by Lucy Gordon
'An art dealer?' Julia cried in disgust. 'But he knew nothing except what he learned from me.'
'He seems to have been a genius at presentation. Plus he had a lot of money and his premises were in the wealthy part of town.'
'That would be his cut from the robberies,' she guessed.
'Yes, it must have been enough to give the impression of success. When Bianca came home he followed her here. He said he was expanding, establishing a branch in Venice. The truth, as I later learned, was that he'd had to get out of Rome, fast. He'd sold some apparently priceless artefacts to a powerful family, who naturally wanted their money back when they turned out to be fakes.
'They sent people to Venice, who explained to James that, if he didn't pay up, bad things would happen to him. So he did, having no choice.
'After that, what money he had left ran out quickly. He was extravagant. He bought useless rubbish for show, made bad investments. He was a rather stupid, shallow man.'
'Yes,' she said. 'That's exactly it.'
'But there was nothing to make me suspect him of worse than that. He had a passport in the name of James Cardew and hers said Rosa Cardew. He had a whole file of paperwork establishing that James Cardew was a successful art dealer with a list of grateful clients in several countries. Someone in the gang must have forged them for him before they parted company.'
'I don't think so,' Julia said. 'Otherwise the man who split on him could have given the police his new name. No, it must have been done later, by someone else. I dare say false documents are easy enough to get, if you have the money.'
'He certainly had money for a while. When it ran out he got desperate. He tried to get some out of me, although this was after the crash and the whole world knew that we had nothing. But he was sure I had some secret cache hidden from the creditors. He suggested that it was time I handed over Bianca's "share".'
'Yes, that was how his mind worked,' she remembered. 'He could never believe that things were exactly as they seemed, especially where cash was concerned. Did he think she had a secret fortune when they married?'
'He as good as admitted it. I don't think he married her entirely for love. Maybe not at all.'
It took her a moment to appreciate what he was saying, and then she turned on him.
'Is that supposed to delight me?' she demanded furiously. 'Do you think I care who he loved?'
'I don't know how you feel. You were once deeply in love with him.'
'That was in another life.'
He nodded wryly. 'I keep telling myself that things happened in another life. But it's odd how the lives overlap when you least expect it. Anyway, like a fool I borrowed against the restaurant for my sister's sake. She'd had a rough time. I didn't want things to get worse for her.'
'How long did it take him to come back for more?'
'Not long. This time we had a fight and he ended up in the canal.'
'Good,' she said simply.
'The one good thing I know of him is that he honestly seemed to love Rosa. In his way he was a good father.'
'A good father, after the way he separated her from her mother, without a thought for either of them?'
'I only meant that he always showed her a lot of affection, and interest. If she tried to tell him something he'd stop what he was doing and listen, however long it took. Lots of parents can't do that, however much they love the child-'
'Yes, all right,' she interrupted him in a strained voice. 'You're right, he was a good father. I remember now how he loved being with her.'
'And she adored him. She also came to love Bianca. That's not easy for you to hear, but you have to know what you're dealing with.'
'Thank you,' she said in a colourless voice. 'I couldn't tell much from seeing her today.'
'No, she didn't cry or show any emotion, did she?' he said heavily. 'It's been four months, and still-'
Julia stared. 'You mean she's never cried?'
'Not once. Even on the first day, when the news came-' He broke off with a helpless shrug. 'She just closed in on herself. She won't let anyone in, not even me.' He looked at her. 'That's something you know all about.'
'Yes,' she breathed. 'Sometimes it's the only form of self-protection you have.'
'To pack your feelings away in an iron chest marked,"No longer required''. Then bury that chest too deep to be found again,' he said, reminding her of her own words.
'But she's so young!'
'She's eight years old, but she's already lost three parents, and she can't talk to anyone about it. We all have our burdens but-'
'But hers are the worst,' Julia agreed sombrely.
'Normally she loves Carnival, but now she refuses to think of it.'
'Carnival?'
'In February. Everyone dresses up in masks and colourful costumes. Last year she had a wonderful time with James and Bianca. Maybe that's why she's not interested this year. I keep trying to entice her, telling her how excited she ought to be, but-' He shrugged.
'You can't get into someone's mind by force,' Julia said.
'No, I guess I know that.'
Suddenly she burst out. 'What am I going to do? Do you know how I've dreamed of the things I'd say to her when we met again? And now none of them will be right. What can I do?'
'You can trust me.'
'Can I?' she asked before she could stop herself.
He grimaced. 'I suppose you're bound to think that way.'
'How do I know what to think?'
He rose. 'Perhaps we shouldn't talk any more. We both have a lot riding on this, and we can't afford to quarrel.'
'In the meantime, I'm totally in your hands,' she said angrily. It was the kind of thing she'd resolved not to say, but she couldn't help herself. The strains of the day, the helpless sense of being so near and yet so far, filled her with tension that found relief in bitterness.
'I wish I could persuade you that you're safe in my hands,' he said.
'But you have my daughter and I don't,' she cried. 'How am I supposed to get past that?'
'Supposed to forgive that, you mean. Perhaps you never will. We'll talk another time.'
'When do I see her?'
'You have my address. All you have to do is turn up and bulldoze your way in.'
'You know I won't do that.'
'Right, because you're a good mother. That's what's holding you back. Not me.'
'And it'll always hold me back, won't it? It's what you're counting on.'
'Don't say any more, Julia. Don't say things that will make the future harder.'
She turned on him. 'Harder? How much harder than this can it get? Can't you understand what's happened? The last time I saw my child she clung to me and cried, "Mummy, no!" Today she-didn't even-recognise- me.'
The words came out in jerks. She was trembling violently, unable to prevent the sobs coming. They rose up in her, bursting out as gasping screams.
'Julia!' He came to her but she fended him off.
'No-no-keep away-I'm all right.'
'But you're not. At least let me help you.'
'How can you help me-when we're enemies?' she choked. 'That's true, isn't it?'
'No, we're not enemies. Perhaps we're on different sides, but you and I could never be enemies.'
'That's just words,' she flashed at him. 'If we're not enemies now, we will be in the end. Don't you know that?'
By his face she could tell that he did know it, however hard he might try to deny it.
'No,' he said, trying to sound convinced. 'There's too much between us.'
'There's nothing between us that matters,' she flashed. 'Nothing-nothing-'
She couldn't finish. The sobs were rising again, threatening to suffocate her. Vincenzo abandoned argument and did what he should have done at first, putting his arms around her and holding her tightly.
'Don't try to talk,' he murmured. 'Talking doesn't help.' He sighed, resting his cheek against her hair. 'I don't really know what does help, but it isn't words.'
&nb
sp; She couldn't answer. Waves of grief overwhelmed her. It was as if all the tears she had shed over the last few years were still there to be shed again.
From somewhere she heard him murmuring her name, and felt his head resting against hers. He was right. Words were useless. The only comfort lay in shared warmth, and it was only to be found in him.
'All these years,' she wept, 'thinking of her every day, longing for her, loving her, but not knowing what she looked like any more, dreaming of when I'd find her again, what we'd say to each other-'
'I know, I know,' he whispered.
'What did I think was going to happen? Deluding myself-she was bound to have a new life-but I wouldn't let myself see it-'
'Julia-Julia-'
'She doesn't want me.'
'It's too soon to say that.'
'No, it isn't. Don't you see I've been fooling myself all this time? I'm a stranger to her. She doesn't want me and she never will.'
She wept without restraint. She had come to the end of the journey and the ending was bitter and hopeless. He tried desperately to soothe her, turning her face up to him and kissing it repeatedly. Her wretchedness tore at him and for a moment he would have done anything in the world to make things right for her.
Anything but the one thing she wanted.
He'd seen her face like this once before, the night she'd walked in her sleep and he'd promised to help her. How far away it seemed now.
He kissed her tears, then her lips, gently at first, then fiercely as though trying to call her back from some distant region.
'You said there was nothing between us,' he said huskily. 'But you're wrong. There's this-and this-'
For a moment she almost yielded. The feeling was so sweet and welcome. But now the distress that fuelled her whole life had extended to him, and she would not weaken.
'Yes,' she said wistfully. 'But it's not enough. Please, Vincenzo-'
He sighed and released her.
'You're right,' he said. 'It's not enough. I'd better be going.'
She wanted to say something to keep him there. She wanted him to go.
She longed to think of the right thing to say, but the words wouldn't come to her, and he was equally silent.
'Goodnight,' he said at last.
'Goodnight.'
He left, closing the door quietly behind him. Julia could only stand, in violent despair, watching that closed door, wishing she could dash her head against it.
That night her dreams were haunted by a child screaming for the mother she was about to lose. She could feel the arms about her neck, desperately clinging on as she was torn away.
'No, Mummy, no!'
She awoke to find herself sitting up, staring into the darkness, clinging onto the wall as though to stop herself from falling.
After that she didn't dare go back to sleep. She got up and spent the rest of the night walking the silent calks.
She wondered what she would say to Vincenzo, but when she went to work there was no sign of him. Someone said he'd called to say he wouldn't be in today.
She made a decision.
'I'm due for a day off,' she told the head waiter, 'and I'd like to take it now. I'm sorry about the short notice-'
'It's OK, we're not too busy,' he said kindly.
She stormed out into the street and began to run in the direction of the Grand Canal. It was an unfamiliar route, but by now she was becoming a Venetian, and managed not to get lost more than once. When she reached the water she boarded a traghetto, one of the two-man gondola ferries that crossed the Grand Canal. Like the others she made the journey standing upright, huddling her jacket around her against the icy wind, and the snow that was falling again.
By studying a map she managed to identify the address Vincenzo had given her in the Fondamenta Soranzo. As she reached the shore she was already working out the rest of the way: down this calle, across that little bridge.
Suppose they weren't there? Suppose his disappearance meant that he'd taken her away? Wherever they had gone, she would find them.
There was the doorway, opposite her on the other side of a small canal. In another moment-
You're a good mother. That's what's holding you back. Not me.
The words seemed to leap out at her from the clear air. Only last night she'd said she would not 'bulldoze' her way in. And now she was doing it.
She watched the house for any sign of movement. Slowly, she began to retreat into the shadows until she turned the corner. Then she ran back the way she'd come and almost jumped into the returning traghetto.
On the other side she jumped out again and headed straight for the nearest art shop. There she spent money in a fury, buying colours, pencils, brushes and pigments. She finished off with a large, canvas artist's bag, stuffed everything into it, and headed for the Palazzo di Montese.
As she came near she crossed her fingers, hoping that she could still get in. There was the little back door. She put her shoulder to it, giving it a push and a shake. It opened.
'Trust you to know how to do it,' she whispered to the unseen friend she still remembered.
Once inside she carefully closed the door and hurried on upstairs. In the upper corridor she stopped and looked up at the ceiling, where there were some frescoes that had taken her attention before. Now that the light was good she could see how really fine they were; also that they needed her attention.
'I should have done this before,' she muttered.
Unlike most of the ceilings in the palazzo, this one wasn't too high, and now she knew where to find a step-ladder. She put it in place and shinned up, but was still not close enough.
A tall, empty bookshelf stood nearby. From the top of the stepladder she managed to scramble onto it. Lying on her back, she had just the view she wanted. The old, familiar excitement began to grow in her as she saw what time had done to the fresco, and knew what she could do to make it right.
So absorbed was she that she failed to hear the faint sounds coming from below. It was Vincenzo's voice that alerted her.
'Careful where you step. Take my hand.'
And then a child's voice, 'It's awfully big, Uncle Vincenzo. Did you and Mamma really used to live here?'
'We did once, when we were children. Did she ever tell you about it?'
'She did sometimes. She promised to bring me here, but Papa heard her and got angry. Why was that?'
'I don't know, cara. He had his own way of seeing things. Perhaps we shouldn't have come.'
'Oh, but you promised. I've been looking forward to it.'
'But it's a gloomy place, for you.'
'It wasn't always gloomy, though, was it?'
'No, my darling. Once it was full of lights and laughter. But that was a long time ago.'
Julia lay on top of the bookcase, unable not to eavesdrop, her heart beating fast at the sound of her daughter's voice. But Vincenzo's voice also caught her attention. There was no harshness in it now. It was gentle and tender as he spoke to the child.
They must just be on the stairs below, and she could hear him very clearly, talking about the old days in this place. Sometimes the little girl laughed, and then he laughed with her. They were delightful together. Julia lay there, high up, listening, torn between sadness and aching delight.
But she couldn't stay here, waiting to be discovered. Slowly she began to inch to the edge of the bookcase, from where she could get to the stepladder.
Nearly there-nearly there-one hand on the ladder- a few more inches-
But the ladder moved as she touched it. Grasping frantically, she somehow lurched back against the bookcase, and the next moment the whole lot came crashing down to the floor, with her underneath.
For a moment she lay still, trapped beneath everything, more winded than hurt.
She heard Vincenzo call, 'Rosa, come back here-' and the next moment the child came flying around the corner.
'Uncle Vincenzo, come quickly.'
He appeared a moment later, frowning at the
sight, then exclaiming violently as he recognised her.
'It's the lady from yesterday,' Rosa cried.
'Julia, what the devil? Julia!'
'I'm all right,' she gasped. 'If you could just get this stuff off me-'
Instantly the child reached out tiny hands to the bookcase.
'Get back,' Vincenzo told her sharply. 'You'll hurt yourself.'
When he was sure she was clear he removed the step-ladder, then lifted the bookcase and swung it right away.
'Don't try to get up,' he ordered Julia as she began to move.
'I'm all right,' she said decidedly. 'No bones broken.'
'Your forehead's bleeding,' Rosa said.
She touched it and found the trickle of blood. Then Vincenzo's arms went about her and he was helping her to her feet.
'Can you walk?'
'Yes, of course I-hey.'
He'd lifted her and was carrying her to the room that had been the count's bedroom. Rosa ran ahead and opened the door so that he could go through and lay her on the great bed. He pulled off his jacket and put it under her head as a pillow. Then he sat beside her, glaring.
'If you aren't the most-what the devil were you doing?'
'Looking at your frescoes.'
'Why?'
'It's about time somebody did. It's my job.'
'You have to do it here and now?' he demanded, astounded and exasperated in equal measure. 'No- wait-that can come later. You need a doctor.'
'I just had a little fall and a few bruises. But I could do with something to drink.'
'I'll get you some water from the pump. Rosa, stay with her. Don't let her get up.'
He left the room, and at once the child came to the bed, as though standing guard.
'It's all right,' Julia said. 'I'm not going to run away.'
'Good, because Uncle Vincenzo says you mustn't.'
'Do people always do what Uncle Vincenzo says?'
Rosa considered this seriously. 'Sometimes.'
'Do you?'
She shook her head solemnly. Julia wondered if she was imagining a gleam of mischief in the childish eyes. She would have liked to believe it was there.
'You're the lady I met yesterday, aren't you?'
Julia nodded.
'Why are you here?'
'I'm an art restorer.'
'Is that the same as an artist?'
