Книга - The Italian’s Christmas Miracle

The Italian's Christmas Miracle
Lucy Gordon


Their Christmas gift – the healing power of a family!Brooding Italian Drago di Luca and reserved lawyer Alysa Dennis are brought together by a shocking shared betrayal – their partners have been having an affair! But against all the odds they strike an unlikely friendship, and forbidden awareness simmers…Alysa’s calm façade hides a secret which twists every time she looks into the soulful eyes of Drago’s motherless child. As the attraction builds between them, Christmas approaches with the promise of a new start – could the healing miracle of love, and the joy of the season, make them a family?







‘Thank you for coming,’ Drago said quietly. ‘I’ve thought of you all the time. Say it was the same with you.’

‘Oh, yes. You were always with me.’

He took her hand and they wandered higher. The trees grew more luxuriantly here, blocking out much of the light, so that the sunbeams slanted down like arrows piercing the shadows.

‘Do you recognise this place?’ he asked, stopping suddenly by a tree.

‘I can hardly believe it. It’s so beautiful now, and then it was—’

‘Another world,’ he said.

Leaning against the tree, he raised her hand so that he could brush the back of it against his cheek, hold it there for a moment, then press his lips against it.

‘I’ve been back here often since you went away,’ he said. ‘It’s where I come for peace, and even happiness.’

‘Can there be happiness?’ she asked wistfully.

‘There might be,’ he replied with a smile.


Lucy Gordon cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Richard Chamberlain, Roger Moore, Sir Alec Guinness and Sir John Gielgud. She also camped out with lions in Africa, and had many other unusual experiences which have often provided the background for her books. She is married to a Venetian, whom she met while on holiday in Venice. They got engaged within two days. Two of her books have won the Romance Writers of America RITA


Award, SONG OF THE LORELEI in 1990, and HIS BROTHER’S CHILD in 1998, in the Best Traditional Romance category.

You can visit her website at www.lucy-gordon.com



Dear Reader

Being English by birth and Italian by marriage, I’ve experienced Christmas in both countries. Both celebrate the Nativity, but in Italy there is the extra festival of Epiphany, January 6th—the coming of the Three Kings, bearing gifts.

The great gift of Christmas is that with its promise of new beginnings it can heal wounds that once seemed beyond hope.

Alysa approaches Christmas full of joy at the life that’s opening up for her. Then a cruel act of betrayal snatches everything away, leaving a long, bitter road ahead.

She can only travel that road with the help of Drago, a man whose loss has been as terrible as her own. Two damaged people, they must stumble on together, supporting each other through pain that nobody else understands, hardly daring to believe the love growing between them, until they reach another Christmas with its promise of rebirth, new hope, and a life together.

May all your Christmases be happy.

Lucy Gordon




THE ITALIAN’S CHRISTMAS MIRACLE


BY

LUCY GORDON




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




PROLOGUE


THE Christmas lights winked down from the tree, which was hung with tinsel. It was only a small tree, and made of plastic, because the modern apartment of a successful businesswoman had room for nothing larger.

Alysa had always loved her home, its elegance and costliness affirming her triumphant career. Now, for the first time, she sensed something missing. Placing her hand over her stomach, she thought, smiling, that she knew what that something was.

Not that this was a good place for a baby. James’s home had more room, and when he knew he was to be a father he would want to finalise the marriage plans that had been vague until now. She would tell him tonight that she was pregnant.

There was one other thing to set out: a small nativity scene, showing Mary leaning protectively over the crib, her face glowing as she watched her child. Alysa had bought it on the way home as an expression of her joy.

Gently she laid it on a shelf, close to the tree so that the lights fell on it, illuminating the baby’s face. He looked up at his mother, perhaps even smiling. Alysa tried to dismiss the thought as fanciful, but it returned, whispering of happiness to come.

Why didn’t James hurry? He was an hour late, and she loved him so much, every moment in his company was precious. But he would be here soon—very soon.

For the hundredth time she checked that everything was perfect, including her appearance. For once she wore her long hair flowing freely. Usually it was pulled back and wrapped up in a chignon. She kept meaning to cut it short and adopt an austere style, suitable for her job as an accountant. But she’d always deferred the decision, possibly because she knew that her hair was her chief beauty.

She had never been pretty. Her face was attractive but, to her own critical eyes, her features were too strong for a woman.

‘No feminine graces,’ she’d often sighed. ‘Too tall, too thin. No bosom to speak of.’

Her women friends were scandalised by this casual realism. ‘What do you mean, too thin?’ they’d chorused. ‘You’ve got a figure most of us would die for. You could wear anything, just like a model.’

‘That’s what I said—too thin,’ she’d responded, determinedly practical.

But then there was the hair—rich brown, with flashes of deep gold here and dark red there, growing abundantly, streaming over her shoulders and down to her waist, making her look like some mythical heroine.

James loved her hair, which she’d been wearing down when they’d first met.

‘I couldn’t take my eyes off it,’ he’d told her afterwards. ‘One look and I began scheming to get you to bed.’

‘You mean you didn’t fall in love with my upright character and solid virtue?’ she’d teased.

‘What do you think?’

How they had laughed together, and the laughter had ended, as it always did, in passion.

‘I thought you looked like Minerva,’ he’d said once. ‘I’ve got a picture of her with flowing hair, although not as beautiful as yours.’

‘But who was she?’ asked Alysa, whose education had been practical rather than artistic.

‘She was the ancient goddess of warriors, medicine, wisdom and poetry.’

It had become his special name for her, to be used only in the darkness.

He scowled when she dressed for work, taking up her hair and donning a severe suit.

‘It’s for my job,’ she’d chided him fondly. ‘I can’t be Minerva for my clients, only for you.’

Once she’d had a couple of inches cut off, without telling him, and he’d been annoyed.

They had actually squabbled about it, she recalled now, smiling.

But tonight she’d taken care to look just as he liked—a slinky dress that took advantage of her slim figure, hair flowing down to her waist so that he could run his fingers through the cascade and bury his face in its perfumed softness. Then they would go to bed, and afterwards, as they lay in each other’s arms, she would tell him her wonderful secret.

If only he would get here soon!


CHAPTER ONE

THE cold February sunlight glittered over the place where fifteen people had died in one terrible moment.

Far below, the crowd looked up to where the hanging chairs swung over the top of the waterfall. They were newly installed, replacing the ones that had broken suddenly, tossing the screaming occupants down, down to the churning water, to be smashed on the rocks.

That had been one year ago today, and the crowd of mourners was there to remember the loved ones they had lost. Out of respect for the foreign victims the service was held in both Italian and English.

‘Let us remember them at their best—with pride. Let us rejoice in having known them…’

Then it was over. Some of the crowd drifted away, but others remained, still gazing up, trying to picture the tragedy.

Alysa stayed longer than the rest because she couldn’t think what to do or where to go. Something inside her, that had been frozen for a long time, held her prisoner.

A young journalist approached her, microphone extended, speaking Italian.

‘Sono Inglese,’ she said quickly. ‘Non parle Italiano.’

He looked astonished at someone who could deny speaking Italian in such excellent Italian, and she added, ‘Those are all the words I know.’

He switched to English.

‘Can I ask why you are here? Did you lose someone?’

For a wild moment she wanted to cry out, ‘I came here to mourn the man I loved, but who betrayed me, abandoned me and our unborn child, a child he never even knew about, then died with his lover. She had a husband and child, but she deserted them as he deserted me. And I don’t know why I came here except that I couldn’t stay away’.

But she mustn’t say any of that. For a year she’d allowed nobody into her private grief, hiding behind steel doors that were bolted and barred against the world, lest anyone suspect not only her desolation but also her terrible fear that, if she let go, she might never regain control over the torrents of grief and anger.

Let us rejoice in having known them…

‘No, I didn’t lose anyone,’ she said. ‘I’m just curious.’

He was a nice lad. He gave a rueful sigh.

‘So you can’t point anyone out to me? Nobody wants to talk, and the only one I recognise is Drago di Luca.’

She jumped at the name. ‘Is he here?’

‘He’s the man over there, scowling.’

She saw where he pointed. Her first impression of Drago di Luca was of darkness. His hair was dark, and so were his eyes, which mysteriously managed to be piercing at the same time. Yet it wasn’t just a matter of appearance. This darkness was there inside him—in his mind, his heart, even perhaps his soul. Alysa shivered slightly.

His face seemed to be made from angles, with no roundness or softening anywhere. The nose was sharp and distinctive, the mouth and jaw firm, the eyes ferocious, even at this distance. The whole effect was one of hauteur, as though he defied anyone to dare speak to him.

‘You wouldn’t want to get on his wrong side, would you?’ the young man said. ‘Mind you, he’s got a lot to scowl about. His wife died here, and the grapevine says she’d left him for another man.’

It took a moment before Alysa could answer. ‘The grapevine? Doesn’t anyone know for sure?’

‘She was a lawyer, and the official story is that she was on a trip to see clients. If anyone dares to suggest otherwise di Luca comes down on them like a ton of his own bricks. He’s a builder, you see, takes on big projects—new stuff, restoring ancient buildings, that sort of thing.’

She looked again. Di Luca was tall and powerfully built, with broad shoulders and large hands, as though he personally constructed his projects.

‘I can see that people could find him scary,’ she mused.

‘I’ll say. He’s a big man in Florence. Someone suggested that he stand for the council and he laughed. He has all the influence over the council that he needs without spending time in meetings. They say he has the ear of every important person in town, and he pulls strings whenever it suits him. I tried to speak to him earlier and I thought he was going to kill me.’

She took a last look at Drago, and was disconcerted when he seemed to be looking back at her. Impossible, surely? But for a moment the surroundings faded to silence and all she could hear was a call that he seemed to be sending to her.

Stop being fanciful, she told herself.

‘I must be going,’ she told the journalist.

She drifted away, managing to keep Drago di Luca in her sights. She knew his face from a hundred obsessive searches of the internet. James had accidentally let slip that his new lover was called Carlotta. Then he’d clammed up.

Three weeks later the tragedy at the Pinosa Falls, near Florence, in Italy, had hit the headlines and she had learned from a newspaper that he was dead. Going through the list of names, she’d discovered Signora Carlotta di Luca, a young lawyer of great promise. Searching the internet, Alysa had discovered several articles about her, and some photographs.

They’d revealed a dark-haired, vivacious woman—not beautiful, but with a special quality. One picture had showed Carlotta with her husband and child, a little girl about four years old, who bore a strong resemblance to her mother. The man with them had been in his late thirties with a face that Alysa hadn’t been able to read—strong, and blank of emotion.

Was he also a brutal husband whose unkindness had driven his wife into the arms of another man, and so to her death? Seeing him today, she could believe it.

The internet had also contained depictions of the accident that no newspaper would have dared to publish—intimate, shocking pictures taken by mercenary ghouls, showing smashed bodies in terrifying detail. One had showed Carlotta and James, lying dead on the ground. James’s face had been covered with blood, but Alysa had recognised his jacket.

They’d still been in the chair, leaving no doubt that they had travelled together. She’d just been able to make out that in the last moments before death he and Carlotta had thrown themselves into each other’s arms.

Now it was over, she told herself. Ended. Finished. Forget it.

One night, as she’d stared at the computer screen, she’d felt shafts of pain go through her like knives. What had happened then had been too fast for her even to call for help. Stumbling to the bathroom, she’d collapsed on the floor and fainted. When she’d come round, she had lost James’s child.

Afterwards she’d been glad that she hadn’t confided in anybody. Now she could weep in privacy. But the tears hadn’t come. Night after night she’d lain alone in the darkness, staring into nothing, while her heart had turned to stone.

After giving the matter some rational thought she’d decided it was for the best. If she couldn’t cry now she would never cry again, which was surely useful. When you loved nothing, feared nothing, cared for nothing, what was there to worry about?

With that settled, she’d embarked on the transformation of her life. A shopping trip had provided her with a collection of trouser suits, all stunningly fashionable and costly. Next she’d lopped off the extravagant tresses that had marked her earlier existence. The resulting boyish crop was elegant, but she cared little. What counted was that it marked the end of her old life and the start of her new one.

Or just the end of life?

Her face too had changed, but in ways she couldn’t see. It was tense, strained, so that every feature was sharpened in a way that would have been forbidding if her large eyes had not softened her appearance. They were now her main claim to beauty, and more than one man had admired them, only to find them looking right through him.

She’d thrown herself into her career with renewed fervour. Her bosses were impressed. The word ‘partnership’ began to be whispered. A year after James’s death, she should have completely moved on. And yet…

She wandered slowly back to the water and looked up again to the place where James and Carlotta had swung up high, moments before the cable had snapped.

‘Why am I here?’ she asked him. ‘Why haven’t I managed to forget you yet?’

Because he was a ghost who haunted her even now, and in this place she’d planned to exorcise him. Foolish hope.

‘Leave me alone,’ she whispered desperately, closing her eyes. ‘In the name of pity, leave me alone.’

Silence. He wasn’t there, but even his absence had a mocking quality.

Beneath a huge tree a stone had been erected, bearing the names of the dead, with James near the bottom. She knelt and touched his name, feeling the stone cold beneath her fingers. This was as close to him as she would ever be again.

‘Sapevi che lui?’

The voice, coming from behind her, made her turn and find Drago di Luca towering over her, glowering. He looked immense, blotting out the sun, forcing her to see only him.

‘Sono Inglese,’ she said.

‘I asked if you knew the man whose name you touch.’

‘Yes,’ she said defiantly. ‘I knew him.’

‘Well?’ He rapped the word out.

‘Yes, well. Very well. Is that any business of yours?’

‘Everything concerning that man is my business.’

She rose to face him. ‘Because he ran off with your wife?’

She heard his sharp intake of breath and knew that he would have controlled it if he could. His eyes were full of murder. Much like her own, she suspected.

‘If you know that—’ he said slowly.

‘James Franklin was my boyfriend. He left me for a woman called Carlotta.’

‘What else did he tell you about her?’

‘Nothing. He let her name slip, then refused to say any more. But when this happened—’ She shrugged.

‘Yes,’ he said heavily. ‘Then every detail came out for the entertainment of the world.’

The crowd jostled her slightly and she moved away. At once he took her arm, leading her in the direction he chose, as though in no doubt of her compliance.

‘Are you still in love with him?’ he demanded sharply.

Strangely the question didn’t offend her as it would have done from anyone else. Their plight was the same.

‘I don’t know,’ she said simply. ‘How can I be? By now it should be all behind me, and yet—somehow it isn’t.’

He nodded, and the sight gave her an almost eerie feeling, as though she and this stranger were linked by a total understanding that reduced everything else to irrelevance.

‘Is that why you came?’ she asked.

‘Partly. I also came for my daughter’s sake.’

He indicated the child standing a little way off with an elderly woman who was leaning down, talking to her. It was the same child who’d been in the picture, a year older.

As Alysa watched, the two moved across to where the flowers lay, so that the little girl could lay down her posy in tribute. Looking up, she saw her father, and she smiled and began to run towards him, crying, ‘Poppa!’ At once he reached down to pick her up.

Alysa closed her eyes and turned slightly. When she opened her eyes again the child would be out of her sight line. Something was happening inside her, and when it had finished she would be all right. It was a technique she’d perfected months ago, based on computer systems.

It started with ‘power up’ when she got out of bed, then a quick run-through of necessary programs and she was ready to start the day. A liberal use of the ‘delete’ button helped to keep things straight in her head, and if something threatened her with unwanted emotion she hit the ‘standby’ button. As a last resort there was always total shut-down and reboot, but that meant walking away to be completely alone, which could be inconvenient.

Luckily, standby was enough this time, and after a moment she was able to turn back and smile in a way that was almost natural. She could do this as long as she aimed her gaze slightly to the right, so that she wasn’t looking directly at the child.

Drago was absorbed in the little girl, whom he was holding up in his arms. Alysa marvelled at how his face softened as he murmured to his daughter, words she could not catch.

The woman spoke in Italian. Alysa picked up ‘introdurre’, and guessed it meant ‘introduction’.

‘I am Signorina Alysa Dennis,’ she said.

The older woman nodded and switched to English.

‘I am Signora Fantoni, and this is my granddaughter, Tina.’

Tina had been watching Alysa over her father’s shoulder, her eyes bright. Now Drago set her down and she immediately turned to Alysa, holding out her hand, speaking English slowly and carefully.

‘How do you do, signorina?’

‘How do you do?’ Alysa returned.

‘We came here because of my mother,’ the child said, like a wise little old woman. ‘Did you know someone who died?’

Beside her, Alysa heard Drago give a sharp intake of breath, and her heightened sensitivity told her everything.

‘Yes, I did,’ she said.

Incredibly she felt a little hand creep into hers, comforting her.

‘Was it someone you loved very much?’ Tina asked softly.

‘Yes, but—forgive me if I don’t tell you any more. I can’t, you see.’

Without looking at Drago, she sensed him relax. He’d been afraid of what she might say in front of his little girl.

Tina nodded to show that she understood, and her hand tightened on Alysa’s.

‘It’s time to go home,’ Drago said.

‘Yes, I’ll be leaving too,’ Alysa agreed.

‘No!’ Drago rapped out the word so sharply that they stared at him. ‘I mean,’ he amended quickly, ‘I would like you to join us tonight, for supper.’

His mother-in-law frowned. ‘Surely a family occasion—’

‘We all belong to the same family of mourners,’ Drago said. ‘Signorina, you will dine with us. I won’t take no for an answer.’

He meant it, she could tell.

Drago stroked his daughter’s hair. ‘Go ahead to the car with your grandmother.’

Signora Fantoni glared, silently informing him of her disapproval, but he ignored her and she was forced to yield, taking Tina’s hand and turning away.

‘Poppa,’ Tina said, suddenly fearful. ‘You will come, won’t you?’

‘I promise,’ he said gently.

Relieved, she trotted away with her grandmother.

‘Since her mother died she’s sometimes nervous in case I vanish too,’ he said heavily.

‘Poor little mite. How does she bear it?’

‘With great pain. She adored her mother. Thank you with all my heart for guarding your words. I should have warned you, but she came to us so suddenly there was no time.’

‘Of course I was careful. I guessed you hadn’t told her very much.’

‘Nothing. She has no idea that Carlotta had left us. She thinks her mamma had to go away to visit clients, and was on her way home when she stopped off at the waterfall. If she hadn’t died, she would have been home next day. That’s what Tina believes, and what I want her to believe, at least until she’s older.’

‘Many mothers would have taken their child with them,’ Alysa mused.

‘Yes, but she abandoned hers, and that’s what I don’t want Tina to know. Even my mother-in-law has no idea. She too thinks Carlotta was on a business trip and meant to return. Why should I hurt her with the truth?’

‘No reason, so it’s better if I don’t dine with you.’

‘Not at all. I trust you. You’ve already proved that I can do so. You understood everything at once. Shall we go now?’

But suddenly Alysa’s alarm bells were ringing. This man was dangerous to her precarious peace. How dared he take her consent for granted? She should run away fast, take the next plane back to England and safety.

‘Look, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But I never agreed to this. I have to go home.’

‘Not before we’ve talked,’ he said firmly.

Her anger rose.

‘Don’t try to give me orders,’ she flashed. ‘We’ve only just met, and you think you can dictate to me? Well, you can’t. I’m going.’

She tried to turn away but he gripped her arm.

‘How dare you?’ she snapped. ‘Let me go at once.’

He gave no sign of obeying her demand.

‘Only just met,’ he scoffed. ‘You know better than that.’

She did, and it was like a blow to the heart. They had known each other only a few minutes, yet their shared knowledge gave them a painful intimacy, isolating them together, facing the whole world on the far side of a glass barrier.

‘When you saw me across the water,’ he grated, ‘you knew who I was, didn’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘How?’

‘I researched your wife on the internet, and you were part of what I found. Somehow I just had to find out about the woman James left me for.’

‘Yes, you had to find out. I felt the same, but for me there was no way to do it. I knew nothing about the man she went away with, except his name, and that led nowhere. You’ve been able to answer some of your questions, but can you begin to imagine what it’s like for me, never to be able to find a single answer?

‘In there—’ he stabbed his own forehead ‘—there’s a black hole that I’ve lived with for a year. It’s been like standing at the entrance to the pit of hell, but I can’t see what’s there.’

‘Do you think I don’t know what that’s like?’

‘No, you don’t know what it’s like,’ he raged. ‘Because the torment springs from ignorance, and you’ve managed to deal with your ignorance. But I’ve lived with mine for a year and it’s driving me crazy.’ He shuddered then seemed to control himself by force. ‘You’re the one person who can free me from that horror, and if you imagine that I’m going to let you go without—without—’

It was harsh, almost bullying, but beneath the surface she could feel the desperate anguish that possessed him, and her anger died. So he was illmannered—so what? When a man saw his last hope fading, he would do anything to prevent it.

Slowly his hold on her arm was released. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Please! You and I must talk. You know that, don’t you? You know that we must?’

She’d fought his bullying, but his plea softened her.

‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘We must.’

Why should she flee? There was no safety anywhere, and in her heart she knew that this was why she had come here—to meet this man, and learn from him all the things she didn’t really want to know.

‘Come on, then.’

‘Only if you let me go. I’ve said I’ll come with you, and I’ll keep my word, but if you continue to try to push me the deal’s off.’

Reluctantly he released her, but he watched closely, as though ready to pounce if she made a wrong move. His nervous tension reached her as nothing else could have, softening her anger. Wasn’t his state as desperate as her own?

His limousine was waiting for them, chauffeur in the driving seat. But Tina and her grandmother were standing outside, watching for his return, the little girl bouncing as soon as she saw him.

‘I suggest you sit in the front,’ Drago told the woman, and she did as he wanted, leaving him to open the rear door for Alysa and join her with Tina.

‘The drive will take about an hour,’ Drago said. ‘We live just outside Florence. Where are you staying?’

She named a hotel in the centre of town, and he nodded. ‘I know it. I’ll drive you back there later tonight.’

She spent most of the journey looking out of the window as the land flattened out and Florence came into view. Once she glanced at Drago, but he didn’t see her. All his attention was for the little girl nestling contentedly against him, as though he was all her world. Which was true, Alysa thought. She wondered how he coped with the child’s heartbreaking resemblance to her dead mother.

At that moment Tina opened her eyes and smiled up at her father. His answering smile made Alysa look away. She had no right to see that unguarded look. It was for his child alone.

But it was the little girl’s adoring face that lingered in her mind, and instinctively she laid a hand over her stomach, thinking of what might have been.

Now they were driving through the city and out again, taking a country road leading to a village, then turning into a lane lined with poplar trees. After half a mile the house came into view, a huge, gracious three-storeyed villa stretching wide, surrounded by elegant grounds.

She knew little of Italian architecture, but even so she could tell that the building was several-hundred years old and in fine condition, as though Drago, the builder and restorer, had lavished his best gifts on his home.

The entrance to the house lay through an arched corridor where the walls were inlaid with mosaics, and the ceiling adorned with paintings. At first sight it was so impressive as to be almost forbidding, but as they went deeper inside the atmosphere became more homely, until finally they came to a large drawing-room where Alysa gasped.

Everywhere she saw Carlotta’s face. On one table stood a huge picture of her alone, while on the next table another picture showed her with Tina in her arms. The next one showed mother, father and child together. Various other pictures were dotted around the room, plus souvenirs, as Tina eagerly explained to her.

‘That was Mamma’s medal for winning a race at school,’ she said.

‘My wife was a fast runner,’ Drago explained. ‘We always used to say that she could have been an athlete if she hadn’t preferred to be a lawyer.’

‘She could run faster than anyone, couldn’t she, Poppa?’

Alysa saw Drago’s suddenly tense face, and realised how cruelly double-edged this remark would seem to him. But he gave his child a broad smile, saying, ‘That’s true. Mamma was better at everything,’ he said with a fair pretence of heartiness. ‘Now, we must entertain our guest.’

Tina set herself to do this, the perfect little hostess. If she hadn’t been functioning on automatic, Alysa knew she would have found her enchanting, for Tina was intelligent and gentle. When supper was served she conducted her guest to the table, and in her honour she spoke English, of which she had a good grasp.

‘How do you speak my language so well?’ Alysa asked, for something to say.

‘Mamma taught me. She was bi—bi—’

‘Bilingual,’ Drago supplied. ‘Some of her clients were English, as are some of mine. We’re all bilingual in this family. Tina learned both languages side by side.’

‘Do you speak Italian?’ Tina asked her.

‘Not really,’ Alysa said, concentrating on her food so that she didn’t have to meet the innocent eyes that were turned on her. ‘I learned a little when I was researching someone on the internet.’

‘An Italian someone?’

‘Er—yes.’

‘Was that someone there today?’

‘No.’

‘Are you going to see them tomorrow?’

Her hand tightened on her fork. ‘No, I’m not.’

‘Will you—?’

‘Tina,’ Drago broke in gently. ‘Don’t be nosey. It isn’t polite.’

‘Sorry,’ Tina said with an air of meekness that didn’t fool Alysa. Even hidden away inside herself as she was, Alysa could see the enchanting curiosity in the little girl’s eyes, and understood why Drago was determined to protect her at any cost to himself.

That’s how I would feel, she thought, if I had a—She blanked the rest out, and fixed her attention on drinking her coffee.


CHAPTER TWO

FOR the rest of the meal Alysa forced herself to act the part of the ideal guest, assuring herself that it was no different from concentrating on a client. You just had to focus, something she was good at.

She became sharply aware of tensions at the table, especially between Drago and his mother-in-law, whom he always addressed as ‘Elena’. For her part she looked at him as little as possible, and talked determinedly about Carlotta, who had, apparently, been a perfect daughter, mother and wife. Drago had spoken truly when he’d said his mother-in-law had no idea of the truth—or, if she had, she’d rejected it in favour of a more bearable explanation.

‘My daughter’s clients had no consideration, Signorina Dennis,’ she proclaimed. ‘If they had not insisted on her travelling to see them, instead of coming to her as they ought to have done, then she would have been alive now.’

‘Let’s leave that,’ Drago interrupted quickly. ‘I would rather Tina forgot those thoughts tonight.’

‘How can she forget them after where we have been today? And tomorrow we go to the cemetery…’

Alysa saw Tina’s lips press together, as though she were trying not to cry. She put out her hand and felt it instantly enclosed in a tiny one. The little girl gave her a shaky smile, which Alysa returned—equally shakily, she suspected.

This was proving harder than she had expected, and the most difficult part was still to come.

When supper was over Elena said, ‘You’re looking sleepy, little one, and we have another big day tomorrow. Time for bed.’

She held out her hand and Tina took it obediently, but she turned to her father to say, ‘Will you come up and kiss me goodnight, Poppa?’

‘Not tonight,’ her grandmother said at once. ‘Your father is busy.’

‘I’ll come up with you now,’ Drago said at once.

‘There’s no need,’ the woman assured him loftily. ‘I can take care of her, and you should attend to your guest.’

‘I’ll be perfectly all right here for a while,’ Alysa said. ‘You go with Tina.’

Drago threw her a look of gratitude, and followed the others out.

While he was gone Alysa looked around the room, going from one photograph to another, seeing Carlotta in every mood. One picture showed her with a dazzling smile, and Alysa lifted it, wondering if this was the smile James had seen and adored. Did her husband still look on this picture with love?

She heard a step, and the next moment he was in the room, his mouth twisting as he saw what she was holding.

‘Let’s go into my study,’ he said harshly. ‘Where I don’t have to look at her.’

His study was a total contrast—neat, austere, functional, with not a picture in sight. After the room they had just left, it was like walking from summer into winter, a feeling Alysa recognised.

The modern steel desk held several machines, one of which was a computer, and others which were unknown to her, but she was sure they were the latest in technology.

He poured them both a glass of wine and waved her to a chair, but then said nothing. She could sense his unease.

‘I’m sorry you were kept waiting,’ he said at last.

‘You were right to go. I get the feeling that Tina’s grandmother is a little possessive about her.’

‘More than a little,’ he said, grimacing. ‘I can’t blame her. She’s old and lonely. Her other daughter lives in Rome, with her husband and children, and she doesn’t see them very often. Carlotta was her favourite, and her death hit Elena very hard. I suspect that she’d like to move in here, but she can’t, because her husband is an invalid and needs her at home. So she makes up for it by descending on us whenever she can.’

‘How would you feel about her moving in?’

‘Appalled. I pity her, but I can’t get on with her. She keeps trying to give my housekeeper instructions that contradict mine. Ah, well, she’ll ease up after a while.’

‘Will she? Are you sure?’

He shot her a sharp look. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I mean the way she tried to stop you going upstairs to kiss Tina goodnight. Tina needs you, and Elena wanted to keep you away. Are you sure she isn’t trying to make a takeover bid?’

‘You mean—?’

‘Might she not try to take her away from you—for good?’

He stared. ‘Surely not? Even Elena wouldn’t—’ He broke off, evidently shocked. ‘My God!’

‘Maybe I’m being overly suspicious,’ Alysa said. ‘But during supper I noticed several times, when you spoke to Tina, Elena rushed to answer on her behalf. But Tina doesn’t need anyone to speak for her. She’s a very bright little girl.’

‘Yes, she is, isn’t she?’ he said, gratified. ‘I noticed Elena’s interruptions too, but I guess I didn’t read enough into them.’ He grimaced. ‘Now I think of it, Elena keeps telling me that a child needs a woman’s care. It just seemed a general remark, but maybe…’

He threw himself into a chair, frowning.

‘You saw it and I didn’t. Thank you.’

‘Don’t let her take Tina away from you.’

‘Not in a million years. But it’s hard for me to fight her when she’s so subtle. I manage well enough with everyone else, but with her the words won’t come. I’m so conscious that she’s Tina’s grandmother—plus the fact that she’s never liked me.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m not good enough,’ he said wryly. ‘Her family have some vaguely aristocratic connections, and she always wanted Carlotta to marry a title. My father owned a builder’s yard—a very prosperous one, but he was definitely a working man. So was I. So am I, still.’

‘But your name—di Luca—isn’t that aristocratic?’

‘Not a bit. It just means “son of Luca”. It was started by my great-grandfather, who seems to have thought it would take him up in the world. It didn’t, of course. They say his neighbours roared with laughter. What took us up in the world was my father working night and day to build the business into a success, until he ended in an early grave.

‘I took over and built it up even more, until it was making money fast, but in Elena’s eyes I was still a jumped-up nobody, aspiring to a woman who was socially far above him.’

‘It sounds pure nineteenth-century.’

‘True. It comes from another age, but so does Elena. She actually found a man with a title and tried to get Carlotta to marry him. When that didn’t work, she told me that Carlotta was engaged to the other man. I didn’t believe her and told her so. She was furious.’

‘So you really had to fight for Carlotta?’

‘There was never any doubt about the outcome. As soon as I saw her, I knew she was mine.’

‘Was’, not ‘would be’, Alysa noted.

‘How did you meet?’ she asked.

‘In a courtroom. She’d just qualified as a lawyer and it was her first case. I was a witness, and when she questioned me I kept “misunderstanding” the questions, so that I could keep her there as long as possible. Afterwards I waited for her outside. She was expecting me. We both knew.’

‘Love at first sight?’

‘Yes. It knocked me sideways. She was beautiful, funny, glowing—everything I wanted but hadn’t known that I wanted. There had been women before, but they meant nothing beside her. I knew that at once. She knew as well. So when Elena opposed us it just drove us into an elopement.’

‘Good for you!’

‘Elena has never really forgiven me. It was actually Carlotta’s idea, but she won’t believe that. She never really understood her own daughter—how adventurous Carlotta was, how determined to do things her own way—’

He stopped. He’d gone suddenly pale.

‘How did you manage the elopement?’ Alysa asked, to break the silence.

‘I’d bought a little villa in the mountains. We escaped there, married in the local church and spent two weeks without seeing another soul. Then we went home and told Elena we were married.’

‘Hadn’t she suspected anything?’

‘She’d thought Carlotta was on a legal course. To stop her getting suspicious, Carlotta called her every night, using her mobile phone, and talked for a long time.’

So Carlotta had been clever at deception, Alysa thought. She hadn’t only been able to think up a lie, she’d been able to elaborate it night after night, a feat which had taken some concentration. The first hints had been there years ago. In his happiness Drago hadn’t understood. She wondered if he understood now.

He’d turned his back on her to stare out of the window into the darkness.

Images were beginning to flicker through Alysa’s brain. She could see the honeymooners, gloriously isolated in their mountain retreat. There was Drago as he must have been then: younger, shining with love, missing all the danger signals.

Suddenly he turned back and made a swift movement to his desk, unlocking one of the drawers and hauling out a large book, which he thrust almost violently towards her. Then he resumed his stance at the window.

It was a photo album, filled with large coloured pictures, showing a wedding at a tiny church. There was the young bride and groom, emerging from the porch hand in hand, laughing with joy because they had secured their happiness for ever.

Carlotta was dazzling. Alysa could easily believe that Drago had fallen for her in the first moment. And James? Had he too been lost in the first moment?

She closed the book and clasped it to her, arms crossed, rocking back and forth, trying to quell the storm within. She’d coped with this—defeated it, survived it. There was no way she would let it beat her now.

She felt Drago’s hands on her shoulders.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said heavily. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’

‘Why not?’ she said, raising her head. ‘I’m over it all now.’

‘You don’t get over it,’ he said softly. She turned away, but he shook her gently. ‘Look at me.’

Reluctantly she did so, and he brushed his fingertips over her cheeks.

‘It was thoughtless of me to show you this and make you cry.’

‘I’m not crying,’ she said firmly. ‘I never cry.’

‘You say that as if you were proud of it.’

‘Why not? I’m getting on with my life, not living in the past. It’s different for you because you have Tina, and the home you shared with your wife. You can’t escape the past, but I can. And I have.’

He moved away from her.

‘Maybe you have,’ he agreed. ‘But are you sure you took the best route out of it?’

‘What the devil do you mean?’

‘“Devil” is right,’ he said with grim humour. ‘I think it must have been the devil who told you to survive by pretending that you weren’t a woman at all.’

‘What?’

‘You crop your hair close, dress like a man—’ She sprang to her feet and confronted him.

‘And you call Elena nineteenth-century! You may not have heard of it, but women have been wearing trousers for years.’

‘Sure, but you’re not trying to assert your independence, you’re trying to turn yourself into a neutered creature without a woman’s heart or a woman’s feelings.’

‘How dare you?’ She began to pace the room, back and forth, clenching her fists.

‘Maybe it’s the only way you can cope,’ Drago said. ‘We all have to find our own way. But have you ever wondered if you’re damaging yourself inside?’

‘You couldn’t be more wrong. I cope by self-control, because that’s what works for me. Without it I might have cracked up, and I wouldn’t let that happen. So I don’t cry. So what? Do you cry?’

‘Not as much as I used to,’ he said quietly.

The answer stopped her in her tracks. It was the last thing she’d expected him to say.

‘The emotions and urges are there for men as well as women,’ he added.

‘Maybe you can afford to give in to them,’ she snapped. ‘I can’t. This is how I manage, and it works fine. I’m over it, it’s finished, past, done with.’

‘Do you know how often you say that?’ he demanded, becoming angry in his turn. ‘Just a little too often.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning that I think you’re trying to convince yourself—say it enough and you might start to believe it.’

‘I say it because it’s true.’

‘Then what were you doing at the waterfall today? Don’t try to fool me as you fool yourself. If it was really finished, you’d never have come here.’

‘All right, I wanted to tie up a few loose ends. Maybe I needed to find out the last details, just to close the book finally. It troubles me a little, but it doesn’t dominate me, and it hasn’t destroyed me because I won’t let it.’

But she heard the shrill edge to her own voice, and knew that she was merely confirming his suspicion. He was actually regarding her with pity, and that was intolerable.

‘Stop pacing like that,’ he said, taking hold of her with surprisingly gentle hands. ‘You’ll fall over something and hurt yourself.’

She stood, breathing hard, trying to regain her self-control. She wanted to push him away, but the strength seemed to have drained out of her. Besides, there was something comforting about the hands that held her: big, powerful hands that could lift a stone or console a child.

‘Sit down,’ he said quietly, urging her back to the chair. ‘You’re shaking.’

After a few deep breaths she said, ‘Aren’t we forgetting why I’m here? You wanted me to fill in the gaps in your knowledge, and I’ll do it, but my feelings are none of your business. Off-limits. Do you understand?’

He nodded. ‘Of course.’ He managed a faint smile. ‘I told you that Elena thinks I’m a mannerless oaf, without subtlety or finesse, going through life like a steamroller. I dare say by now you agree with her.’

She shrugged. ‘Not really. You said yourself, we all find our own way of coping. Yours is different to mine, but to hell with me! To hell with the rest of the world. If it works for you…’

‘My way no more works for me than yours works for you,’ he said quietly. ‘But with your help I might find a little peace of mind. I’m afraid my manners deserted me earlier today.’

‘You’re referring to the way you kidnapped me?’

‘I wouldn’t exactly say— Yes, I suppose I did. I apologise.’

‘Now that I’m here,’ she said wryly.

‘Yes, it’s easy to apologise when I’ve got my own way,’ he agreed with a touch of ruefulness. ‘That’s how I am. Too late to change now. And if you can tell me anything…’

‘Are you sure you want to know? Learning the details doesn’t make it any easier. If anything it hurts more.’

He nodded as if he’d already thought of this.

‘Even so, I’ve got to pursue it,’ he said. ‘You of all people should understand that.’

‘You really know nothing about James?’

‘Carlotta rented a small apartment in Florence, but it was in her name with no mention of him on the paperwork. I went over there and found enough to tell me that her lover was called James Franklin, but that was all.’

‘No other address?’

‘One in London, in Dalkirk Street, but he’d left it shortly before.’

‘Yes, that was where he lived when I knew him. Did you discover when the Florence apartment was rented?’

‘September.’

‘So soon after they met,’ she murmured.

‘That was my thought too. Their affair must have started almost at once, and the first thing she did was hunt for a love nest. I found it looking oddly bare—very little personal stuff, almost like a hotel room. I suppose they spent all their time in bed.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed huskily. ‘I suppose so. But surely he must have brought some things with him from England?’

‘It’s a very tiny apartment. They were probably looking for something larger.’

‘And his things would be stored in England until he was ready to send for them,’ Alysa said. ‘Only he never had the chance. I wonder what became of them?’ She gave a sigh. ‘Oh well!’

‘I couldn’t find anything on the internet about him. What did he do for a living?’

‘Nothing for the last few months. He used to work in a big city institution—that’s how we met. I’m an accountant and they hired me. He hated the job—being regimented, he called it. Then he came into some money and he said he was going to fulfil his real ambition to be a photographer. He left the job, bought lots of expensive equipment and started taking pictures everywhere, including several trips abroad. He asked me to go with him, and I promised I would when I could get some time off.

‘But that never seemed to happen. I should have gone with him to Florence, but at the last minute I couldn’t get away. I had several new clients.’

‘And they mattered more than your lover?’ Drago asked curiously.

‘That’s what he said. He said I couldn’t even spare him a few days. But I’d worked so hard to get where I was—I knew he didn’t really understand, but I never imagined—I thought James and I were rock-solid, you see.’

He didn’t reply, and his very silence had a tactful quality that was painful.

‘I should have gone with him,’ she said at last. ‘Maybe no love is as solid as that. So he came to Florence without me, and that’s probably when he met Carlotta.’

The picture show had started again in her head, and she watched James’s return to England, herself meeting him at the airport although he’d told her there was no need.

Now she noticed things she’d missed at the time: the slight impatience in his face when he saw her, showing that he really hadn’t wanted her there. Nor had he been pleased when she accompanied him to his apartment, although he’d cloaked his reluctance in concern for her.

‘Shouldn’t you be at work? They won’t like it if you take too much time off.’

Laughing, she’d brushed this aside.

‘I told them I wasn’t going back today. When we get home, I’m going to cook you supper, and then… And then, anything you want, my darling.’

‘So today your time’s all mine?’ he’d asked.

Had she been insane to have missed the note of irony?

‘When we met at the airport he wasn’t pleased to see me,’ she murmured now, to Drago. ‘Of course he wasn’t. He’d met her, and his heart and his thoughts were full of her. The last thing he wanted was me. He tried to dissuade me from going home with him.’

‘Did you go anyway?’ Drago asked.

‘Oh yes. I was that stupid. I tried to take him to bed, and believed him when he said he was too tired after the journey. I didn’t even get the message when he wouldn’t let me help him unpack.’

‘We can be frighteningly blind when we don’t realise that things have changed for ever,’ Drago said quietly. ‘And perhaps we fight against that realisation, because we’re fighting for our lives.’

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Yes.’

James had put his suitcases in the wardrobe, insisting that he would unpack them later. There had been no need for her to worry herself. But he’d kept out the bag where he kept his cameras.

‘I’m dying to see the pictures you’ve taken,’ she’d said, opening the side of one of them, ready to take out the little card that fitted into the computer.

It had been gone.

‘I’ve removed them all,’ he’d said quickly. ‘If anything happens to the cameras on the journey, at least I’ve got the cards.’

‘But you always keep the cameras with you. You’ve never bothered taking the cards out before.’

He’d shrugged.

It was obvious now that the cards had been full of pictures of Carlotta, and he’d made sure she wouldn’t see them.

Reaching into the bag, she’d found a small metal object, which she’d drawn out and studied curiously. It was a padlock, but unlike any padlock she’d ever seen, with tiny pictures on each side. One side had showed a heart, and the other side depicted two hands clasped. The shapes had been studded with tiny, gleaming stones that had looked as though they might be diamonds.

‘How charming,’ she’d said.

‘Yes, isn’t it?’ he’d said heartily. ‘I thought you’d like it.’

‘Is it for me?’

‘Of course.’

She’d felt for the key in the rucksack. Then she’d smiled at him, all fears removed.

‘I shall keep you padlocked in my heart,’ she’d told him. ‘See?’

But the key hadn’t fitted into the lock.

‘Sorry,’ he’d said. ‘It must be the wrong one. I’ll sort it out later.’ He’d kissed her cheek. ‘Now I’m going to collapse into bed. I’ll call you in the morning.’

That memory returned to her now, but she didn’t mention it to Drago, because she didn’t know what it meant. James had never given her the right key, and had taken back the padlock in the end.

‘When did this happen?’ Drago asked.

‘About September.’

He nodded. ‘Yes, I remember Carlotta suddenly started spending a lot of time away from home. She was gone for a whole week in September, then she was at home for a while. There were weekends, then another week in November. I found out afterwards that she’d spent that week in England.’

‘The tenth to the seventeenth?’ Alysa asked, dazed.

‘Was he away then?’

‘He said he was. He said he was going to drive north and get pictures of some wild scenery, immerse himself in the landscape, talk to nobody, even me. I tried to call him once but his phone was switched off. Then someone mentioned seeing him near his home in London. I said they were mistaken, but I guess they weren’t. He must have spent the week at home—with her.’

‘She was more shrewd than him,’ Drago said. ‘She never turned her mobile phone off. She used to call me every day and talk as though all was well with us.’ He drew a sudden, sharp breath.

‘Just like the other time, when you eloped,’ Alysa said, reading his mind.

‘Yes, just like then. It’s so easy to see it now.’

‘Did you never suspect anything?’

‘No. I trusted her totally. I went on being blind right up until the moment when she told me she was in love with someone else, and was leaving me for him. And do you want to hear something really funny? I didn’t believe her. I thought it wasn’t possible. Not my Carlotta, who’d been so close to me that she was like a second self. Only I’d been deluding myself. There was no second self. I’d been alone all the time and never known it.’

‘You felt that too?’ she asked quickly. ‘That’s it exactly—as though you’d imagined everything. And suddenly the whole world seems full of ghosts.’

‘And you feel as though you’re going mad,’ he confirmed. ‘In a strange way, my other self is you. I can say things to you that I could say to nobody else, and know that you’ll understand them.’

‘And even the words don’t always have to be said,’ she mused. ‘It’s a bit scary. To me, anyway.’

‘You think I’m not scared?’ he asked with grim humour. ‘Do I do that good a job of hiding it?’

‘Not really. Not from me.’

‘Exactly,’ he said in a quiet voice.

She had a fatalistic sense that she was being drawn onwards by powers too strong for her. She’d neither wanted nor sought this alliance, but there was no escaping it.


CHAPTER THREE

‘HOW did you find out?’ he asked.

‘I suppose the first hint was at Christmas, although I didn’t see it. We were going to spend the time together, and I got everything ready—tree, decorations, new dress.’ She gave him a faint smile of complicity, as if to say, ‘I do wear them sometimes’. He nodded, understanding.

‘Then he rang to say he wouldn’t be coming. A friend had suffered a tragedy and was suicidal. James didn’t want to leave him. It sounds a weak story now, but it might have been true. At any rate, I trusted him. I suppose you think that sounds stupid.’

Drago shook his head. ‘My own credulity strikes me as stupid, not yours. There’s no limit to what we can believe when we want to believe.’

‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘And I wanted so much to believe.’

She still couldn’t bear to speak of her dead child, but unconsciously she laid a hand over her stomach. Drago, watching her, frowned slightly, and a sudden question came into his eyes.

‘How long was he away?’ he asked.

‘Until the first week in January. I guess he came here and spent time with Carlotta, but she couldn’t have seen much of him at Christmas.’

‘She was with us on Christmas Day, but the rest of the time she did a lot of coming and going. In Italy we also have another big occasion—Epiphany, January sixth, when we celebrate the coming of the three wise men. Carlotta was there for Epiphany—loving mother, loving wife—’ He broke off.

After a moment he resumed. ‘She played her part beautifully. When it was over Tina left with her grandmother to visit Carlotta’s sister and her family. Elena wanted her to go too, but Carlotta said she wanted to stay with me, that we needed some time together. I think that was one of the happiest moments of my life. I’d seen so little of her, and I was overjoyed that she wanted to be with me.

‘But as soon as we were alone she said she was leaving me for another man, and there was no point in discussing it. I’d never heard her sound so much like a lawyer.

‘I reminded her that she was a mother, but it was like talking to a brick wall. She knew what she wanted, and nothing else counted. I said I wouldn’t let her take my daughter. I thought that would make her stop and think. But I discovered that she’d never meant to take Tina.’

‘Would you have taken her back?’ Alysa asked curiously. ‘Knowing that she’d been unfaithful?’

‘It would never have been the same between us,’ he said sombrely. ‘But, for Tina’s sake, I would have tried.’

After that there was silence for a while. Drago got up and poured a couple more glasses of wine, handed her one and sat down again.

‘I began to realise that I’d never really known her,’ he said. ‘She seemed not to understand what she was doing to other people, or care. She kept saying, “We’ve had a lovely Epiphany. Tina will have that to remember”.’

Alysa winced. ‘She really thought that would be enough?’

‘She seemed to. She said she’d come and see Tina sometimes, as though that settled it. Then she left. When Tina came home I told her that Mamma was away on business, because I still hoped she’d come back, and Tina need never know the truth. But then Carlotta died, and how could I tell her then?’

‘You couldn’t, of course. But can you keep it a secret for ever? Suppose she hears it from someone else?’

‘I know. Maybe one day, when she’s old enough to cope, but not yet.’

‘I can’t understand why she didn’t want her daughter.’

‘Neither can I. Carlotta kept saying we had to be realistic— Why, what’s the matter?’

Alysa had turned and stared at him. ‘She actually used that word—realistic?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘Because James used it too,’ she said, beginning to laugh mirthlessly. ‘When he came home in January he called me to meet him at a restaurant. He kept it short, just said he’d met someone else. He said it hadn’t been working out for us, and we had to be “realistic”. Then he called for the bill, we said goodbye and I never saw him again.’

‘Like a guillotine descending,’ Drago said slowly.

‘Yes, that describes it perfectly,’ she said, much struck. ‘And when the blade had descended it stayed there, so that I couldn’t look back beyond it. I knew the past had happened, but suddenly I couldn’t see it any more. And when I finally did, it looked different.’

‘Oh yes,’ he murmured. ‘It’s exactly like that. And you never heard from him? Not a postcard or a phone call to see if you were all right?’

‘His lawyer called me to say James had left some things with me and wanted them back. I packed them up in a box and someone from the lawyer’s office collected them.’

Drago said something violent in a language she didn’t understand.

‘What does that mean?’ she asked. ‘It didn’t sound like Italian.’

‘It’s Tuscan dialect, and I won’t offend your ears by translating.’

‘Sounds like some of the things I said in those days.’

‘You told Tina that you’d learned a little Italian by researching online. Was that—?’

‘Yes. When I was trying to find out about Carlotta I discovered a lot of stuff in Italian newspapers. The computer translated it, but very badly, so I got an Italian dictionary. I worked on it night after night and I suppose I went a bit mad.’ She gave a short, harsh laugh, turning to the mirror on the wall. ‘Look at me.’

In the dim light the mirror made her eyes seem larger than ever in her delicate face. They were burning and haunted.

‘Those eyes belong behind bars,’ she murmured.

‘Stop that!’ His voice crashed into her brooding thoughts, making her jump. ‘Stop that right now!’ he commanded. ‘Don’t put yourself down. It’s the way to hell.’

‘It’s a bit late for that.’

‘All the more need to be strong.’

‘Why?’ she shouted. ‘Sometimes I’m tired of being strong. I’ve spent the last year working at that—hiding my feelings, never letting anyone suspect.’

‘And what’s inside you now?’

‘Nothing, but that’s fine. I can cope with “nothing”. Don’t dare to judge me. What do you think you know about me?’

‘I know you’re a steely accountant, but as a woman you’re settling for a narrow life because you think you’ll be safe. But you won’t. It’s just another kind of hell.’

‘Look, I came here to help you—’

‘But maybe you need my help too.’

‘I don’t.’

Instead of arguing, he shrugged and said, ‘Let’s get some coffee.’

He led her into the kitchen, a shining temple to the latest hi-tech cooking equipment, incongruous against the rest of the house. In a moment he had the coffee perking, and brought some spicy rolls out of the cupboard. He’d made the right move. Alysa felt herself growing calmer as she ate and drank.

‘Thank you,’ she said as he refilled her cup. ‘I don’t normally lose my temper.’

‘Tonight’s been hard on you,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t really have put you through it, but I’m clutching at straws.’

‘We all do what we must to survive. I was never going to let this get the better of me.’

‘But you’ve paid a price.’

‘Yes, all right, I have. There’s always a price to be paid, but anything’s better than giving in.’

‘You’re a very strong person. I admire that. I’ve often felt it was getting the better of me.’

‘Did you mean what you said about crying?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘I meant it. What about you? You said you never cried.’

‘I can’t. And, if I could, I wouldn’t.’

‘How did you get to be so strong?’

‘Through my mother. When I was fifteen my father walked out on us, and it finished her. She never recovered. I can still hear her sobbing, night after night. Three years later she died of a heart attack. She had no strength to fight it.’

‘Poor soul.’

‘Yes, and you know why she went under? Because my father was all she had. She was an actress before she met him—a good one, people said. But she had to choose, and she chose him. She wouldn’t take jobs that took her away from him, and in the end the offers stopped coming. She became a barmaid, a shop assistant, any number of dead-end jobs. He left her with nothing. That’s where I’m different. When I lost James, I didn’t lose everything.’

He gave her a quick look and seemed about to speak, but thought better of it and poured some more coffee.

‘Did your father stay in touch?’ he asked at last.

‘He contacted me after she died, said he thought we could repair the past. I told him to get out of my sight and never come back. And he did. I’ll never forgive him for what he did to my mother, and I’ll never let myself go under as she did.’

He nodded slowly. ‘And you have no other family?’

‘My mother has a couple of sisters, but they more or less deserted her when she hit the bad times. I suppose they couldn’t cope with her depression, and perhaps I ought to be understanding, but they weren’t there when she needed them.’

‘Maybe it would have made no difference,’ he mused. ‘Other people can’t always help, unless it’s exactly the right person. And you may never meet that person.’

‘You sound as though you had a lot of experience with the wrong ones.’

‘One or two. It wasn’t their fault. They tried to sympathise over her death, not knowing that the real grief lay elsewhere.’

‘How did you hear that Carlotta was dead?’

‘From the press. Somebody recognised her body and called me. I don’t recall exactly what I said, but I think I recited the line about her being away to visit clients. If I did, I was on automatic. Then there were more calls, as the press began to sniff something out.’

‘How ghastly!’ she said in genuine sympathy.

‘I think I went off my head for a while. I was in a rage—I can be really unpleasant.’ He gave a faint, self-mocking smile. ‘Though you might not believe that.’

‘I’ll try,’ she said lightly. ‘Did you actually hit anyone?’

‘There was one moment with an editor—but he gave as good as he got. Then I told him if he slandered my wife I’d have his paper closed down.’

‘Could you do that?’ Alysa asked, remembering what the young journalist had told her.

‘Who knows? I’d have had a good try. But he believed it, and that was all I needed. Are you shocked?’

‘No. I’ve done that too. Not the punch-up, but making the other side think you’re stronger than you are. It’s very useful. What about the rest of the press? Did you have to get tough with them?’

‘No need. The word got around, and after that nobody would challenge me.’ He regarded her satirically. ‘I dare say your reputation goes ahead of you as well?’

‘Well, I’m in line for a partnership.’ She too became self-mocking to say, ‘So there are some advantages to renouncing my femininity.’

‘Look, I shouldn’t have said that. Will you please forget it?’

‘Of course.’ But it had struck home, and Alysa knew she wasn’t going to forget any time soon.

‘What about you?’ Drago asked. ‘How did you hear?’

‘I got a call from Anthony Hoskins, James’s lawyer. He said he’d been contacted by a man who wouldn’t say who he was, but was asking about James.’

‘That was me. I found a letter from Hoskins in their apartment. I didn’t get anywhere talking to him, so I simply passed his name on to the undertakers.’

‘They called Hoskins too, and he called me again,’ Alysa remembered. ‘He said they wanted burial instructions. James had no family.’

‘What did you tell them to do about the burial?’

‘Nothing. I was in a dreadful state, so I said I didn’t know him and put the phone down. I never heard any more. I don’t know what happened to his body.’

‘I can tell you that. He’s near the Church of All Angels, the same place where Carlotta is buried. There’s going to be a ceremony there tomorrow.’

‘I didn’t know. I only discovered about today’s gathering by accident online. There was no mention of anything else. Do you go to the cemetery often?’

‘I take Tina to visit her mother, and sometimes I go to see her alone.’

‘You visit her, after what she did to you?’

‘I have to. Don’t ask me why, because I couldn’t tell you. I always look at his stone when I’m there. Then I can tell him how much I hate him. I enjoy that. I only wish I could picture him. When I went to identify Carlotta I made them show me him as well, because I wanted to see his face.’

‘What did you think of it?’ she asked, almost inaudibly.

‘Nothing. It was badly damaged, so I still don’t really know what Carlotta saw when she looked at him. But you can tell me. Would a woman think he was handsome?’

‘Yes,’ she said with a touch of defiance. Something about his tone was making her defensive. ‘He was very handsome. Do you want to see?’

He stared. ‘You’ve actually got his picture? You still take it everywhere?’

‘No, just here. After all, I came here to remember him. I wanted him to be with me. I suppose that sounds crazy?’

He shook his head. She felt in a compartment of her bag, and offered it to him.

To her surprise he hesitated before taking it, as though at the last minute he was unwilling to face the man his wife had loved. Then he took it quickly and studied it, his mouth twisted, so that his turbulent emotions were partly concealed.

‘Pretty boy,’ he said contemptuously.

‘I suppose he was,’ Alysa said. ‘I used to be proud to be seen with him, because all the other women envied me. They would try to get his attention and they never did because he always kept his eyes on me. That was part of his charm. He had beautiful manners—until the end, anyway. Maybe that’s why I didn’t see it coming.’

‘Tomorrow I’ll show you where he lies, a place where nobody is competing for him,’ Drago said with grim satisfaction. ‘But I dare say you don’t need a grave to tell him you hate him.’

‘I don’t hate him any more.’

‘You’re fortunate, then. I don’t believe you for a moment, but perhaps even the illusion is useful—until it collapses.’





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