He could still see the hurt haunting her eyes as she’d stared at him in Sandro’s apartment. He’d stood, torn and useless, between the two sisters, no longer knowing where his allegiance lay. So, he’d left - like a coward who can do nothing else.
He wondered what was happening there now. The vain and base part of him wished he could have stayed to see the two sisters fighting over him. He’d never had the pleasure of being desired by two women before. Staring out over the lagoon, he tried to imagine the scene.
‘He was mine first!’ Elena would shout.
‘That doesn’t mean you love him more!’ Rosanna would retort.
‘How do you know how much I love him?’
‘Because no heart is bigger than mine when it comes to Reuben! Nobody could possibly love him more than me! I would drown in the lagoon for him!’
‘And I would drown you in the lagoon for him!’
They would then lunge towards each other, nails and hair flying …
Reuben shook his head, feeling ashamed, if somewhat turned on, at having envisaged such a scene and proceeded to punish himself by envisaging quite a different one:
‘You can have him, you slut!’ Elena shouted.
‘You must be joking! I don’t want your soiled goods!’
‘I was going to break up with him anyway. He’s no good to me any more.’
‘Well, throw him in the lagoon because I don’t want him either,’ Rosanna spat.
‘I’ve got a better idea - we’ll both thrown him into the lagoon - with his paint box tied round his neck to make sure he sinks!’
‘You’re on!’
Reuben shivered. That scene was probably closer to the truth, he thought, his features glum. He should never have left the apartment; he couldn’t bear not knowing what was happening there.
*
The truth was, nothing half as dramatic as Reuben had imagined was taking place in the apartment. It was stonily silent. After their initial fight, Elena had gone downstairs to bed and Rosanna had shut her upstairs bedroom door. Each remained in their self-imposed isolation as if an ocean divided them rather than a flight of stairs.
Neither could sleep. Elena couldn’t get comfortable in the single bed in the spare room and kept tossing and turning as if the mattress were harbouring a hundred hibernating hedgehogs. Finally, she got up and switched on a bedside lamp. It was a strange room with a low, slanted ceiling. It was also home to stacks of Sandro’s canvasses and Elena found herself looking through them. There were several of Rosanna, and Elena’s eyes narrowed at her new enemy. Luckily, there were no palette knives lying around or goodness knows what might have become of Sandro’s paintings.
Elena groaned. Why hadn’t Rosanna been happy with her own artist, Sandro? Why did she have to go and steal her artist? For one dreadful moment, Elena wondered if Rosanna was finally getting her own back for the time when she had poached one of her boyfriends. It had been so many years ago that she’d almost forgotten about it. But, no, it wasn’t as simple as revenge, was it? She’d seen the way Rosanna and Reuben had looked at each other. Rosanna wasn’t using Reuben to settle some long-standing score. That would have been easy to sort out. Love, on the other hand, couldn’t be sorted out, could it? You had to just let it be.
Elena had to face the fact that she’d lost Reuben, and she was in the process of losing Prof as well by the look of things. He’d seemed so at ease when she’d seen him with the red-haired woman. How had he met her, she wondered as she returned to the uncomfortable bed? Perhaps she’d come with him to Venice? Yes! After Elena had hung up on him the other night, he’d gone out and found himself a new woman to bring to Venice in order to get his own back on her. Or, worse: he’d found out about her and Reuben. He’d sussed her out - invisibility mask and everything - and decided that she wasn’t worth the bother.
Elena tugged angrily at the lumpy duvet and sighed in despair. Everyone was getting their own back on her, weren’t they? Only Mark was hanging on in there for her but she wasn’t at all sure she wanted him to. In fact, she’d done a good job of wrecking things with him already. He was probably back in London already, crossing her name out of his little black book and deleting her from his mobile phone. Or was he still in Venice? She’d have time to find out before she left for Positano in the morning. She could settle things then - make a clean break. Reuben and Prof might well have given up on her but she wasn’t going to let that happen a third time. As she gave her pillow one last thump before closing her eyes, she made a decision: she’d be the one to finish things with Mark.
*
Prof lay awake in bed staring at the dark ceiling. He’d crossed the Piazzetta two hours before Reuben but hadn’t been thinking about the beautiful architecture; he’d been thinking about the beautiful Anastasia. They’d taken forever to say goodnight to each other outside her hotel.
‘Did I tell you about the time I visited Verona?’ Anastasia had asked.
‘I must just tell you about this fabulous restaurant in Primrose Hill,’ Prof had said.
It was as if they were delaying saying goodnight for as long as possible.
‘Seeing as we’re both on our own here,’ Prof had finally said, ‘how about lunch tomorrow?’
‘It can get so lonely sometimes, and I detest eating alone - it’s so depressing!’ Anastasia had said.
When she’d turned to go, Prof had felt a strange emptiness like a child being left at the school gate for the first time. He’d wanted to call after her and find some other useless piece of trivia to discuss but she’d disappeared.
He’d never had that with Elena, he’d thought. She’d always just left. A quick glance at the clock and off she’d trot. He’d always felt that he was a bit of an inconvenience to her - that she had somewhere else to be or someone else to see. With Anastasia, he’d felt as if he was the complete centre of her attention.
Walking down the Riva towards the Danieli, Prof wondered what was happening to him. He’d come out to Venice with the distinct idea of setting a date for his wedding. He’d flown out a man in love - impatient to get his life moving in the right direction at last. So what had changed?
Anastasia.
Surely he wasn’t as fickle as that? He shook his head, his feet marching right by his hotel and on down the Riva until he reached the spot overlooking the famous Bridge of Sighs which was very appropriate, he’d thought, letting a long sigh out into the still night air.
The easy companionship of Anastasia had made him see Elena in a different light. He had only been with Anastasia for half a day and yet he knew so much about her.
‘Here’s my mobile number,’ she’d said after lunch, handing him her business card.
He’d got absolutely no idea what Elena’s number was. She’d even told him that she didn’t have a mobile phone but he’d once heard it beep during a seminar.
‘I’m the youngest of three girls,’ Anastasia had said by the time dessert was presented to them.
He didn’t even know what Elena’s sister was called. No, when it came down to it, Prof knew very little about Elena Montella.
But, lying in bed at the Danieli now, he felt in a bit of a quandary. He was an engaged man who had fallen under the spell of another woman. He’d never been in that sort of a situation before. Life had always been so simple for him: he’d been a bachelor with the occasional girlfriend. Now, he had two beautiful women and one important decision to make.
Chapter 35
After the most appalling night’s sleep, Elena got up and threw herself under a warm shower in an attempt to revive herself. The apartment was quiet and she did her best not to make too much noise. She couldn’t tell if Rosanna was awake or not. If she was, she was using her sense and allowing Elena to get out of the way before venturing downstairs.
She felt quite numbed by the events of the night before. They seemed almost like a nightmare: horribly frightening at the time but hard to comprehend in the light of day. Had it really happened? Had she witnessed R
euben and Rosanna together, eyes locked like honeymooners? As she walked through to the living room, she threw a glance over to the sofa where they’d been sitting as if it was to blame somehow.
She decided not to risk breakfast in the apartment; she could get something to eat en route but she poured herself an apricot juice and downed it quickly. The sooner she was out of Sandro’s, the better.
Picking up the suitcase which she’d packed the night before, she crept down the stairs and left, closing the door quietly behind her. It was only a ten-minute walk to Mark’s hotel and, as she’d only packed a few things for her trip to Positano, she didn’t mind dragging her suitcase through the streets.
The early morning air was cool and she inhaled a few deep lungfuls in an attempt at self-medication but nothing was going to ease the dull leaden feeling lodged inside her heart. She felt lost and alone in a city that didn’t care about her. It had lured her in with its pretty pink palazzos and its gentle serenity but it had chewed her up and spat her out. It was definitely time to leave.
She bit her lip. She’d make things quick with Mark and get away from Venice as soon as she could
‘You’re running away again, Elena,’ a voice in her head told her – Rosanna’s voice. They might not have actually been on speaking terms but it didn’t stop Elena from hearing her.
‘Shut up, Rosanna!’ she said.
It wasn’t her fault that her fiancés were behaving badly. She couldn’t be held responsible for Reuben falling in love with her sister or for Prof meeting somebody else so why should she be expected to stay and fight? They obviously weren’t worth fighting for, were they?
As she entered a small campo, she checked the piece of paper on which Mark had jotted the address of his hotel. She looked around. It had to be here somewhere. And then she saw it - hiding in the shadows of a small calle across the other side of the square. It wasn’t the Danieli, that was for sure. It was more like a poor relative – a cousin twice removed, perhaps.
Elena opened the door and asked the receptionist to ring Mark’s room. It was still early so he was probably in bed. He’d never been an early riser. Turning to face the door, Elena tried to compose herself for the scene ahead. She closed her eyes for a moment.
So, Rosanna thought she was running away, did she? That she wasn’t up to facing a situation? Well, what was she doing now, then?
‘Elena?’
Elena span around and saw Mark. He looked bleary-eyed but his smile showed that he was pleased to see her.
‘Hello, Mark.’
‘I had a feeling you’d come today.’
‘Did you?’
He nodded. ‘I don’t know why. Did you want to go somewhere and get some breakfast? I can go and get dressed properly-’
‘No,’ she interrupted.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Shall we meet later, then?’
For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. There was such expectancy in his voice and in his eyes.
‘Mark-’
‘What?’ It was his turn to interrupt and, from the tone of his voice, he’d guessed what she’d come to say – just as Elena had guessed what Reuben had wanted to say to her the night before.
‘I’m going away for a while.’
He frowned. ‘But you’ve done that already by coming here.’
‘I’m going to visit Mama.’
It was then that Mark noticed the suitcase. ‘And I don’t suppose there’s any point in me trying to persuade you to stay?’
‘Not really.’
‘And you’re not here to invite me to go with you, are you?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘So, why did you come to tell me?’
Elena paused and took a deep breath. ‘I’ve come to say goodbye.’
Mark stared at her silently. ‘Why does that sound so final to me?’ he asked, his eyes narrowing as he took a step closer to her. ‘Why do I get the feeling that you’re breaking up with me?’
Elena couldn’t bear to look at him and so cast her eyes down to the floor.
‘Elena? Talk to me. Is it because of our fight the other day? Is it my fault?’
She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said.
‘Then what’s going on? I thought we were engaged?’
She could feel her fingers bunching themselves into confused fists. She couldn’t very well explain to him that she’d become engaged to another two men, could she? She couldn’t tell him that an engagement looked slightly different to her than it did to him.
‘I don’t think things are working out,’ she managed at last.
‘Since when? They were fine a few days ago when we were back in London. Are you telling me something’s happened between then and now? God, Elena! I can’t understand you! I’m doing my best to make sense of all this but you keep dropping these bombs and I’m beginning to think that I don’t really know you at all.’
‘That’s exactly why I think we should break up,’ she said, her voice tremulous. ‘I don’t think we can ever understand each other.’
‘But you’re not giving things a chance! Each time I try to get close to you, you leg it in the opposite direction! I’ve followed you out here to Venice to try and talk to you and now you say you’re off again. Where are you going this time? How long can you keep on running?’
Elena could feel tears vibrating in her eyes. It was time to leave. Things were getting out of control.
‘Don’t shout at me,’ she said.
‘I’m NOT shouting!’ Mark shouted and then became aware of the receptionist’s presence and immediately felt self-conscious. ‘I’m not shouting,’ he repeated. ‘I might be raising my voice slightly but that’s only because I want to be heard,’ he said, giving her a tiny smile which was so like the first smile he’d given her that she couldn’t help but smile back.
‘Come on, Elena. You can’t leave things like this. I won’t let you.’
A strange silence hung between them and Elena wished she could turn to the mask for help. This was one time she truly wished she could just disappear.
‘I’ve got to go.’
‘No you haven’t.’
‘I’ve made up my mind,’ she said.
‘Then unmake it.’
She shook her head. ‘It won’t work, Mark. I know it won’t.’ She stopped, waiting for him to contradict her but he didn’t say a word. They stared at each other. He looked scruffy with his uncombed hair and his unshaven face. His blue shirt was crumpled and he’d done his buttons up all wrong. For a split second, she almost reached forward to correct them but her hand delved into her pocket instead and she took out the ring he’d bought her, handing it across to him.
‘Won’t you say goodbye?’ she asked but he didn’t say a word nor did he make a move to receive his ring.
‘Please take the ring,’ she said.
Mark stood perfectly still, as if paralysed, so Elena took a step forward and slipped it into the pocket of the crumpled shirt with the buttons done up the wrong way, picked up her suitcase and left the hotel.
She half-thought that he might follow her outside – perhaps run after her and ask her, once more, not to go. But he didn’t. He’d finally given up on her. So why did she feel so desolate? Wasn’t that what she’d wanted? Wasn’t that what she’d asked of him?
As she entered the campo, a single tear fell down her cheek. Quickly, she brushed it away with the back of her hand. She wasn’t allowed to do that; crying was for cowards and she wasn’t a coward – she was strong.
Rosanna had lain in bed listening to Elena moving around the apartment, wondering when she would leave and when it would be safe to venture downstairs. She had to get out to an appointment on the Lido with a retired art teacher who liked his models on time and naked within two minutes of arriving.
She’d tiptoed to the ensuite bathroom and stared at the mirror above the sink. Her face had been unnaturally pale and her eyes had looked hollow and lifeless. Not that the retired teacher would notice. He al
ways left her face blank. The only thing he ever noticed was her torso.
Only when Rosanna had heard Elena leaving the apartment did she venture downstairs, treading with cautious feet as if Elena might come back at any moment. Thankfully, she didn’t. But she had left a note - obviously before the revelation of the night before.
Gone to visit Mama. Forgive me for not telling you earlier! Love, Elena x
Forgive her? Rosanna could easily forgive Elena but could Elena ever forgive her?
*
It was a breezy boat ride out to the Lido. The water looked greyer than usual and the view back to the Riva was dull. Even a jewel like Venice couldn’t sparkle when you were in a bad mood, Rosanna thought. The most beautiful of cities could fail to inspire you when your life was falling apart.
Rosanna caught sight of the fondant pink façade of the Danieli and wondered what Reuben was doing. Probably looking for a cheaper hotel, she thought, remembering what he’d said the night before.
She tried to fix her mind on the morning ahead but it kept diving back to the previous night and his dark eyes staring into hers and the touch of his hands on the back of her neck. And his kiss. She blushed as she remembered - ashamed at having received it and yet longing for another.
She remembered the sketches in his book. He’d imagined her naked over and over again. The thought sent a warm shiver through her body. He’d been fairly accurate too! Had he really imagined it all or had he used Elena’s body? She didn’t want to think about that - it raised too many prickly issues. Like the fact that she’d stolen her sister’s fiancé. It was unforgivable. Elena was right to leave. What other option was there? But would she be coming back? Was she just having a cooling off period? And what did the future hold? If Reuben and Rosanna were going to make a go of things, Elena would have to come round eventually, wouldn’t she? Or maybe she wouldn’t.
Irresistible You Page 19
