by K. J. Rabane
“He sounds a charmer,” I muttered, fearing a pattern was beginning to emerge. I was one step ahead of him.
“He is indeed,” George conceded. “The girl you saw, Laura, and her sister Leonora spent their young lives handing any money they made over to Claudio as they feared he would land himself in trouble with ‘the mob.’ In truth it was for their mother’s sake but Claudio was the one who benefited, poor Petra never saw a penny of it.”
“What happened to the other daughter, Leonora?” I could barely say her name without choking.
“I don’t know. I used to see her and her sister regularly then someone told me she was married to a doctor in London. She used to come home often and after her visits, Claudio always seemed to be ‘in the money.’ I don’t think I‘ve seen her lately but I could be mistaken. It’s difficult to tell the two daughters apart actually. They’re very close in age; Petra was always pregnant in those days. I remember her pushing the pram with the two of them together, as alike as two peas in a pod.”
The pain was starting again and getting worse, gripping my chest like a vice as I tried to remove the pills from my pocket.
“Are you feeling ill?” George asked, bending towards me, as I slipped a tablet under my tongue.
“I’ll be OK, in a minute.” I gasped, waiting for the pain to pass.
“Perhaps you should see a doctor?” George suggested. “You really don’t look well.”
“It’s nothing.” I replied. “But maybe I could do with an early night.
I left George puffing away on his pipe, the smoke drifting high into the still, night air. My worst fears were taking shape. It must have been Laura I’d seen in Venice. So Leonora hadn’t lied.
That night, again, I was unable to sleep. I knew now that Leo must have been visiting her family on those occasions when she’d pretended to go to her sick aunt. It also made sense now why she was not keen on either Lucas or me joining her on those visits. The family was a shambles, the father a rotter who lived off his children. She was ashamed of them – my poor Leo. I shook my head. What was I thinking? She’d deceived me with another man and I was feeling sorry for her. My head began to swim; nothing was turning out to be as I’d thought. I clung to the fact that she was responsible for the deaths of my unborn child and Evelyn, in order to stop the threads, holding my sanity together, from unravelling still further. It was all that kept me from tipping over the edge. It wouldn’t do to weaken now.
Two days later when George and I were drinking wine outside the restaurant, where I’d first met him, I saw the man again. He was walking in front of us, a preoccupied expression on his face as he hurried onwards and before he could disappear from view, I said, “George, quick who’s that man, the one going towards the Piazza, with the fair hair, blue shirt and white shorts.”
My companion turned to look where I was pointing and smiled. “You do seem to be preoccupied with the Servini family at the moment, my friend.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, fearing the reply.
“That is Carlo Servini. He’s Laura’s brother, remember the girl you saw the other day?”
The colour drained from my face. That the man I’d seen in the photo-fax with Leo was her brother was a possibility that had never crossed my mind. Now so much of what happened was starting to take shape in my mind. Naturally Leo would have wanted her brother to be at her wedding. If only she’d trusted me enough to tell me the truth. If only I had known.
My hands began to shake as I poured a glass of wine from the bottle standing between us on the table. I couldn’t speak until the alcohol had deadened my senses a little. Refilling my glass again, I managed to croak, “What does he do? I’ve often seen him walking through the town.”
George looked bemused. He had already forgotten my preoccupation. “Who? Do you mean Carlo?”
I nodded.
“He’s the local librarian, quiet, studious sort of chap. Keep’s himself to himself. He’s always on his own, unless of course he’s with his sister. Since his brothers left San Gimignano under a cloud, he has remained with his brute of a father. If it wasn’t for Laura, I dread to think what he would do, poor chap.”
I drank deeply and with each glass, my voice became strong enough to continue with my questions. “And Laura? Why is she still living in the house? With her looks I’d have thought she would have moved on, got married, raised a family, the usual things beautiful young girls do.”
George sighed, “More trouble, in a family who have had more than their fair share, unfortunately. When Laura was seventeen and even lovelier than she is today, the son of a wealthy Venetian family who was staying in the town, fell deeply in love with her. They met in secret because of her father and eventually the young man managed to persuade her to go back to Venice with him. Once there, she wrote to her distraught mother telling her she was in love and would be living with her lover in a flat in Venice.”
He was enjoying himself, as he continued with the story, unaware of the effect it was having on me. I wanted him to stop – to ease the pain that increased with every syllable. For with each word, the structure of my world was melting into that sun-drenched street.
“Apparently, her father went mad and insisted on going to Venice in order to drag Laura back home but the stress of it all was too much for Petra, she became ill and one morning Claudio found her dead in bed at his side. Afterwards, Claudio lost interest in going anywhere and lived off the money his daughter Leonora managed to send him from England.”
“Where was Leonora living at this time?” I interrupted.
If George thought my interest in Leonora’s whereabouts was odd, he didn’t show it.
“In London, working as a nanny I believe,” he answered and then continued with his story. “But there was worse to befall that beleaguered family because the inevitable happened and Laura fell pregnant by her Venetian lover. Unfortunately, he acted true to type, rich, spoilt boy with no honour, and when trouble hit, he left the poor girl to fend for herself and ran back to his parents with his tail between his legs.”
The sun burned the top of my head as the waiter emerged and lowered the sunblind. But even the welcome shade it produced couldn’t stop the sweat of fear from drenching my body.
“She was desperate and had no option but to contact her sister in London. There was no one else who could help her. Leonora paid for her fare back to San Gimignano and came over from England to stay with her until her baby was born. I gather she smoothed things over with Claudio by ensuring he had a continual supply of money, which was all he was interested in anyway.”
George narrowed his eyes.
“Laura and the young child live with the family now and she has her hands full coping with the old lady, her father and her child. If it had not been for her brother and sister’s help, I don’t think she would have managed. Since then she’s lived in the family home, never leaving the town. She is like a horse whose spirit has been broken. It’s as if her youth was left behind in Venice all those years ago.”
George ordered another bottle of wine.
“A tragic story,” I muttered, hardly able to speak. It was Laura who had captivated me in Venice, not Leonora. The truth was stripped to the bone. I wanted to leave George and hide away with my past but for some reason I sat rooted to the spot, unable to move.
The days were shortening, evening coming earlier with each passing day. Antonio lit the candle on our table saying, “Winter will be here before I know it and these tables will be blown by the winds so I must put them away in the basement.” He looked at us and smiled. “But you gentlemen are to have ‘special table’ inside.
George laughed, “That’s a hint if ever I heard one. I hope you will still be around to make his words come true.”
I hesitated.“Er, I’m not sure. I’ve stayed longer than I’d anticipated as it is.”
“I know how that feels. Perhaps if you find a good woman here you’ll stay.” He glanced at me.” There is always Laura Servini,”
he said.
A wave of pure terror swept over me, thankfully unnoticed by George who was discussing the wine with Antonio.
“I must go,” I said, spilling the remaining wine from my glass in my haste.
“Same time tomorrow,” George said.
I mumbled an assent and left as if the hounds of hell were nipping at my heels.
Following my conversation with George, I was faced with a range of conflicting emotions. Part of me wanted to leave and put as much space between myself and Laura Servini as possible but part of me was desperate to be near her, to hear her speak, to touch her and to re-live that part of my life when Leo had inflamed my senses.
I wandered the streets in the hope of seeing her, like a lost soul seeking redemption. If George noticed the change in me, he didn’t comment. On the surface, nothing had changed, only I knew how misleading that was.
The seasons were changing. Autumn colours painting the trees in the fields surrounding San Gimignano with an ever-changing palate, yellows turning into vibrant reds then merging into russets before leaving the branches naked to face the winter.
Late one afternoon when a cool breeze sliced through alleyways like a knife through butter, I ran into her. I was leaving the warmth of Antonio’s café, my head bent against the wind, when I collided with a figure hurrying in the opposite direction. Her face was half-hidden in the folds of a cream lacy scarf, her hair blowing around her head like a fan. I murmured an apology before I realised who she was but it was her reply sent the blood rushing to my face.
“Thank you but I was as much to blame. I admit to not looking where I was going,” she replied. It was Leo’s voice, as soft and sensuous, the slight hint of an accent in the coating the perfectly formed vowels.
I raised my head and found myself staring into the eyes that had captivated me one lazy afternoon in Venice, a lifetime ago. She smiled and passed me by without a backward glance. I was unable to move. My feet stayed rooted to the spot and I turned to watch her walking away in the direction of her shabby home. Then I began to shake, my guts turned somersaults; I had to see more of her. It suddenly occurred to me that Laura must find it odd that her sister hadn’t been in touch with her.
I had to do something and act quickly, before she disappeared behind the rusty-hinged wooden door. I caught up with her at the top of the hill before she turned into the alleyway leading to her house.
“Excuse me,” my breath was coming in short gasps. I stopped and rested my hand against the wall.
Laura turned around. “Are you unwell?” she asked, walking towards me.
“No, it’s not that, just a little breathless and out of condition.”
She stopped, “You wanted to ask me something?”
“Yes,” my breath was steadier. “It’s just… you remind me of someone I met at a party some time ago. She was married to a man who owned a computing firm.”
Her face changed; she was excited. I felt her hand on my arm, “You met my sister, Leonora?”
I made as if to think about my reply. “Yes, I think that was her name. It was a pity about what happened.”
“Pity?”
“About the marriage break-up.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand. What marriage break-up?”
I shook my head. “Look, it’s none of my business. Maybe I’m confusing your sister with someone else. Forget what I said.” I started to walk away but she rushed after me.
“Please, I need to know. You see I haven’t been able to reach her for some time. I have no address. For reasons I will not concern you with, Leonora was not keen to give me her address in England. It’s family business and involves my father, you understand?”
“I have no wish to pry into any family business,” I said. “But I heard from a friend that Leonora Hope and her husband had split up because she’d met someone else. Apparently, she didn’t want to be found, in case her husband followed her and tried to make her change her mind, and no one seems to have heard from her since.”
She looked crestfallen. I placed a hand on her arm. “I’m sure she’ll be in touch, once she’s settled.” Every shameful word ate into my soul.
“Yes, I expect you are right. Thank you so much for telling me.”
Leaving me alone with my conscience, she hurried away and was out of sight in seconds.
Chapter 35
Later, it occurred to me that Laura’s brother Carlo might recognise me as his sister’s husband. I looked at the image staring back at me from the dressing table mirror. Would anyone recognise this haggard face as the one I wore on our wedding day? My eyes were puffy and a permanent haunted look lingered. The fine lines, once induced by laughter, now etched deep grooves into my brow and at the corners of my eyes; two deep furrows ran from my nose to my mouth making me look permanently miserable, adding to which, I’d put on weight and my skin looked sallow, even with a tan. But was there still enough of me remaining, to jog his memory? Could I risk staying a moment longer in this place?
I had to know more about Leonora but knew if I questioned Laura she would suspect there was more to my enquiries than simple curiosity. My inadequate explanation of my meeting with her sister had left me surprised that she’d accepted it without suspicion. However, I knew without doubt, as the months passed, her family would make enquiries as to her whereabouts. Surely her silence alone was enough to prompt further action on their part.
I opened the bottle of wine I’d bought and drank until the edges of my paranoia blurred. Sleep was elusive and punctuated by dreams. Leonora and Evelyn became one, each indistinguishable from the other, and I awoke in a bath of sweat believing I’d murdered an innocent woman whose only purpose had been to make life easier for her family. As daylight crept into my room, it brought with it a certainty that I’d misjudged my beautiful wife and I began to doubt whether she’d had anything to do with Evelyn’s death or that of my unborn child. What if I was right? I began to tremble and wiped away the sweat trickling into my eyes. What sort of monster had I become?
Unable to stomach the prospect of breakfast, I left my room and the guesthouse and walked along the back streets until I found the house where the Leonora’s family lived. I stood shivering in a doorway, out of sight, as a cool wind blew leaves into a pile on the cobbles. At half past eight, Carlo Servini opened the door. He was dressed for work, and was walking in the direction of the library. I waited until the clock in the square struck ten o’clock and then walked towards the house. There was an urgent need in me. I had to talk to her again. But before I could summon up enough courage to cross the cobbles to her front door, she appeared. She saw me immediately.
“Hello again,” she said, wrapping a scarf around her neck. She was pushing a child in a wheelchair.
“Hello,” I stood in front of her and waited. She bent towards the young child who I could see was not a child but a teenager trapped in a child’s body, and who spoke to her in Italian.
“I am explaining to Claudia that you met her aunt in England. She misses her dreadfully,” Laura explained.
I gulped, “Actually, I was hoping to see you again. It’s about your sister; some information I hoped you could supply.”
She straightened up.
“I have to take Claudia to the day centre but I could meet you in the café on the square at eleven o’clock.”
I agreed, watched her walk away and was again struck by her resemblance to Leo. She was my only hope. How could I live with myself if I had taken her sister from her for no good reason other than jealousy and mistrust?
The seconds turned into hours as I waited for her to arrive. There were no longer any tables arranged outside the cafés in San Gimignano and as I sat in the warm interior of Mario’s café, I was surprised by my heightened senses. It was as if I was seeing the world in Technicolor before it seeped away from me. The bittersweet smell of roasted coffee beans and the cinnamon rising from the cakes lined up in rows on the counter cocooned me in a fragrant cloud from which I desired no
escape; the colour of the chequered table cloths and the framed prints on the walls, their vibrancy making my eyes ache.
Then I saw her walking up the cobbles towards the café. The wind was blowing her hair into her eyes and she raised her hand and flicked it away just as I had seen Leo do a thousand times. She opened the door and brought with her a draught of bittersweet autumnal air then sat opposite me as I ordered coffee for us both, wishing it had been brandy.
“You said you wanted to see me, something about my sister?” she asked, leaving her coffee untouched in the cup.
“It’s nothing really,” I lied, “It was just that I remembered something after I’d left you the other day.” I was breathing heavily but she didn’t seem to notice, being more concerned with the topic of my conversation than how it was delivered.
I took a deep breath. “I told you I met her at a party. Later, one of the guests told me your sister had been very close to someone called Evelyn, at least I think that was her name. I just wondered if you might be able to find out some more information from this Evelyn, as to the whereabouts of your sister.”
Laura took a sip from the cup and sighed. “I wish that was possible. But the Evelyn, of whom you speak, died before my sister married her second husband.”
“I’m sorry.” Lying was beginning to become a habit.
“It was good of you to think it might be of help but I think you are mistaken - Evelyn was not really a friend of Leonora’s.”
I tried to hide my surprise but my voice was shaking as I asked, “Really?”
“No. You see my sister did try and befriend her neighbour. Leonora was married to Lucas at the time and lived very near Evelyn and her husband and, although they met frequently, Leonora was aware she had ‘how you say’ other fish to bake.”
“Fry,” I corrected.
“Of course. She told me Evelyn had a lover and as time went on my sister felt she was using her as a cover, by pretending to be her friend.”
I choked on my coffee, spluttering and coughing, gasping for breath, as a fist gripped my heart. Somehow, I managed to remove the tablet from my pocket and slipped it under my tongue. Laura’s concern was obvious.