A Life Sublime

by Billy London

  “That’s nice,” Belinda said neutrally. “He should do something useful with the money.”

  Helen waited a beat, probably for Belinda to show some irritation or disappointment. It didn’t hurt her the way it used to. She had inherited four children and she wouldn’t swap them for her own. Once they learned not to swear so much. “And how is Ben’s daughter? Georgina?”

  She needed to be on her way in half an hour. “Married. Pregnant. Happy. Just like her father wanted.”

  “Oh right! How nice. Frederick said the wedding was a lovely day. Days I should say. There were some who were sad not to be invited.”

  Belinda thought about the blessing, then thought about the type of people that would be there. The very idea of those people in a room with Helen was exceedingly painful. “Everyone close to Georgina was there. It’s not how it was when everyone had to be invited for no good reason other than to be polite. It was in Italy and the ones who came, Georgina paid for their flights. She couldn’t be expected to do that for everyone.”

  Helen wasn’t impressed. “She should help those who helped her parents.”

  “She did,” Belinda retorted.

  Helen’s eyes glinted. “Frederick said something interesting. He said you spent a lot of time with the boy’s father. Another obruni.”

  “I was representing Georgina’s family,” she said shortly, her mouth tightening with disapproval at where the conversation was heading. “We would all need to spend time together.”

  “That’s not how Frederick said it. He said it was almost like you two were married.”

  Belinda’s face froze. “Has anyone else said anything to you?”

  “No, just Frederick. Nothing is going on is it? I mean. It wouldn’t be right.”

  “Why?” Belinda asked, politely.

  “Well at your age and with him being…” Helen trailed off. “You have to know how this looks. You just need to be careful.”

  “Careful, why? He’s the father-in-law of my friend’s daughter.”

  “Well,” Helen gave a slight shrug, “you shouldn’t be too excited because he’s the first man to show you any attention since your marriage ended.”

  An explosion went off in Belinda’s mind. “Do you know what? Get out.”

  Helen started. “I’m just saying how things are. You’re not a young woman anymore.”

  “What does youth have to do with you being nosy? It was a wedding. We all had a good time.” She squeezed her hands to prevent herself from getting up and slapping Helen’s smug face. “Who are you anyway? What business is it of yours? You only come here to gossip. All you want to know is something filthy to talk nonsense to other people.”

  Helen had panic written all over her face, but Belinda was past caring. “Belinda, I didn’t mean any offence.”

  “I am damn well offended!” she flared. “Why do you need to know what I do? Why do you even need to talk about it?”

  Helen stood up, placing her tea cup on the table. “I didn’t mean it. What I meant is that you should just protect yourself. Frederick told me…”

  “Frederick’s now a professor?” Belinda sneered.

  “He said to me that the man had been married before. He won’t want to settle down again. Why waste your time with someone who won’t be serious? You don’t have much time left.”

  I’m going to kill her. I’m going to ring her skinny neck. She gave a slight smile. “I told your husband the same thing when he was sniffing around me at Ben’s funeral. You should tell him not to drink so much.”

  Helen turned post box red. “That’s a lie.”

  “Helen, go away. Learn not to gossip.”

  She snatched up her bag, “This is why you’re alone. No one will want to marry you. God knows how Herbert put up with you as long as he did.”

  “I am a Queen in the bedroom,” she mocked. “Fa wasam ko nhu! Take your mouth elsewhere.”

  Muttering to herself, Helen slammed her way out of the house. Belinda picked up her phone with shaking hands and sent Massimo a text message. I’m going to be late. Sorry. Very sorry.

  Take your time Bella. I will wait for you.

  First Frederick. Then Father Woodford. Now Helen. It was an unholy trinity from God telling her to behave. Why was everything good taken away from her? She juggled her phone in her hand as the clock ticked away her time.

  Massimo chopped the mushrooms as finely as the recipe allowed, Ghana highlife music his soundtrack. No wonder Belinda enjoyed it so much, the name of the music spoke for itself. He took a sip of the wine, put some cold salted water in a pan to boil and began to prepare the pasta for the starter.

  “Massimo?” Belinda called. He grinned. She remembered her key.

  “Kitchen, Bella!” he replied, washing his hands quickly. She swept into the room and placed her bag down on the table with a disgruntled sigh. He circled the counter, pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. Her bones seemed to liquefy under his hands as she returned his kiss. He lifted his head a little from hers. “Buena notte, come stai?”

  “Molto bene,” she replied with a smile.

  “See? Facile,” he couldn’t stop beaming at her. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

  “Please.”

  He knew what that meant. She wouldn’t be driving back home. He just needed to make her stay longer than three in the morning. No one she knew would be wondering up and down her street to see what time she came home or not. She was a fully grown adult.

  He nudged her to a seat at the counter and poured her a large glass of the red, Selvarossa.

  “What are you making?” she demanded, even as she ran a hand over his arm in thanks for the wine.

  “I am making mushroom tortellini for the starter. And I am making a medallion of beef with a red wine sauce and delicate fluffy mash.”

  “Sounds delicious. No dessert?”

  Adorable woman. “Zabaglione with nectarines. Will that do?”

  “Yes, it will do,” she gave him a sad little smile before looking down into her glass. Massimo dusted the counter with flour and laid out the pasta.

  “What has upset you?” he asked lightly, running the cutter over the dough into even squares. It was keeping his temper under control. If anyone had upset her, there were many plots around and outside the city where the bodies would never be found.

  “I just had an irritating visit from a woman who does nothing but gossip.”

  He placed dollops of the mushroom mixture in the centre of each square before brushing the edges with beaten egg. “What did she say to you?”

  Belinda was playing with the stem of the wine glass, when he glanced up. “Same sort of rubbish I’ve always heard. Why would any man be interested in you?”

  “Will she be missed?” he asked, placing his hands around the edge of the counter to stop himself from forming fists. In some ways, he should be grateful that people were stupidly short sighted or Belinda would be married to an over protective, extremely jealous man who would barely let her out of his range of sight. Well, if things go my way...

  “What?” Belinda asked blankly.

  “Would anyone miss her if she was no longer here?”

  Belinda started to laugh. “You are silly.”

  “And you should not pay attention to nosy women who have empty lives.”

  Her smile faded. “It keeps being said. Starting to think something about it must be true.”

  “It is only said because it affects you. And they know it affects you. There is something else. What are you not telling me?”

  She reached over and stroked her hand over his knuckles. “It’s fine. And I’m so hungry.”

  Hmm. “There is something stuck in your throat. You will not be able to eat unless you let it out.” He folded the pasta into parcels. No one would truly understand his relationship with Belinda, and it would never be their place to understand. It just was.

  “It annoys me that people are judging me.” She took a large gulp of wine. “I ca
n hear them, in my head, asking me what I’m doing, why would he waste his time. My priest, people who say they know me, people who claim to be my friends. And I want to tell them, all of them, to mind their own business.”

  He carefully dropped the parcels into boiling water, still waiting for Belinda to tell him what was truly affecting her. “Did you tell your priest to mind his own business as well?”

  “I nearly did,” she grumbled.

  Barely glancing up from the butter and sage leaves melting in a pan, he drained the pasta from the water, resting the strainer on the edge of the pan and removed the heat from both. “You agree with something that has been said to you.”

  Belinda didn’t answer. Not knowing quite how to stop his heart from sinking, he plated the pasta and drizzled the butter over it. He wasn’t particularly concerned about words falling from the mouths of foolish people who couldn’t begin to comprehend the complexity that was Belinda Afriyie, but a priest speaking to a woman who feared God, was a different matter.

  “Bella, here,” he said, placing the bowl in front of her with a fork. A frown marred his brow. “Are you crying?”

  She sent him a look of disapproval, which relieved him. That was as close to the apocalypse as he wanted to be. “I am not crying, don’t be silly.”

  “Then tell me. What is troubling you?”

  “It was going to confession.”

  “Ah. Is your guilt weighing on you?”

  She sighed, “It’s not guilt Massimo, it’s shame.”

  Her eyes lowered to the glass of wine again. “Why? There is nothing wrong with you and I.”

  “There is. You know there is. I told myself something else because…” she held herself back and played with the wine. “I don’t know. It’s not an excuse.” She picked up the fork and speared the parcel. “This is really good.”

  Again with the distractions, he thought. No more of that. “Thank you,” he murmured, taking the bowl and placing it and the glass of wine out of her reach. “I hope you are not measuring yourself against the Church’s standards. Because you will need to take into account a multitude of hypocrisy.”

  “It’s not the Church, it’s me. Listen, the one constant in my life has been God. And I can’t turn my back on Him for you.”

  “You do not have to,” he said quietly.

  She didn’t hear him. “He has seen me through my grief, my losses, my successes — the little there has been. I can’t say I didn’t know what I was doing, because I did. I do. My priest was right. Wanting something doesn’t make it right.” She rested her forehead on the tips of her fingers. “I don’t know why this is so hard.”

  Massimo gently pulled her chair away from the table, resting his hands on either side of those glorious hips of hers. “Bella, look at me.” She did finally, and he saw the tears in her eyes. His throat pinched knowing how upset she was. “You know why. It is because you love me.”

  “Of course I do,” she growled. “You think I’d have let you touch me if I didn’t?”

  Her words tickled a smile from his lips. “I am happy you do. Marry me.”

  “What?”

  “Marry me,” he repeated, louder just in case that faux deafness was really in action.

  “Don’t mock me,” she fumed, a sharp finger a millimetre from his eyeball. “You are supposed to be a Catholic. Marriage is not a joke.”

  “I know it is not,” he brushed his lips over her finger before lowering it to her lap. “At the same time, I will not let you give me up out of some misguided duty to God. You can have me as your lawful husband and go to church every Sunday. You praise him more when you are with me in any case. Do not argue with me for one moment, please. You and I have both gone through a time thinking that we would never know true companionship or even dared to think we would ever love again.” He paused to compose himself, so she would understand him, “I feel so alive because I love you. What we feel when we are alone is natural. It is honest. He has not denied us that. So marry me and let us have His blessing.”

  Her mouth was parted in disbelief. “I’m divorced.”

  His smile grew. His sweet Belinda was going to be all his in the eyes of the law and God. “Your ex-husband is deceased. That makes you a widow on official papers.”

  “I don’t think my priest will agree with you.”

  His lips carefully brushed over the corner of hers. “I am very persuasive.”

  “Oh lord. What will those blasted children say?”

  “I expect money, cars and jewellery will be exchanged.”

  “I don’t want people to mock me.”

  “They would. Not. Dare.”

  “Massimo…”

  “Bella, you and I do not need to be alone to show devotion to God. Misery does not show true faith. It will take that faith to face whatever shortcomings your acquaintances have. The same faith to stand up in front of those people and say that you wish to spend your days with me.”

  She shook her head, a smile playing over her mouth. "You don’t know how Africans talk.”

  “As much as Italians. It does not concern me.” He turned to the cutlery drawer. “I was going to give this to you after our dinner, but now seems appropriate enough.” He pressed the velvet jewellery box into her palm. “This belonged to my grandmother.”

  “Did you—?”

  He cut her off before she could even taint the ring with such a question. “Mary Alice never knew about this ring. I was going to give it to one of the boys, but their women are not fans of gold. My grandfather had it made for my grandmother when they had been married for fifty years. She left it to me in her will and asked me to give it to the love of my life.”

  “Me?” she squeaked.

  “Strong, bossy, opinionated with a delectable derriere. Yes, I think my nonna would be extremely happy if you accept it.”

  “It won’t fit me.”

  “Bella,” he said gently, taking the ring from the box. “You are already my wife in every way that matters. There is nothing wrong in having a godly seal of approval.” He slid the ring onto her finger, well-worn gold with three crystal clear diamonds of even size. Something in his heart slotted into place, as if he were finally, properly mended in a way he never had been or ever would have been before he’d known this precious woman. “There.”

  “You didn’t ask,” she said eventually, her lashes flicking up to him.

  “Do I need to?” He picked up her hand and kissed the centre of her palm. There was a beat where he expected just one more potential reason not to marry him. Another man would probably feel insulted. All it did was reassure him as to the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his days with, treading gently for the trick step that would unravel her moral fibre. He loved her faith, her integrity and more than anything possible, he loved that she thought he was worthy of her love. A younger version of himself would be the first to tell her to find another man. The younger version of him would also be nursing broken bones for even daring to suggest that there was someone who could love her better.

  “I won’t live here,” she announced.

  “I understand.”

  “And you cannot be involved in that nonsense any more. I mean it, I won’t have it. Even a hint that you are wading in that moral sewage and I’ll leave. No discussion.”

  “I am finished with all of it,” he swore, and surprised himself in telling the absolute truth. There was no need for him to do so. It was under control. If retirement held Belinda as the prize, he’d have taken it a long time ago. “For you.”

  “You have to tell those damn children because I won’t have…” He cut her off with a kiss. Much better.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I don’t like this,” Belinda protested, tugging at the cuff of her blouse in discomfort.

  Massimo glanced down at her. “What is the matter? Are you ashamed of me?”

  “No! I just don’t want everyone knowing my business and this is the fastest way to get people talking.”

  “Bes
t to get it over with. And nice to know I have a pet name – my business.”

  She wanted to laugh but she was far too tense to even attempt it. “You’re not funny. What about Nick and Gina? It’s their blessing next week. Couldn’t this wait?”

  “I do not believe we are taking the limelight from them. They would not be here otherwise.”

  Nick, Gina, Paul and Sofia trudged into the church, with weary and very audible sighs. “Who’s the lady with one eye bigger than the other?” Paul asked, pressing his chin into Belinda’s shoulder as he curled his arms around her waist.

  “It’s Uncle Ruckus,” Gina said in awe to Nick’s raucous laughter. Several people turned around and stared at them.

  “I freaking love my wife,” Nick chuckled.

  “Stop that, you are in the house of God!” Belinda whispered furiously. She did give Paul a gentle pat on the cheek before he dislodged himself. “You are making shows of yourselves. Ethel!” She greeted the one eyed lady, with a huge, forced smile. “How are you?”

  “You’ve brought a crowd with you today.”

  Massimo put a hand out to the woman who melted in the glare of such pristine masculine beauty. Belinda pressed her lips together to stop the smile that nearly broke over her face. Her man was a testament to God’s work on earth.

  “I am Massimo. These are my sons Nicholas and Paul and their wives, Georgina and Sofia.”

  “So nice to meet all of you. How do you know Belinda?”

  “She’s going to be our new mother,” Paul said incongruously, to the swallowed sound of giggles. Belinda felt her face flame like the hounds of hell as Ethel’s eye travelled from Massimo to Belinda then to Belinda’s adorned hand and back to Massimo again.

  “Well! That is, er. News! Of the most wonderful kind. Christine!” she called to another woman of advanced age with a large hat. “Belinda’s getting married. Again.”

  “Oh we don’t count the first one,” Sofia corrected Ethel. “Starter marriage.”

  “Barely lasted.” Gina added.

  “Doesn’t really bear mentioning.” Nick finished.

  Paul tapped a finger to his chin. “That’s true, since we weren’t around for that one.”