Not Just a Convenient Marriage

by Lucy Gordon - Not Just a Convenient Marriage

  ‘I mean more than that. Deep inside yourself you are as mysterious as Venice. One day you will have a secret to conceal from me, and I know you’ll do so with great skill.’

  ‘But why should I ever conceal a secret from you?’

  ‘You’ll know that when the time comes.’ He leaned back a little and considered her. ‘Nature has made you a Venetian at heart, and fate has brought you home.’

  It was a charming speech, full of a welcome and acceptance that warmed her heart. If only, she thought, there had been just a hint of something more, something she might tell herself was love rather than merely kindness.

  A young couple came drifting towards them along the alley. They held each other tightly, faces close, not looking where they were going, indifferent to their surroundings as long as they had each other. The man was speaking words that she could just hear.

  ‘Te vojo ben…te vojo ben.’

  Whatever the words meant they gave the girl great joy. Her face lit up and she pressed herself more tightly against him.

  ‘What language are they talking?’ Sally asked. ‘It doesn’t sound like Italian.’

  ‘It isn’t. It’s Venetian dialect.’

  ‘What does Te vojo ben mean?’

  ‘Literally it means “I wish you well”, but it’s the Venetian way of saying “I love you”.’

  ‘I love you,’ she murmured.

  She didn’t look at him as she spoke. He might have read in her eyes that she was doing more than merely reciting the words. But he only said, ‘Yes, that’s it,’ like a schoolmaster encouraging a pupil who was doing well.

  He put an arm about her shoulder. ‘Come along. Time to go home.’

  At home a shock awaited her. Nora was there, looking concerned.

  ‘This was put through the door,’ she said, indicating an envelope on which was written ‘Signora Ferrone’.

  Sally took it into the garden, where she tore it open, and stared at what she found.

  There was a photograph taken last night, showing her and Damiano walking together, presenting a picture of a happy couple. With it was a handwritten note.

  You think you’re winning, don’t you? I’ll bet he didn’t tell you that it’s Gina’s birthday next week. Imelda

  There was no doubt of Imelda’s meaning. She was spitefully warning Sally that this would be a sacred day for Damiano, and she should be prepared to be tossed into the background while he thought only of his true love.

  Her heart was beating harder. The mere name Gina could have that effect, and it grew worse when she read a final sentence scribbled on the note.

  PS He’s always visited her grave and spent the day weeping over it. I wonder what he’ll do this year. Perhaps he’ll be different with you. Or perhaps not.

  No, he wouldn’t be different, Sally told herself bitterly. Gina was still there in Damiano’s heart. She’d always known that, and told herself she’d accepted it. But now she was stunned by the power it still had to hurt.

  Which was exactly what Imelda had intended.

  She studied the photograph again, remembering how the flashing light had startled her the night before. That must have been Imelda, taking this picture. Which meant she was following them, spying, infuriated by their appearance of happiness, and determined to destroy it.

  And she could succeed, Sally thought in sudden fear.

  She had the sense of standing at a crossroads. The decision she made now would affect everything that came afterwards.

  But she wasn’t going to let herself be bullied by Imelda, and Damiano was the strongest ally she could have. Bracing herself, she headed for his office.

  He looked up in surprise as she entered.

  ‘Has something upset you? Nothing I’ve done, I hope.’

  ‘Yes, something’s upset me, but it’s not you. It’s Imelda. She’s written to me about Gina’s birthday, obviously trying to cause trouble.’

  She handed him the papers, and watched as he grew pale and closed his eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t have found out like this. I meant to tell you but I didn’t know how, and I kept putting it off.’

  ‘So she’s right about you visiting the grave?’

  She didn’t add, ‘And weeping over it.’ But the words seemed to hang in the air.

  ‘Yes. It’s as much for Pietro as myself. The first birthday after her death I took him there so that we could all be together on her birthday. After that we visited her every year. It means a lot to him.’

  ‘And you,’ Sally forced herself to say. ‘You told me once before that you still talk to her.’

  ‘I told you that? Yes, I did. I remember.’ She could see that he’d forgotten how easily he’d confided in her from the start, and the memory startled him.

  What else had he forgotten? she wondered. What did he try to forget? Or did he not try?

  ‘Damn Imelda!’ he growled glancing at the papers. ‘She hated my going there, especially with Pietro. She tried to stop us.’

  ‘That’s dreadful. He’s got the right to visit his mother.’

  ‘So you won’t mind if I go, and take him with me?’

  She hesitated a moment before asking quietly, ‘What does it matter if I mind or not?’

  ‘What does it—? Of course it matters. You’re my wife.’

  Not really, she thought. But she didn’t say it aloud.

  He said uneasily, ‘I was afraid you might feel—well—’

  Sally made a quick decision. Her next words were spoken from behind a mask of light-hearted good humour, almost indifference.

  ‘But we’ve always talked openly about Gina. I know she’s still important to you and Pietro, and I wouldn’t interfere. Of course you must take him to her. They belong to each other.’

  ‘Belong to each other,’ he echoed slowly. ‘Do you remember, when we’d just met, I said you must be the kindest person in the world? I was right. The kindest and most understanding. There’s nothing better I could have done for Pietro than bring you into the family.’ He gave a reflective smile, aimed partly at her but partly at his inner self. ‘Yes, Gina still belongs to him, but now you belong to him too. And he’s beginning to belong to you.’

  ‘I hope so. I love him dearly. When you visit Gina, can I come too?’

  He gazed at her in disbelief. ‘You’d do that?’

  ‘Of course. If I’m part of the family then I have to be part of this. But if you don’t want me—’

  ‘Yes, I want you,’ he said quickly.

  ‘Then it’s up to Pietro. He may not like the idea.’

  ‘Of course he will.’

  He was right. Not only was Pietro glad of her coming but he seemed surprised that there had ever been a doubt. Sally was his mother now, and of course she would join him on a family expedition. He said little, but the way he squeezed her hand spoke volumes.

  When she was alone with Damiano she said, ‘What would you have done if I hadn’t found out?’

  ‘Do you mean would I have slipped away without telling you? No. That would have meant lying to you and I couldn’t do that. I’d have told you about it. I’ve been trying to pluck up the courage, but I guess I don’t have that much courage.’

  ‘You don’t need courage with me,’ she pointed out.

  ‘No, I’m beginning to understand that.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  WHEN THE DAY came she awoke to find Damiano standing at the window, lost in thought. After a moment he looked up at the sky.

  ‘How is the weather?’ she asked.

  ‘Better now, thank goodness. Spring is here.’

  As they ate breakfast Nora came to announce that a man had come with a delivery of flowers. As Damiano was inspecting them his driver appeared to say that the motor boat was ready. Pietro headed for the door with Toby.

  ‘Toby’s allowed to come,’ Damiano explained. ‘As long as he’s kept on a lead and behaves himself.’

  The cemetery was on the island of San Michele, o
ut in the lagoon. Soon they were heading out across the water. At last the island came into view, and a few minutes later they drew up at the landing bay.

  She thought San Michele was one of the most beautiful places she had ever seen. Pietro eagerly took her hand and led her down a path to where the headstones rose from the grass.

  As she’d expected Gina’s grave was adorned with her photograph. It was almost life size, with a glowing smile for everyone who visited her.

  She stood back to let Pietro approach his mother alone. He laid flowers on the ground and chatted to her eagerly, pointing at Sally in a way that made it clear he was introducing her.

  ‘He talks to her as though she was still alive,’ she murmured to Damiano as he came to stand beside her. ‘But I suppose in a way she is.’

  ‘Yes. I remember feeling that the first time I came here, with Pietro. She’d been dead only a few weeks, and I wanted to show her our baby so that we could enjoy him together. That sounds mad, doesn’t it? How could we enjoy anything together when she was dead?’

  ‘But she was still alive in your heart. If you felt that the two of you were together, then you were. And you still are.’

  He turned her to face him, looking closely into her face. ‘How can you of all people say that?’

  ‘Because it’s true. You’re still a couple and Pietro knows it.’

  ‘But he’s got you now.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not instead of Gina. I’m as well as Gina. All of us together are a family. You, me, Pietro—’ she gave a little laugh ‘—and Toby.’

  Something in his expression told her that he was confused, searching for the right words. Before he could speak Pietro returned from the grave, looking happy.

  ‘She likes you,’ he said.

  ‘I like her. In fact I’ve brought her something.’

  From her bag she took out the small posy that she’d bought the previous day, and went to lay it beside Pietro’s offering.

  She had an impulse to speak to Gina, but before she could do so she heard a squeak of dismay behind her. Looking back, she saw that Toby had escaped and was running away with Pietro chasing after him. She joined in the chase, managing to head him off and seize him before he went too far.

  ‘Sorry,’ Pietro said, catching up. ‘He just wriggled free and dashed off.’

  ‘I’ll bet he’s good at seizing his chance,’ she said. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  They turned back in the direction of the grave, but as they neared it she drew a sharp breath. Damiano was there, kneeling before the headstone, his eyes fixed on Gina’s picture, and an expression that caused Sally a shaft of pain. He was not weeping, as Imelda had predicted, but there was despair and misery in his face.

  She could see his lips moving, but not make out what he was saying. As she watched he lowered his head and reached out to touch the picture. When he lifted his head again he was still speaking, and she thought she could make out the words, ‘I’m sorry—I’m so sorry.’

  She wanted to cry out. She’d deluded herself that Damiano was becoming hers, but now he was apologising to Gina for his marriage, which he clearly felt was a betrayal.

  Pietro hadn’t noticed his father. His attention was taken by Toby, playing up again. By the time he’d got the dog under control Damiano was waiting for them, a fixed smile on his face.

  ‘Are we ready to go?’ he asked. ‘I’ve added the flowers. Sally, that was a charming posy you left her.’

  He’d changed his mask very skilfully, she thought. The grieving husband had been set aside, replaced by a sensible man who knew the correct thing to say. Now she must don a similar mask.

  ‘It was an act of friendship,’ she said. ‘I know she’ll like that.’

  ‘I’m sure she will.’

  They headed for the bay but when they were nearly there Sally came to a sudden decision.

  ‘Oh, goodness!’ she said, clutching her pocket. ‘I dropped something back there. I must go and fetch it.’

  She ran away before they could reply. In fact she hadn’t dropped anything. The story was an excuse to return to Gina’s grave alone.

  ‘You knew I’d be back, didn’t you?’ she said as soon as she arrived. She moved close so that she could look directly into Gina’s eyes.

  ‘The little time you had must have been wonderful for you both. Then you lost each other, and you lost Pietro. But trust me. I love him and I’ll always be good to him. You must know Pietro is safe with me. And Damiano too. He’ll always come first. I’ll try to be everything he wants, and give him whatever he needs.

  ‘I saw him here with you a few minutes ago, and everything he feels was there in his face. He tried to hide it from me, but he couldn’t. I know he still loves you, and he always will. You must have been the best wife in the world to have made him so happy that he can never forget you. Perhaps one day he’ll come to love me a little, but I’ll never take your place.’

  Overhead the trees rustled in the growing wind. She looked up at the branches swaying, almost as though something had agitated them. Glancing back at Gina, she had the strange feeling that all was not well with her.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she told her. ‘You’ll always come first with him. I have to accept that, but I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt. And in time it will hurt more, unless—can that happen? Dare I hope for it?’

  She backed away, still watching the beautiful, fascinating face, whose eyes seemed to follow her. She tried to understand that look, to read into it the bond of trust that she had tried to establish between them. But there was something else, something she didn’t understand, and which made her shiver.

  ‘What is it?’ she said urgently. ‘What are you trying to tell me? Because there’s something I don’t know, isn’t there?’

  But the wind died and the branches overhead fell silent, leaving her in a bleak and empty desert.

  Silence. Nothing.

  She had a sudden, desperate need to get away from this place. She hurried back to the others.

  ‘All right?’ Damiano asked as she joined him. ‘Did you find what you’d lost?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I found it.’ She couldn’t help adding, ‘I found a great deal.’

  He gave her a curious look but asked no questions, which was lucky. Even to herself she would have found it hard to describe the thoughts and sensations that possessed her.

  A realisation was creeping up on her. Needing more time alone to brood on it, she went to bed early. Damiano pleaded work before he could retire, but he accompanied her to their room.

  ‘You were wonderful today,’ he said. ‘You did everything right, as you always do. I’m the luckiest man alive because I have you, and your kindness.’

  He put his arms about her, drawing her close so that her head was against his shoulder.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you with all my heart.’

  She wrapped her arms around his body, loving the feeling that he wanted to be close to her.

  ‘You don’t have to thank me,’ she said. ‘We made a deal and I’m keeping my side.’

  ‘You’re giving more than that, far more than we agreed, or I ever hoped for.’

  Her heart missed a beat. Had he begun to suspect why she gave so much more than he expected? Could she take the chance?

  ‘Damiano—’

  ‘Come on, time for you to get some rest.’ He withdrew his arms, forcing her to do the same. He opened the bedroom door. ‘I’ll come in quietly later, not to awaken you.’

  Then he was gone and she had the solitude she needed to consider the revelation that had taken hold of her today.

  Seeing Damiano with Gina, his face devastated by grief for her, had been a turning point. It was as though a brilliant light had suddenly illuminated all that had happened since the day they had met. Now she could see and understand everything she had refused to face before.

  I’m in love with him, she thought. I have been almost from the start.

  The magic had always been there. W
ary of love, she’d fought it, refusing to recognise how devastating was his effect on her. But with every touch, every smile, he had invaded her heart, refusing to be banished.

  Why had she never faced the truth before? The physical excitement that no other man had been able to inspire in her had sprung to life at Damiano’s touch. She’d ignored it, fearful of being vulnerable, something she had always tried never to be. The way he kept his distance had maddened her more and more, until she had to face the fact that she wanted him in her bed, and that desire could be a signpost on the road to love.

  Mysteriously Gina seemed to be with her again, invisible but powerful, throwing down a challenge. And Sally’s defiant spirit arose.

  ‘From now on everything is going to be different. He was yours once, but he’s mine now.’

  She recalled a conversation she’d had with Charlie when, as so often before, he’d tried to wriggle out of blame for his own irresponsibility by despising her ease with facts and figures.

  ‘You haven’t got a heart,’ he’d accused. ‘You’re just calculating.’

  ‘If by calculating you mean I make sensible plans, then I plead guilty.’

  And I’ve got a plan now, she thought. Oh, yes, I’ve got a plan and I’m going to make it work. And if that makes me calculating, then I’ll calculate, because so much is at stake. All the happiness I could ever know, now and for the rest of my life. That’s what I’m gambling for, and if the odds are high I’ll just have to gamble harder. And then harder. Until I win.

  ‘And I’m going to win.’

  *

  Pietro was eager to tell Sally that soon there would be another festival, the Feast of St Mark.

  ‘There’s a gondola race,’ he said. ‘And people hold dances in the evening. Papa always has one in the hotel, and there’s a lot of soppy stuff.’

  ‘What kind of soppy stuff?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s also known as La Festa del Boccolo,’ said Mario, who’d been listening with amusement. ‘Boccolo means rosebud. There’s a story about a man who fell in love with a noble woman hundreds of years ago. He was only a servant so he couldn’t hope to marry her in those days. He joined the army and was killed in action. Before he died he plucked a rosebud and sent it back to her. Supposedly it was stained with his blood, so they still use red ones today.’