by Rosanna Ley
‘So, you are still here, my love,’ he whispered, holding her closer.
‘I am still here.’ She snuggled in. Though she probably shouldn’t be.
‘You have not run away.’ Gently, he nibbled her earlobe.
She wriggled. ‘Not yet.’ But she must. There was a faint shaft of light coming through the shutters, falling at an angle on the polished wooden floorboards. It was still early. But it was morning.
‘Before you do . . .’ He moved closer, she could feel his breath and the roughness of the morning-after stubble of his jaw on her neck, and the desire swept over her again.
His fingers were circling her belly, her hips. His mouth was on her breast. She wanted to arch towards him. ‘Dante, I must go.’ There were a million reasons why she should get up now. She must get back to her rooms before anyone was up and about, she had to prepare for the day – for heaven’s sake, she was supposed to be opening up reception at eight o’clock this morning. She had to think about what she had done and what exactly she should do now. Alonzo. She had betrayed Alonzo with hardly a second thought. She closed her eyes. What was happening to her?
But there was one good reason to stay just a little longer. And as he caressed her, as he kissed her, as he held her and they made love – even more tenderly than they had done last night, when each motion and each caress had been filled with the urgency and passion of forty years of waiting . . . that became the only reason that mattered.
Afterwards, he held her close and stroked her hair. ‘You know that I love you, Chiara?’
‘Yes.’ She had no doubts. ‘And I love you too, Dante.’ If only she had known forty years ago what it would be like to lose him. If only she had known that theirs was a love that would not fade away . . . She couldn’t blame her parents. Chiara had been so young; they weren’t to know it was so much more than a childish infatuation – no one was to know that. Chiara suspected that back then, Dante was the only one who had known for sure.
‘But . . .?’ He raised a dark eyebrow as she slipped out of bed.
Embarrassed at her nakedness, she grabbed the soft white towelling bathrobe the hotel provided for their guests and wrapped herself up in it. She glanced at the clock radio on the bedside table. ‘No time for “buts” now,’ she told him. ‘I’m on duty in less than an hour.’ She began searching for her clothes, which had somehow ended up all over the room. Her dress was flung across the chair, her bra was hanging on the doorknob, her knickers half-hidden by the coverlet, were on the floor under the bed. It was too late for blushes. She was fifty-nine years old. Up until now she had only ever slept with one man – Alonzo. Only ever loved one man – Dante. And now this.
‘Ah, duty . . .’ He rolled his eyes and continued to survey her from his recumbent position, arms folded behind his head. A thought seemed to occur to him. ‘Do you regret it, cara?’
She turned from her clothes retrieval to see the concern in his dark eyes. ‘No, my love.’ She scurried into the bathroom to get dressed. ‘How could I?’ she called out as she pulled the door half closed behind her. It hadn’t felt wrong. It hadn’t felt a sin. She had always felt he was her destiny, had she not? She was a married woman, and she had never dreamed that she would be capable of such a thing. But, in fact, nothing in her life had ever felt quite so right.
‘Then you can’t just leave my bed as if it meant nothing.’ But she caught his tone – he was half-joking, half not.
She poked her head back around the door. ‘It meant everything.’
‘Bene. That’s good. I’m glad to hear it.’ He grinned.
She pushed it from her mind – that ‘but’, and retreated once more. She pulled on her underwear, and when she was half decent, she opened the door wider again. He was at least sitting up in bed now. And he looked so inviting, his body still in such good shape, she found herself thinking, that she almost leapt back in there again. She remembered what he had said after their dinner the other night. This means everything . . . And now she had said it too. She opened her mouth to speak.
‘I know, I know,’ he spoke before she had the chance. ‘I can’t ask anything of you.’ He swung his body out of bed and stood up.
Chiara suddenly felt short of breath. She returned to the bathroom, looking around the marble wash-stand for mouthwash, toothpaste, something to freshen her mouth until she could get downstairs, have a shower and clean her teeth. The morning after – she had never experienced this kind of thing before; suddenly in the harsh light of day there were so many more unanswered questions, so many doubts, pragmatism seemed to overtake romance and was determined to have its say.
Stark naked, Dante followed her into the bathroom and stood behind her at the basin. It was most unsettling.
‘I know you have told me how you feel – about your hotel, about your family – as if I don’t already know all these things.’ She saw him catch sight of his own reflection in the mirror and smiled as he automatically ran his fingers through his thick, silvery hair. ‘Even so . . .’
‘Even so.’ She turned and gave him a minty kiss. She couldn’t think about it now. One thing at a time.
‘After this, I feel as if I can’t lose you.’ He tucked her hair behind one ear. Kissed her nose. ‘Not again. That’s all.’
This was what they would be like, she realised, if they were together. And it hurt to think of it, because it was just so nice. ‘I know.’ She felt the same. How could it be only one night? Neither of them would be interested in any sort of illicit affair, and anyway, they lived in different countries, for heaven’s sake. It was all or nothing. Chiara had always known that.
‘We can do it, Chiara.’ His voice became urgent. His hands were on her shoulders. His brown eyes were pulling her into the world of their possible future together. ‘This could be our second chance.’
‘How?’ she whispered. She wanted to believe it, so much she wanted to believe it.
‘I can deal with Alonzo,’ he said.
‘Oh, no doubt.’ She laughed as she slipped from his hold. It was incredible that she was laughing about it. But she felt joyous. This man had made her feel joyous. She turned around and waggled a finger at him. ‘But there won’t be any of that macho stuff – whatever happens.’
‘And what will happen?’ He was suddenly serious again. Serious, and still, disconcertingly, naked.
‘I don’t know.’ She slipped her dress over her head and grabbed her bag.
‘Chiara . . .’
Her hand was on the doorknob. ‘I must go,’ she said again.
He grabbed hold of her again, kissed her, long and slow. ‘Come back later to talk,’ he said.
‘I’ll try.’ She nuzzled briefly into his warm shoulder. Shocked herself by putting a hand on his bottom.
‘You must.’ He didn’t need to say what she already knew – that he was supposed to be leaving today, that Alonzo was returning, that decisions must be made.
Dante had played his trump card though. How could she leave him now?
She was walking on air as she crept out of Dante’s room and along the corridor towards her own suite. Not a sound could be heard. It was still early enough. No one was around.
Could it work out? Was it possible that against all the odds she could make a future with this man? That he could be that future as well as her past? She couldn’t help smiling at the thought. It had to be possible. She felt as if a burden had been thrown from her shoulders. She had to make it happen somehow. She had to be with him. He had made her come alive.
‘Mamma?’
Chiara hadn’t even seen Elene standing in the shadows by the top of the stairs. She jumped. What was she doing up so early? And more to the point – why would she think her mother was creeping along the corridor from the guest rooms at this time in the morning, in the dress she was wearing yesterday, and with not a scrap of make-up on? The walk of shame. She understood it for the first time.
Chiara straightened her back. This was it then. It had happened sooner than she h
ad expected. It was time to return to reality.
CHAPTER 18
Chiara
What would be, would be. Chiara was her own person. She would deal with this with dignity, if it killed her. ‘Good morning, Elene.’ She tried a smile.
Elene did not smile back. ‘I came to see you last night after dinner, Mamma.’ Her voice was measured, accusing. ‘But you weren’t in your rooms.’
Not like this, thought Chiara, not like this. She hadn’t even had time to think. ‘Come along there now,’ she said. ‘I need to—’ Shower and change and stop looking as if I have just got out of another man’s bed . . .
‘I waited, Mamma. I waited a long time.’ Elene’s eyes were cool and distant.
Chiara remained silent. What could she say in her defence? There was no defence. If Elene knew, then she knew. Allora – perhaps Chiara’s decision was going to be made for her after all. Because if Elene told Alonzo what she had clearly worked out for herself, then Chiara wouldn’t have to end her marriage – Alonzo would do it for her.
‘And then . . .’ Elene paused. ‘I came back this morning and you still weren’t there.’ Her gaze shifted.
She stared back along the corridor to the guest rooms where even now Dante was probably in the shower, maybe humming or whistling to himself as he replayed the events of last night and this morning in his head.
‘Come with me, Elene.’ Whatever she had done, Chiara was not prepared to stand here in the corridor any longer. Guests would be waking up, getting up, going out for a morning stroll perhaps. She needed to get washed and changed. And one thing she was sure of – this conversation was not going to take place in front of an audience. She moved purposefully towards her own suite. Thankfully, Elene followed her, though at a distance.
When they got to the door that led to her rooms, Chiara turned to her daughter once more. ‘Why did you want to see me?’ Though she wasn’t sure it even mattered now.
‘I wanted to apologise.’ Elene stood straight, tall, and rather intimidating, it had to be said. No one ever warned you that your small child, dependent on you for all things, could end up looking at you this way.
‘What for?’ Chiara groped in her bag for her key. She found it and let them in.
‘I wanted to tell you that it was me who called Papà.’ She flashed Chiara a look of pure defiance as the door swung shut behind them.
‘Oh, Elene. I guessed.’ And in truth, it felt like such a long time ago now. Since then, Chiara’s world had spun on its axis and deposited her in what felt like another lifetime.
‘So, what happened?’ Elene remained by the doorway as if she might need to make her escape. ‘Where is Papà now?’ For a second, a flicker of vulnerability showed in her eyes, but then it disappeared even more quickly than it had come.
‘He had a business meeting back in Pisa.’ She wouldn’t go into details. ‘Elene—’ She stepped towards her. Elene flinched and Chiara hesitated, just as she always did when her daughter put up the barriers.
‘And so you went to him?’ Elene’s icy gaze was unforgiving.
Chiara surveyed her daughter. How would she respond if she knew the truth, the whole truth? Would she blame her mother for seeking love? Probably. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I went to him.’
‘For God’s sake . . .’ Elene’s voice dripped scorn. If anything, she held herself even more erect, her back ramrod stiff. ‘You know, when I phoned Papà I felt guilty. I didn’t want to get you into trouble. I wasn’t sure what was going on, or even if anything was going on, I just wanted it to stop . . .’
‘Elene . . .’ Another step closer.
‘But I can see now that I was right to call him.’
Chiara took in her daughter’s expression. There was no doubt what she was thinking, what she was feeling – that her mother was little more than a common whore.
She had to summon up every gram of self-assurance she possessed. ‘Elene, I know how hurt you are. I know you’re upset.’ Deep breath. ‘But I’m your mother,’ she said. ‘You think that you can talk to me exactly as you please. But I’m also a grown woman. You might want to judge me – that’s your prerogative. But you don’t know the full situation. And if you would just let me explain . . .’
‘What is there to explain?’ Elene’s lip curled as she looked her mother up and down. ‘Isn’t it embarrassingly obvious, Mamma?’
Chiara supposed that it was. And perhaps Elene was right – there was nothing to explain. She had slept with another man, she had betrayed her husband and her daughter too. Dante might be the man she loved, but she was not free to love him back. She had got carried away, and Elene was quite right – it was unforgiveable.
‘And what about Papà? How could you deceive him like this?’
Chiara took a deep breath. ‘Your father and I . . .’ But how could she even begin to tell Elene about their marriage? How her father had become a stranger? ‘We have grown apart.’ It was all she could say, but it wasn’t nearly enough.
‘Maybe you should inform Papà of that fact before you go to bed with some old flame.’
‘Elene . . .’ Had she honestly believed that her parents had a happy marriage? Hadn’t she ever sensed the distance between them that had always seemed so obvious to Chiara? She guessed that sons and daughters saw what they wanted to see – they could hide their heads in the sand if necessary, anything to preserve the illusion that their parents were what they needed and wanted them to be.
Elene took a step closer. She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. ‘And he likes it rough, does he – this Dante Rossi?’
‘What?’ Chiara realised Elene was staring at her face. She put a hand to her cheek. ‘No, he does not.’
‘Then what did you do, Mamma? Walk into a door?’
Oh, my God, she had almost forgotten about that. ‘Yes.’ She stared her out. ‘I walked into a door.’ Because how could she tell her the truth?
Elene’s eyes filled, and she burst into tears.
For a moment, Chiara simply gazed at her, horrified. Elene never cried – she was the poised, cool, practical one – until she flew into a rage, that was.
Then she opened her arms and, after a moment’s hesitation, Elene walked into them. ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ Chiara whispered. And she stroked her hair and held her close until slowly the shaking subsided and her tears became a sniff, a gulp, a sigh. Oh, Elene.
‘What will you do?’ her daughter asked at last.
‘I don’t know.’ But this was the fall-out, Chiara realised. She had spent the night with Dante, not considering the consequences, allowing herself to be swept away by the moment, by her own longing, her own dreams. She had failed to consider the feelings of those she was responsible for. But there were always consequences. Always a price to pay.
‘Please don’t leave us.’ It was little more than a whisper and, for a moment, Chiara thought that she must have misunderstood. She’d never heard her daughter sound so sad, so vulnerable, so childlike.
‘There.’ She stroked her hair some more. ‘There, my darling.’
Elene drew away. Her eyes were red and her face streaked with tears. Chiara felt her emotions twist inside her. This was Chiara’s chance to change her life, her last chance of true happiness perhaps. And already she could see it dissolving in front of her.
Elene took a hiccupy breath. ‘I know that you and I have different ideas about how the hotel should be run, Mamma, and how things should change. I know that we have our differences. I know that Papà goes away a lot, but—’
‘I won’t leave.’ Chiara could bear it no longer. She would not put her daughter though this. And besides, how could she leave? Her parents had built The Lemon Tree Hotel up from nothing. Dante was right. It was her legacy and her responsibility.
‘And Papà? Will you leave Papà?’
There was very little Elene had ever asked for. As a young girl she had been so independent, so sure of what she wanted. Chiara had often wanted her to ask for more, but she never had.<
br />
But now there was Dante, and she had asked for the most important thing of all.
‘People grow apart, Elene,’ she said gently. ‘You know that. People who think they will stay together for ever, suddenly realise that they have nothing in common any longer. It’s life. It happens.’
‘But you have things in common.’ Elene lifted her tear-stained face. She looked like a young child again. ‘You have the hotel and you have me – and Isabella. We are the life that you share.’
‘Yes, you are and we do.’ Chiara pulled her daughter back in to her arms and stroked her hair some more. She could remember her own mother doing this to her, she knew how soothing it could be.
‘Please don’t leave Papà. He loves you. I know he does. He needs you even though he sometimes pretends not to care. Please don’t leave him.’ Elene’s voice was small, but desperate too.
Chiara could have coped with anger, with coldness, with anything really, but this. Once again, she was torn between love and duty. Once again, she knew that whatever she decided, a part of her would be gone. She had waited for so long for her daughter to come to her with affection, and now at last she had. She thought of how Elene adored her father, how little she had ever asked for. ‘Ssh now,’ she told her daughter. How could she deny her this? ‘I won’t leave Papà. And I won’t leave the hotel – of course I won’t.’
The decision was made. What else could she do? Her first loyalty was to Elene. Otherwise, what sort of a mother would she be?
But she felt the bitter disappointment rise in her throat like bile. She would have to tell Dante straightaway – he must leave before Alonzo returned. And once again, the decision was made and she must learn to live without him.
CHAPTER 19
Isabella
‘It is rather unusual,’ Isabella said to Ferdinand Bauer, sneaking a look at him from under her lashes, ‘for any tourist to come and stay in Vernazza for more than a week.’ This was her opening gambit. She had more lined up to follow. Because Isabella was determined to find out why he had come to the Cinque Terre – and what he was up to while he was here.