Sheer cliffs towered to her left whilst expensive villas sat to her right, gazing out over the sea from behind their security gates. Elena wondered what it would be like to live in a place whose gates were higher than the walls of the house. Would she be happy somewhere like that? Would she be able to close out her troubles behind such gates?
She didn’t have time to ponder her question as she came into view of Mama Montella’s house: a two-bedroomed, white-washed cube tucked into a cliff on the outskirts of the main town. With its sea views and small veranda, it was breathtakingly beautiful. Her mama lived alone there. Elena and Rosanna’s father had died when they were small and Emiliana hadn’t remarried until recently. However, things hadn’t worked out and she had filed for divorce within eight months
Elena pulled into the short driveway. There was no need for gates here but Elena announced her arrival with a friendly toot of her car horn.
‘Mia bambina!’ her mama soon shouted, her short, plump arms outstretched towards Elena as she got out of her car and crossed the driveway. She was five foot nothing but was wearing three inch heels even though she was in the privacy of her own home, and her dark hair, which had been dyed for as long as Elena could remember, was piled on top of her head, adding two more inches to her.
‘Mama! How are you?’ she asked, kissing her mama and receiving her papery kisses on both cheeks.
‘Mustn’t complain,’ Emiliana said which, of course, was a lie. Elena knew what was to follow. ‘But I still have these terrible pains in my shoulders. My doctor assured me the climate here would improve things but – pah! What does he know?’
‘You look well,’ Elena said, knowing she’d be in trouble if she didn’t flatter her mother within the first ten minutes of their meeting. ‘Your hair looks pretty like that.’
‘And you look –’ Emiliana began, her eyes squinting, ‘- tired. And your ends are split too. Look at the state of yourself. A young woman must never let herself go.’
Elena sighed. Nobody could insult you in quite the same way as your mother.
She followed her into the house and marvelled at how clean and bright it was. Every surface glowed an astral white and there were bunches of bright flowers everywhere.
‘Where on earth did you get all these flowers from, Mama?’
‘They’re from Giovanni. He thinks he can get round me with flowers.’
Elena smiled. Her mama had never been short of admirers and would never be wanting in the flower or jewellery department for long. However, keeping her men was another matter. She had the beauty and skill to attract but a temper and temperament which drove away.
‘Your sister rang me before you got here,’ Emiliana said without seeing the need of a preamble.
Elena followed as she walked through to the kitchen and put the kettle on.
‘Did she?’ Elena asked, trying to sound nonchalant as she looked out of the picture window in front of the sink. It looked down a steep hill straight down to the sea which dazzled with diamonds. In fact, everything about Positano was diamond-bright. Venice was a pearl, Elena thought, but Positano was a diamond. Dishes would be a pleasure to wash with a view like that, Elena mused, trying desperately hard not to think about what Rosanna might have told their mama.
‘She sounded very upset,’ Emiliana said.
‘And I suppose you’re not going to believe my version of things now.’
‘It’s not a case of whether I believe things or not. What I want to know is why can’t my two girls get on together? What did I do to make you argue all the time? I never argued with my sister.’
Elena looked puzzled. ‘You never had a sister.’
‘But, if I had, I wouldn’t have argued with her like you and Rosanna,’ she stated. ‘Anyway, what’s all this arguing about?’
‘Nothing! And we don’t argue all the time – only when she steals my fiancé.’
‘Ah! And you never stole her boyfriends, eh?’
‘She wasn’t actually engaged to any of them, was she?’
‘Does that make a difference, then?’ Emiliana asked.
Elena was silenced for a moment. ‘Yes,’ she said, but she wasn’t at all sure now she came to think of it.
‘A lover is a lover – whether he’s put a ring on your finger or not.’
Elena didn’t dare look round at her mama. Her tone of voice said it all. Elena had been an absolute cow to Rosanna when they’d been growing up and yet Rosanna had forgiven her for everything: all the misdemeanours and mistakes. But this was different. They were adults now and you just didn’t go around stealing fiancés. It wasn’t right.
‘Reuben was my fiancé, Mama,’ Elena sighed.
‘And so was Mark, wasn’t he?’
Elena flinched. So Rosanna had told their mama everything. Well, so much for sibling loyalty, she thought. Although, why was she expecting loyalty from Rosanna after what she’d done?
‘You don’t understand,’ Elena said but she sounded feeble even to her own ears.
‘You’re right! I don’t understand! How does a daughter of mine end up with two fiancés, eh? That’s not the way I brought you up.’
It was true enough. Emiliana Montella might never have been short of admirers but she’d certainly never entertained more than one at a time.
Elena walked through to the living room and made towards the window which looked out over the sea but there was a rival for her attention: a little table by the window. It was round and made of a dark wood but the wood was almost invisible under numerous photo frames. For a moment, it reminded her of Irma Taccani’s photographs and she immediately felt guilty as she thought of what she’d done that day. She’d bought the mask with her to Positano but, at that moment, she felt as if she never wanted to see it again. It had caused nothing but trouble.
She looked at the collection of photographs. There was a photograph of Elena in a pram the size of a juggernaut, and another of her sister’s first birthday. There were school portraits of both sisters: Elena with her jutting cheekbones and Rosanna with her slightly rounder face. Both had the same dark, dark eyes and irrepressible smiles. There was a holiday photo of the two sisters on Capri. Their hair was swept back by the warm breeze that Elena could almost feel on her skin now even though she’d been just thirteen when she’d felt it. The whole table was dedicated to Elena and Rosanna and it made Elena feel so sad that they were no longer speaking to each other. She wondered what their mama would do. Would she divide the photos up, slicing through the ones of the two sisters together and place them on separate tables?
‘You cannot separate yourself from your sister,’ Emiliana said as she entered the room with two cups of coffee.
Elena turned around. That was the other annoying thing about mothers. Not only could they insult you like nobody else in the world, but they could also read your mind at twenty paces.
‘You’ll have to talk to her at some point. You can’t run away from her.’
‘I’m not running away,’ Elena said, sitting down opposite her mama and taking a cup from her. ‘I just needed some space. How was I meant to think with Rosanna and Reuben there in front of me?’
Emiliana shook her head. ‘I don’t know what there is to think about. They’re together, no?’
‘Yes,’ Elena said, sounding puzzled.
‘And you broke up with him?’
‘Because they were together!’
‘But you also had this Mark?’
‘What’s he got to do with anything?’
‘You tell me, Elena! You’re the one engaged to him.’
‘We’re not engaged any more.’
‘Why? Is Rosanna seeing him too behind your back?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘I’m not being ridiculous. It seems to me that you’re the one who’s being ridiculous!’
Elena sighed. Why, no matter where she went or whom she confided in, did her problems seem to double in size?
‘I was hoping you’d be a little mor
e understanding,’ Elena said, her tone accusing.
‘I’m trying to be but I really don’t understand what’s been going on. Are you going to tell me how you came to be engaged to two men?’
‘Three.’
‘What?’
‘I was engaged to three men. Well, I was. I suppose I’m still officially engaged to one of them.’
‘Three? But Rosanna said two.’
‘She doesn’t know about the third.’
Emiliana’s face scrunched up into a frown worthy of a gargoyle.
‘Don’t look at me like that! It isn’t as bad as it sounds,’ Elena assured her.
‘What do you mean, it isn’t as bad as it sounds? How can you say such a thing? You’ve been leading these men on, haven’t you? You’ve been pretending to be someone you aren’t. Just like when you were young.’
‘Mama-’
‘No, Elena! You will listen to me this time. You’re always getting yourself into impossible situations and then running away from them. Well, you can’t live your life like that. You have to think of those around you. The world isn’t your personal amusement park - you have to realise that.’
Emiliana paused and Elena stared down at the floorboards, dreading another outpouring, but her mama didn’t say anything. In fact, she got up and walked across to the table on which the framed photographs stood. Elena watched as her mama leant forward and picked one up, turning to present it to Elena. It was of a young man. He was very handsome, and his dark eyes smiled out of the silver confines of the frame making Elena feel as if he was in the very room with them.
‘Why do you keep that photograph?’
‘Because it’s part of our album,’ Emiliana said slowly.
‘I asked you to put it away,’ Elena said. Her voice was calm but there was an icy undertone to it.
‘You can’t put the past away into a drawer and expect it to stay there.’
‘I didn’t say you could.’
‘But that’s what you’re trying to do again now, isn’t it? By coming here?’
‘No!’ Elena said, getting up and walking towards the window. ‘I came here to think things through. Why doesn’t anyone think I’m capable of that? Why do you all think I’m running away?’
‘Because that’s what you normally do.’
Elena swallowed hard. She knew the truth when she heard it and it hurt. ‘I’m trying to sort things out,’ she said calmly. ‘I really am.’ She looked across the room at her mama and she felt like a young girl again - a girl who thinks she’s clever and capable but who is drowning in her own confusion.
‘Won’t you help me?’ she asked.
Emiliana put the photo frame back on the table, pursed her lips and nodded. ‘If you really mean it.’
Elena swallowed hard and looked across at her mother. ‘I mean it,’ she said.
Chapter 38
Rosanna groaned inwardly as Sandro Constantini lunged into a tirade. As though she didn’t have enough to cope with already with her sister’s two ex-fiancés.
‘I trusted you, Rosanna, and this is what you get up to the minute my back is turned,’ he yelled, his face contorted with anger.
‘But I’m not getting up to anything!’ Rosanna said.
‘Then who are these two men in my apartment? What will the neighbours think, eh? You’ll be getting me a bad reputation and I do not need a bad reputation at this stage of my career!’ he said, dramatically tossing his thick fringe out of his eyes. ‘Come on, then. Who are they?’
‘They’re my sister’s fiancés,’ Rosanna explained.
‘Eh? What do you mean? How can they both be her fiancés?’
‘You’re right – they’re not. At least, not any more. She broke up with them. Or, rather, Reuben broke up with her and she broke up with Mark.’
Sandro’s eyes widened in complete incomprehension. ‘Well, I want them out of my apartment! And where’s my Bimba?’
Rosanna looked around desperately for the cat-child. She hadn’t seen the since she’d kicked it out that morning and hoped it hadn’t got itself lost. She might be able to get away with being caught with two men in the apartment but, if anything had happened to the cat-child, she’d have to get herself a lawyer.
‘Didn’t you hear me?’ Sandro said. ‘Out! Out!’ he cried dramatically and Rosanna chased the two of them down the stairs.
‘Rosanna!’ Sandro yelled from the kitchen. ‘Have they gone yet?’
‘They’re leaving right now,’ she yelled back.
‘I hope they took their shoes off before coming in,’ Sandro added.
Reuben and Mark looked at one another and started laughing.
‘Please!’ Rosanna said. ‘You’ve got to go.’
‘Rosanna,’ Reuben began.
‘What?’
‘Come and see me as soon as you can,’ he said.
‘I will.’
‘Soon!’ he repeated leaning forward to give her a kiss. ‘Here’s where I’m staying now,’ he said, pressing a card into her hand.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry about Sandro. He’s just tired from travelling.’
Reuben shook his head. ‘He’s an asshole.’
She shook her head and gave him a small smile. ‘But he’s a very kind asshole,’ she said.
She opened the door for him and watched as he left and then, she turned to Mark.
‘What will you do?’ she asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘There’s not much for me to stay here for now, is there? I guess I’ll be heading home sooner than I thought.’
Rosanna frowned. ‘Are you sure you won’t stay? I’m sure Elena will be back soon.’
‘Are you?’
Rosanna bit her lip. ‘No.’
‘I don’t think I’ll ever see her again.’
‘Don’t say that!’
‘That’s how she left me feeling.’
Rosanna felt as if her heart was bleeding inside her. ‘Mark! Won’t you go to her?’
He sighed a long, hopeless sigh. ‘She doesn’t want me there. She didn’t even want me here, Rosanna.’
‘She did! I’m sure she did! She just didn’t know it!’
He shook his head.
‘You have to try again! Won’t you? Please, Mark-’
‘I’m tired, Rosanna! I’m so bloody tired of all this.’
Rosanna looked at him and could see that he was telling her the truth - he looked absolutely exhausted. Elena had done her very best to drain him of all life.
Rosanna took his hands in hers. ‘You’re a fool if you believe she doesn’t love you.’
They looked at each other and he shook his head. ‘I was a fool to believe that she did.’
*
Prof and Anastasia had, once again, met for lunch. Prof realised that it was turning into a bit of a routine, albeit a very nice one, but he wasn’t meant to be getting into routines with other women when he was engaged to Elena, was he?
The conversation hadn’t flown as easily today and Prof thought he knew why: he was feeling guilty. It almost felt as if Elena was with him, sitting beside him with an expression of horror - wondering what he was doing with another woman. He wanted to explain things: it wasn’t what it looked like. But that was such a cliché. Anyway, what exactly was this thing with Anastasia? He was still in love with Elena.
He fidgeted in his chair and looked at his watch surreptitiously under the table.
‘It’s nearly two o’clock,’ Anastasia said.
‘Sorry,’ he said, his face flushing. ‘I should think about going.’
‘Where?’
He felt cornered. He didn’t actually have an answer for her and she seemed to know that.
‘It’s my last day tomorrow,’ she told him, her large eyes peeping up through her thick red fringe.
‘Is it?’
She nodded. ‘Then it’s back home. Back to the four walls and cooking for myself again.’
There was a pause. Prof felt that the very air about hi
m was full of reproach and he swore he could feel his skin prickling with the discomfort of deceit.
‘So,’ Anastasia began.
‘So?’ Prof echoed. Their voices seemed to say this was the end of their non-affair. What had started out as being such fun had crumbled away as they both faced the reality of their situations.
‘Look,’ she said, her hand reaching out across the table to touch his ever so lightly. ‘I know things are difficult for you at the moment and I don’t want to get in the way of you making a decision, but I do want you to know that I’m here. Or rather, I’ll be there - if you want me to be there. You’ve got my number?’
Prof nodded. He had. She’d given it to him the night before and he’d taken it, carefully placing it in his travel copy of The Selected Works of Byron.
‘And you’ll call me if you need to talk?’
‘I will,’ he said, daring to look across at her. She smiled at him.
‘Things will work themselves out - one way or another,’ she said.
‘Of course they will,’ he said, wondering why it took a relative stranger to tell a professor such a thing.
They called over to a waiter for the bill and Anastasia picked it up.
‘No, no,’ Prof said. ‘Let me.’
Anastasia seemed a little reluctant but Prof took the bill from her. ‘It’s the least I can do to thank you for your time.’
She smiled. ‘You know, I didn’t really believe in English gentlemen until I met you,’ she said.
As they left the restaurant, they sighed in unison and then laughed.
‘Have you time for a walk?’ she asked.
Prof nodded. He looked absent-minded, as though he didn’t really care too much what they did next and so they walked in silence, gazing half-heartedly in the shops stuffed to bursting point with bright glass. There were photo frames, vases, wineglasses, necklaces, bracelets and earrings.
Anastasia wrinkled her nose in distaste. She’d never worn costume jewellery. Something she did have a weakness for, though, was jewellery boxes and, when she saw a display of beautiful wooden-inlaid boxes in rich reds, blues and chestnuts, she grabbed Prof’s arm and was in the shop.
Irresistible You Page 21
