A Venetian Affair

by Catherine George

  ‘Forgotten me, you mean?’

  ‘I think he set himself to drive you out of her memory, yes.’

  ‘And he succeeded.’

  ‘It’s been five years,’ he said urgently. ‘The child believes what she’s been taught to believe. Think what the truth would do to her now. Don’t force any more burdens onto her.’

  ‘You’re saying I’m a burden to her?’ she demanded, aghast.

  ‘You would be at this moment. I beg you to leave it until we’ve both had time to think.’

  ‘Time for you to spirit her away where I can’t find her,’ she flashed.

  He didn’t reply in words, but the white-faced look he gave her was so full of shock that she backed off.

  ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘No, you shouldn’t,’ he said harshly. ‘Is that the sort of man you think I am?’

  ‘How do I know? Once I thought Bruce was wonderful. When people are fighting over a child they do things that you wouldn’t have dreamed—’

  ‘Are we fighting? Have we ever fought? I think I’ve deserved better from you than that kind of accusation. But since you lump me in with all the others, here.’

  He pulled a small notebook from his pocket, scribbled something and tore off the page with a gesture that was almost violent.

  ‘That’s where I live now,’ he snapped. ‘Come any time and you’ll find her there. But think very carefully about what you’re going to say to her.’

  Without giving her a chance to answer he stormed off in the direction of the woman and child. Julia sat, frozen with dismay, shocked at herself for having said such a thing to him, appalled at the discovery that had made them almost enemies.

  She watched the little scene in the distance. The woman had drawn the steps up to the wall of plaques, climbing them, then taking out the flowers. She descended and indicated for the child to climb up, with the fresh flowers she was holding. She mounted and began to place flowers in the urns, first her father’s, then Bianca’s.

  She was coming down now, sitting on the steps in exactly the same spot where Julia had sat only a few moments ago. She wasn’t weeping, merely crouching there with the stillness of despair. The woman tried to comfort her, but to Julia it was hard to tell if the child even noticed.

  She felt as though a band were tightening about her heart. How well she knew that feeling of desolation, so deep that the slightest movement didn’t seem worth the effort.

  Then it swept over her in a tide of anguish. This child was grieving for the loss of her parents, of her mother.

  Her mother! Not Julia. Not the woman who’d yearned over her through heartbroken days and agonised nights. Someone else!

  Then the little girl looked up, saw Vincenzo and, with a glad cry, began to run towards him. He opened his arms and she hurled herself into them, babbling in Italian. Julia could just hear the words.

  ‘I looked for you—’

  ‘I’m here now,’ he soothed her. ‘But what are you doing here?’

  ‘You said you were coming to the funeral of your friend, so I asked Gemma to bring me to see Mamma and Papà. I knew you’d come to see them too.’

  Julia began to move forward very slowly, staying close to the wall, making no disturbance, but getting close enough to see better. Then the little girl raised her head from Vincenzo’s shoulder, and Julia gasped at the sight of her. If she’d had any doubts before, they were settled now, for it was her own mother’s face that she saw. This was the child she had last seen years ago, at the start of the nightmare.

  Vincenzo looked back and for a terrible moment Julia thought he would ignore her. Instead he said gently, ‘Rosa, I have a friend for you to meet.’

  The child looked straight at her. Julia held her breath, waiting for the burst of joyful recognition.

  But it did not come.

  Rosa regarded her mother politely but without recognition.

  ‘Buongiorno,’ she said.

  ‘Buongiorno,’ Julia replied mechanically. ‘I am—’

  She fell silent. No words would come. She could hear her own heart pounding.

  ‘This is Signora Julia Baxter,’ Vincenzo said.

  ‘Buongiorno, signora. Sono Rosa.’

  She offered her hand. Hardly knowing what she did, Julia took it. For a moment it lay in hers. Her daughter had shaken her hand like a stranger.

  Vincenzo was introducing the nanny, who had a kind face. Julia greeted her mechanically. She was functioning on automatic while her brain struggled to cope.

  ‘Julia came with me to Piero’s funeral,’ Vincenzo explained. ‘He was a friend we were very fond of.’

  ‘I promised Carlo he could come to see Mamma and Papà this time,’ Rosa said. ‘He was too young before.’

  ‘Carlo?’ Julia asked blankly.

  She knew that she sounded vague, but that was because her mind was rejecting the monstrous idea that was growing. Surely it was impossible?

  But nothing was impossible.

  ‘He’s my little brother,’ Rosa said, indicating the sleeping child in the pushchair. ‘He’s only two.’

  She reached out eagerly to Vincenzo. ‘Come with me.’

  He took her hand and they went up the steps together. Julia heard her say, ‘I didn’t do the flowers properly.’

  And Vincenzo’s tender reply, ‘Let’s do them together.’

  He helped her to arrange the leaves. When they had finished the child stood a moment looking at the pictures. Slowly she passed her fingertips over them as though seeking comfort from the cold marble, then leaned forward and kissed them, first her father, then her stepmother. Julia bent her head, unable to watch. But in the next moment she looked up again, unable not to watch.

  She waited for her daughter to cry, but, as before, Rosa’s face was blank. Whatever she was feeling was being kept bolted down and hidden from the world.

  ‘Just like me,’ Julia thought, appalled. ‘I know exactly what’s happening to her inside. But no child should feel like that, or have such a look of frozen misery. Dear God, what’s happened to her?’

  After a moment the little girl came down and went to the pushchair, gently shaking the toddler. He awoke with a gurgle, instantly smiling.

  Like Bruce, Julia thought. He’s got his face and his charm.

  The nanny started to help but Rosa shook her head, polite but determined as she undid the straps and helped him out. Hand in hand they climbed the steps together.

  ‘Look,’ Julia heard her say. ‘That’s Papà and that’s Mamma.’

  He beamed and stretched out his hands to the faces of his parents, but when they encountered only cold marble he flinched back. Puzzled, he looked at his sister, and reached out again.

  ‘Mamma,’ he said. ‘Mamma, Mamma!’

  He began to sob, pounding the marble with his fists and screaming out his disillusion.

  At once Rosa gathered the child into her arms, murmuring soothing words.

  ‘It’s all right, little one. It’s all right. We’ll go home now.’

  She helped him down to the ground, put him back into the pushchair and kissed him gently, stroking him until he stopped crying.

  ‘It would have been better to wait until he was a little older,’ Vincenzo told her.

  Rosa nodded sadly. ‘I’m sorry, Uncle Vincenzo. I just didn’t want him to forget them. But I should have remembered he’s only a baby.’

  She turned politely to Julia.

  ‘Buongiorno, signora,’ she said, as politely as a little old lady. ‘I’m afraid I must be going now. I hope that we will meet again.’

  ‘So do I,’ she said with an effort.

  She watched as the little party walked away, the baby’s hand extended to clutch Rosa’s, as though there he could find safety.

  ‘I didn’t know they were coming here,’ Vincenzo said. ‘Rosa just spoke of the next few days.’

  ‘That little boy—is he—?’

  ‘Yes, he’s Bianca’s son, and James�
��. I wish it hadn’t been sprung on you like that.’

  ‘I suppose I should have thought of it.’

  Suddenly the wind that blew down the corridor of flowers was bleak and desolate. She shivered.

  ‘It’s cold. I’m going home.’

  The group had reached the end of the path and were about to turn out of sight. They stopped and looked back at Vincenzo.

  ‘We need to talk,’ he said, ‘but—’

  ‘But you have to go.’ She smiled faintly. ‘Your family needs you.’

  ‘You’ll come with us to the landing stage?’

  ‘I think I’ll wait and take the next boat. Go quickly before they get worried.’

  ‘Yes.’ He was uneasy, but there was no choice.

  Julia didn’t watch him catch up with the others. She turned away and walked in the opposite direction, wondering how this could have happened. After the years of yearning and hoping she had finally met her daughter again, and the moment that should have been so happy had brought her greater pain than anything in her life.

  Vincenzo didn’t appear at the restaurant that evening. Julia tried not to read anything into it, but she regretted hurling an accusation at him. He was her only friend and it was foolish to alienate him.

  But she knew that this practical reason wasn’t the only one. Bit by bit the sense of closeness they shared had become essential to her.

  She thought of him as the man she might have loved if love were not impossible for her now. Deeper than that she didn’t dare to look into her own heart.

  When the restaurant closed she went wearily up the stairs and shut herself in. Her brain felt as though it were going around and around on a treadmill. She must go to bed and try to sleep, but she knew she would only lie awake.

  The building was old-fashioned, with shutters on the windows. As she went to close them for the night her gaze was caught by something in the calle below. Pushing open the window, she leaned out and saw a man standing there.

  ‘Come in,’ she called.

  She was at the door, waiting for him as he turned the corner of the stairs, ready to open her arms to him in her relief.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d come,’ she said fervently.

  He nodded almost curtly, but made no move toward her. ‘I had to.’

  ‘I thought you were angry with me after what I said.’

  She stepped back to let him into the room, realising that there would be no embrace.

  ‘No, I’m not angry any more,’ he said. ‘You were in a state of shock. Let’s forget that it happened.’

  This wasn’t the joyful reunion she’d anticipated when she’d seen him in the street. He was here, but emotionally he was holding back from her in a way he’d never done before. When she laid a hand on his arm he smiled cautiously, but didn’t take her into his arms.

  ‘Perhaps you’d make me a coffee,’ he said politely.

  ‘Of course,’ she replied, matching his tone.

  As she was working in the kitchen he came and stood leaning against the doorway.

  ‘I may even have deserved your suspicion,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t spirit her away, but for a moment I did wish I could turn the clock back, to before you appeared, and stop it happening. Rosa has been part of my family for five years. I love her. Do you think I wanted to admit that she’s yours?’

  ‘Does that mean that you’re going to say that she isn’t?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘I can’t do that. I wish I could, but I did some checking on the internet tonight. I found several reports about the robbery, confirming everything you told me. One of them had a tiny picture of your husband, just good enough to show that he really was the same man as James Cardew.

  ‘And the first time I ever saw you, that night Piero brought you home, there was something familiar about you. I didn’t understand it, but actually I was looking at you and seeing Rosa.’

  ‘But we’re not alike.’

  ‘Except for one thing—her forehead. She has exactly the same low forehead that you have. Usually her fringe hides it, but tonight I saw her brush the fringe back, and then everything became clear.’

  They returned to the main room and he chose a single chair rather than the sofa where she might have sat beside him.

  ‘I need to know more,’ she said quietly. ‘Everything you can tell me about him.’

  ‘Does it really matter now?’

  ‘I have six years of blanks to fill in. I won’t like what you tell me, but I have to know.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you do,’ he said at last. ‘All right. I’ll tell you everything I can.’

  Chapter Eight

  VINCENZO took a deep breath, and started.

  ‘It seems as though your friends who thought they’d seen him in Venice and Rome were right. Bianca met him in Rome, where he was as an art dealer.’

  ‘An art dealer?’ Julia cried in disgust. ‘But he knew nothing except what he learned from me.’

  ‘He seems to have been a genius at presentation. Plus he had a lot of money and his premises were in the wealthy part of town.’

  ‘That would be his cut from the robberies,’ she guessed.

  ‘Yes, it must have been enough to give the impression of success. When Bianca came home he followed her here. He said he was expanding, establishing a branch in Venice. The truth, as I later learned, was that he’d had to get out of Rome, fast. He’d sold some apparently priceless artefacts to a powerful family, who naturally wanted their money back when they turned out to be fakes.

  ‘They sent people to Venice, who explained to James that, if he didn’t pay up, bad things would happen to him. So he did, having no choice.

  ‘After that, what money he had left ran out quickly. He was extravagant. He bought useless rubbish for show, made bad investments. He was a rather stupid, shallow man.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s exactly it.’

  ‘But there was nothing to make me suspect him of worse than that. He had a passport in the name of James Cardew and hers said Rosa Cardew. He had a whole file of paperwork establishing that James Cardew was a successful art dealer with a list of grateful clients in several countries. Someone in the gang must have forged them for him before they parted company.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Julia said. ‘Otherwise the man who split on him could have given the police his new name. No, it must have been done later, by someone else. I dare say false documents are easy enough to get, if you have the money.’

  ‘He certainly had money for a while. When it ran out he got desperate. He tried to get some out of me, although this was after the crash and the whole world knew that we had nothing. But he was sure I had some secret cache hidden from the creditors. He suggested that it was time I handed over Bianca’s ‘‘share’’.’

  ‘Yes, that was how his mind worked,’ she remembered. ‘He could never believe that things were exactly as they seemed, especially where cash was concerned. Did he think she had a secret fortune when they married?’

  ‘He as good as admitted it. I don’t think he married her entirely for love. Maybe not at all.’

  It took her a moment to appreciate what he was saying, and then she turned on him.

  ‘Is that supposed to delight me?’ she demanded furiously. ‘Do you think I care who he loved?’

  ‘I don’t know how you feel. You were once deeply in love with him.’

  ‘That was in another life.’

  He nodded wryly. ‘I keep telling myself that things happened in another life. But it’s odd how the lives overlap when you least expect it. Anyway, like a fool I borrowed against the restaurant for my sister’s sake. She’d had a rough time. I didn’t want things to get worse for her.’

  ‘How long did it take him to come back for more?’

  ‘Not long. This time we had a fight and he ended up in the canal.’

  ‘Good,’ she said simply.

  ‘The one good thing I know of him is that he honestly seemed to love Rosa. In his way he was a good f
ather.’

  ‘A good father, after the way he separated her from her mother, without a thought for either of them?’

  ‘I only meant that he always showed her a lot of affection, and interest. If she tried to tell him something he’d stop what he was doing and listen, however long it took. Lots of parents can’t do that, however much they love the child—’

  ‘Yes, all right,’ she interrupted him in a strained voice. ‘You’re right, he was a good father. I remember now how he loved being with her.’

  ‘And she adored him. She also came to love Bianca. That’s not easy for you to hear, but you have to know what you’re dealing with.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said in a colourless voice. ‘I couldn’t tell much from seeing her today.’

  ‘No, she didn’t cry or show any emotion, did she?’ he said heavily. ‘It’s been four months, and still—’

  Julia stared. ‘You mean she’s never cried?’

  ‘Not once. Even on the first day, when the news came—’ He broke off with a helpless shrug. ‘She just closed in on herself. She won’t let anyone in, not even me.’ He looked at her. ‘That’s something you know all about.’

  ‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘Sometimes it’s the only form of self-protection you have.’

  ‘To pack your feelings away in an iron chest marked, ‘‘No longer required’’. Then bury that chest too deep to be found again,’ he said, reminding her of her own words.

  ‘But she’s so young!’

  ‘She’s eight years old, but she’s already lost three parents, and she can’t talk to anyone about it. We all have our burdens but—’

  ‘But hers are the worst,’ Julia agreed sombrely.

  ‘Normally she loves Carnival, but now she refuses to think of it.’

  ‘Carnival?’

  ‘In February. Everyone dresses up in masks and colourful costumes. Last year she had a wonderful time with James and Bianca. Maybe that’s why she’s not interested this year. I keep trying to entice her, telling her how excited she ought to be, but—’ He shrugged.

  ‘You can’t get into someone’s mind by force,’ Julia said.

  ‘No, I guess I know that.’

  Suddenly she burst out. ‘What am I going to do? Do you know how I’ve dreamed of the things I’d say to her when we met again? And now none of them will be right. What can I do?’