by Lucy Gordon
‘But I don’t think it. The others don’t matter because they don’t know what’s between us. But we know.’ For the first time something in his manner made her falter. ‘Don’t we?’
He stood before her, the moonlight on his face making it livid.
‘Do you remember how you once taunted me?’ he asked. ‘You said that you could play any part, and fool me. “I could say anything if I wanted to. How would you know the difference?” Those were your words. And they were true. You boasted of having a dozen techniques. “There’s a way to make a fool of almost any man. You just have to find what it is.”’
‘And you’re throwing that up against me now?’ she whispered, horrified.
‘No, I’m not. I know you well enough not to believe those words. But how well do you know me? Don’t you realise that I might have the same skills? I could say anything if I wanted to. How would you know the difference?’
‘Because I trust you,’ she cried.
‘Why? Because I told you that you could? Are you so sure I was telling the truth?’
‘Don’t!’ she screamed, turning away, her hands over her ears. ‘Don’t try to turn my trust against me. Don’t use my love as a weapon.’
‘I have to, because it’s the only weapon that can make you see the danger. Perhaps I’m sharper than you allowed for. I did it well, didn’t I? I made love to you so cleverly that I even got you to propose to me, and I did it without once telling you that I loved you.’
Angel was silent, stricken. It was true that he had never said it.
‘Are you saying that you don’t love me?’ she asked.
‘If I said that I did, would you know it was true?’
In the long silence that followed she felt the wind begin to whip around her, with a soft, moaning sound. How cold it was suddenly.
‘I thought I would-once,’ she said slowly.
He put his hands on her shoulders, drawing her close and speaking with his mouth almost against hers.
‘Do you know now?’ he murmured.
With her head swimming, Angel realised that she knew nothing. He could tell her any lie and convince her. But she had already accepted the risk, knowing in her heart that he was worth it. Why couldn’t he believe that about himself?
Or was it her that he couldn’t believe?
‘Vittorio-why are you doing this?’
‘Because I can see the future,’ he said simply. ‘When we have our first serious quarrel-and we’ll have it-it’ll be terrible because there’s a cruel devil in me.’
‘I know,’ she said softly.
‘And I’ll read in your eyes that you’re thinking the same as the rest of them, trying to guess how many lies I told you to serve my own ends, wondering if you were a fool to trust me. And then I’ll go mad.’
She stepped back sharply.
‘Oh, you coward,’ she breathed. ‘You talk about me trusting you, but it’s you who can’t trust me. It’s funny, isn’t it? Earlier we were talking about risks, and you said I must take the risk. Because you can’t take one.’
‘That’s not what I-’
‘No, it’s not what you meant, but it’s what I can understand. You’re not the only one who can see the future. You’ve just shown it to me. I’m not afraid to risk everything, but you are. I’d have taken any chance with you, and trusted you through thick and thin, but all you see is your neighbours sniggering. Well, I tell you this, if their opinion is so much more important to you than mine-then to hell with you!’
‘Angel, listen-’
‘I’ve listened enough and you have nothing to say that I care to hear.’ She took a step back. ‘You warned me once that you could only do things on your own terms. I should have listened.’ She sighed distractedly and ran a hand through her hair. ‘Let’s not talk any more now.’
‘I’ll drive you home.’
‘No, I’ll get a taxi. You have to start your journey early tomorrow, and when you come back-when you come back…’
‘Angel,’ he said, almost pleading.
‘I told you before, don’t call me Angel. It’s not who I am.’
‘Who are you?’ he said slowly.
‘I don’t know. I thought I did, but you’ve made me see so many new things-things I don’t like. I can’t talk now. Goodbye.’
Angel turned quickly and walked away across the sand. At this moment she wanted nothing so much as to get away from him. She had told him that she could see the future. She saw it now, and it broke her heart.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I T TOOK Vittorio two days to sort out Gino Tradini and get him to double his order at an increased price. As he’d suspected, the man had thought he could cheat Angel because she was new to the business. Vittorio took a bitter satisfaction in making it plain to him just how wrong he was. Then he drove home slowly, trying to decide exactly what he was going to say to her.
He had two speeches alternating in his mind. In one he told her that he agreed with her that they had no chance together. In the other he begged her to forget everything that had gone before, and simply love him and stay with him. He only wished he knew which one he was going to deliver.
But then he realised that he would know the answer only when he saw her.
As he neared the house he found himself looking for her, for she would surely be watching for him, and run to greet him. But there was only Luca, whom he had left here, and Toni. Together they swarmed over him, and he raised his voice to chide them fondly, thinking the sound would bring her out.
But there was no sign of her.
He went straight into the kitchen where Berta was making coffee.
‘I need to talk to the padrona at once. Where is she?’
She stared at him. ‘But-I thought you’d know. She’s gone.’
‘Gone where?’
‘I don’t know. Just gone. She left yesterday.’
‘But she must have told you something.’
‘She just packed her things and left. Wait-’
But Vittorio had already run out, heading up the stairs to her room. There he threw open the wardrobes one by one, finding each one empty. The drawers were also empty. There was nothing to suggest that she had ever been here.
He had returned half prepared to set a distance between them, but now the distance was there and it hit him like a blow in the face.
Berta came in to find him staring around at the bare room, his face ashen.
‘Did she leave me no message, Berta?’
‘She wants you to see this man,’ Berta said, holding out a card bearing the name Emilio Varini, partner in a firm of lawyers in Amalfi.
‘That’s all?’ he asked, aghast. ‘She sends me to a lawyer?’
Berta nodded.
‘I’ll go now,’ he said grimly.
Signor Varini’s office was on the waterfront. He was a small man, precise in physique as well as in manner. Vittorio had met him before when arranging a sale to one of his clients.
‘I’ve been expecting you, Signor Tazzini,’ he said. ‘I have something to give you.’
‘Where is Signora Clannan?’ Vittorio asked without preamble.
‘She did not inform me of her destination. She only asked me to talk to you, and give you this.’
He handed over a large envelope full of papers, which Vittorio spread on the desk. But the words danced before him and at first he could make no sense of them. When they did begin to form a pattern they conveyed a message so monstrous that his mind refused to recognise it.
‘What is this all about?’ he demanded.
‘I think the meaning is clear, signore. The Tazzini estate is yours again. The Signora Clannan has signed it over to you.’
‘What do you mean, signed it over to me?’
‘She has given it to you. The property is now entirely yours once more.’
Still his mind refused to function.
‘But she can’t just-how much does she want for it?’
‘She wants nothing. If you examine
the documents you’ll see that you are now the legal owner of the estate.’
‘And you just let her do it?’ Vittorio demanded, outraged. ‘You let her give away everything she had?’
‘I naturally advised caution, but I couldn’t change her mind, and the property was hers to dispose of as she pleased.’
‘But didn’t she explain why?’
‘Yes, she said she didn’t need it any more.’
Now that Sam was dead, he thought with a sinking heart. Why hadn’t he seen this coming?
‘It was an emotional impulse,’ Vittorio said. ‘How can anyone do business that way? Of course I cannot accept. Please contact her at once and tell her that.’
‘But I can’t do that. I don’t know where she is.’
‘Call her mobile.’
‘She has changed the number.’
‘Then send her an e-mail.’
‘She’s changed her e-mail address. I have no way of contacting her at all.’
‘But that’s impossible. What happens if there’s an emergency?’
‘That’s what I said to her. But she said that she was cutting all ties with this place, and then it would be as though she had never existed. And if she didn’t exist, there could be no emergency.’
The phrase ‘cutting all ties’ caused a dreadful sinking in his stomach. To avoid it Vittorio grew angry.
‘Varini, listen to me. I will not accept this, and you must tell her so. You must.’
‘I have no way of doing so,’ the lawyer said with slow deliberation.
‘I don’t believe you. I will not accept that. After today I won’t return there again. Tell her that.’
‘Signor Tazzini, let me make the matter plain to you. If you don’t accept the estate, then it will go into limbo. If nobody owns it, nobody can care for it. Nobody can buy seed or fertiliser, nobody can plant, nobody can harvest. The place will go to rack and ruin.’
‘Harvest,’ he said slowly.
‘It’s about now, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, we should be starting soon.’
He thought of the orchard, heavy with ripe fruit, waiting for loving hands to pluck the lemons, waiting in vain, rotting, useless.
‘I’ll take it back,’ he groaned, ‘but only temporarily. Find a way to contact your client and tell her to get back here.’
‘If you’ll just sign these papers,’ the lawyer said.
When the last signature had been completed and witnessed, Emilio Varini reached into his desk and produced another sealed envelope.
‘This is also for you,’ he said. ‘Signora Clannan said it was to be given to you only when you had formally accepted the estate.’
‘Thank you,’ Vittorio said in a dead voice.
Mechanically he put the envelope in his pocket, took his copy of the papers and left the office. He drove home slowly, his mind refusing to accept what was happening. Not until he was in the house and safely alone did he pull out the envelope and sit staring at it.
For a while he did nothing else. As long as he didn’t read the letter it wasn’t true, and with all his soul he longed for it not to be true.
When he couldn’t find an excuse to put it off any longer he opened the letter.
My darling,
By the time you read this the estate will be yours again, as really it always was.
I think we both knew how it was bound to end. I love you, but I can’t live on one side of an abyss with you on the other. Nor can I cross the abyss to find you, because you won’t let me. I can’t reach the enclosed place where you live, and I can’t spend my life beating my head against the wall. I would only end in hating you, and I don’t want to do that. What we had only lasted a short time, but it was the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me, or ever will, and it must not end in bitterness.
This way there doesn’t have to be bitterness, only the recognition that we didn’t really have a chance. That’s true, isn’t it? I owned something that was rightly yours, and we could never get past that. I’d gladly share with you, if only you’d let me. But you won’t, so there’s only this way left.
I’ve tried to make you understand that I trust you totally, but you’ll never believe it, and that gives us no hope.
The past few years have left me not knowing who I am. Now I want to go back to the turning in the road, and find my true self again.
I’ve left Toni with you. I can’t take him with me, and I know you’ll love him and care for him.
He crumpled the letter in his hand, turning around sharply as though he could discover a way out. She was wrong, he thought passionately. He knew her true self. It was the loving, generous woman he’d found in his arms, and then been fool enough to throw away.
But, whatever she said, it wasn’t too late for them. Somehow it would be possible to find her, and make her see that they belonged together.
He spread out the letter again, smoothing the creases, and it was only then that he saw the last lines.
My darling, please don’t try to find me. This is something I need to do. I shall love you always. Thank you for everything.
It was signed ‘Angela’. Not ‘Angel’.
As he read the last lines again and again, Vittorio knew that he had no choice. He must give her the peace she asked for. It was the only thing left that he could do for her.
Hardly knowing what he did, he went out into the hall and began to wander through the house, trying not to hear the empty way it echoed around him. A thousand times he’d told himself that he would never rest while the usurper was there. Now she was gone, driven out by harsh words and ruthless pride, and the place was his again in a triumph so total that he could never have imagined it.
He shivered.
The Ristorante Michelangelo stood in a small side street in the northern part of Rome. It was always busy, for the food was plentiful and cheap, and the wine good. To students of the nearby university it was a place to congregate.
To some of them it was also a godsend, providing employment that helped to keep them financially above water, but only the poorest needed to take up the offer. One face had caused a good deal of comment, but to the cheeky lad who had said, ‘Hey, aren’t you Angel?’ she had replied simply, ‘No, I was once. Not any more.’
That had been eight months ago. Nobody asked now.
Tonight it was late, her feet were tired, and she was glad it would soon be time to close. Just one more customer.
‘What can I get you, signore?’ she asked, suppressing a yawn.
‘I’ve found what I came for,’ he said.
She looked up from her pad, and paled. ‘How did you find me?’
‘It took a while,’ Vittorio said. ‘I tried the English universities first, but then I realised you’d still be in Italy. Eventually I found you here.’
Somebody called her. ‘I have customers to see to,’ she told him.
‘I’ll wait for you outside.’
That gave her time to take command of herself. She was furious with him for disturbing her hard-won peace, but she could cope. This was the life she’d chosen, and even found some happiness in it. Now she could demonstrate, to him and herself, how complete was that victory.
Even so, when the time came to leave, she slipped out the back.
‘I thought so.’ Vittorio sounded pleased with himself. ‘It’s exactly what I’d have done.’
He moved out from where he’d been waiting, leaning against the wall. The light from a wall lamp fell directly onto him, giving him an eerie look in the near darkness.
‘You’d have looked silly if I’d gone out the front way,’ Angel said, trying not to let her voice shake. Even with the first shock gone, his impact was stunning.
‘No, I can see the front door from here. You were never going to escape me. You did so once. Not again.’
As if to prove him wrong, she walked ahead, forcing him to hurry to catch up with her.
‘Don’t go so fast. We have to talk.’
‘May
be it’s better if we don’t.’
‘Angel, wait-’
But if anything she walked faster so he raised his voice and called, ‘Angela!’
That made her stop and turn to face him.
‘What is there to talk about?’
‘Aren’t you curious about why I sought you out? I wasn’t going to look for you at first, but then something happened-it’ll take me a while to tell you about it.’
‘All right, I’ll take you home. Just for a while.’
Her home turned out to be a tiny apartment at the top of a three-storey building
‘It’s a bit untidy,’ she said. ‘That’s my roommates.’
‘You share this little place?’
It was the best she could afford, he realised. He looked around, thinking of the villa she had left, the property that had been hers. And now this.
They looked at each other for a moment, reading the lonely months in each other’s faces.
Just by being here he made it look different, she realised. She’d come to this down-at-heel place when the university had accepted her, determined to make her precious little store of money last. Here she’d fought her lonely battle, jumping every time someone came to the door, half hoping, half fearful, never quite knowing which one she felt more.
There had been temptations, times when she’d wanted to give it all up, run back to him, and forget everything else as long as they could be together, with love. But she’d fought back, using a mind that had received too little exercise, forcing it to expand, bending and hammering it into shape until it became a formidable instrument, and from somewhere she’d rediscovered the joy of learning.
It had proved all she’d hoped. With pleasure she had discovered that what happened inside her head could fight back against the loneliness of her heart and the aching need of her body. Not always, and not with finality. But the weapon, once discovered, could be used many times. With that, she’d made the most important discovery in life. She could cope.
And then he had to return, here where she’d won her battle, dimming it slightly with reminders of things she couldn’t afford to remember, because then the battle would have to be fought again.
As if he could read her thoughts, Vittorio said, ‘You made it, then. University, history of art, the academic life. Everything you wanted. Are you happy?’