by Lucy Gordon
He didn’t call her that night, hoping she would call him. But the phone was silent. And when the next night came he found that he couldn’t force himself to call. The silence of the evening before held him in a grip of dread. The next night he admitted to himself that he was afraid, and the admission was a kind of release, so that he snatched up the receiver and dialled her home number.
The phone was dead.
There was still her cellphone, but that had been switched off. He called it repeatedly over the next twenty-four hours, but it was always off.
She had vanished into thin air.
Hope had given Ruggiero the address. All he had to do was take a taxi from London Airport to the building where her tiny apartment was situated. He arrived in the late afternoon. As he got out he looked up at the window on the second floor, which Hope had said was hers. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw the curtain twitch.
Seeing someone come out of the front door, he took the chance to slip inside, and began to climb the stairs. There was only one door on the second floor and he knocked at it.
It was opened by the most handsome young man Ruggiero had ever seen.
He was in his late twenties, with tousled hair and a cheerful face. He was also wearing a towelling robe, as if he’d just got out of the bath.
‘Hi, can I help you?’ he asked.
Ruggiero felt himself engulfed by hell. It was the voice he’d overheard on the telephone, and this young man was built like a god.
‘No, thank you,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I think I’ve come to the wrong place.’
‘Maybe not. I’ve only just moved in, so perhaps you’re thinking of—Coming, darling.’
He called this over his shoulder. Ruggiero knew he had to get away fast.
‘Who is it, darling?’ A female voice floated from within.
But it wasn’t her voice. Suddenly his legs were paralysed with relief.
A young woman, also in a bathrobe, appeared. She was nothing like Polly.
‘I’m looking for Polly Hanson,’ he managed to say.
‘Oh, you mean the woman who lived here before?’ the girl said. ‘She moved out a few days ago.’
‘It was very sudden,’ the young man said. ‘She wanted to move, and we needed somewhere quickly, so we dropped in one evening to look the place over.’
‘You mean—you’re not Brian?’
‘Brian? No, my name’s Peter. I don’t think I’ve heard of Brian. Polly didn’t mention a Brian, did she, Nora?’
‘Not that I heard.’
The hell that had engulfed Ruggiero retreated very slightly.
‘Did she leave a forwarding address?’
‘She only mentioned a hotel,’ Nora said. ‘The Hunting Horn, I think it was. Not far away.’
A taxi took him to the hotel. He sat in the back, telling himself not to be fanciful. Just because she’d vanished and he was looking for her at a hotel, like last time, that didn’t mean—
She was no longer at the Hunting Horn.
‘She stayed just three days,’ the pretty receptionist explained. ‘No, I’m afraid she didn’t say where she’d be after that.’
Now his forehead was damp, and desperation was growing inside him. History was repeating itself, drowning him again.
‘Try St Luke’s Hospital,’ the receptionist. ‘She said she worked there once, and she might be going back.’
‘Thank you,’ he said frantically.
Another taxi. Another desperate journey. Trying to tell himself that this time it would be different. There was the hospital, a huge building, just up ahead. He leapt out and almost ran inside.
For a moment he thought he was in luck. The man on the desk remembered Polly.
‘She was here a few days ago. You might try—’ He named a ward and directed him to it.
As he approached the ward a nurse in her mid-thirties emerged and halted him.
‘I’m afraid visiting isn’t until this evening,’ she said, in a voice that was pleasant but firm.
‘Please, I’m not visiting. I’m looking for Polly Hanson.’
‘She’s not here.’
Darkness again, blanking out everything except the road ahead that wound around endless corners, leading to nothing.
‘I was told she worked here,’ he said, his mouth dry.
‘I hope she soon will be. I called her in Italy and tried to persuade her to come back here—because we really need nurses like her—but she said she had something urgent to do before she finally made up her mind.’
‘You know her, then?’
‘I’m an old friend. My name’s Kyra Davis, and I got to know her very well the last time she was here.’
‘She worked in this part of the hospital?’
‘Yes, but I meant when her cousin was dying. Oh, dear—maybe I shouldn’t be telling you all this. I don’t know who you are.’
‘I’m the father of her cousin’s child.’
‘You mean Matthew? She used to bring him in to see his mother in the last days. We managed to find a little side ward for her, so that they could all be together in peace.’
‘It’s here?’ he asked, looking around.
‘Yes, It’s empty just now, so you can see it if you like.’
As she opened the door to the side ward her beeper went.
‘I think someone wants me,’ she said, and bustled away, leaving him alone in the room.
It was small, plain and bare, except for the sunshine streaming onto the empty bed. Ruggiero stared at it, trying to understand that this was the place where Sapphire had died.
Only a few weeks ago she had lain in that bed, looking at this room. He tried to picture her, but there was nothing.
Nothing!
But Polly was present, sitting on the chair, pushed up close to the bed so that she could place Matti in his mother’s arms while still holding him for safety. She’d sat there hour after hour, her arms around both of them, growing tired, her body aching, her heart grieving, enduring it all so that mother and child could have those last precious moments together.
How did he know that? She’d never told him. But he knew it was true because he knew her. In those last hours and moments every fibre of her being had been concentrated on helping the people in her care, with never a thought for herself.
‘Polly—are you still there? I can’t see you.’
‘Yes, darling. I’m always here. Feel my hand.’
‘You won’t forget—you’ll find him—and tell him about the baby—’
‘I’ll find him—I’ll make sure they know each other—’
‘Where are you? Don’t let me go.’
‘I’m here—hold onto me—feel my arms around you—hold on—’
Dazed, he looked around. How could he hear them when they weren’t there?
Not true.
Sapphire had never existed.
But Polly was there. She would be there in his heart for ever, her arms outstretched in generous giving, the only way she knew to live.
The winding road had finally reached its destination—this little room, where one journey had ended and another had begun, like a torch being passed from hand to hand.
‘Are you all right?’ the nurse asked from the doorway.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ he said joyfully. ‘I’ve never been better. But I have to talk to her.’
‘She said she was going away for a few days.’
‘With Brian?’ he asked, scarcely breathing.
‘Who?’
‘Her fiancé.’
‘Polly doesn’t have a fiancé. She’s in love with a man who doesn’t feel the same way. That’s all she’d tell me.’ She eyed Ruggiero curiously, but was too tactful to say more. She only added, ‘I think she’s gone to Yorkshire—back to her old village.’
‘Thank you. I can find her now.’
At the station he caught a train north. From there it was a bus ride to the little village, and by good fortune the bus stopped close to the churc
h.
It was dark, but it was a tiny place, and, using the picture Polly had given him, he managed to locate the right corner of the graveyard. There was the little slab, with Freda’s name and the dates of her life. He glanced at them only briefly. He was looking for something else.
But he was alone. There was no sign of Polly. Only some flowers on the grave suggested that she’d been there.
He was back on the endless road, seeking something that was always out of sight around the next corner, until there were no more corners left.
‘No,’ he muttered. ‘Not this time.’
He looked around the graveyard, searching in the poor light until he finally found what he was looking for. By now he was at the edge of the ground, with a clear view across the road, where a flower shop was just closing. Ruggiero sprinted across, just managed to get his hand in the door, and engaged in the most desperately important negotiation of his life.
It had taken a couple of days for Polly go around the old places—the home where she’d lived as a child, the second home when her aunt and uncle had taken her in, the school where she’d done so well, passing her exams with flying colours and helping Freda, whose skills had lain in another direction.
She would have liked to avoid Ranley Manor, but her route had happened to lie that way, so she’d hurried past. Even so she had been unlucky enough to see George handing a young woman into his chauffeured car.
She’d gone to see Freda within an hour of her arrival. She’d wanted to tell her cousin that she’d kept her promise. When she’d laid the violets on the grave she’d said, ‘I’ll be back tomorrow.’
Next day she’d brought lilies to replace the violets. She had stayed for a while, talking about Matti.
‘He’ll be all right, I promise,’ she’d said. ‘You were right to send him to Ruggiero. He’s going to be a great father. I’m going tomorrow, but I’ll be back here before I go—just once more.’
She was keeping her promise, bearing more flowers, but as she ran the last few steps to lay them down she stopped suddenly and stared.
The grave was covered in buttercups, glorious brilliant yellow and gold buttercups, flaunting their rich, extravagant beauty to the world.
Looking around her, she saw that not a buttercup was left growing in the grass. Someone had determinedly plucked every last one to lay them here in a silent message.
Then she saw that the yellow flowers were not alone. A corner of the grave was given up to tea roses.
And she was back again in the little restaurant in Naples, talking about flowers and their meaning.
Tea roses—in peaceful memory. All passion spent. All forgiven and only the best remembered.
But it was the buttercups that lay in joyous profusion, carrying their message of love, acceptance, freedom to go on living and loving.
Ruggiero appeared so suddenly that she guessed he’d been waiting for her. He was unshaven and his suit was creased, as though he’d been sleeping on the ground, and his eyes were full of a troubled question.
But before he could ask the question she answered it, opening her arms so that he ran to her at once, his own arms flung wide to seize her and draw her close.
‘Why did you leave me?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘Where have you been?’
‘I had to go,’ she cried, holding onto him. ‘I had to find out if what I was afraid of was true.’
He silenced her mouth with his own, and it was a long time before he could breathe enough to say, ‘You should have trusted me.’
‘It’s not that—I didn’t know how you really felt. I thought you might let me go and realise that it was for the best.’
‘How could it be best for me to lose you?’ he demanded passionately. But then a change came over him. He grew calmer and shook his head. ‘But you didn’t really think I’d let you go,’ he said. ‘You couldn’t have. In your heart you know everything there is between us. Don’t you?’
He was right, she realised. Some part of her had known that he would come after her because he loved her. Hearing it said now, she recognised the truth. He knew her better than she knew herself.
‘Everything,’ he repeated. ‘Now and always. It took us both a little time to see it, but it was always there.’
He drew her close again, not in a kiss, but in a wholehearted embrace, arms tight about each other, totally committed, nothing held back. For a long time neither of them moved or spoke There was a small commotion as a crowd of schoolchildren appeared and headed in their direction.
‘Come away,’ he said, drawing her towards the ancient little church.
They found privacy in the old wooden porch, where they could sit apart from the world, yet still able to see the flowers with their glowing promise of hope.
‘You look terrible,’ she said, touching his unshaven chin
‘I spent the night here. I couldn’t risk missing you. I only left for a few minutes, to get the roses I’d ordered from a shop across the road, but I got back fast. I’ve been waiting here, watching. I was so afraid you wouldn’t come back at all.’
‘I had to say a proper goodbye to her before I finally decided where I was going next.’
‘Back to Brian?’ he asked belligerently.
‘There’s no Brian, and you know that perfectly well.’
‘I just wanted to hear you say it,’ he growled, holding her tight, almost as if he was afraid ‘Brian’ would appear and snatch her away.
‘He was just a device to make you concentrate on Matti,’ she admitted. ‘But then I found him useful, helping me to keep everything impersonal. I didn’t want you to think of me as a woman. Or,’ she added, seeing his raised eyebrows and hint of a smile, ‘maybe I wanted it too much. One of the two. I couldn’t decide which. I thought he’d fade into the background, but you kept on about him.’
‘I was jealous as hell. I could have throttled him because you loved him. All the time I could feel us getting closer, and I didn’t know what to believe. When you left I thought you’d gone back to him.’
‘I didn’t just want to be a substitute for Freda, and I was afraid I’d never know if I was or not. I couldn’t live with second best. It has to be all or nothing.’
He nodded.
‘I thought we’d both have time to think, but when I reached England—’ she gave a shaky laugh ‘—a terrible thing happened. I had an attack of common sense.’
‘You should have known better. What has common sense to do with us?’
‘Everything seemed so clear. You had Matti, and you didn’t need me any more. I wanted to break completely with the past, so I gave up my flat and got out so that the new people could move in quickly. I’ve got a job offer at the hospital.’
‘I know. I was there.’
‘You went to the hospital?’
‘I saw the room where she died. I stood there and looked around, and all I could see was you. Wherever I am I see only you, and that’s how it will be—all my life. But I didn’t understand at first. The way we met—she was always between us. I lived in confusion for so long. If you hadn’t come I don’t know what would have happened to me. I was caught up in a kind of madness, and you released me. Now I’m free—truly free at last. It feels like starting life again.
‘Sapphire—’
‘Freda,’ he said at once. ‘There was no Sapphire.’ He saw her looking at him, and said, ‘But now I can be grateful to her. I can even love her memory for Matti’s sake.’
‘I’m glad of that,’ she said fervently. ‘Because one day you’ll bring him here—’
‘We’ll bring him together, and tell him about her.’
They were silent, thinking of that moment.
‘We might even bring our own children as well,’ he mused.
‘You’ve got it planned?’
‘Matti has. He wants brothers and sisters. He’s a Rinucci; he likes being part of a big family.’
She smiled tenderly and leaned her head against him.
‘He told you that,
did he?’ she asked.
‘Sure he did. We understand each other perfectly these days. He also says that if I don’t bring you back with me I needn’t bother coming home. He was very plain about that—threw his cereal bowl against the wall.’
They laughed together for a moment, but then he took her hand and carried it to his lips.
‘Promise that this hand will always be in mine,’ he whispered.
‘Keeping you safe?’
‘No, leading me to the best of life. Even when you stopped me riding the bike you weren’t restraining me, just showing me a different way forward. We’ll go wherever the road winds, and as long as it’s you that takes me there I know it’ll be a good place.’
They walked back to the grave and stood for a moment, looking at the flowers—tea roses and buttercups—side by side in perfect harmony.
‘You understand, don’t you?’ he asked softly. ‘Please say that you do?’
She nodded. ‘Thank you. Not just for my flowers, but for hers.’
‘They had to come first. I know that now.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘You’re wearing yours,’ he said, indicating the gold brooch on her shoulder.
‘I always wear it.’
‘Promise me that you always will?’
‘I promise—for ever.’
She leaned down and took two of the flowers, one of each, putting them away to be kept, also for ever. All done now. All answered. All forgiven.
He kissed her gently, knowing that everything else must wait a little. But they could afford to wait.
Nor did they look back as they walked away. There was no need. They knew the flowers were blooming brightly in the morning sun.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-0687-2
THE MEDITERRANEAN REBEL’S BRIDE
First North American Publication 2007.
Copyright © 2007 by Lucy Gordon.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.