by Carrie Elks
And then there was Sam. That was way too messed up to think about.
‘Yes, please go,’ Sandro agreed, when Cesca didn’t reply. ‘We won’t be long here.’
The kitchen door opened, and Lucia Carlton walked in. Though her face was perfectly made up, there was no disguising the red rims around her eyes, or the bereft expression on her face.
‘Gabi, Sandro, I wanted to thank you.’ Her eyes alighted on Cesca. ‘And you, too, Cesca. Thank you for all you did tonight. I don’t just mean the party either. Sandro, thank you for helping Sam with my husband. I know it can’t have been pleasant.’
Cesca had never seen anybody look so awkward. Her heart went out to the beautiful Italian lady, standing in the middle of the kitchen and wringing her hands.
‘It’s always my pleasure to help,’ Sandro murmured.
‘We’d do anything for your family, you know that, Signora Carlton.’
Lucia nodded, her lips thin with worry. ‘And I can count on your discretion?’ she asked. ‘If word got out that Foster was like that. Or if people starting gossiping about the nonsense he’d been saying . . . we’d all be so embarrassed.’
‘We would never talk to anybody about this. What happens here remains here, I promise you that,’ Gabi said, looking downwards. ‘Is there anything we can do to help you with Signor Carlton this evening?’
‘I think we’ll leave in him the downstairs guest room. Thank you for making it up so quickly, Gabi. I don’t want to move him when he’s still so very intoxicated, but I’ll stay with him tonight to make sure he doesn’t get any worse.’ She didn’t look at all happy at that prospect. ‘Cesca, you’re leaving tomorrow, is that right?’
‘I . . . I think so.’
‘That’s for the best. We’ll be leaving ourselves as soon as Foster’s feeling better. And I’m absolutely certain Sam will be on his way to LA as soon as he can get on the next flight.’
Was it possible for Cesca to feel any worse than she already did?
‘Sandro will drive her first thing in the morning.’ Gabi smiled reassuringly. ‘And of course you can count on our complete discretion, can’t she, Cesca?’
‘Of course,’ Cesca agreed, her face red. ‘I wouldn’t talk to anybody about this. I promise.’
Lucia sighed. ‘Thank you all, you don’t know how much of a relief that is to me . . . well, to all of us, really. My husband said some terrible things, and a lot of them weren’t true. I hope he didn’t say too much when you were helping him up from the beach, Sandro?’
‘He said nothing at all,’ Sandro replied. ‘He was pretty much unconscious. Sam and I had to practically carry him all the way to the villa.’
Cesca hadn’t seen that, she’d been too busy with the guests, taking over while Sandro and Gabi were helping the family. They’d all been engaged in damage control by that point. Her heart ached for Sam having to see his stepfather like that. And though she had no idea what Foster had said to him, Sam had told her enough about the man to know it hadn’t been pleasant. What a mess everything had become.
‘I’ll say good night, then,’ Lucia said, filling a glass with ice cold water. ‘Have a safe journey home, Cesca. I’ll see you tomorrow, Gabi and Sandro.’
With that she left the kitchen, pulling the door gently closed behind her.
This time, when Gabi suggested Cesca go to bed, she agreed readily. Even though she knew there was no possible way she could sleep.
She was getting used to that.
29
Adieu! I have too grieved a heart to take a tedious leave
– The Merchant of Venice
Cesca tossed and turned in her bed, checking the dial on her watch every five minutes, wondering whether Sam was still planning to see her. When he’d told her he’d ‘talk to her later’, Cesca had assumed it was a promise of sorts. Especially after their encounter in the gardens. But that was before Foster messed everything up. Now it was almost three in the morning – only two hours before she was due to leave – and she was wondering if she’d taken it completely the wrong way.
Maybe he’d meant it as a goodbye.
The thought made her hands shake as she reached out to put her watch back on the bedside table. He couldn’t have meant that, could he? After everything that had happened, he wouldn’t just let her walk away without even a proper farewell? He’d told her she was his in the gardens, as he’d plundered her mouth with his kisses. Was that real, or just something he’d said in the heat of the moment? Was it possible his words were fuelled by jealousy more than desire?
Her mind went back to the nights they’d spent apart since his family had arrived at the villa. Though it had been Cesca who had initiated their separation, Sam hadn’t exactly fought against her. He might have liked her, but not enough to want to keep her.
The thought made her want to cry.
Cesca glanced over at the case up by the door, waiting for Sandro to carry it down to the car in the morning. She was leaving exactly as she’d arrived; alone. She could live with that, couldn’t she?
Another half-hour passed, slower than molasses, and Cesca tossed and turned until the sheets were a wrinkled mess at the bottom of her bed. Her agitation was increasing, thinking about him, wondering why he still hadn’t made an appearance at her door.
It brought back old memories. Dark ones of her falling so far after he left. So hard to push out of her mind.
Sighing, she sat up, swinging her legs around to hit the floor. It was the inaction that was killing her. The waiting for somebody who clearly wasn’t coming. She’d been waiting for too long – for six years – this time she wasn’t willing to hang around any more.
The landing was quiet as she stepped out of her bedroom, her bare soles padding against the warm wood floor. It took seconds for her to reach Sam’s door, not long enough for her to think of her next move. Should she knock? Just barge her way in? Cesca hesitated for a moment, resting her hand on the thick oak panel.
That’s when she heard the voices. A low and deep one, followed by one distinctly feminine. Her mouth went dry as she realised he wasn’t alone.
‘I don’t understand, how could he lie to us for so long? How could you?’ It sounded like one of his sisters, though she couldn’t make out if it was Izzy or Sienna.
‘I didn’t want to upset you.’ That was Sam’s voice. ‘I wanted to protect you. It doesn’t mean anything anyway, I’m still your big brother.’
Another soft sob. ‘But all the things he said about you, Sam. I hate him, I really do. I’m never going to talk to him again.’
‘Of course you will, he’s your father, after all.’
‘He’s a liar and I don’t want anything to do with him. I don’t even want to see him, not ever again. He’s such an arse.’
Cesca thought she heard Sam’s low chuckle. Its familiarity stabbed her like a knife. ‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, sweetheart. Just take it easy, OK? You’ve had a big shock, and it’s a lot to take in. I know when I found out it sent me reeling.’
‘And then you left us all without a word. I never really understood until now. I thought you were just being a typical bratty older brother, and didn’t care about us at all.’
‘I’ll always care.’ Sam’s voice sounded like warm sunlight. ‘I always did. I just couldn’t stand being near him.’
‘Nor can I.’ A small silence followed, punctuated by the occasional sob. Cesca closed her eyes, imagining Izzy crying into her brother’s chest. Sam was probably stroking her hair, whispering quietly to his sister. Listening to such a private discussion was making her feel uncomfortable. Cesca was about to turn around and walk back to her room when Izzy spoke again.
‘I keep thinking about how mean he always was to you. No wonder you left for Hollywood.’
‘Yeah, I guess that was one of the reasons,’ he agreed. ‘But not the only one. I think I was looking for an excuse to leave.’
Oh, Cesca remembered.
‘Please can
you come back and live in London with us?’ Izzy pleaded. ‘I can’t stand the thought of being there with Mum and Dad. I hated it when you went away, please come home.’
‘Izz . . . ’
‘Sam, please.’ Her voice was plaintive. It made Cesca want to cry.
‘I can’t.’ Sam sounded half broken. ‘I wish I could, but I can’t live in London. I’ve got a life in LA, friends, a job. I can’t move back there for you.’
Another silence. Another sob. Cesca felt as though her heart was breaking alongside his sister’s.
It was clear there was no space for her in his world. He’d made that obvious enough when he’d refused to introduce her to his parents. And now his family had imploded, there was no hope at all. As much as it hurt to accept that, she would have to. Even if she’d fallen in love with him.
He’d liked her enough to help her with her play, but not enough to call her his girlfriend. She’d been a convenient distraction, especially at night. What else had there been for him to do apart from that? He’d been hiding away for a few weeks, taking a break from the Hollywood rat race. If Cesca hadn’t been here, it would have been somebody else.
She could feel her heart starting to pound against her chest, a drumbeat of misery. She bit her lip in an attempt not to cry. Standing there, on the other side of the door to him, she realised it wasn’t simply two inches of oak that was coming between them.
It was life. His life. And it didn’t include her.
*
‘Maybe I can come and live with you, then,’ Izzy said, wiping her tears away with a curled fist. ‘Because I’m not living with that bastard any more.’
‘Izz, you don’t have a choice. Anyway, you’re off to university soon. You’ll only have to go home for the holidays.’
Sam looked down at his sister, taking in her watery eyes and red cheeks. The tears had turned her irises a cerulean blue, so like her father’s it was uncanny.
‘I won’t let you ignore us any more, Sam,’ she told him. He tried not to smile at her stubbornness. Her eyes might have been like Foster’s but her attitude was all Lucia’s.
‘I wasn’t planning on ignoring you. And now that everything’s out in the open, I won’t have an excuse, will I?’
‘So I can come and stay with you?’
Sam sighed. He was such a sucker. ‘Or I’ll come and visit you, OK?’
‘I thought you hated London.’
‘I don’t hate it, I just wasn’t that happy there. But I’m older now. If I have a break between movies I’ll come over. I’ll never live there, but I can visit if you like.’
Izzy sniffed. ‘That sounds lovely. I just want us to be all together. You me and Sienna, like we used to be.’
Sam smiled into her hair. ‘That sounds good to me.’ Though he’d never forgive his stepfather for revealing his secret in such a way, Sam couldn’t help but think there were some silver linings to his intoxication.
‘You know, Izz, it’s really late. You should go and get some sleep. We can talk about this some more in the morning.’
She squeezed his shoulders, as if afraid to let go. ‘I don’t want to be alone. Can I sleep here tonight?’
‘With me?’ Sam asked, surprised. ‘Um . . . I guess.’
‘Not that I can sleep anyway,’ she told him. ‘But I promise not to disturb you too much.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You’ve always been disturbing.’
Izzy hit him, though her heart wasn’t really in it. ‘Stop it. I already hate one Carlton man, don’t make me angry at you, too.’
Sam softened. ‘I’d never make you angry at me, at least not again. Try to get some rest, OK?’
She was still clinging on to him. ‘Don’t leave me.’
Taking a deep breath, Sam lay down on the mattress, letting his little sister curl into him. Her face was wet against his arm. From the corner of his eye he could see the door, still closed.
He swallowed, though his mouth was dry. As much as he wanted to go to Cesca, there was no way he could leave his sister like this. No way he could take her with him, either. He was stuck, having to choose his family above the girl he’d messed around.
Izzy finally fell asleep a few hours later, her face screwed up as if in concentration as she dozed. Sam gently disentangled himself from her hold, freezing as she muttered quietly, before he slowly rolled across the bed and onto the floor. He waited for a moment, staring at her slumbering form. It was only when her breathing became rhythmic and her body relaxed that he finally allowed himself to walk out into the hallway.
Cesca’s door was ajar when he got there, the pale light of the early dawn escaping through the crack. Sam frowned, grabbing the edge of the oak to slip inside her bedroom, not wanting to wake her if she’d managed to fall asleep.
It was the emptiness that struck him as he pulled the door closed behind him. The emptiness and the silence. As he looked around, he realised exactly what had happened.
She was gone, and so were her things. Even the bed had been stripped, leaving a bare mattress and duvet where sheets and covers had previously been. And though the room still smelled like her, that was the only part of Cesca that remained.
‘Is everything OK?’
Sam turned around to see Gabi behind him, a dusting cloth in her hand. ‘Has she gone?’ he asked urgently.
‘Cesca?’ Gabi asked. ‘Yes, Sandro’s taken her to the airport. She’s booked on the early flight to Heathrow.’
Sam glanced at his watch. It was almost seven o’clock. The early flight always left at seven-thirty. Even if he jumped into the Ferrari and put his foot down all the way, there was no way he could catch her.
‘She didn’t say goodbye,’ he whispered, as much to himself as Gabi.
‘She wanted to leave quietly. She had a lot on her mind,’ Gabi said.
Sam looked at her, trying to work out if she knew more than she was saying. ‘Did she . . . did she leave anything?’
Gabi shook her head. ‘She came like she arrived, with one suitcase and not much else. It’s such a shame, we’ll miss her. She was like a ray of sunshine around here.’
Sam swallowed, torn between opening up and hiding away. ‘She was,’ he agreed.
‘I think you’ll miss her too,’ Gabi said. ‘After all, it was just the two of you for a long time. You must have become close to each other.’
‘We were friends,’ Sam said. He was feeling light-headed, and had to lean on the wall for support. ‘Until I upset her.’
‘You did?’ Gabi raised her eyebrows.
Sam moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. The ache at her leaving was a nagging pain in his gut. How the hell had he managed to mess everything up again? ‘I didn’t treat her very well.’
‘Why not?’ Gabi looked almost embarrassed at her question. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Signor Carlton, that was very rude of me.’
Sam sighed, rubbing his face with his hand. ‘Don’t be sorry. You sound exactly like her. Apologising for something that’s not your fault. It isn’t your problem I’m all messed up, and it isn’t your problem I shut down every time somebody gets close. It’s mine.’
Gabi looked more confused than ever. And he didn’t blame her, he must have sounded like a crazy man. But there was this need to talk, to confess, to work out how the hell he managed to get so tangled up. Gabi just happened to be there to listen.
‘I liked her,’ he said, his voice quiet. ‘No, that’s wrong. I fell in love with her. But I panicked, got scared, and pushed her away. It’s all my fault.’
‘You love her?’ Gabi asked. ‘You love Cesca?’
‘Yes.’
She clapped her hands together. ‘Well that’s wonderful.’
He shook his head. ‘No it isn’t.’
‘Why not?’ Gabi asked. ‘Love is always wonderful. You’re both single, you’re both beautiful. It’s perfect.’
‘Because I messed things up,’ he told her. ‘And now she’s gone and probably never wants to see me again.’
‘Of course she does. That’s why she looked so sad when she left. I thought it was because she was going to miss Varenna, but now I know it’s because she’s in love with you.’
‘She’ll never forgive me,’ he said. ‘And she shouldn’t. I was an asshole to her.’
Gabi’s eyes sparkled. ‘Girls are more forgiving than you think,’ she told him. ‘Sandro is always doing things that drive me crazy, and yet I let him make it up to me anyway. It’s amazing what a bit of love can do.’
Pushing himself off the wall, Sam turned to look at her. ‘So what should I do?’
She smiled. ‘You fight for her. You fight for her like you’ve never fought for a woman before. And if she’s kind enough to give you another chance, you make sure you don’t mess it up.’
Fight for her. He could do that, couldn’t he?
For the first time, he really thought he could.
30
What’s gone and what’s past help Should be past grief
– The Winter’s Tale
‘What can I get for you?’ Cesca stood in front of her customers, pencil and pad poised to take down their order. The couple looked at each other for a moment, then the woman nudged the man. He scratched his head, staring at the menu.
‘Do you have anything other than cereal?’
Cesca bit her lip. It was a question she was asked every day, by practically everybody who came into the café. Taking a deep breath, she blinked twice before answering them. ‘I’m afraid not.’
What was it about the name of the café that the patrons didn’t understand? It was written in bright blue paint above the entrance. Cereal. Simple, right?
‘Not even some toast?’ the man asked.
‘I’m sorry, no toast. We have a hundred different kinds of cereal, though,’ she replied, trying to keep her tone cheery. ‘If you’re allergic to anything, we can offer you gluten free cereal, and rice milk?’
‘I’m not allergic,’ the woman leaned forward to tell her. ‘I just don’t want cereal for dinner.’