by Lucy Gordon
At last there were handshakes and smiles all round. It was settled, and everyone was pleased.
‘Tonight we meet again in Venice, to celebrate,’ Rico declared. ‘You will all be my guests.’
On the journey back Lucio and Franco continued an animated discussion on the necessary arrangements. Charlotte stayed quiet, but made notes.
Back in the hotel she adjusted her attire a little more than last night, choosing a neckline just an inch lower to take advantage of her generous bosom. Lucio made no comment, but the way he nodded told her something she wanted to know. She was determined to believe that.
The evening was a triumph. There were the same guests as the night before, and everyone involved in the deal felt they had gained.
‘I can’t thank you enough,’ Lucio murmured as he clinked glasses with Charlotte.
‘For what? I’ve kept my mouth firmly shut all day.’
‘I could say that a woman who knows when to do that is worth her weight in gold, but you’d probably accuse me of being a sexist beast, so I won’t. It was clever of you not to get involved in the negotiations—’
‘Since they would have been over my head.’
‘Will you stop trying to trap me, you little fiend? And stop laughing.’
‘No, why should I?’
‘I meant that you made the negotiations happen. Without you I probably wouldn’t be here, and I’d have lost a lot.’
‘So if it turns into a disaster it’ll be all my fault?’
‘Of course. What else?’
She began to laugh and he joined in. Glancing at them Franco thought that he had never seen a couple who belonged together so completely. He turned away to make a discreet call on his cell phone.
The rest of the evening was spent discussing the festival next day. At last Franco rose to his feet.
‘We shall all meet again tomorrow,’ he said, ‘to take part in the festival. But now I have something else to say. Work is important, but this is also an evening for couples. My son and his future wife are a couple, my friends Charlotte and Lucio are a couple. My wife and I recently celebrated our wedding anniversary, and you—’ he indicated Ginevra’s parents ‘—will celebrate yours next month. So tonight I’ve arranged something special. Ah, I think it’s here now.’
He looked up at a man, dressed as a gondolier, signalling him from the doorway.
‘They are waiting for us,’ he said. ‘Shall we go?’
One of the doors of the restaurant opened on to a little side canal. There they found five gondolas ready to receive them.
‘A romantic journey for each of us,’ Franco said. ‘Goodnight until tomorrow.’
Hardly believing that this was happening, Charlotte took the hand that the gondolier held out to her, and climbed in carefully. When all the boats were full the procession glided away.
Looking around Charlotte saw the other three couples snuggled happily in each other’s arms. Franco was clearly a master of show business—a gondola ride in Venice, the very essence of romance.
Cheers and jeers rose from the other three boats when the occupants saw that Lucio and Charlotte were the only couple not embracing.
‘Go on, spoilsport!’
‘Why don’t you kiss her?’
From Rico came words in Venetian which made Charlotte laugh.
‘What did he say?’ Lucio demanded.
‘Something rather rude about you.’
‘Tell me.’
‘No way.’
‘I see. Then I’ll just have to put him right.’
He tightened his arm, laying his mouth against hers in a theatrical manner that made their companions cheer even more raucously.
Charlotte restrained her impulse to pull him closer, knowing that this was just more showmanship. If only they could be alone. Then she could do everything she wanted to turn showmanship into reality.
It was the gondolier who came to her rescue, calling in Venetian, ‘Dove voi andare?’
‘What was that?’ Lucio murmured.
‘He asked where we want to go.’
‘Canale Grande?’ the boatman called. ‘Ponte di Rialto?’
‘Do you want to see the Grand Canal and the Rialto Bridge?’ she translated.
Lucio shook his head. ‘I’d prefer something a little quieter, more private.’
‘We’ll keep to the little back canals,’ she called.
‘Sì, signorina.’
Now it was like being in another universe, created from narrow alleys, gleaming water and darkness. The boatman made no intrusive comments and they could imagine they were alone in the whole world.
‘Your night of triumph,’ he murmured.
‘Hardly,’ she said, thinking of how much she still had to achieve. ‘It doesn’t feel like triumph. Not yet.’
His eyes met hers, seeking her true meaning.
‘What would make it a triumph?’ he asked softly.
‘You,’ she said, reaching for him. ‘Only you.’
This was her kiss. She was the prime mover, and knew that her triumph was beginning. She slipped her arms above his head, determined that this time he would not escape, but he had no thought of escape. She could tell that with every fibre of her being.
She had dreamed of this ever since he’d fled from her at Enrico’s home, making love to her and then setting a cruel distance between them. Now everything she longed for was being given back to her. Every movement of his lips was a promise, and she would reclaim that promise with interest. She assured herself that while her sense of triumph soared.
A slight bump announced that the gondola had arrived at the hotel. Dazed, they wandered into the hotel and up to their suite. But there he paused, and a little fear crept over her. To conquer it she drew him close again. He put his arms about her, gentle, almost tentative.
‘Charlotte, I—’
‘It’s all right,’ she whispered against his mouth. ‘Everything’s all right.’
‘Is it? Can you be sure? I know myself. I can’t be near you without wanting to do something selfish. Just touching you brings me to the edge of control.’
‘Good. That’s where I want you—until you leap over the edge completely.’
‘Or until you lure me over.’ He tightened his arms, speaking in a tense voice. ‘I’ve tried to be strong but you’re not going to let me, are you?’
‘Not for a moment.’
‘Charlotte, don’t—don’t— Charlotte!’
And then there was only the feeling of victory as he drew her into his bedroom, pulling at her clothes. She would have helped him but he moved too fast for her, so she ripped his off instead.
No doubts, no hesitation, no false modesty. Just the plain fact that her will was stronger than his.
‘Charlotte...’
‘Yes, yes...’
His eyes, looking down on her, were mysteriously fierce and tender at the same time. ‘You’re a wicked woman,’ he whispered.
‘You’d better get used to it.’
‘In a thousand years I’ll never get used to you.’
He laid his head down against her breast and she wrapped him lovingly in her arms. There was still a way to go yet, but they would get there. In time she would win everything she wanted. In time he would be all hers.
After a while she felt him move, raise his head and grow still again, looking down on her.
‘Are you all right?’ he whispered.
‘Of course I am.’
‘Are you sure?’ Now he was backing away, leaving the bed, until she reached out and stopped him.
‘Oh, Lucio, please—don’t do this again.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that last time we made love you ran from me as fast as you could, as though it had been a traumatic experience for you. Am I really so terrible?’
‘The terrible one is me, selfishly taking what I want when you—’
‘Then you’re not the only selfish one, because I want it, too.’
&n
bsp; He gave a sigh that was part a groan, and sat on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his hair.
‘You probably think I’m mad, being so paranoid. Perhaps I am.’
‘Lucio, I do understand, honestly I do. But no harm will come to me because of what we’ve done. Or to our child.’
‘But things happen so easily. Just when you think everything’s going well it’s all snatched away from you. And you start to feel it might be better to have nothing, than to have something precious and lose it.’
‘Why don’t you tell me everything?’ she asked gently. ‘I have the feeling that there’s so much you’re keeping from me. Can’t you trust me?’
‘I do trust you, but it can be so hard to— Do you remember the night we met, the life I was living then?’
‘Yes, you seemed on top of the world. Everyone wanted your attention, everyone was out to attract you.’
‘Huh!’ He gave a bleak laugh. ‘That may be how it looked but it was an empty life. I felt that all the time—bleak, meaningless—but I couldn’t live any other way. There was nothing else for me in those days. I had no anchor, and I didn’t want one.’
‘Didn’t want one? As bad as that?’ she asked softly.
He nodded.
‘Tell me how it happened.’
‘It started so long ago that I can barely remember it—the place, the people, everything I once called home.’
‘Before you came to Tuscany?’
He nodded.
Now she knew she must tread carefully. Seeking him online she had several times found him described as a man of mystery.
‘He appeared from nowhere,’ one article had said. ‘Nobody seems to know where he came from, or, if they know, something—or someone—has persuaded them to keep silent.’
She sat in silence, refusing to ask any questions. What happened now must be his choice. At last he began to speak.
‘Sometimes I feel so far away from that world that it’s almost as though it never existed. But when I’m honest with myself I know that it shaped me, created the dark side of me.’
‘The dark side?’
‘The part of my nature that’s capable of revenge, ruthlessness—deliberate cruelty.’
She was about to protest but something held her silent. She’d never seen cruelty in Lucio, but instinct told her it was there. Driven too far he would be capable of the most terrible acts, the most coldly savage indifference.
Somewhere a warning voice whispered, Leave him. Flee quickly while there’s time. He’s only using you because he wants the child and one day he’ll break your heart. You know that. Don’t you?
Yes, she thought. I know that. But I won’t ever leave him.
Because I can’t.
Because I’ll never give up hope.
Because I love him.
The words seemed to leap out at her. She hadn’t meant to admit the truth, even to herself. But it had crept up on her without warning and now there was no escape.
He was watching her, seemingly troubled by her silence.
‘Now you know the worst of me,’ he said. ‘Don’t tell me you never suspected.’
She shook her head. ‘You’re wrong. I won’t know the worst until I discover it for myself. And perhaps I never will. Stop trying to blacken yourself. Just tell me about this “other world”. You had to escape it, but you’ve never really left it behind, have you?’
‘No, I guess that’s true.’
‘The night we met you told me you came from Sicily. Did you have a large family?’
‘No, just three of us, my parents and me. My father was a lawyer, but a very particular kind of lawyer, as I came to realise. His clients were rich and powerful. At first all I saw was that he was powerful, too. I admired him, wanted to be like him. I’d have done anything for his good opinion, or even just his attention.’
‘He ignored you?’
‘Not exactly. In his way he was a good father, did everything correctly. But I never felt that I was important to him. He only really loved one person in the world, and that was my mother. She was the same. Only he existed. They had the sort of marriage that most people would say was charming and idyllic.’
‘Not if you were the child looking in from the outside,’ she said.
For a moment he didn’t react. Then, very slowly, he smiled and nodded.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Of course you understand. I suppose I knew you would.’
‘If your parents really love each other, you’re never going to come first with either of them.’
‘That’s true, although to be fair to them they were kind and affectionate, in their way. As long as things went well. It was just when it came to a crisis—’ He stopped.
‘And one day the crisis came?’ she asked softly.
He nodded. ‘My father wanted me to become a lawyer. When I’d finished my training he reckoned I could become his partner. He gave me a job fetching and carrying in his office, so that I could “get the feel”. That’s when I started to realise what his clients were like, what he was like. He made his living protecting men who used violence and cruelty to get their way. He didn’t care what they were like or what they’d done, as long as they paid him well.
‘What really hurt was that he didn’t understand why I minded. He called me a weakling for “making a fuss about nothing”. No son of his would be such a fool. I knew I had to leave but I stayed for a while, hoping to persuade my mother to come with me. I couldn’t believe she knew the truth about him, and I was sure when she learned it she’d want to flee him, as well.
‘But when I told her, all she said was, “I knew you’d find out one day. I told him he should explain carefully”. She kept saying my father was a good man who did what he had to for the sake of his family. But I couldn’t believe it. He didn’t do it for us. He did it because he wanted money at any cost, and he got a kick out of associating with crooks, as long as they were successful crooks. I begged her to come with me, but she wouldn’t. She gave me some money and stood at the window as I slipped away one night.
‘That was the last time I ever saw her. Three years later they were both dead. Someone killed my father and she died trying to save him. She didn’t have to die, but she preferred that to living without him. Then I remembered something she’d said just before we parted, when she was trying to explain why she chose him above everything else, good and bad.’
He fell silent, and there was such pain in his face that Charlotte reached out and touched his cheek.
‘Don’t talk about it if you can’t bear to,’ she said.
‘No, I want to tell you. I know I can rely on you to—to know...to feel.’
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘She said that one day I’d know what it was to love someone beyond reason.’
‘That’s what we all hope for,’ Charlotte murmured.
‘Yes. She said I should be glad, for without it life would be empty. And she was right.’
‘You found that out yourself?’
He squeezed her hand. From somewhere she found the resolve to say, ‘You found it with Maria?’
He nodded.
‘Did you fall in love with her at once?’
‘No, we used to squabble a lot, but not seriously. Her parents took me in and I just seemed to fit in at once. I loved the life. I belonged. As Maria and I grew up we became closer until at the end it was just what my mother had predicted. Love beyond reason. I began to understand why she’d chosen to die rather than live without my father.’
‘That must have been...earth-shattering,’ she said softly. ‘And beautiful.’
‘Yes,’ he said in a husky voice. ‘Yes.’
From outside came a roar of laughter. She rose quickly and went to close the window, determined to protect Lucio. His memories were tormenting him and the last thing he needed was disturbance from outside. At all costs she would prevent that.
Before returning to him she took a moment to sort out her thoughts, which were co
nfused. She wanted his love, and it might seem unwise to talk with him about Maria, the woman he’d loved. Yet she needed to understand how deep that love had gone, for only then could she guess her own chance of winning his heart.
She turned back to him, then paused at what she saw.
Lucio was sitting with his head sunk so low it almost reached his knees. His whole being radiated pain and despair, and she felt as though her heart would break for him.
He looked up. The sight of her brought a tense smile to his face, and he stretched out his hand in a way that was almost a plea.
‘I’m here,’ she said, hurrying over and clasping his hand. ‘I’ll always be here.’
‘Will you? Will you?’
‘Of course. I promise.’
He lifted his head and she gasped at the tragedy and desolation in his eyes.
‘It’s easy to promise.’ He groaned. ‘But nobody is always there.’
‘Did she promise?’ Charlotte asked softly.
‘Many times. She vowed she’d never leave me—never in life—and she didn’t leave me in life. She left me in death. She was so young. Her death was the one thing we never thought of.’
‘How did it happen?’
‘She went to Florence one afternoon, to do some shopping. I saw her driving home and waved. The next minute the car swerved, hit a rock by the roadside and overturned. I managed to get her to hospital. She was terribly hurt, there seemed to be no hope, but still I—’
He choked into silence. His eyes were closed again, as though he’d chosen to retreat back into a private world. But his fingers clutched Charlotte’s hand convulsively. She laid her other hand over his, sending him comfort in the only way that could reach him.
‘She lived for two days,’ Lucio said softly. ‘Mostly she was unconscious. Sometimes she opened her eyes and seemed to look at me, but even then I’m not sure if she could see me. I begged her not to leave me, to forgive me—’
‘Forgive you? Surely she had nothing to forgive?’
‘I may have caused her accident, waving when I did. Perhaps I distracted her, perhaps she waved back and took her attention off the road—’
‘Lucio, don’t—’
‘But for me she might not have died.’
‘That’s just your imagination—how could you be sure?’