The Italian’s Wife by Sunset

by Lucy Gordon

But he dismissed the suggestion with a gesture of his hand.

  ‘I’d be a terrible teacher. I could never keep discipline. They’d all see through me and know that I was just one of the kids at heart.’

  ‘You had them hanging on your every word.’

  ‘That’s because I’m crazy about my subject and I want everyone else to be crazy, too. I believe it can make me a bit of a bore.’

  ‘Sure, I’m sitting here fainting with boredom. Tell me about your subject.’

  ‘Archaeology. No, don’t say it-’ He interrupted himself quickly. ‘I don’t look like an archaeologist, more like a hippie-’

  ‘I was thinking a hobo myself,’ she said mischievously. ‘Someone not very respectable, anyway.’

  ‘Thank you. I take that as a compliment. I’m not respectable. I don’t pretend to be. Who needs it?’

  ‘Nobody, as long as you know your stuff-and you obviously do.’

  Carlo grinned. ‘Why? Because I kept a few youngsters quiet? That’s the easy part, being a showman. It’s not what really counts.’

  She’d actually been thinking of his string of qualifications, but remembered in time that she wasn’t supposed to know about them.

  ‘What does really count?’ she asked, fascinated.

  That was all he needed. Words poured from him. Some she understood, some were above her head, but what was crystal-clear was his devotion, amounting to a love affair, to ancient times and other worlds.

  All his life he’d had soaring ambitions, hating the thought of being earthbound.

  ‘I used to play truant at school,’ he recalled, ‘and my teachers all predicted I’d come to a bad end because I was bound to fail my exams. But I fooled ’em. I used to sit up the night before, memorising everything just long enough to pass with honours.’ He sighed with happy recollection. ‘Lord, but that made them mad!’

  She couldn’t help laughing at the sight of him, transformed back into that rebellious schoolboy.

  ‘I couldn’t face anything nine-to-five,’ he said. ‘Not at school, not at work. The beauty of being in my line is that you get to fly.’

  ‘And you really have to fly,’ she teased. ‘I guess when you get near the earth you crash.’

  ‘Right. That’s why I could never be a teacher, or a museum administrator. I might have to-’ He looked desperate.

  ‘Might have to what?’ she asked through her laughter.

  He glanced over his shoulder and spoke with a lowered voice.

  ‘Wear a collar and tie.’

  He sat back with the air of one who had described unimaginable horrors. Della nodded in sympathy.

  ‘But doesn’t it ever get depressing?’ she asked. ‘Spending so much time surrounded by death, especially in Pompeii-all those people, petrified in the positions they died in nearly two thousand years ago?’

  ‘But they’re not dead,’ he said, almost fiercely. ‘Not to me. They’re still speaking, and I’m listening because they have so much to say.’

  ‘But hasn’t it all been said? I mean, they finished excavating that place years ago. What more is there?’

  He almost tore his hair.

  ‘They didn’t finish excavating. They barely started. I’m working on a whole undiscovered area-’

  He stopped, and seemed to calm himself down by force of will.

  ‘I’m sorry. Once I get started there’s no stopping me. I told you I’m a bore.’

  ‘I wasn’t bored,’ she said truthfully. ‘Not a bit.’

  In truth, she was fascinated. A fire was flaming within him and she wanted to see more, know more.

  ‘Go on,’ she urged.

  Then he was away again, words pouring out in a vivid, passionate stream so that she caught the sense even of the bits she didn’t understand. After a while she stopped trying to follow too closely. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he could make her see visions through his own eyes. It was like being taken on a journey into the heart of the man, and it was exhilarating.

  ‘You’ve let your food get cold,’ he said at last.

  At some point they had passed onto the next course, and it had lain uneaten on both their plates while he took her on a journey to the stars.

  ‘I forgot about it,’ she said, feeling slightly stunned.

  ‘So did I,’ he admitted.

  The voice of caution, which normally ruled her life, whispered, A practised charmer, but the warning floated away, unheeded. Something more was happening-something that would make her get up and leave now, if she had any sense.

  But she didn’t want to be sensible. She wanted to go on enjoying this foolish magic, as crazy as a teenager. No matter how it ended. She would relish every moment.

  Carlo watched her without seeming to. It was becoming important to him to ‘capture’ her in his mind, as though by doing so he could fit her into some niche where he would know what to make of her. Luckily the hours stretched ahead, full of time to get to know her better.

  Then, out of the corner of his eye, Carlo saw an acquaintance come into the restaurant, and he cursed silently. The man was well-meaning but long-winded, and if he didn’t act fast his evening would be in ruins.

  ‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ he said hurriedly, leaving the table.

  His worst fears were fulfilled. His friend greeted him with bonhomie, and a determination to join him at all costs. Carlo just managed to head him off at the pass, and finally made his way back to the table, determined on escape.

  Della was talking on her cellphone as he approached, and he heard her say, ‘It’s lovely to talk to you, darling.’

  It wasn’t so much the word that troubled him as the soft adoration in her voice, the glow in her eyes.

  For pity’s sake, he chided himself. You’ve only known her a few hours. What do you care who she calls darling?

  He wished he knew the answer.

  She was laughing, her face alight with affection.

  ‘I’ve got to go now. I’ll call you again soon. Bye, darling.’ She hung up.

  A moment later Carlo reached the table, showing no sign that he’d heard the call or even knew she’d made one.

  ‘Perhaps we should move on?’ he said.

  She nodded. She had seen him talking urgently with a man, blocking his way so that he could not disturb them.

  Outside, he took her hand and headed for the car, but then stopped suddenly, as though something had struck him.

  ‘No-wait! The time’s just right.’

  ‘Right for what?’

  ‘I’ll show you.’

  He turned and began to lead her in the opposite direction. Gradually the houses fell away and they were going towards the shore, reaching the road that ran beside it and crossing over onto the beach.

  ‘Look,’ he said.

  The tide had gone out, leaving the fishing boats lying lopsided on the wet sand. Water lay in the ridges and the tiny pools, and the last rays of the setting sun had turned it deep red.

  She gazed, awestruck, at so much dramatic beauty before finally breathing, ‘It’s magic.’

  ‘Yes, it is. Not everyone sees it, but I thought you would because of what you told me about dawn on the Thames. To some people it’s just wet sand and a few boats. If you see them by day they’re old and shabby. But like this-’

  He stopped, almost as if hoping that she would finish his thought.

  ‘Another world,’ she said. ‘A special world that only appears for a short time.’

  She thought he gave a little sigh of pleasure.

  ‘Just a short time,’ he agreed. ‘Soon it will be dark, and the special world will vanish.’

  ‘But it’ll return tomorrow.’

  ‘It may not. It isn’t always like this, only when everything is right. It’s like you said: you have to be ready to catch the moment before it vanishes.’

  He was leading her out in the direction of the sea, leaving the conventional safety of the land behind, taking her into an unfamiliar world.

  ‘Wai
t,’ she said. ‘Let me take off my shoes before they get wet.’

  She did so, shoving them into her capacious shoulder bag. He removed his own and she grabbed them, putting them, too, into the bag, and taking his hand again.

  Not speaking, they walked towards the horizon, until the shallow water just covered their feet.

  ‘This is when it’s at its best,’ he said quietly.

  The setting sun covered the beach and the film of water with blazing red in all directions, so that they might have been standing in a fire. It drenched them with its mysterious violent light.

  Carlo looked at her, smiling, and she braced herself, knowing that this was exactly the right moment for a skilled charmer to kiss her, and that he, who clearly knew all the moves, would be bound to make this one. But then she saw that there was something awkward, almost shy, about his smile. While she was trying to puzzle it out, he raised her hand and rubbed the back of it against his cheek.

  She stared, too dumbfounded to react. According to the script he should have kissed her, and if he’d done so she would have known how to ‘place’ him. But the closest he came was to press his lips gently where his cheek had touched a moment earlier. And when she met his eyes she saw that he was as disconcerted as she.

  The next moment the light changed. Something brilliant faded. And it was over.

  ‘It’s gone,’ she said, disappointed.

  ‘It’s gone for now,’ he agreed. ‘But there are other things. Let’s go.’

  As twilight fell Carlo drove along the coast until they reached the outskirts of Naples.

  ‘Shall I take you to your hotel?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, please. I need to talk to you where we won’t be disturbed.’

  She knew she couldn’t put the moment off any longer. Something had started to happen, and if it were to flower she must be honest with him first.

  As they went up in the elevator at the Vallini she was planning how she would explain that their meeting had not been an accident. Such was his good nature that she had no fears about his reaction.

  The last of the light faded as they entered her room and shut the door. Before she could reach for the switch she felt his arms go around her, drawing her close, fitting her head against his shoulder.

  At once she relaxed. This was what she’d wanted for at least the last hour. Why deny it? It was undignified to have fallen so easily into the trap, especially as she had seen it from a distance, but that was what had happened.

  But the trap wasn’t the one she’d armed herself against. A glib tongue and an easy manner-those she could cope with. But the uncertainty in his eyes when they’d met hers had caught her unawares

  It was the worst moment for her cellphone to buzz. Groaning, Carlo released her, and she turned away, walking to the window as she reached into her purse. Taking out the phone, she discovered a text message.

  ‘Shall we have champagne?’ came Carlo’s voice from behind her.

  She hadn’t realised that he was so close, and jumped sharply enough to drop the phone.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ll get it for you. It went under that chair.’

  He dropped to his knees and reached for it. Then, as he drew it out, Della saw his smile fade. In silence he handed it to her. Her blood ran cold as she saw the words on the illuminated screen.

  Have you tracked Rinucci down yet? George

  Looking up, she saw Carlo standing back, regarding her. On the surface his good humour seemed unruffled, but she could see the distance in his eyes.

  ‘You came to “track me down”?’ he asked coolly.

  She sighed. ‘Yes, I did come here looking for you.’

  ‘What did I do to merit that?’

  ‘If you’d let me explain in my own way-’

  ‘Just tell me.’ His voice was ominously quiet.

  ‘You’re ideal for a television show I’m planning. I’ve got my own production company, and I’m setting up a series about places of great dramatic events in history. I need a frontman, and someone told me you’d be ideal.’

  ‘So you came down to audition me?’

  ‘Not exactly that,’ she said uneasily.

  ‘How would you describe it?’

  ‘I wanted to meet you, and-and-’

  ‘And get me to jump through some hoops to see if I was up to your standard? And I obliged, didn’t I? I jumped through them all, and then some!’

  ‘Carlo, please-all right, I should have told you before.’

  ‘You sure as hell should.’

  ‘But I couldn’t predict what was going to happen. When I saw you with those kids, you were so perfect for my purpose that I couldn’t believe my luck-’

  ‘Perfect for your purpose?’ he echoed, in a soft, angry voice. ‘Yes, it’s all been about your purpose, hasn’t it? You pulled the strings and I danced.’

  ‘Is it so terrible that I wanted to consider you for a job?’

  ‘Not at all, if you’d been up-front. It’s the thought of you peering at me from behind a mask that I can’t stand. All the time we’ve been together I thought-well, never mind what I thought. Just tell me this. Did you plan every single detail?’

  ‘Of course not. How could I? You know that things happened that nobody could have planned.’

  ‘Do I? I’m not sure what I understand any more. I know that you’ve been clever-subtle enough for an Italian. I congratulate you. It was a masterly performance.’

  ‘It wasn’t all a performance,’ she said swiftly.

  ‘You know, I think I’d rather believe that it was. It makes things simpler. I was a fool, but at least I found out before any real harm was done.’

  ‘Carlo, please-if you’d just listen to me-’

  ‘I’ve done enough of that,’ he said, in a deceptively affable tone. ‘Let’s call it a day. You’d better text George back and tell him that you tracked me down and I said to hell with you. Goodbye.’

  He was gone, closing the door behind him.

  She wanted to scream with frustration and hurl the phone against the door. Instead she turned out the light and went onto the balcony. From there she could see Carlo’s car, parked in front of the hotel, then Carlo himself, hurtling out of the front door and leaping into the driver’s seat.

  She drew back in case he looked up and saw her, but he only sat for a long moment, hunched behind the wheel, brooding. When at last he roused himself, it was to give the wheel a sharp thump that made the horn blast. After his ironic restraint the sudden spurt of temper was startling.

  Then he fired the engine, swung out of the forecourt and vanished down the road. He hadn’t once looked up at Della’s window.

  CHAPTER THREE

  AT SEVENTEEN she might have wept into her pillow. At thirty-seven she lay staring into the darkness, sad but composed, before finally nodding off.

  She even managed a prosaic, unromantic night’s sleep. But next morning Della awoke early and the memories came flooding back, bringing regretful thoughts.

  It would have been nice, she thought. We could have been fond of each other for a while, before he found someone his own age. But, oh boy, did I ever make a mess of it! If there were a prize for handling things as badly as possible, I’d win the gold. I should have known better than to hide the truth, but I wasn’t thinking straight.

  At this point she found herself smiling wistfully.

  But had any woman ever thought straight in his company? She doubted it. Not guilty on the grounds of impaired judgment. She’d wanted to make the moment last, and she had never thought how it would seem to him.

  What now? Return to Pompeii and try to find him? After all, he’s ideal for the programme.

  Nuts to that! She just wanted an excuse to see him again. He was like a light coming on and then going out too soon. But what was done was done. She’d just chalk it up to experience and leave Naples today.

  It was a relief to have made up her mind. Jumping out of bed, she stripped and headed for the shower, running it very cold to
infuse herself with common sense. She was just drying off when there was a knock on the door.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Room Service.’

  She hadn’t ordered anything, but perhaps this was courtesy of the hotel. Huddling on a silk dressing gown, she opened the door.

  Outside stood a tall man, dressed as a waiter. That was all she could tell, as he was holding the tray high, balanced on the fingers of one hand, at just the right angle to conceal his face.

  ‘Scusi, signora.’

  He seemed to glide into the room, contriving to keep his features hidden as he headed for the little table by the window and set down the tray.

  Della’s heart began to dance. He might hide his face, but his hair was unmistakable. Instinctively she pulled together the edges of her thin dressing gown, conscious of how inadequately the silk covered her.

  ‘Orange juice,’ he said, turning to her with a flourish. ‘Fruit? Cereal?’

  ‘So you’re not still angry with me?’ she asked, laughing.

  ‘No, I got over my sulk fairly quickly. Forgive me?’

  It was so good to see Carlo standing there that she forgot everything else and opened her arms to him. He took two swift steps across the room, and the next moment she was enfolded in an embrace that threatened to crush the breath out of her.

  ‘I was afraid you’d have packed your bags and left last night,’ he said between kisses.

  ‘I was afraid I’d never see you again. I’m sorry. I never meant it to happen the way it did-it just sort of-’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. It was my fault for making a fuss about nothing.’

  ‘I always meant to tell you, but things just happened, and I lost track of what I was supposed to be thinking-’

  ‘Yes,’ he said with meaning. ‘Me too.’

  He kissed her again before she could speak, moving his mouth hungrily over hers, pressing her body close against his own. Now she could feel everything she had suspected yesterday, the hard, lean length of him, muscular, sensuously graceful, thrilling.

  But it was dangerous to hold him like this when she was nearly naked. The gossamer delicacy of her gown was no protection against the excitement she could sense in him, nor against her own excitement, rising equally fast. Nearly naked wasn’t enough. Only complete nakedness would do, for herself and him.