She found her cell phone and left the room. She didn’t want him to hear her call. To her relief Vincenzo answered at once.
‘It’s Piero,’ she said. ‘He’s very ill. I think it could be pneumonia.’
He made a sharp sound. ‘All right, stay with him. I’ll call an ambulance and be right there.’
She returned to find Piero sitting up, looking around him anxiously. As soon as he saw her he stretched out an arm.
‘I wanted you—you weren’t there…’
He held onto her like a child, his eyes fixed on her face.
‘I called Vincenzo. He’s sending for an ambulance.’
‘Don’t want—hospital—’ came the painful rasping. ‘Just you. Hold onto me.’
She settled him back on the sofa, and knelt beside him, one of his hot hands in hers. He kept his eyes on her, as though seeing her was all he asked. Her heart was heavy, for something told her that the end was very near.
He knew it too, she was sure, and wanted to spend his last few moments alone with her.
She heard a noise outside and went quickly to look out of the window. Down below, in the little garden that fronted onto the Grand Canal, she could see Vincenzo, opening the wrought-iron gate, and propping it so that it stayed open.
She returned to Piero, clasping him in her arms, and after a moment Vincenzo joined them.
‘The ambulance is on its way,’ he said.
As he got a better look at the old man his eyes signalled his shock, and he leaned over the back of the sofa, grasping Piero’s arm warmly.
‘Old friend, don’t give us a fright like this.’
Piero managed a faint smile.
‘Don’t need—ambulance,’ he croaked. He looked at Julia. ‘I have—all I want—since she came back to me.’
Vincenzo frowned. Her eyes met his, reminding him of what they had realised earlier.
‘He doesn’t mean me,’ she said softly.
Vincenzo nodded. He had understood.
‘Of course I came back,’ she said to Piero. ‘You always knew I would, didn’t you—Babbo?’
She hesitated only a moment before using the pet name that only his daughter had used. It was a risk, but worth it. She knew she’d guessed right when he turned a radiant face on her.
‘Oh, yes,’ he whispered. ‘Always. I kept going to wait for you. People told me you were dead, but I knew—one day—you’d be on the boat.’ A faint smile touched his lips. ‘And you were.’
He gave a sigh and his eyes closed. Vincenzo’s gaze met Julia’s and she could see that he felt helpless.
Piero’s eyes opened again and when he spoke his voice was faint.
‘I was afraid—but when you saw me—you smiled—and I knew that I was forgiven.’
She drew in her breath. Suddenly her eyes were blinded with tears.
‘There was nothing to forgive, Babbo,’ she murmured.
‘But there was—’ he insisted weakly ‘—said such terrible things—you know my temper—always sorry afterwards but—this time—this time—’
His breathing came faster, more laboured. A frantic note crept into his voice. ‘I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it—’
‘Of course you didn’t. I always knew that. I forgave you long ago.’
A smile broke over his face, and although the light was fading from him it was the most brilliant smile she had ever seen. Shining through it was the glow of happiness and peace.
Suddenly he seemed to become afraid. ‘Elena—Elena—’
‘I’m here—always. I love you, Babbo.’
‘I love you, daughter.’
Vincenzo turned away, covering his eyes.
A few moments later there was the sound of footsteps outside, and a voice calling, ‘Is anybody there?’
Hastily controlling himself, Vincenzo went out into the hall where two young men had arrived with the ambulance. He beckoned and they quickly followed him.
One of them gasped when he saw the room. ‘What a way to have to live!’ he said. ‘The sooner we get him to hospital, the better.’
Julia spoke in a muffled voice. ‘You’re too late.’
They drew near to where the two figures clasped each other. Piero’s eyes were closed and his rasping breathing had stopped. He lay quiet and peaceful.
‘Poor old fellow,’ said one of the young men sympathetically.
Julia laid her cheek tenderly against Piero’s white hair.
‘Don’t feel sorry for him,’ she said softly. ‘He died as he wanted to, in his daughter’s arms.’
The two young men took over, laying Piero gently on a trolley. Julia planted a last kiss on his forehead before he was wheeled away, down into the garden and into the ambulance boat tied up in the water.
Together they stood at the window as the ambulance pulled away down the Grand Canal, until its lights were no longer visible. When it had gone Vincenzo opened his arms and she went into them.
‘I’m going to miss him so much,’ she said.
‘So am I. But you were right. He was happy at the end and that’s what matters.’ He took her face in his hands and looked down at her.
‘You were wonderful,’ he said tenderly.
He brushed the hair back from her face, then drew her against him, with her head on his shoulder, and they stood like that in silence for a long time.
‘I’m taking you away with me,’ he said at last. ‘You can’t live here alone.’
‘All right, I’ll move. But not now.’ She turned back into the room, suddenly so lonely. ‘I want to spend one more night here.’
Piero’s few pathetic possessions were still there, including the gifts she’d given him. She sat down on the bed, lifting his gloves, looking at them, stroking them.
‘Who was he really?’ she asked.
‘Professor Alessandro Calfani, a philosopher. Once I thought I knew him well, but now I think I never knew him in any way that mattered. Did you understand what he meant about Elena forgiving him?’
‘He told me she used to call him Babbo, but stopped after some kind of estrangement. It sounded as though they had a big row. I guess when he wanted to say sorry, it was too late.’
‘But it was all right for him in the end.’ Vincenzo sat down beside her, and slipped his arm around her shoulders.
Suddenly the sight of Piero’s things hurt her unbearably, and she buried her face in her hands. She struggled to fight the tears, but it was useless, and at last she cried without trying to stop.
‘I loved him so much,’ she wept against Vincenzo’s shoulder.
‘So did I,’ he said sombrely, holding her tightly as much for his sake as hers.
‘Stay with me here tonight,’ she said. ‘I want to remember him with you.’
He drew her down onto the bed that was only just big enough for the two them, and drew blankets over them.
She was still weeping and he made no effort to stop her. Sometimes he kissed her tumbled hair. Once he drew it back and stroked her face with tender fingers before kissing her gently on the mouth. She looked at him quickly.
‘It’s all right,’ he whispered. ‘Go to sleep. I’m here.’
She closed her eyes and he felt her relax. At last her breathing told him that she was asleep. He rested his head against her and had begun to drift off when she stirred and began to mutter.
‘Julia,’ he whispered, but then, ‘Sophie.’
She gave a gasp that was almost a cry, and awoke.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘It’s a dream—it keeps coming back—’
‘What happens in your dream?’
‘It’s about Annina.’
‘You identified with her, didn’t you? I can see why now. You loved your husband, and he shut you away for years—’
‘And I died,’ she said slowly. ‘I died.’
‘That’s what you said, standing before her picture.’
She looked at him quickly.
‘But how could you know that? It was only in my dr
eam.’
‘You were sleepwalking. You really went up there, and I came with you, just to see that you were all right.’
She searched his face. ‘Yes, you did, didn’t you?’ she said. ‘And you said you were my friend.’
‘Do you remember anything else?’ he asked anxiously.
‘Yes.’ She gave a faint smile. ‘You kissed me.’
‘That was the first time I ever kissed you, and you didn’t know, not then or next day. I kept hoping you’d remember, but you looked through me.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I couldn’t. You needed to remember for yourself.’ He grinned. ‘I made good resolutions about waiting until the moment came.’
‘You didn’t keep them very long.’
‘True. I’m not a patient man.’
‘I’m glad of that.’ She reached up and put her arms about his neck. ‘I’m so glad of that.’
When he was sure he’d understood her properly he tightened his own arms about her.
‘My love,’ he said, ‘let us drive the ghosts away. They have no place here now.’
‘No,’ she whispered, drawing him close. ‘Not now.’
Chapter Seven
THE next day Julia left the palazzo for good, and moved into the little apartment over the restaurant. It consisted of one main room, and bedroom, with a tiny bathroom and even tinier kitchen.
New Year was almost on them, and she plunged into work, available at all hours, taking on any jobs, to keep her mind occupied.
‘Don’t overdo it,’ Vincenzo advised one evening as she was just coming on for the late shift. ‘You were here early, you helped with cleaning up all afternoon, and now you’re starting work again.’
‘I prefer to keep busy. The Montressis will be back soon. When New Year’s over I’ll try Murano again.’
‘On your own?’
‘Yes, but don’t worry about me. If they’re not there I won’t fling myself melodramatically into the lagoon. I’ll just keep trying until they are. I’ll go as soon as Piero’s funeral is over.’
It was Vincenzo who had paid for the funeral, arranging for Piero to lie beside Elena on the island of San Michele.
When the day came they both boarded the black motor boat that would take them across the lagoon. They made the journey standing up behind the black-draped coffin. Inside, Piero lay wearing the gloves, scarf and boots she had given him.
Soon the island came in sight, the outer rim of cypresses encased by a terracotta wall, and a few minutes later they reached the landing stage. Pallbearers appeared and carried the coffin onto dry land.
At the inner gate they were met by an official who checked the details with Vincenzo.
They were the only mourners. During the service she kept her eyes fixed on the coffin, topped by flowers from herself and Vincenzo. She had known Piero only a few weeks, yet she felt she had lost a very dear friend.
It was time to take the coffin to its final resting place. As they moved out of the chapel she could see that some of the cemetery was conventional, with burials in the ground, and headstones.
But this place had been created for economy of space, and most coffins were placed in narrow vaults, piled on top of one another, as many as ten high. At the outer end was a marble plaque giving the details of who lay there, with a picture. As there was also a holder for flowers a whole wall of these plaques was an impressive sight. Where two flowered walls faced each other the effect was of an enchanted bower.
Elena was on the fourth tier, her picture easily visible. She bore a marked resemblance to her father, having his sharp features and brilliant smile.
Slowly Piero’s coffin was slid into the space beside her, and the end fitted into place.
‘Goodbye,’ she whispered. ‘And thank you for everything.’
‘I’d like to put some fresh flowers in my sister’s urn,’ Vincenzo said.
They walked along the long walls of flowers until Vincenzo stopped, pointing up at something above his head.
‘That’s Bianca,’ he said. ‘And the one beside her is her husband.’
Julia tilted her head back, but was unable to see the pictures clearly.
‘How do you get up so high to change the flowers?’ she wanted to know.
‘There are some steps somewhere.’
He went searching around the corner and reappeared wheeling a set of steps high enough to reach the upper levels. Julia studied his sister’s face and even from this distance she could see the family resemblance between them. There was a gentleness about Bianca that was instantly appealing.
‘I didn’t like him,’ Vincenzo said, ‘but she loved him. They only had four years together before they died.’
‘Why didn’t you like him?’
‘He was too smooth a character. You can see it there in his face.’
She glanced up again, trying to get a better view of the man, whose face was partly obscured by flowers.
Suddenly she felt as though the very air about her had shuddered. She clutched the steps to avoid falling.
‘What is it?’ Vincenzo asked, concerned.
‘I want to climb up.’
‘Why? What’s the matter?’
‘I need to see more closely.’
Feeling as though she were moving through a nightmare, she began to climb the steps, her gaze fixed on the man’s face as it grew closer. She took a deep breath, expecting it to change before her eyes. This must all be a terrifying mistake.
But there was no mistake. The face engraved in the marble was that of her husband.
She could hear Vincenzo’s voice calling her from a great distance. Gradually the world stopped spinning and she realised that she was sitting on the steps, shivering violently.
‘For God’s sake, what’s the matter?’ he demanded, aghast. ‘You nearly fainted up there.’
‘It’s him,’ she said through chattering teeth.
‘What do you mean?’
‘My husband, Bruce. That’s him up there.’
‘Julia, you’re overwrought.’
‘I tell you, that’s him.’
She forced herself to her feet. ‘Let me see him again.’
‘All right, and you’ll find that it’s just a chance resemblance.’
She climbed back to the top step and fixed her eyes on the man, almost hoping to find that it had been a mistake. But there was no doubt. It was the face she hated. Silently she went down and sat on the steps again, feeling as though she were turning to ice.
‘That is Bruce,’ she said slowly. ‘How does he come to be here?’
‘Julia, I think you’re wrong. You haven’t seen him for years and your memories are distorted by hatred.’
‘I know what he looked like,’ she said angrily. ‘Oh, why was I stupid enough to lose his pictures overboard? If I still had them you could see for yourself. That’s him.’
Vincenzo drew a sharp breath. If she was right the implications were so monstrous that for the moment he couldn’t accept them.
‘I can’t get my head around this,’ he said slowly. ‘I know him as James Cardew. He came here five years ago.’
‘Was he alone?’
‘Julia—’
She clutched his hand painfully. ‘Was anyone with him? Tell me.’
‘He had a little girl with him,’ he said slowly.
‘How old?’
‘About three.’
‘Blue eyes? Fair hair, slightly ginger?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s my daughter. Where is she?’
‘Mio Dio!’ he whispered, appalled. ‘How can this have happened?’
‘Where is she?’
‘Since they died she lives with me.’
‘I must see her.’
‘Wait!’ She’d half risen and he seized her arms. ‘It isn’t as simple as that.’
‘She is my daughter. I am her mother. What could be simpler?’
‘But you can’t just go up to her and tell her w
ho you are. She thinks you’re dead.’
She shook her head wildly. ‘No, I don’t believe you.’
‘James told us that he was a widower. The child believed it. She’s had years to get used to the idea. For her it’s reality. Julia, please try to understand. You can’t simply burst on her out of the blue.’
She leaned hopelessly against the side of the steps.
‘I didn’t believe I could hate him any more than I did,’ she said. ‘But he had one last trick up his sleeve.’
Other mourners were coming towards them along the tunnel of flowers. He helped her to her feet.
‘Let’s find somewhere else.’
They found a seat in the cloisters at the far end and sat quietly for a few minutes, both stunned by what had happened.
At last a harsh sound, part laugh, part sob, burst from her.
‘I’ve dreamed of this for so long. It was going to be the happiest moment of my life. Now I feel as if I’ve been punched in the stomach. You’ve got to admit that’s funny. Oh, heavens, isn’t it hilarious?’
She began to laugh softly, trying to smother the sound with her hands.
‘Don’t,’ Vincenzo begged, slipping his arm around her.
‘What shall I do? Cry?’
When he didn’t answer she looked up and saw that he was looking back the way they had come, to where a middle-aged woman and a little girl had appeared before the plaques of Bianca and her husband. The woman was controlling a pushchair in which a child slept.
‘Who are they?’ she asked in a shaking voice.
‘The woman is Gemma. I employ her as a nanny.’
‘And the little girl?’
The world seemed to stop. He was looking at her with an expression of terrible sadness.
‘Oh, my God,’ she whispered. ‘That’s—?’
‘Yes.’ He was gripping her tightly now.
‘Let go of me.’
‘No. Julia, stop and think. She doesn’t know you. She’s grieving for the death of her parents.’
‘They weren’t her parents. Your sister wasn’t her mother.’
‘But she loved her as though she was. I’m sorry, I know this is painful for you, but for Rosa’s sake you must listen.’
‘Rosa? Her name is Natalie.’
‘Not any longer. He told us her name was Rosa. She’s forgotten Natalie.’
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