The Silent Fountain

by Victoria Fox

  On cue, the bell rang. ‘That’ll be it!’ Vivien ducked from underneath the curling tongs and raced for the door. Instead of meeting Isabella, as expected, the box was waiting on the step, unaccompanied. That’s strange, she thought, collecting it and slipping back inside, but thought no more about it because Isabella never did the expected thing. She’d delivered the gown: nothing more was required of her.

  Vivien had to contain herself as the stylists finished. She was itching to peek in the box, let the material cross her fingers, but the wait would be worth it.

  ‘There,’ the girl said, ‘all done.’ She grinned. ‘So… can we see it now?’

  Vivien had imagined Gio being the first to witness the dress, but since she had an audience she couldn’t resist sharing her excitement. ‘OK!’ she trilled. ‘Wait here.’

  Vivien tore open the box, not bothering to untie the dove-grey ribbon securing its lid, and rustled through layers of fragrant tissue paper.

  My dress…

  Only it wasn’t her dress. Yes, it was. No, it wasn’t. Confusion hit her in a hot blast. For an awful moment she thought the wrong one had been picked up – but, then, as she examined the mess that spooled miserably between her hands, she only wished that were true, because at least, despite the inconvenience, she could have arranged to return it and claim the proper one, the real one, the one she had paid for and fallen in love with. A horrid taste multiplied in her mouth.

  ‘Ms Lockhart – is everything all right?’

  She found she couldn’t speak. There were no words.

  ‘I, uh… This is…’

  Vivien didn’t need to turn to gauge their reaction – she heard their gasps just fine. The bundle in her arms could only be described as a monstrosity. No longer white, it was dyed an awful sludge brown-green, as mottled as a toad’s back. The lace had been ripped, the sleeves slashed, so that holding it against the light revealed a shaggy atrocity that neither she, nor any other self-respecting human being, would ever be seen dead in. Vivien knew straight away who had done this. Isabella.

  ‘What happened?’ the hairdresser asked, stunned.

  ‘Just leave,’ Vivien croaked. ‘Go.’

  The women retreated. Alone, Vivien consulted the clock. Clever Isabella had left just an hour between delivery and the start of the ceremony. There was no way of unpicking it. All she had in the laundry was a pair of sweatpants and her jogging T-shirt – the rest of her clothes were at Gio’s. Vivien couldn’t help a flash of admiration at Isabella’s cunning. Isabella had hated it when she’d moved her clothes into Gio’s room; the sister had hovered at the door like a bad omen, watching Vivien unpack, casting sneer after sneer her way. She knew that Vivien had cleared out her own place. And, as punishment, had no choice but to wear this carbuncle.

  How could you? she thought, biting back tears. You horrible, horrible thing.

  There was no time to cry. She had to make it work.

  And she tried. Boy, she tried. Vivien scrubbed the aggressive colour, which only made it worse; she endeavoured to stitch together the more tattered of the torn seams, to no avail; she hemmed the skirt to give it more form but instead it just ballooned around her knees. She looked dreadful. What was her alternative? Guests would be waiting; Gio would be wondering where she was. She had even managed to mess up her hair with all the pulling and tugging of the material over her head. If only she had another outfit to wear, but it was this or nothing. Isabella had won this time.

  I hate you, she thought, as she swiped at her tears, but the more she swiped the more her mascara bled. I’ll get you for this, you evil, vengeful witch. Just you wait.

  *

  Under ordinary circumstances, the setting would be paradise. Azure ocean, lilac sky, amber sand giving way to a pearl-white pagoda beneath which Gio stood, suited, impossibly handsome, awaiting his bride… But Vivien was walking into a disaster zone. Maybe it isn’t that bad, she had told herself as she’d left the house, thinking that perhaps the light of day would be kind, make the green appear less slime and more emerald, but the caws of the waiting press had soon put paid to that illusion.

  As she approached the aisle, she saw Gio’s face fall. Vivien glowed scarlet; her tears were ready to drown her. She wished she could explain, tell him everything; tell all the assembled guests who exchanged looks as she passed, but she couldn’t.

  One face struck her with absolute clarity. Isabella, just a glance from where she stood alongside her brother at the altar, but that glance was triumphant with malice. Vivien had never seen her look so pleased – or so sinful. To Vivien’s horror she registered that Isabella was wearing white; she had deliberately let the sister choose her outfit independently, and saw now how foolish she’d been. Of course Isabella would have taken the chance to upstage her. Vivien hadn’t thought her capable of it: cold, yes; cruel, yes; toxic, yes – but this duplicity required guts and determination. Isabella had always appeared to her a passive aggressor, not someone qualified to make such a bold and barefaced attack. Together, brother and sister looked every inch the perfect couple, and she, Vivien, the slime-drenched pretender.

  ‘What happened?’ Gio whispered as she reached his side and their guests sat down. Briskly, she shook her head for fear that speaking would make her cry. At least he hadn’t imagined that she had chosen this miscreation. Not that the paparazzi would care for excuses. She envisaged tomorrow’s papers and wanted to weep afresh.

  The ceremony passed in a blur. Vivien was aware the entire time of Isabella’s presence at her back, her long dark hair hanging beautifully and a clutch of peonies clasped demurely at her waist. What must Vivien look like next to her?

  Afterwards, she was congratulated a touch warily. Nobody commented on the gown: there was nothing to say. Any compliment would have been comical.

  ‘I know what you did,’ she hissed at Isabella as soon as she got the chance, grabbing her elbow and pinching it hard. ‘Don’t think I don’t know it was you.’ And Isabella gazed back at her with wide, innocent eyes, a mere flicker of mischief dancing at their centre, a flicker no one else but Vivien would see – not even Gio.

  She was reminded, appallingly, of her father. The way that Gilbert would send a scare her way in a single glance – a terrible assurance of what was to come.

  You’re done for, he had told her, without saying a word. Isabella said the same.

  ‘So, how are you sisters getting on?’ Gio joined them, smiling.

  ‘Fine,’ said Vivien tightly. I’ll tell him later. She didn’t wish to make more of a scene than she already had – inciting an argument would be the final disgrace.

  *

  That night, they made love at the lavish hotel Gio had booked. Vivien had worried that the dress would render her forever besmirched in her new husband’s eyes, but thankfully that wasn’t the case. Gio took her to heaven and back, and afterwards she was loath to break the spell but she had to. She had to tell him the truth.

  ‘There’s something I need to talk to you about,’ she said.

  Gio propped himself up on one elbow. Her husband: the light of her life.

  ‘That’s funny,’ he said, ‘I do, too. You first.’

  Vivien opened her mouth to speak but the words dried up.

  ‘No.’ She lost her nerve, pulling the sheet up to cover herself. ‘You go.’

  Gio’s smile widened. His eyelashes were soft and long, and she wished she had known him as a boy, in Sicily, far away from Claremont… He’d been an orphan.

  Like you told him you were. What right did she have to throw accusations Isabella’s way when she had deceived him so terribly?

  ‘How would you feel about moving to Italy?’ Gio tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘I’ve been offered a research placement in Tuscany.’

  Vivien’s eyes widened. ‘You have?’

  ‘It’s a great opportunity,’ he said, ‘and we’d have a place ready-made. I’ve thought a lot about this, Viv, and it could work for us, really. When my uncle died a few yea
rs ago, he left me his mansion in the hills – it’s been empty ever since. I thought I’d end up selling one day but I couldn’t quite bring myself to let it go.’ A faraway look overcame him. ‘It’s the house where Bella and I grew up. My uncle took us in when we lost our parents. It’s a big place, and… unusual. But it’s special to me, and I always hoped I’d go back but the timing was never right – until now. Think about it, bellissima. It could be a fresh start. The beginning of our lives together.’

  Seeing her startled expression, he quickly added, ‘I know you’d be leaving a lot behind, but—’

  ‘No!’ He had misread her joy for shock – but this was perfect! ‘Oh, Gio, it sounds wonderful!’ Vivien fell into his arms. ‘Yes, yes, take me, take me there now!’

  ‘We’re not visiting.’ He made clear. ‘It’s to live… For a year, maybe longer.’

  Elated, Vivien kissed him. This was the best wedding present she could ever have imagined. Finally, they would break away and start their future – far from Hollywood, far from the ghosts of her past, and, most crucially, far from Isabella.

  ‘I said yes, didn’t I?’ she enthused, kissing him again. ‘The house is ready?’

  ‘It is,’ laughed Gio, his features aglow like a boy at Christmas, gladdened at her reaction. Then, more serious: ‘It’s isolated, it’s not what you’re used to.’

  ‘I don’t care!’

  ‘And you don’t speak the language.’

  ‘I’m learning!’ Vivien bit her lip with pleasure. ‘Oh, Gio, what a magnificent stroke of luck… And how generous of your uncle.’

  ‘He was our mother’s brother. After what happened to our family, he did all he could. He saved us, really, gave us sanctuary… He always vowed I would inherit.’

  The ‘us’ bothered her, the ‘our’. She ignored it. Nothing could ruin this moment. She and Gio were about to move into their own place. Their own home! Vivien had longed for it since they’d met: a roof she and Gio could share, a refuge that would spell years of happiness, that might one day hear the laughter of children…

  ‘It sounds magical,’ she said. ‘I promise it will be the best decision we ever made.’ This time their kiss was fervent, passion burning between them.

  ‘Darling,’ he said, grinning, ‘you had something to say, too?’

  Vivien considered it, the allegation on the tip of her tongue, but then she changed her mind. Gio was a good man, and what did it matter if his sister had done a spiteful thing, when they would soon be leaving her behind anyway? Vivien felt charity blossom in her heart. She would let Isabella get away with this one. After all, she herself was getting away with Isabella’s brother – and with her uncle’s house.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  She squeezed his hand, her heart bursting with happiness.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘In that case, I’ll tell Isabella in the morning.’

  Vivien blinked. She drew away. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Didn’t I mention it?’ said Gio. ‘Isabella is coming with us.’

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Vivien, Italy, 1980

  Their jet touched down in Florence in the early evening. Vivien had drunk so many Campari sodas that she felt woozy, only vaguely registering the burned sienna colour of the surrounding hills and the grey strip of runway as they approached.

  ‘Home,’ murmured Gio, next to her, and looped his fingers through hers.

  Vivien returned his smile with a tight one of her own, and tried not to think about the damp patch flowering on her silk blouse, where Isabella had stood partway through the flight and spilled her drink. Deliberate, had been Vivien’s first thought, seeing the way Isabella hung her head in mock shame and Gio, as always, stepped in to apologise on his sister’s behalf. You did that on purpose, you child.

  ‘It’s good to be back, right?’ Gio leaned across his wife to his sister, who was staring solemnly out of the window. Vivien heard the note of enquiry in his voice, of concern, for Isabella had not returned to Italy since they’d left their uncle’s care. Once again, Vivien endeavoured to reignite her sympathy for the sister, but she struggled. How long could she hold her tongue? It had been impossible for her and Gio to have a honeymoon, even, without involving Isabella, and now she was joining them for the first phase of their brand new chapter, in their new home? It was ridiculous.

  Isabella turned and gave a sad little nod. No wonder Gio treated her like a kicked puppy. Only Vivien saw through her act. Isabella was tough and calculating, and there wasn’t room for both of them in this marriage.

  Gio sat back, satisfied, as the wheels struck tarmac. Music boomed to life on the jet’s speakers and Vivien unclipped her purse to apply coral lipstick. She was pleased with her likeness in the compact. She could have stepped straight out of a Duran Duran video, all peacock eye shadow and voluminous blonde hair. Vivien nurtured her difference from Isabella, who was more Kate Bush than Bonnie Tyler, and maximised her golden-girl Californian allure through glitzy jewellery and bold fashion statements. She wore these things like a shield, a reminder that she had been a bona fide movie star and in another league altogether from this shy, sinister sister; but other times, like now, they made her feel cheap and foolish. That look had only ever been a mask – it had been a mask at the Lalique and it had been a mask in Hollywood – and she feared she would forever be unable to peer beneath.

  ‘You don’t need to do that, sweetheart,’ said Gio, with a little bat of his hand that made her feel silly and vain. Isabella wasn’t putting on make-up, was she? She didn’t need to. ‘The paparazzi have been told to expect a different plane,’ he said, ‘at a different time. I wasn’t risking any disturbances.’ He shot a pointed look at Isabella.

  Naturally. What wasn’t about Isabella?

  It hurt Vivien that he supposed her every effort was for someone else’s benefit – in this case, for the cameras. What if she wanted to look nice, just for him?

  She slicked the colour on anyway. Even if her shirt was ruined, her face didn’t have to be. As the plane rumbled to its moorings, Gio saw her inspect the stain once more. ‘It was an accident,’ he reminded her, a little less gently than before.

  Vivien longed to object, but she was scared to confront Gio. Scared of his disappointment, scared of his sadness, scared of exposing her disloyalty, scared of wounding him… And scared most of all that, if issued an ultimatum, there would be only one woman he would pick.

  ‘I know,’ she replied, giving him her loveliest smile.

  *

  They arrived at the Castillo Barbarossa at dusk. Gio’s uncle’s mansion crept out of the burgeoning twilight, amber glow cast across its giant facets and the scent of lemons heady in the air. Their car crunched up on the gravel drive and Vivien spotted two uniformed staff, a man and a woman, waiting for them at the door.

  ‘What do you think?’ Gio asked, kissing her cheek.

  Vivien was stunned. She was accustomed to luxury back in America, but not of this ilk. This wasn’t a palm trees and swimming pools kind of opulence; it was far more sophisticated, steeped in age-old class and in possession of an ancient elegance that all the hundred-dollar bills in La-La Land couldn’t buy.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said truthfully. She couldn’t believe that she was going to live here, that it would be hers and Gio’s.

  Gio helped Isabella out of the car first, and stood for a moment with his arm round his sister, looking up at the house. He whispered something in her ear. Vivien flinched, and opened the door to let herself out. She felt self-conscious in front of the man who came to take their luggage. Did he suppose Isabella was the wife?

  ‘I am Salvatore, Signora Moretti,’ he said, addressing her correctly – thank God. ‘And this is Adalina.’ The woman stepped forward, warm, friendly, her eyes bright with the promise of working for a movie star – that, or for Gio, who looked even more handsome, if that was possible, a
gainst his ancestral backdrop. In the style of the time, he wore a long dark coat with the collar turned up, his tousled hair a reckless vision and his single earring glinting in the tentative moonlight. Vivien’s heart sang to see how content he looked, even with Isabella a blemish on the horizon. If only Gio’s satisfaction could be something she alone could achieve. She feared it was not. There was only so much happiness she could give him.

  Inside, the rooms unfolded like gloriously wrapped presents, a maze of endless corridors, exquisite wall hangings, antique objets and the kind of framed pictures that looked as if they belonged in Buckingham Palace. Salvatore and Adalina had lit all the spaces, so Gio and his new bride could choose their quarters at leisure. Vivien knew straight away the room they would have: the master at the front, overlooking the gardens and the fountain, from a window heavy with scarlet material.

  ‘It’s incredible, Gio,’ she told him, as they stared at the view together, scarcely able at this hour to pick out the cypress trees beyond, and the stunning tiered gardens that tumbled down to the lawns. ‘I love it. I absolutely love it.’

  ‘And I absolutely love you,’ he told her.

  Vivien turned and beamed, finding his lips with hers.

  Isabella stepped into the room. Gio broke off, steering his wife with one arm and greeting his sister with the other. Vivien disliked when he did this, stood between the two women as if each was as important to him as the other. She also disliked how, up close, she could smell Isabella’s black hair, fragrant with a weirdly seductive scent that made her own gleaming bottles of Rive Gauche seem trite and sickly sweet.

  Downstairs, a fire was blazing in the hall. Orange shadows danced and jumped across panelled walls, and she marvelled at the stone arch carved out of it.

  ‘The ballroom, signora,’ said Adalina, appearing at her side. ‘Signor Dinapoli rarely used it, but it’s a magnificent space.’ Vivien left the others behind and stepped through, her delighted gaze taking in the corniced ceilings and polished parquet floor. She wondered about the uncle, Giacomo Dinapoli, and what sort of person he’d been – he was kind, presumably, to have taken in two orphans after his sister’s death.