‘What do you think?’ she asked, picking up a small, oblong box which played O Sole Mio. It was Prof’s turn to wrinkle his nose.
‘A bit cheesy?’
He nodded. ‘Just a bit.’
She picked up another: an octagonal box in a dusky red with a pattern of flowers on the top. She opened it up and the bright notes of Beethoven’s Für Elise flew out into the shop from the red velvet interior.
‘Oh, yes!’ Anastasia grinned. She turned to see what Prof thought but he’d left the shop. She frowned just as a sales assistant walked over to give her his music box spiel.
‘I’ll take it,’ she said, producing a credit card before the assistant had time to open his mouth.
‘I lost you,’ she said a moment later outside the shop, her new acquisition well-wrapped up in a carrier bag.
‘Sorry,’ he said.
They walked out and found themselves in San Marco. The tables outside Quadri’s and Florian’s packed with tourists, the Easter sunshine prising jackets and jumpers from them. The Campanile soared high into the sky, its vivid green spire tipped with a golden angel and, standing opposite, the wedding-cake dreaminess of the Doges’ Palace. It was only a short walk from here to the Danieli, and Prof was itching to get back to his room but he wasn’t quite sure how to go about it.
‘I really didn’t expect to meet someone like you out here,’ Prof admitted at last in a voice barely above a whisper.
‘I didn’t expect to be met,’ Anastasia replied.
Prof looked down at his shiny shoes and wondered how, exactly, they were to say goodbye. They’d passed the boundary of handshakes and yet weren’t familiar enough for an embrace. But Anastasia solved the problem by leaning forward and kissing him daintily on the cheek.
‘Goodbye, darling,’ she said. ‘Don’t you go forgetting me, will you?’
Before Prof had a chance to tell her that he could sooner forget himself, she’d turned and walked away into a crowd of tourists and was gone.
Prof gazed up into a sky dotted with tiny white clouds, the haunting notes of Für Elise playing in his mind. It had been part of a programme he’d taken Elena to hear on their first date together, and the unexpected reminder in the shop had shaken him. It was as if somebody was reminding him that he wasn’t meant to be there with Anastasia.
*
‘Remember this?’ Emiliana asked, walking through to the living room with an old, stuffed bear in her arms.
‘Fernando? Where on earth has he been?’
Emiliana shook her head. ‘Rosanna gave him to me after my divorce.’
Elena stretched her hands out to greet the ancient bear. ‘Dear Fernando! I’d forgotten all about him!’
Fernando, the custard-coloured bear, who’d been around for as long as Elena could remember, was “a sharing bear”. He didn’t belong to anyone in particular - rather he was given to the member of the Montella family who was in need of him most at the time. He’d been given to Elena and Rosanna when they’d split up from boyfriends or been dumped over the years; when they’d been unsuccessful in interviews; when Rosanna had failed her driving test for the first, second and third time; and every other family incident which required a custard-coloured cuddle.
‘You know why I’m giving him to you now?’
Elena frowned. ‘Because I’ve just split up with two fiancés?’
‘No. Because I think you should give him to Rosanna.’
‘Rosanna!’
‘She sounded very upset when she rang.’
‘She’s upset? Mon dio! That really is the limit! I’m made out to be the villain here. I don’t believe it!’
Her mama shook her head silently. ‘Take Fernando. You know it’s the right thing to do.’
‘I’m not using Fernando as a peace offering. It would be more appropriate for me to give her a cobra.’
Emiliana glowered at her daughter. ‘Can you hear what you’re saying?’
‘At least I’m being honest! I really think it’s me who needs Fernando - not Rosanna!’
Emiliana threw her hands in the air in desperation - a gesture which immediately reminded Elena of her sister. Her mama was right - there would never be any running away from her family; there was nowhere to hide from your relatives because they were a part of you. Still, that didn’t mean you had to forgive them in a hurry.
‘I’m not ready to speak to her yet,’ Elena said after a few moments of silence.
‘But you will talk to her?’
Elena sighed. ‘Not yet.’
‘You need to sort this out. You can’t let it fester away-’
‘I know, Mama! Just let me get my head round things, please!’
The two women looked at each other across the small living room. ‘I hate to see my two daughters fighting. You’ve no idea what that does to a mother!’
‘Don’t start!’
‘Well, you’d better put a stop to all this nonsense soon.’
Elena got up. ‘Mama! This isn’t my fault!’
Her mama glared at her.
‘Well,’ Elena began, ‘maybe it is – a bit. But don’t heap all the blame on me.’
‘I’m not apportioning blame. That’s not my job.’
Elena sighed. It seemed that that was exactly what her mother was doing.
Chapter 39
‘So, how did your trip go?’ Rosanna asked Sandro the next morning. Her question was more out of politeness than real interest, and she was still rather angry at him for his rude eviction of Mark and Reuben.
‘It went very well,’ he said. ‘In fact, so well that I may have to leave Venice.’
‘Leave Venice?’ Rosanna asked, shocked. Sandro was as much a part of Venice as the water and he’d lived there most of his life. How on earth could he think about leaving? And there was something else which shocked Rosanna: how such a move would affect her. If Sandro left that would mean she’d have to leave too.
‘It’s really very inconvenient,’ Sandro explained, his face scarred with a scowl. ‘I mean, my whole life is here but, I’m told, I have to be in New York if I really want to make things happen. That’s the place to be for me now.’
‘Oh,’ Rosanna said, stunned. Already, she was planning ahead. There’d be no more freeloading off Sandro Constantini. No more lucrative modelling assignments from the only real artist she sat for. That was bad news.
‘But how can you think of leaving Venice?’ she asked in a plea for him to think about all he’d be giving up. ‘How can you contemplate living in a place without water? And living in a place with high-rise buildings! How will you breathe in such a place?’
‘Venice isn’t the only place in the world with water, Rosanna! New York’s surrounded by water and, as to open spaces, there’s always Central Park,’ Sandro said in defence of his new home.
‘But how will you cope without this place?’ Rosanna said, sounding more and more like an anxious mother who doesn’t want her only child to leave home.
‘I’ll have to find another place,’ he shrugged, taking in the studio with a quick glance. ‘The change will be good for me and, more importantly, good for my art. I feel ready for a new beginning. An artist shouldn’t ever become settled or too complacent or they stagnate.’
So, Rosanna thought, that’s what it all came down to – Sandro Constantini’s art. She was fighting a losing battle there, wasn’t she? She was up against an artist’s ego and bank balance.
‘I don’t think your Bimba will like it,’ she said at last, pulling out her trump card.
Sandro’s face froze and he gave a weary sigh. ‘I’ve been thinking about her,’ he said. ‘New York is no place for a cat.’
‘No!’ Rosanna agreed, thinking that the animal she had hitherto hated might now turn out to be her saviour.
‘I’ll have to give her away, I suppose,’ he said, his mouth puckering up into a blossom-like kiss – the sort he usually reserved only for his precious Bimba.
‘Give her away!’ Rosanna was aghast
at such a declaration. The cat was his child. Was he really willing to make this sacrifice for his career? She wondered.
‘I have to make this sacrifice for my career,’ he said.
‘Gosh!’ Rosanna said. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘I could think of nothing else on the plane back. My mind was a maelstrom!’ he said, ever the drama queen. ‘I love this place, of course.’
‘You’ll never find another like it,’ Rosanna interrupted.
‘I know. You don’t need to tell me that.’
I do, she thought. Before you sell it. ‘So, you’re really prepared to give it up?’
Sandro threw his head back and gazed up at the criss-cross of dark beams. It was a space like no other. Would he be able to find such a space in New York? Was there such a space anywhere in the world to rival this one?
‘I don’t think I can really sell it,’ he said at last.
Rosanna breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness for that, she thought.
‘I will, perhaps, rent it out.’
Even worse. There was no way that Rosanna could afford to rent something like Sandro’s.
‘Do you have anyone in mind?’ she asked, realising that she’d soon be packing her bags and heading back to the mainland.
‘It would be a good idea if I could find another artist,’ he said thoughtfully.
‘An artist?’
He nodded. ‘It makes sense. It’s such an excellent space.’
‘Yes!’ Rosanna said, getting excited. ‘And I might just know somebody who’d be interested.’
‘Really?’
Rosanna nodded. She wasn’t sure what kind of money Reuben made or even if he’d be interested in moving to Venice but it was worth a try.
‘Because, if you know of someone, perhaps my dear Bimba wouldn’t have to move after all!’ he said, getting excited.
Rosanna frowned. That wasn’t quite what she had in mind.
‘There would be a discount, of course, if you could find somebody to look after the cat!’
Rosanna smiled. Things might just work out in her favour after all.
Chapter 40
Elena’s first morning in Positano was spent taking a coastal path around the cliffs. The sea was a thousand shades of blue and the spring sunshine had forced her to roll up the sleeves of her jumper.
She walked with quick, definite strides, as if she knew where she was going. She didn’t, of course. She was just following the set route in the hope of finding a little bit of peace and space.
She stopped and sat down on a low, sun-warmed stone wall and let her gaze fall down the sheer slope to the sea. Her mama had woken her early with a cup of coffee and the subtle words, ‘Wake up! You’ve got a lot of thinking to do!’
‘Thanks, Mama,’ she’s muttered back, pulling the sheets around her face in an attempt to escape back into sleep. It didn’t work, of course. If Elena had needed any reminding as to where Rosanna got her plate-clattering-in-the-sink skills from, she’d had it that morning. Her mama had moved through the house with the force of a tornado, only she managed to make more noise.
‘Ah! You’re up at last,’ she’d said when Elena had surfaced, as if that hadn’t been her intention all along. ‘I’ve got to go out,’ she’d added.
Elena nodded, thinking that she might be able to sneak back into bed.
‘I’ll drop you in town,’ her mama said. ‘Come on! I’m leaving in ten minutes.’
Elena didn’t bother arguing. Her mama had told her to go for a walk to, ‘get your head cleared out’, and so here she was. But just how did you clear your head out? She’d crammed so much into hers recently that she didn’t know where to begin.
For a moment, she thought about the golden mask. She’d brought it with her and it was safely stashed in the boot of her hire car in case her mama had a surreptitious rifle through her luggage.
Hadn’t Stefano told her that the mask would help her with her decisions? It couldn’t help her here in Positano, could it? Maybe the mask only worked in Venice.
All of a sudden, everything became clear. She had to go back to Venice. As surely as she’d had to leave, she had to return. She’d had to get away in order to do that, she could see that now, and she would return with a clear head – and a plan.
Although Elena would never admit it, her mama had been right all along. There was no getting away from facing up to her responsibilities.
With this new resolution, Elena got up and route-marched back along the coastal path. She was going back tonight and she was taking Fernando the bear with her.
*
On Sandro’s arrival back, Rosanna had been relegated to the spare bedroom. Life in the luxurious double bed upstairs was over. It was a good job, she thought, that Elena had left when she had otherwise she’d have had to explain that to Sandro as well as the two male visitors. Luckily, Sandro hadn’t asked any more questions about Reuben and Mark, and Rosanna had been careful not to mention them, even though she had plans for Reuben.
‘This artist of yours,’ Sandro said over a cup of coffee on his first morning back, ‘do I know his work?’
Rosanna bit her lip. ‘His name is Reuben Lord and he’s English.’
‘Never heard of him,’ Sandro said dismissively. ‘He can’t be that good if I’ve never heard of him.’
‘He’s very good,’ she said. ‘Just waiting for his big break, that’s all. Just like you had to wait for yours – remember?’
Sandro nodded thoughtfully. ‘It was always coming, of course, but it took its time all the same,’ he said.
Rosanna curled her fingers up into a tight ball. He really could be the most conceited of people sometimes.
‘And Reuben’s will come too and just imagine how wonderful it would be if you had some sort of knowledge of that. He could be your protégé!’
Sandro’s eyebrows rose. ‘Yes!’ he said, a finger raised to his mouth. ‘You might have something there. I’d have to see his work, of course, before I committed myself.’
‘Of course,’ Rosanna said, humouring him.
‘I wouldn’t want to put in a good word for him in the circles I now move in if his work was inferior.’
‘And I’m sure he’d look after your Bimba,’ Rosanna said, crawling into his favour on Reuben’s behalf.
‘He’s kind, then?’
Rosanna nodded. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, not bothering to tell Sandro how Reuben had recently dumped Elena for her without so much as a text message.
‘And he’s in Venice now?’
‘Yes.’
Sandro frowned as a thought raced through his mind. ‘He isn’t one of those men who was here in my studio when I came home, is he?’
Rosanna paused as she tried to think of a way around this.
‘Because I didn’t like those guys,’ he elaborated. ‘They looked like freeloaders.’
‘You think everyone looks like a freeloader.’
‘Everybody is a freeloader!’
Rosanna glared at him. ‘Are you including me in your sweeping statement?’
Sandro glared back at her and then started to giggle like a girl. ‘My dear Rosanna! You are a delightful exception.’
Rosanna continued to glare at him, not sure what he meant by that comment but relieved that it had got them away from Sandro’s cross-questioning as to who Reuben was.
‘So,’ Rosanna began, ‘do you want me to talk to my friend about your apartment or not?’
Sandro sighed. ‘Yes, yes! If he’s a friend of yours, that’s good enough for me.’
‘And it will be a special rate rent?’
‘If he agrees to look after my Bimba.’
‘He will.’
‘And he won’t be able to move any of the canvases I leave here. It will still be my apartment.’
‘Of course, Sandro. He’ll have every respect for your work,’ Rosanna said, thinking that it would all probably be moved down to the basement at the earliest opportunity.
‘T
hen we might well have an agreeable arrangement.’
Rosanna smiled to herself. She couldn’t wait to tell Reuben.
*
Emiliana was delighted with Elena’s decision.
‘You won’t regret it!’ she told her earnestly. ‘You and Rosanna have many things to sort out but it will all work out in the end, believe me.’
The more her mama went, the more Elena became nervous.
‘Families must stick together,’ she went on. ‘Through the good times and the bad.’
Why was it, Elena wondered, that you were always fed clichés at such times? It was one of the few times in her life when she needed to hear something good and honest and original. Prof would have those sort of comforting words for her, she felt sure of that. Yes, her dear Prof would be just the right sort of person to talk to if only he wasn’t bound up in all this business too.
‘Mama,’ Elena said, ‘I’m going to make a call.’
Her mama said something about keeping it short as she wasn’t made of Euros.
‘I’ll be using my mobile.’
‘I didn’t know you had a mobile.’
‘No. I just got it,’ Elena lied.
She walked through to her bedroom and fished in her suitcase for the phone she kept hidden. Was she really going to do this? She supposed she had to. She had to make a start on sorting out the huge mess she’d got herself into.
She rang the number and waited.
‘Hello?’
‘Prof?’
‘Elena? Is that you?’
‘Of course it is! Who else calls you Prof?’ she said, immediately feeling at ease for hearing his kind voice.
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m in-’ she hesitated. ‘I’m in Positano,’ she finished.
‘I thought you were in Venice.’
‘I was. And I will be again this evening.’
‘I thought I saw you the other day – at the Danieli here. Were you here?’
Elena gasped. She really wanted to sort things out but she wasn’t ready to confess everything yet.
Irresistible You Page 22
