‘It would help if you had some pictures of him,’ Vincenzo observed.
‘I know, but my pictures went to the bottom of the lagoon an hour ago.’ She clutched her head. ‘If only I’d shown them to you last week—’
‘You were full of fever last week,’ Piero said. ‘You didn’t know whether you were coming or going. It’s just bad luck, but we probably wouldn’t have recognised him anyway.’
She nodded. ‘The Montressis are my best lead. They’ll be back in January, and then I’ll hunt him down and get my daughter back.’
‘But will it be that simple?’ Vincenzo asked. ‘After six years she may want to stay where she is.’
She gave him a look that chilled his blood.
‘I am her mother,’ she said with slow, harsh emphasis. ‘She belongs with me. If anyone tries to stop me, I’ll—’ She was breathing hard.
‘Yes?’ he asked uneasily.
She met his eyes. ‘I’ll do what I have to—whatever that might be—I don’t know.’
But she did know. He could see it in her face and feel it in her determination to reveal no more. She wouldn’t put her thoughts into words because they were too terrible to be spoken.
He didn’t recognise this woman. She’d freely claimed to be ‘as mad as a hatter’, and there were times in her delirium and sleepwalking when she’d seemed to be treading some fine line between reality and delusion. But now he saw only grim purpose in her eyes, and he wondered which side of the line she had stepped.
And who could blame her, he wondered, if her tragedy had driven her to the wrong side?
Chapter Six
‘SO,’ VINCENZO said gently, ‘when you find Bruce—’
‘He’s going to give her back to me. If he’s reasonable I’ll promise him twenty-four hours’ start before I point the police in his direction.’
‘But then he’ll get away,’ Piero pointed out.
Julia turned on him.
‘You don’t think I’m going to keep my word, do you?’ she asked scornfully. ‘As soon as I’m clear with Natalie I’ll put them straight onto him. After what he did to me, I’ll have no remorse about anything I do to him.
‘I’ve had plenty of time to learn to be strong. I’m a different person now. Sophie was a fool. She thought feelings were wonderful because they made her happy.’
‘She doesn’t sound like a fool to me,’ Vincenzo said quietly.
‘Oh, she was worse than that,’ Julia said with an edge of contempt for her old self. ‘She needed people and she believed in them. She hadn’t learned that that’s the quickest way to hell. But Sophie’s dead and good riddance to her. Julia knows it’s better to use people than trust them. She’s grown wise.’
‘Too wise to love?’ Vincenzo asked. ‘Too wise to need?’
‘Too wise to feel. The one thing she learned in prison was not to feel anything.’
‘Not even for her child?’
She took a sharp breath. ‘That’s different. She’s part of me, flesh of my flesh. It’s as though someone had torn my heart out and wouldn’t give it back.’
‘So that’s why you said you had nothing to give,’ he reminded her in a low voice.
‘Yes, and it was true, so believe it.’
There was a flash of anger in his eyes. ‘And suppose I choose not to believe it?’
‘That’s your risk, but remember that I warned you.’
He was silent for a moment. Then he nodded.
‘I’ll be going now. Walk a little way with me.’
She followed him quietly, and as they neared the outer door he said, ‘It’s a long time between now and mid-January. How are you going to spend that time?’
‘Sharpening my sword,’ she said with grim humour.
‘Don’t talk like that,’ he said harshly.
‘Why? Because you’ve got some fairy-tale picture of me as sweetness and light? Maybe I was, then. Not now. Now I’m a monster who knows how to fight dirty. And I’ll do it.’
He raised an eyebrow, dampening her agitation.
‘I was only going to suggest a better way to pass the time. Come and work for me while Celia’s away. Of course, for an artist, waitressing may seem like a comedown—’
‘But for a gaolbird it’s a step up,’ she said lightly.
He refused to rise to the bait. ‘Will you take the job?’
She hesitated. She had promised herself to beware of him. She made that promise often, and broke it constantly because he touched her heart, deny it as she might.
As if he could read her mind, Vincenzo said quietly, ‘Never fear. I won’t trouble you. In fact I ought to apologise.’
‘For what?’
‘Pressuring you. I guessed that something painful had happened, but I had no idea of anything like this.’
She smiled in mockery of herself. ‘Now you know how I turned into an avenging witch. Not a pretty sight, am I?’
‘I’m not judging you. What right do I have? But I can’t believe that Sophie is dead. I think she’s still there somewhere.’
‘More fool you,’ she sighed. ‘You’ve been warned.’
‘Let’s leave that for the moment. You need peace and space, and I’ll let you have them while you’re working for me.’
‘All right, I’ll take the job.’
‘Good. You can have the apartment over the restaurant.’
She shook her head.
‘Thank you, but I’ll stay here. I can’t leave Piero alone now. I know he was alone before, but something’s changed. I have a feeling that he needs me.’
‘I thought you had no feelings.’
‘This is family obligation.’
‘And you two are family?’
‘Not by blood, but in other ways.’ She added quickly, ‘And that’s not an emotion either. It’s survival.’
‘And what about me? Am I part of the family?’
She didn’t answer, and he knew he was excluded from the charmed circle.
It ought not to matter. He still had relatives with whom he would spend Christmas, leaving these two misfits to whatever comfort they could find with each other. And yet it hurt.
As the month moved towards Christmas, winking lights glinted everywhere, in shop windows, strung across the streets and over the bridges.
People called out of windows and across bridges, wishing each other, ‘Buon Natale.’ Merry Christmas. Decorated trees appeared in the squares, and red-robed figures strode about the little city, waving cheerily and talking to children.
‘Father Christmas,’ Julia exclaimed, pleased.
‘Babbo Natale,’ Piero corrected her. ‘That’s what we call him. Babbo means ‘‘Father’’.’
‘I thought that was padre?’
‘Padre means ‘‘father’’ too,’ Piero agreed. ‘But it’s more formal. Babbo is a kind of affectionate diminutive. Some children use it to their fathers, especially when they’re very young.’
‘Did Elena do that?’ she asked.
‘Oh, yes. I’ve always been Babbo to her, except for—well, there was a time when we argued a lot, and she started calling me Papà. But that’s all over now, and when she comes back I’ll be Babbo again. Hey, look over there! A whole collection of them!’
He pointed to the Grand Canal, where six red-garbed figures were rowing one gondola, accompanied by blaring Christmas music, and the subject of Elena was allowed to drop.
The week before Christmas she awoke to find Venice under snow. Delighted, she and Piero went out and walked arm in arm through the city that had been totally transformed. Snow-covered gondolas bobbed in the water, snow-covered bridges glittered over tiny canals. A brilliant, freezing sun poured down blindingly on the white blanket, and she had to shield her eyes from the glare.
Now there were musicians wandering the alleys and the piazzas, wearing the traditional shepherds’ garb of buckskins and woollen cloaks, and playing bagpipes. The sweet, reedy sound pursued them to St Mark’s, where they threw snowballs, ducking an
d diving, laughing at each other like people who hadn’t a care in the world.
Vincenzo had insisted on giving her a generous amount of money for saving his home from damage. ‘Your caretaker’s bonus,’ he called it.
Julia had immediately passed it on to Piero. When he’d demurred she’d told him that this was only half the amount, and she was merely sharing with him. From his sceptical look she’d doubted that he’d been fooled, but he’d accepted the money.
‘Get something warm to wear,’ she told him.
But as the days went on there was no sign of new clothes. Evidently he had other priorities, which he was not prepared to discuss.
She was a huge success at Il Pappagallo. Venice was filling up with Christmas tourists, and the restaurant was crowded every night. Some of the customers insisted on being served only by her.
She enjoyed this admiration, which made her laugh. Vincenzo, she was secretly pleased to note, didn’t find it funny.
‘You shouldn’t let Antonnio monopolise you,’ he said as they were walking through the dark calles one night. ‘There are plenty of other customers.’
‘He’s the kind who always makes sure he’s noticed,’ Julia said lightly. Antonnio’s persistent gallantry had done her ego a world of good.
‘And you always make sure you serve him first,’ Vincenzo growled.
‘Only because he grabs that table near the kitchen.’
‘Yes, so that he can grab your hand as you go past, and devour it,’ he said, as close to ill tempered as she’d ever seen him. ‘In future, I’ll serve him.’
She chuckled. ‘He’ll love that.’
‘You’re loving it.’
‘Well, he did promise me a very special tip,’ she mused.
‘Be careful. Antonnio’s ‘‘special tips’’ are legendary and they don’t involve money.’
She took his arm. ‘Oh, stop being so pompous. I’m just doing my job. And after six years shut up with women maybe I don’t mind a little admiration.’
‘A little admiration,’ he scoffed. ‘Another moment he’d have had you down on the floor.’
She didn’t answer that with words, only with an ironic glance.
‘I see,’ he said grimly. ‘Perhaps the woman who boasts of no feelings likes making me jealous?’
‘The woman with no feelings says she doesn’t belong to you, and you have no right to be jealous. What happened to your promise to back off and give me space?’
‘I wouldn’t be the first man to make a promise he can’t keep.’
‘Vincenzo, what are you hoping for?’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe I’m waiting to meet Sophie.’
‘She’s gone. She died some time during my second year in gaol. She won’t come back.’
‘You’re wrong. She never completely went away. That’s why I can’t free myself of you.’
They had come to a halt under a lamp that showed them to each other in bleached, unearthly hues. Her face, once too thin, had filled out a little, he realised, and lost some of its tormented look. She had fine, beautiful bone structure, and the slight extra flesh suited her, reclaiming some of her youth.
Tonight she had revelled, siren-like, in her customers’ adulation, making him wonder at the different moods that turned her into so many people. Any of them, or none of them, could be the real woman, and all of them were driving him mad.
‘You should try harder to free yourself from me,’ she said. ‘It’s just a question of being strong-minded.’
‘Maybe I don’t want to be strong-minded.’
Snow began to fall, just a few flakes at first, then more and more. Through them she searched his face in the cold light. ‘In the end I’ll go away and leave you,’ she whispered. ‘Like everyone else.’
‘I know,’ he said sadly. ‘But who knows when the end will be? Not tonight.’
As he spoke he gathered her into his arms, and she went into them easily, offering her lips to his kiss and returning it with passion.
She knew that very passion was her enemy. It threatened to distract her from her purpose, but she couldn’t help it. He brought her back to life, and the feeling was sweet, wild, and frightening.
‘No—no—’ she whispered, more to herself than him.
He drew back to look at her with troubled eyes. ‘Do you want me to stop?’
‘No,’ she said explosively, fastening her mouth on his.
She was kissing him with frantic desire, possessed by feelings that were almost too sweet to be borne. It was she who explored his mouth, almost attacking him in her urgency, teasing his lips, his tongue, feeling the deep satisfaction of his response.
‘Stay with me tonight,’ he murmured against her mouth.
But she shook her head. ‘Not now—not tonight—’
‘Mio Dio! How much do you think one man can stand? You’re not being fair. He ill-used you and you revenge yourself on us all.’
‘No, it’s not that, I swear it. But I don’t feel that I belong anywhere. The past is over and I can’t tell about the future.’
‘Your daughter is all that matters to you, I know that.’ He sighed, resting his forehead against hers. ‘But I can be patient and hope for my turn.’
‘Even if it never comes?’
‘Do you believe that one day you’ll get your heart’s desire?’
‘I have to,’ she whispered.
‘So do I. Let’s leave it there, and hope for better times.’
He slipped his arm about her shoulders, and she leaned contentedly against him as they walked the rest of the way in the falling snow.
At midday on Christmas Eve a cannon was fired from the turrets of the Castel Sant’ Angelo in Rome, and Christmas had officially begun.
She and Piero listened to it together on a battery-powered radio she’d bought. The restaurant had closed, Vincenzo had gone off to his family, and she had settled in for Christmas at the palazzo.
They had stocked up with seasonal goodies, including panettone, the traditional rich fruit cake.
‘We’re supposed to fast for twenty-four hours after the cannon,’ Piero explained, ‘but I don’t believe in slavishly adhering to every tradition.’
‘Neither do I,’ she said. ‘Let’s have some cake.’
As they munched she said, ‘I remember when I was a child, hanging my stocking up on Christmas Eve.’
‘Children don’t do that in Italy,’ he explained. ‘Stockings don’t go up until Epiphany, January sixth.’
‘I’m not waiting until then to give you your present.’
‘You gave me those gloves, and the scarf, two weeks ago,’ he reminded her.
‘Well, I had to give them to you early before you froze to death. What happened to all that money you were supposed to be spending on yourself?’
‘I gambled it away. I used to be notorious for breaking the bank at Monte Carlo.’
‘All right, don’t tell me. Anyway, here’s some boots and warm socks. I had to guess the size.’
The size was perfect. He put them on and paraded splendidly before her. She smiled and applauded, feeling content.
‘And this is yours,’ he said, pulling out a small object, carefully wrapped in newspaper.
Opening it she found a china Pierrot figure in a black mask and a costume decorated with many colours. Now she knew what had become of his money. She had seen this in a shop and it cost a fortune.
‘Pierrot,’ she said.
‘So that you don’t forget me,’ he said.
‘Do you think I ever could? Buon Natale, Pierrot.’
‘Buon Natale.’
Vincenzo’s gift to her was a cell phone. He called her halfway through Christmas Day.
‘It’s a sad Christmas for you,’ he said.
‘Not really. I have my friends now, and I have hope. Is that your niece I can hear?’ Behind him she could make out a little girl’s laughter.
‘Yes, that’s Rosa.’
‘It’s a lovely sound,’ she said wistfully.<
br />
‘Your time will come. Cling onto that hope.’
‘I will. Buon Natale.’
‘Buon Natale—Sophie.’
She smiled and hung up without answering.
After the lull of Christmas there was an immediate flurry of business. As they were clearing up on the second night she said, ‘Do you mind if I hurry away? I want to get back to Piero.’
‘Isn’t he all right?’ Vincenzo asked quickly.
‘He’s got a bit of a cold. I’d just like to make a fuss of him.’
‘I suppose he caught cold going to San Zaccaria.’ Vincenzo groaned. ‘I wish he wouldn’t do that in this weather.’
‘But he doesn’t any more. He hasn’t been there since—’ She fell silent as the truth dawned on her. ‘Since that day I went to Murano.’
‘And we met your boat,’ Vincenzo said. ‘And you came ashore and hugged him.’
As Julia reached home she looked up, wondering if Piero would be there, looking out for her as he sometimes did. But there was no face at the window, and for some reason that made her start to run.
He was probably just asleep, but still—
When she entered their room she couldn’t see him at first. He was lying stretched out, breathing heavily. She moved quietly, not to awaken him, but then she realised that he was unlikely to have awoken, whatever she did.
His forehead was hot to the touch, and there was an ugly rasping sound to the breath, which seemed to tear his throat.
‘Piero,’ she said, giving him a little shake. ‘Piero!’
He opened his eyes, but only a little way.
‘Ciao, cara,’ he croaked.
‘Oh, my God,’ she breathed. ‘This is bad. Listen, I’m going to get help for you.’
‘No need,’ he gasped, and his feverish hand sought hers. ‘Stay here,’ he whispered. ‘Stay with you—only you.’
‘No,’ she said fiercely. ‘You’ve got to get well. I’m calling Vincenzo. He’ll know what to do.’ Then, before she could choke back the idiotic words she heard herself say, ‘Don’t go away.’
The ghost of hilarity flickered over his gaunt features. ‘I won’t.’
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