by Lucy Gordon
Now she could tell him about the path she’d travelled as she lay, unconscious, in hospital.
‘Everything was scary, dark and confusing. But then I heard you talking to me, telling me that everything would be all right because you were my husband, and you’d look after me.’
‘So why did you try to keep me away when you woke up?’
‘Because when I came back to reality everything changed. I knew it had been a wonderful dream, and that I had to be sensible.’
‘Being sensible has always been our curse,’ he observed. ‘It’s time you stopped that bad habit.’
‘I promise never to be sensible again.’
Sometimes she stared anxiously into the mirror, worried that her ordeal might have aged her faster. Her face was thinner, and there were scars around her left eye, which the nurse assured her would fade to thin lines. But to her relief there was no sign of premature grey hair.
‘Not like me,’ Carlo told her one day. ‘Look.’
Incredibly, the first signs of grey had started to appear at the side of his head. She examined them, wondering if suffering had done this to him.
‘You’ll have to treat me carefully now I’m getting decrepit,’ he told her mischievously.
‘Don’t let him fool you, daughter,’ Toni said. ‘The Rinuccis always go grey early. It’s just a family trait.’
‘Spoilsport.’ Carlo grinned. ‘I was going to make the most of it.’
Toni winked at Della. ‘When your name’s Rinucci it’ll happen to you, too.’
‘I didn’t think it worked like that,’ she said, chuckling.
‘You don’t believe me? Try being married to this one, and it’ll put ten years on you.’
Everyone laughed, and Della felt the world become a brighter place-partly, she thought, because Toni had called her daughter.
Gradually she saw that her looks had changed, but not in the way she’d feared. Her hair, which had merely curved gracefully before, now decided to curl, so that it was easier to wear it much shorter.
‘You look like a pretty little elf,’ Sol informed her.
‘Cheek.’
‘No, it’s nice.’
And Carlo thought so, too.
Sol was visiting, armed with photos of his newly-born son. He’d gained his degree-not brilliantly, but well enough to escape censure-and had a job lined up for when he returned to England.
Hope was thrilled with the child.
‘Our first great-grandson,’ she said.
‘But, Mamma,’ Carlo began to protest, ‘he’s not-I mean-’
‘Are you saying that Della isn’t one of us?’ Hope demanded.
‘Yes, she is. But-’
‘Then this baby is also one of us,’ Hope said firmly, thus settling the matter for all time.
When Della was well enough to move around almost normally Carlo vanished one day, and returned in the evening with the news that he had taken a job in a local museum. He explained that he would only need to go in on three days a week, which would give him time for his own projects at home, but it was still the kind of conventional employment that he would once have spurned, and Della and Hope were both loud in their dismay.
‘What are you thinking of?’ Hope asked him when they were alone.
‘Money,’ he said simply. ‘I haven’t worked for months and my cash is running out.’
‘You’ve been giving us too much-we can take less-’
‘I know that having Della here is expensive, and I won’t let that expense fall on you.’
‘As though Poppa and I minded-’
‘But I mind,’ he said, in the quiet, firm voice that was usual with him these days. ‘I’m taking this job.’
‘For how long?’
He shrugged cheerfully.
‘But what about expeditions?’
‘I can’t risk leaving Della. When she’s stronger we might manage some short trips together, but we’ll see how it works out.’
Hope said no more. She saw this dazzling son of hers, the most talented, the most brilliant, giving up his chance of an outstanding future. And yet he was happy. Because he’d found something that meant more to him.
At one time she would have blamed Della, but she knew better now.
It was Della herself who brought up the subject, finding Hope alone that evening.
‘You must hate me,’ she said slowly.
Hope spoke gently. ‘I have no reason to hate you. Never think that.’
‘You didn’t want me to marry him, and you have even more reason now. I’m tying him down, taking up his time when he should be working at his career.’
‘Once I would have thought so, too. But now I know that what he’s doing is more valuable to him than any career. Before, everything was easy for him-too easy. Then he had to fight for you, and it made a man of him. Don’t try to stop him. Take what he offers. Because in doing that you’ll be giving him the kind of love that he most needs.’
On the night before the wedding Hope found Carlo sitting alone under a lamp in the garden.
‘What are you reading, my son?’ She took the book from his hands. ‘English poetry? You?’
‘The sonnets of Elizabeth Barrett Browning,’ he said, showing her the one that had held his attention. ‘I found them through Della.’
‘“How do I love thee?”’ Hope read. ‘“Let me count the ways.”’
‘Look at the last line,’ Carlo said. ‘I’ve read it so often-’ He whispered the words. ‘“And if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.”’
‘Do you think of that very much?’ Hope asked, sitting beside him.
‘All the time. Twenty years, if we’re very lucky. Perhaps fifteen-or less.’
‘And then you’ll be left alone, with no children and nothing but memories,’ Hope said sadly. ‘But at least you’ll still be young enough to-well-’
‘No,’ he said at once. ‘I won’t marry again.’
‘My dear boy, you can’t know that now.’
‘Yes, I can,’ he said slowly. ‘You’d be amazed at how far and how well I can see ahead. It’s as though a mist has cleared, and I can follow the road to the end. I see it all, and I know where I’m going.’
She didn’t want to ask the next question, but she needed to know the answer.
‘And when you get there? How will you bear it without her?’
‘But I won’t be without her,’ he said quietly. ‘She’ll always be with me, still loving me, as I’ll always love her. Don’t worry about me, Mamma. She’ll never really leave me.’
His eyes were shining, and she had to look away. The next moment his arm was about her shoulder and he was hugging her.
‘Hey, come on,’ he said in a rallying voice. ‘Don’t cry. Everything’s all right. Tomorrow’s my wedding day. I’m marrying the woman I love, and I’m the happiest man in the world.’
Next day, the women in the family gathered to adorn Della in her ivory lace wedding gown, then to escort her to the main room, where the rest of the family was waiting. Only Carlo and Ruggiero were missing, having gone ahead to the church.
Sol was there to give her away. As he helped her out of the car she threw away her stick, not needing it now. Waiting for her at the altar was the man who valued her higher than anything else in life.
Sol smiled and offered his arm. She took it, and together they made their way down the aisle to Carlo. As she grew closer she could make out his expression of expectant joy.
Her heart began to speak to him in silent words.
I love you because from the first moment you accepted me wholeheartedly, asking for nothing except that I should be yours, and by valuing me you showed me how to value myself.
I love you because you taught me how to feel love, when I thought I’d never know.
I love you because you showed me that a man’s heart can be deeper and more powerful than I had dreamed possible. And then you gave that heart to me, renewing my life, for however long that life may b
e.
‘And, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.’
Lucy Gordon
***
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