‘Gifts for Rosa. After all, it’s her day, isn’t it? Piero told me that Italian children hang up their stockings now, not at Christmas.’
‘You’d better let me take some. There was no need to load yourself down like a donkey.’
‘Six missing birthdays. Six missing Christmases. I’m making up for all those times I wasn’t able to watch her face as she opened things. She won’t know, but I will.’
As they walked through the snow she said, ‘By the way, how did I become Signora Baxter?’
‘It was the first name I could think of. Do you mind?’
‘No, it’ll do. I’m so happy today I’d agree to anything.’
She gave a little skip in the snow and he had to grab her to stop her slithering. They laughed together and now he could hear the different note in her voice. She had come back to life. The next moment she broke free and began to pelt him with snowballs. He dropped the parcels and pelted her back.
As it was a feast day there were no traghetti crossing the Grand Canal, so they walked over the Accademia Bridge. Halfway across Julia stopped and looked down the length of water to where it broadened out into the lagoon, flashing and gleaming like a million swords in the sunlight.
‘If people knew Venice was as beautiful as this in winter, nobody would come in the summer,’ she said.
‘You’re turning into a Venetian,’ he teased.
‘I reckon I am.’
She gazed ecstatically up into the sky, which was a brilliant blue.
‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ she breathed. ‘After all these years I’ve seen her again, I’m going to spend the day with her and she likes me. Not as a mother—it’s too soon for that, I know. But she likes me, she likes me.’
‘Steady,’ he said, taking her shoulders. ‘Try to keep your feet on the ground.’
‘No, why should I?’ she said, laughing. ‘I don’t want my feet on the ground. The ground’s so hard. Believe me, I know. I’ve slept on it.’
He gave her a gentle shake. ‘Julia, you’re crazy.’
‘Yes, I’m crazy,’ she cried joyfully. ‘I’m crazy with happiness, crazy, crazy!’
Some passers-by looked at her, but instead of scuttling past in alarm they grinned, falling in with her mood. This was Venice, where crazy people were the norm.
Just the same, Vincenzo took the precaution of kissing her firmly before she could say any more.
‘Will you shut up?’ he begged between kisses.
‘Maybe. Persuade me.’
He kissed her again and again, feeling her young and glorious in his arms, wishing it could always be like this. He took her face between his hands, looking deep into her eyes. But although he saw his own reflection there he knew that was only on the surface. Behind that surface was something else that excluded him.
‘Julia,’ he said, trying to call her back to him. ‘Sophie.’
‘Whatever. What does anything matter? I thought I’d never have even this much again, and I’m going to enjoy today. I’ll worry about the rest later.’
Now he could see her as she’d been years ago, young and full of hope, before grief and despair had marked her. He grinned and told her something that would please her.
‘You heard what Rosa said about your being her guest? Because she was the one who invited you. She’s determined to do all the entertaining herself. She even wanted to cook the meal, but I drew the line at that. Gemma cooked it, but she’ll be leaving as soon as we get there, to spend the day with her family.’
‘You should have let her cook it,’ Julia declared. ‘It would have tasted glorious.’
‘I’ve tasted Rosa’s attempts at cooking,’ he said darkly. ‘Believe me, it would probably have poisoned you.’
‘I wouldn’t care. Isn’t she a wonderful little person, Vincenzo? Did you notice what she did that day in the palazzo, when I had that fall?’
‘You scared the life out of me.’
‘But not out of her. She wasn’t scared, although it must have sounded like a terrible crash down where you were, and I heard you tell her to come back, but she didn’t take any notice—’
‘The little monkey never takes any notice,’ he said, unable to keep the fond pride out of his voice.
‘She just dashed up bravely. It could have been anything making that racket, but all she cared about was finding out. She’s one of those people who runs forward to life with her arms out. I’m so proud of her already, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I am—’
‘She’s wonderful,’ Julia carolled up to the sky.
He gave up trying to remonstrate, knowing that she was beyond reason. Nor did he really want to bring her down to earth. Something caught in his throat at the sight of her joy, and he wished it could last for ever.
‘We should hurry,’ he said. ‘Gemma can’t leave until we get there.’
‘Then let’s go,’ she said, seizing his hand and pulling him off the bridge, determined to be delayed no longer. Soon they reached the Fondamenta Soranzo, where her eyes sought the windows of the house.
‘Look, there’s Rosa, watching for us,’ she cried, and waved eagerly.
The little girl waved back, beaming. Vincenzo opened the front door into a large hallway, with a flight of steps leading up.
‘We live up there,’ he said.
‘Uncle Vincenzo!’ called a child’s voice from upstairs, and the next minute Rosa came flying down to envelop him in a fierce embrace.
Then she turned her attention to Julia, too. But immediately she stood back and became the perfect hostess, polite and formal.
‘Buongiorno, Signora Baxter. I am very pleased to welcome you to this house and I hope you will have a very happy day with us.’
‘Thank you, I know that I will,’ Julia said, charmed. ‘But please call me Julia.’
‘Signora Julia.’
‘No, just Julia.’
Rosa cast a quick glance at Vincenzo, who shrugged and indicated Julia, saying, ‘It’s for our guest to decide.’
‘My guest,’ Rosa insisted. ‘Because I invited you.’
‘Yes, you did, and it was very kind of you,’ Julia said, smiling.
The sun had come out. Her daughter was a charming child with generous, confiding ways, and she had reached out to her.
‘Come with me.’ Rosa seized her hand and drew her up the stairs, Vincenzo following.
The apartment was spacious and attractive. The main room contained furniture that looked antique and had probably come from the palazzo.
Rosa took her coat and ushered her to the sofa, then bustled busily away. Julia heard her speaking to someone in the next room, then Gemma emerged, wearing an outdoor coat, and bid everyone goodbye.
In the centre of the room was a low table on which stood several plates, bearing cakes and biscuits, some elegant glasses, and a bottle of Prosecco. Rosa reappeared and began to pour some of the sparkling white wine for Julia and Vincenzo and orange juice for herself.
‘Please have a cake,’ she said to Julia. ‘Lunch will be in an hour.’
‘Perhaps I’d better look after the final stages,’ Vincenzo said. ‘Why don’t you show Julia your presents?’
Rosa promptly became a child again, bouncing to her feet and drawing Julia into the next room where there was a decorated tree, and signs of gifts opened with eager fingers. Rosa showed them off proudly.
‘I should really have waited for you to come before I opened my presents.’
‘Never mind,’ Julia told her. ‘When I was your age I always got down to business very early, usually about six o’clock on Christmas morning. In England children hang up their stockings at Christmas, not Epiphany.’
Rosa was wide-eyed. ‘You don’t have Befana?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know what that is.’
‘Befana is a kindly witch. They say the three kings invited her to visit the baby Jesus with them, but she was busy and didn’t go. Later she changed her mind, but by then she’d missed the
star and lost her way. So now she flies around on her broomstick and leaves presents in every house where there are children, because she doesn’t know which house is the right one.’
‘That sounds lovely. I’m glad you told me about her. Now I know who it must have been.’
‘Must have been?’ Rosa queried.
‘This old woman who whirled around my head on her broomstick, and dropped something into my bag. She said she hadn’t delivered everything to this house, and didn’t have time to come back, so would I bring a few things for her?’
As she said this Julia produced her gifts. She had spent much time choosing them in an art bookshop, asking for ‘Something for a very intelligent eight-year-old.’ The sight of Rosa’s face as she unwrapped everything told her that she’d chosen well.
‘You remembered,’ Rosa breathed.
‘Yes, I remembered what we said the other day,’ Julia agreed, ‘but I also remembered myself when I was your age. These are the kind of things I loved to read.’
She fell silent, watching as Rosa examined one book that she’d chosen with particular care. It was almost entirely pictures, each one with a large caption that was repeated twice, once in Italian, once in English.
Rosa ran her fingers down one of the shiny pages, letting them rest on the English. She was frowning a little, but then she nodded and looked up, smiling.
Julia reached into her bag. ‘And I brought this for Carlo. I didn’t wrap it because I thought perhaps you should see it first and make sure it’s all right.’
It was a magnetic fishing puzzle. There was a brightly coloured picture, showing jungle creatures against lush foliage. Each animal could be separated from the background by dint of dangling a magnet until it made contact.
Rosa let out a whoop. ‘He’ll love this.’
‘I hope so. The shop said it was suitable for a two-year-old. It’s supposed to develop his skills at—well, moving and co-ordination and that sort of thing. Oh, never mind that. It looks fun.’
‘Oh, yes, it does. Carlo will love it.’
‘I remembered how sad he seemed the other day, and I thought he needed cheering up.’
‘You saw him at San Michele, didn’t you? Uncle Vincenzo was right, I shouldn’t have taken him. He thought he was going to see Mamma and Papà and when they weren’t there he cried. But you see—’ She hesitated.
‘Please trust me,’ Julia said. ‘You can tell me anything. I won’t repeat it.’
Rosa nodded. ‘My mother died when I was the same age as Carlo, and I can’t really remember her. And I hate that. It’s like having a gap when there ought to be somebody. I didn’t want that to happen to Carlo, but I got it wrong.
‘He’s too young to understand about people dying, you see. He only knows that there’s something missing. So Uncle Vincenzo and I show him lots of extra love. Gemma does too, of course, but we’re his family. And that’s different.’
‘Yes,’ Julia said slowly. ‘Family is different.’
‘Do you have any family?’
‘I—no.’
‘None at all?’
‘My parents are dead.’
‘And you never got married?’
‘Well, yes, I did, but he’s dead too.’
‘No little boys or girls?’ When Julia didn’t answer Rosa was immediately contrite. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. Please forgive me.’
‘You weren’t rude,’ Julia said huskily. ‘I did have a little girl but I—lost her several years ago. She would have been about your age now.’
Rosa didn’t answer in words, but she got up from the floor where she was sitting and put her arms about Julia’s neck. Julia hugged her back, overwhelmed by the feel of her child’s warmth and her cheek pressed against her own.
‘I’m sorry,’ Rosa whispered.
She drew back and smiled directly into Julia’s face.
‘It would be nice to think she would have been like you,’ Julia said.
A glint of mischief came into the child’s face. ‘You wouldn’t like it really. Uncle Vincenzo says I’m a fiend.’
‘Oh, does he? And are you?’
‘Oh, yes. I’m the worst fiend who ever, ever lived.’
‘Hmm. That sounds final enough. I guess you must be.’
As she spoke her eye was caught by a large photograph on the sideboard. It was a wedding picture, the bride in glorious white satin and lace. Vincenzo, looking younger, stood beside his sister.
Just behind it was another picture, showing the bride and groom with a little girl in front of them, and in another the bride stood alone, holding the child in her arms. They were regarding each other fondly.
Julia drew a sharp breath. For all her euphoric mood there would still be such moments to be faced. Rosa had been three when these pictures had been taken, and recognisable as the baby Julia had lost. Now she was nestling in the arms of another ‘mother’. Unconsciously Julia tightened her own arms around her child, as though by doing so she could reclaim her.
‘That was you,’ she said softly.
‘Oh, yes, when Mamma and Papà got married.’
Julia forced herself to let go. ‘Do you have any more?’
‘There’s an album here,’ Rosa said, diving down the side of the bookcase.
Vincenzo appeared in the doorway, saying, ‘I’m just going to check on Carlo, see if he’s awake yet.’
‘I’d better come too,’ Rosa said at once.
‘I can be trusted to look after him,’ he complained.
‘Yes, but—he likes to see me when he wakes up,’ Rosa said seriously, and hurried out of the room.
Vincenzo sighed. ‘She’s just like her mo—Like Bianca. She thinks nobody else can be trusted to do anything. We won’t leave you alone for long.’
When they had gone Julia began to go through the album Rosa had given her. She knew the contents would hurt, but she had to learn all she could.
It was full of pictures of Bianca and Rosa: more wedding shots, then every milestone in the child’s life, birthdays, Christmas, Epiphany.
There was the child in her father’s arms, snuggling against him with an air of content. On this evidence he looked like a good father.
And he really did love her, she thought. That’s why he took her with him instead of leaving her with my mother. What am I going to tell her when the time comes?
‘Come along,’ said Rosa’s voice from the doorway.
She was holding Carlo by the hand, leading him forward until they were both standing before Julia. He was the image of his father.
‘Say ‘‘Buongiorno’’,’ Rosa told him in a stage whisper.
But the little boy hid his face against her and shook his head vigorously.
‘He’s shy,’ Rosa said. ‘Look, little one, here’s a present for you.’
But he only shook his head the more and began to grizzle, clinging onto his sister.
‘I’m sorry,’ Rosa said, lifting him in her arms. ‘I’d better take him back. He’ll be better later.’
She hurried out with the weeping child. Vincenzo, who had been watching, said in a low voice, ‘While we have a moment, there’s something I need to know, although I have a horrid feeling I know the answer. If your husband simply vanished I don’t suppose there was ever a divorce?’
‘Not that I heard of.’
‘So he was still married to you when he married Bianca. Bastardo! And Carlo is illegitimate. You’ve seen how it is with him and Rosa. He’s one of the things that’s holding her together.’
Something else linking her to her new life. Something else taking her away from her mother.
‘Julia—’
‘It’s all right,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I’ve got my breath now.’
She rose and went in search of Rosa. Hearing a murmur from behind a door across the hall, she followed the sound and found herself in a room with a bed and a cot. The two children were sitting on the floor.
‘May I come in?’ she asked tent
atively.
Instead of hiding, the little boy giggled at her. Encouraged, Julia sat down on the edge of the bed.
‘He doesn’t mind me?’ she asked.
‘No, he’s all right here,’ Rosa explained, ‘because this is our room. Befana brought him lots of presents this morning. Look.’ She swept out a hand towards a merry pile. ‘But this one is still his favourite, even though it’s years old.’
She pointed to a blue furry rabbit that the boy was clutching, so old and shabby that much of its fur was gone. As Julia looked a strange feeling began to come over her, part ache, part joy. She had seen that rabbit before, long ago, in another life, when it was bright and new.
‘Yes, it looks very old,’ she said slowly. ‘Who gave it to him?’
‘I did,’ Rosa said proudly. ‘His name is Danny. He was my best friend when I was young.’ She spoke as if she were a hundred. ‘Mamma said that when we met I was clutching him and I wouldn’t let him go. Papà was ever so cross.’
‘Wh—why?’ Julia asked in a shaking voice.
‘He didn’t like Danny. He kept trying to throw him away.’
Of course he did. Because he knew I’d given you that toy just before we were parted, and he wanted to wipe me out of your mind.
‘When you say he kept trying to throw him away—’
‘He did it again and again. Mamma kept rescuing Danny and giving him back to me. It’s funny that she understood when Papà didn’t.’
‘She sounds nice,’ Julia said carefully.
‘She was lovely. She used to get cross with Papà because he wouldn’t write home to the family and try to get some pictures of my mother.’
‘She did that?’
‘Yes. She’d ask me if I remembered my real mother, but he stopped her. I heard them arguing. He said she was my mother, but she said a real mother was special and nobody could take her place.’
So Bianca had been generous and kind. Julia felt a moment’s gratitude to her, mingled with pity that she too had come under Bruce’s spell.
‘I don’t think Papà liked my mother very much,’ Rosa went on. ‘He didn’t keep any pictures of her, and he wouldn’t talk about her. If I asked him, he always started talking about something else.’
‘You don’t have any pictures of her at all?’
A Venetian Affair Page 45