ll just see the path at your feet, and that’s when you have to decide whether to walk it. If you walk forward it’ll be hard, but she’ll be there, waiting. Until then you just have to keep watching for the moment.’
The phone rang in the hall, just outside.
‘I’ll get it,’ Carlo said. ‘I’m nearest.’
He vanished into the hall, and they heard him say, ‘Ciao, Minnie.’
Celia appeared at Francesco’s side, asking, ‘Is she the one who lives in Rome, with Luke? Ruggiero and Polly visited them recently?’
‘That’s right. Minnie’s a lawyer and Luke owns an apartment block. They met because she was fighting him on behalf of his tenants. They started by going at it hammer and tongs and ended up married.’
‘Hammer and tongs can make a very good beginning,’ Celia said. ‘You discover the worst of the other person, and if you can fall in love after that you have real hope.’
There was a general laugh at this, then Primo said, ‘Just a minute—I think something’s wrong. Carlo’s voice has changed.’
They all grew alert, and heard Carlo say, ‘All right. I’ll get Poppa.’
By this time Toni and Hope had finished their goodbyes and were returning to the house, just as Carlo appeared, saying urgently, ‘Luke’s on the phone. Aunt Lisa is very ill.’
Toni and Hope hurried to the phone at once.
‘It’s bad, then?’ Primo asked.
‘She’s dying,’ Carlo said. ‘She had a massive heart attack, and the doctors say there’s very little hope. Uncle Franco asked Luke to call us, because he can’t leave her for a moment.’
There were murmurs of consternation. Most of the others rose and surrounded Carlo, asking him questions, but Della remained with Celia, saying, ‘They live in Rome, so Luke and Minnie have seen more of them than the rest of us. It’s strange, really. R
ome isn’t so far away, but they never seem to join us here for family celebrations.’
Remembering what Hope had told her, Celia realised this wasn’t surprising. The love between her and Franco had been so strong that they had to avoid each other—even years later. Now Franco’s wife would soon be dead. His children were grown, and he would a free man. How would this make her feel? And Toni? Would he be afraid lest this changed everything?
At last Hope and Toni returned.
‘How bad is it?’ everyone asked.
‘She’s going,’ Toni said heavily. ‘My brother wants his family there.’
There were murmurs of agreement from the others, but Francesco said, ‘I can’t come, Mamma. I can’t leave Celia alone.’
He spoke in a low voice, but Celia heard him—and Hope’s immediate response. ‘I hope Celia will come with us. I regard her as one of the family.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll be glad to come.’
Inwardly she thought that there was more here than met the eye, but she, who had no eyes, might see more clearly than the others. Concern for her was chiefly an excuse. Francesco had his own reasons for not wanting to visit his true father.
It was decided that they would all leave by train the next day. An invitation to stay at Franco’s home was politely refused.
‘He will have enough on his mind without playing host to all of us,’ Hope declared. ‘There are several good hotels.’
After that the party broke up, and they made arrangements to meet at the railway station in the morning. For once Celia wished she could see. Hope had trusted her with her feelings, and now she would have liked to seek her out and speak to her. But it would attract too much attention.
She had to settle for asking Francesco to take her to his mother and giving her a hug. Through the pressure of the older woman’s arms she sensed the feelings Hope could not express.
Francesco didn’t speak until they were home, and then he said awkwardly, ‘I’m afraid you were rather corralled into that, whether you like it or not.’
‘I’m happy to come. If only I thought you wanted me there.’
‘Nonsense—why shouldn’t I?’ He sounded edgy.
‘Because there’s something about this that you’re keeping to yourself. There are warning signs all around you, telling me to keep off.’
‘You’re imagining that,’ he said impatiently. ‘If I’m a little awkward it’s because of something I have to tell you. Della booked the hotel rooms, and she automatically booked each couple into a double room. I couldn’t think of a way to tell her that we didn’t want that, but when we get there I’ll change it.’
‘No, don’t do that. In strange surroundings I’ll be safer in the same room with you. Leave things as they are.’
‘That’s fine, then.’ He stopped, as though words suddenly came hard to him.
She turned her head in his direction, trying to read the silence. She’d always been able to do so before, but this time he was blocking her out. The nothingness that resulted was the most frightening thing that had ever happened to her.
But she had to know the truth. If he’d turned against her she needed to feel that, too, by touching him, experiencing his bitterness through her fingers.
Celia began to walk in his direction, moving slowly and quietly, not to alert him. That was how she discovered that he was sitting down, his head sunk low, as though he’d come to the end of something and didn’t know what to do next. Aghast at her own stupidity, she realised that there was no hostility here, only a dismal despair, bleak and all-engulfing.
‘Tell me what it is,’ she begged, leaning over him from behind and putting her arms around him.
‘I can’t,’ he said in a stony voice. ‘I don’t know.’
‘How can you not know what’s troubling you? You didn’t have these dark moods before.’
‘Sometimes I did—they’ve always come over me without warning, all my life. But not very often, so it wasn’t a problem. They’d come and then they’d go, sometimes for years. I thought I’d got the better of them for good. But suddenly they came back, all in a rush, a few months ago.’
‘Because of me?’
‘It’s connected with you,’ he said reluctantly, ‘but not only you. There’s something else—like a huge shadow looming over me, blotting out everything else.’
‘I know about Franco,’ she said softly. ‘Your mother told me.’
‘That he’s my father? Yes, it’s one of those things that everyone knows and nobody mentions, for Toni’s sake. But it isn’t a big deal, funnily enough. We’ve only met a few times. When we do, we look each other over, exchange the time of day, and that’s that. I don’t look like him, luckily, and he has another son and two daughters. I’ve always been content to leave it like that. Toni’s been a great father to me, and I wouldn’t hurt him for the world.’
Before she could say any more he added quickly, ‘It’s getting late, and we need to make an early start tomorrow.’
They went to their separate rooms for the night. Celia lay listening carefully for any sound from Francesco. But all was quiet, which meant that either the nightmare hadn’t returned or he, too, was lying awake, determined not to sleep and give himself away.
Celia was a little reluctant when they set out for Naples Central Railway Station next morning. This was a family occasion, and she didn’t really belong, yet a part of her wanted to be with Francesco—to be ready for whatever might happen. Perhaps she could be of no help to him. Perhaps he would shut her out. But he was going to need her in some way, of that she was certain.
In less than two hours they were drawing into Rome Central, where cars waited to take them to the hotel. The room she shared with Francesco overlooked the Via Veneto. It was large, and had two double beds, and through the windows came sounds from the luxurious heart of the city.
Celia declined the chance to go to the hospital with the rest.
‘I’ve got a headache,’ she said untruthfully to Francesco. ‘We’ll meet up later.’
Alone, she unpacked and walked the room to get a mental picture of it. She’d taken the precaution of bringing some work with her, and spent the next hour listening to tapes and dictating messages. But it was a relief when her cellphone rang and she found herself talking to Sandro.
‘How long will you be away?’ he asked. ‘Things are beginning to happen here.’
She explained the position and he sighed.
‘I guess you’ll do what you have to do. But why you’re taking the trouble for that prickly, awkward so-and-so I’ll never know.’
‘That’s easy,’ she said. ‘It’s because he’s a prickly, awkward so-and-so. He needs me.’
‘I need you.’
‘No, you don’t. You’ve got your life together in a way he’ll never have.’
Sandro chuckled. ‘Well, don’t tell him that. He’d never forgive either of us. He hates my guts. The two times we met, the air was full of it.’
‘He’s afraid you’re going to talk me into doing a jump.’
‘Talk you—You’re the one who found that place, remember? And we had a fight about who was going to make the first jump. You were ready to murder me when I won.’
‘Well, there’s no need to go into that,’ she said hastily. ‘It’s best forgotten.’
‘That’s a pity, because the press are dead keen for you to do it. Simon wants you to call him. He writes for L’Esperienza.’
Her heart gave a leap before she had time to think. But then—
‘I can’t even think of it just now.’
‘Of course. Just make the call and say you’ll do it when you can. The number is—’
‘I’ve got his number. I have to go now.’
She hung up and lay back on the bed, thoughtful. After a moment she switched her cellphone off.
There was a knock on the door.
‘It’s me,’ Della called. ‘And I’ve got goodies—tea and cakes.’
‘I could kill
for a cup of tea,’ Celia said, opening the door.
When they were seated, and enjoying the first cup, Della gave a long sigh and said, ‘I took the chance to get away. It’s really the sons who belong with Franco, not us. Francesco really needs to be there. I think he’s feeling a bit edgy.’
‘What’s Uncle Franco like? He said there was no resemblance.’
‘There isn’t. They’re both tall, but that’s about it. Uncle Franco is hefty and muscular, like a football player, and he’s managed to keep his figure without putting on weight.’
‘I wonder what Hope thinks of him now,’ Celia mused.
‘She’s not giving anything away. I was watching her, so elegant and proper, everything in its place, the perfect picture of a respectable, virtuous, elderly matron. And I suddenly realised what an eventful life she’s had. Her first child at fifteen, then a husband, a lover, another child, then another husband. The rest of us are quite dull by comparison. Even now, Hope is still beautiful, but I’ve seen pictures of her as a young woman, and in those days she was more than beautiful. She had a sort of wild quality that makes it clear why all the men fell for her.
‘There’s a wedding picture of her and Toni. She’s smiling at the camera, but he’s looking at her with his heart in his eyes. It’s been there ever since, according to Carlo. He says all the time they were growing up they knew that if Toni said, “That’s how Mamma wants it,” then that was how it was going to be.’
‘But aren’t we making too much of this?’ Celia asked. ‘Maybe Franco was the great love of her life, but that was years ago. She’s not going to leave Toni now.’
‘No, but if he senses that the old feeling is still there between them it will hurt him terribly. She’s everything to him. He’s such a dear, I’d hate him to be hurt.’
‘So would I,’ Celia said. ‘Even though I don’t know what he looks like, every time he’s there I get a feeling of kindness and gentle strength.’
‘That’s Toni,’ Della agreed.
Everyone returned from the hospital that evening. They had seen Franco, who’d thanked them for coming, but Lisa had failed to regain consciousness, against all their hopes.
