Three Gold Coins

by Josephine Moon

  First published in 2018

  Copyright © Josephine Moon 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Email: info@allenandunwin.com

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  ISBN 978 1 92526 614 6

  eISBN 978 1 92557 565 1

  Set by Midland Typesetters, Australia

  Cover images: Amy Neunsinger/Getty Images (table); STOCK4B-RF/Getty Images (background), Shutterstock (olives)

  For Flynn, my world

  CONTENTS

  1 Lara

  2

  3 Sunny

  4 Lara

  5 Lara and Dave

  6 Lara

  7

  8 Samuel

  9 Sunny

  10 Lara

  11 Sunny

  12 Lara

  13 Lara and Dave

  14 Lara

  15

  16 Samuel

  17 Sunny

  18 Lara

  19 Lara and Dave

  20 Lara

  21 Sunny

  22 Lara

  23

  24 Lara and Dave

  25 Lara

  26 Lara and Dave

  27 Lara

  28 Lara and Dave

  29 Sunny

  30 Lara

  31 Samuel

  32 Sunny

  33 Lara

  34

  35 Samuel

  36 Sunny

  37 Samuel

  38 Lara

  39 Sunny

  40 Lara

  41

  42

  43 Samuel

  44 Lara

  45 Sunny

  46 Lara

  47

  48 Sunny

  49 Lara

  50 Samuel, 2003

  51 Lara

  52 Sunny

  53 Lara

  54 Sunny

  55 Lara

  56

  57

  58

  59 Sunny

  60 Lara

  61 Sunny

  62 Lara and Dave

  63 Lara

  64 Vicki

  65 Lara

  66 Samuel

  67 Lara

  68

  Acknowledgements

  He mustn’t know.

  He mustn’t know.

  He mustn’t know.

  1

  Lara

  Lara Foxleigh felt the slight tremor in her legs with every step through the narrow cobblestoned street and knew it wasn’t just from the jet-lag; every moment since she’d arrived here yesterday had tested her confidence. Of the many times in her life she had imagined herself in Italy, it had never been for the reasons she was here now. She could only hope this had been the right thing to do.

  She stumbled on the uneven ground and nearly fell. Cars with tinted windows beeped in frustration and a swell of people diverted around her and continued on their way, a human river gushing towards the mighty Trevi Fountain, whose splashing water she could already hear in the distance. She righted herself and hurried forward. As she did she caught sight of an old man ahead of her who also stumbled at that moment. She felt an instant wave of empathy for him.

  His snow-white hair was brushed neatly to one side and he was stooped, a noticeable hunch between his shoulders. With his right hand he worked the end of his walking stick between the cobblestones. A young woman in flashy gym gear held on to his other arm, steadying him as he lurched through the push of tourists and the swift Vespas that wove impatiently through the cramped space. The man seemed so out of place here.

  But then so was she.

  He tripped again and his companion righted him. It wasn’t done unkindly, but it wasn’t loving either. Lara couldn’t explain why, but there was something about him that made her want to stay close; perhaps it was just her affinity with someone who needed help to navigate this world.

  The old man and his companion turned the corner around a tall building, a large family bustled their way in front of Lara, and the narrow street gave way to a wide space with the fountain commanding the arena. Blue sky stretched above her, and bright sunshine beat down on the Fontana di Trevi and the hundreds of people packed into the square.

  All she could do was stare. She’d seen photos of it, but its sheer size was staggering. Corinthian pillars—three storeys high—with a towering sculpture of the god Oceanus in the centre stood over imposing waves of sculpted water. Muscular, bearded tritons thrashed from the sea, taming winged horses. Clear water roared over shelves of white stone and plummeted into the pool below.

  For a few moments she stood there, allowing herself to forget the reason she was here, on the other side of the world.

  People squeezed past each other to get closer, the lucky ones sitting on the edge of the pool, smiling for pictures and tossing coins backwards over their shoulders. Lara felt a small, unexpected smile flutter to her lips. The fountain was mesmerising. The cacophony of pummelling water muffled the hum of her anxiety.

  A flash of red caught her attention. It was the old man’s shirt. He was leaning hard on his young attendant, lowering himself to the edge of the pool, wedged between a man sporting a Union Jack tee and a young Japanese girl with a Hello Kitty bag. His assistant said something to him and he waved her away. She melted into the crowd. He gazed around to the fountain’s pool behind, its light blue floor littered with silver and brass coins, and Lara did the same.

  The water was beautifully clear, calling to her, a relief from the tenacious summer heat that was holding strong into September. Maybe it would wake her up, two espressos having had little impact on her jet-lag. She inched closer. At the very least, she could cup some water in her hand and wash her face or wet her hair as so many others were doing.

  ‘Mi scusi,’ she said, needling her way through and down the steps. Simply by chance, she found herself a few steps from the old man, who sat quietly, his head bent. She kept her eyes averted, conscious she’d been staring at him.

  At the edge of the pool, the water reflected the clouds in the sky above. She cupped her hands under the water then threw it over her hair. It trickled down the back of her neck. She breathed deeply.

  I am in Rome.

  It was ludicrous.

  Lara splashed herself some more, then straightened and reached into her bag for three gold euro coins. She turned and threw them, one at a time, over her shoulder. The first to ensure her return. The second to bring new romance into her life. The third to guarantee marriage. She imagined that each landed in the water with a tiny plink. Undoubtedly the ritual she’d read about online was all rubbish, but it did seem to be the thing to do.

  Nearby, the old man rested his cane against his thin leg. He moved his veiny right hand over to join his left. With great gentleness, he touched the gold ring on his finger.

  Lara watched, sadness welling, her emotions always just under the surface. He pulled the ring easily off his bony finger and lifted it to his eyes, studying it as though reading an inscription. Then he kissed the ring and flung it back over his shoulder. It made barely a splash before sinki
ng to the bottom of the pool, just one more shiny object among hundreds of others.

  Lara lurched forward, leaning over the edge, splashing into the water, trying to catch sight of the ring. But it was hopeless.

  ‘Your ring!’ She turned to him, bending to his level. He faced her, his eyes blue and bright, though he seemed to look right through her.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ She searched the water again, her eyes darting. Tourists with backpacks and bulky cameras jostled her and tried to wedge between them to pose for photos.

  ‘Leave it,’ the old man muttered.

  She opened her mouth to argue but stopped; he had clearly done it deliberately and she had no right to tell him what to do. But, still. It seemed wrong.

  ‘Leave it,’ he repeated, with a British accent.

  ‘You’re English!’ She squatted down beside his knees, looking up into his face. ‘We’ve still got time to find someone who can help us get your ring back, if you want to.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘They collect the money every day. Someone will be able to get it. There’s a policeman over there. He’s busy right now but there’ll be another. We need to report it if you’re going to get it back.’

  ‘Are you deaf? I said no. I wouldn’t have thrown it if I wanted to keep it.’

  Lara was taken aback. ‘I heard you.’

  The lines on the man’s face were deep and there was a shake in the hand that held the cane at his knee. She didn’t know if these things were normal, or if it was because he was angry, or maybe even because of the heat. She straightened to scan the crowd for his assistant, but couldn’t see her anywhere. She lowered herself to the man’s level again, this time resting on the edge of the pool, angling her body towards his.

  ‘Where is your…person, the woman who was with you when you arrived?’

  He looked at her sharply. She assumed he was wondering how long she’d been watching him, and discomfort prickled under her cotton shirt along with beads of sweat. She forged on regardless. ‘Is she a relative? A carer? Can I call someone for you?’

  The man looked away from her; she’d been dismissed.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘I’ll leave you alone.’

  She stood and walked away, feeling the air hit the backs of her legs where they’d been sweating on her uncomfortable perch. Sidestepping and ducking through the crowd, she reached the very edge of the throng, over near the gelateria, and turned for one last look.

  He was still alone, a small, solitary, vulnerable figure; she couldn’t leave him there until she was sure he’d be alright.

  She kept her eyes on him, letting them roam occasionally to look for the young woman who’d disappeared, or to wave away yet another street vendor trying to sell her bottles of water or a selfie stick. Hordes of people hustled her from her spot as they ordered their gelato. But still she hovered.

  It was only after the heat had risen into mid-morning and the crowds thickened more, when the old man had wiped the sweat from his brow and temples, once he’d started to look up and stiffly position himself to peer first to the left and then to the right, when he’d checked his phone several times, and when he’d made two attempts to get to his feet, his hand shaking terribly on his cane, that Lara pushed her way back through the crowds, down the steps and to his side.

  He looked up at her and closed his eyes for a moment as if trying to control his frustration.

  ‘Let me help you,’ she said, in a tone that made clear there would be no arguing.

  ‘If you must,’ he said softly.

  2

  Far out, he’s not a lost dog.

  Lara smiled at Hilary’s text message. It would be late in the evening at home in Brisbane, but her friend was still trying to wrangle her three children into bed and had texted Lara for some moral support. It had been either that or vodka, she’d said. So Lara had told her about Samuel.

  You can’t just take an old man home to

  your apartment in Rome. Now there’s a

  sentence I never thought I’d say.

  But he needed help.

  Lara turned on the air conditioning in the living room. She’d already put it on for Samuel in the bedroom. The old man had grudgingly lain down on the queen-sized bed.

  It was crazy hot in the city, his carer had

  disappeared—and had taken all the

  money from his wallet—and

  I couldn’t think straight in the crowd.

  He looked in danger of collapsing.

  I had to do something.

  So you just bundled him into a taxi and

  took him home?

  Pretty much. It felt like an emergency

  or something.

  Something like finding a dehydrated, weak kitten abandoned on the side of the road. A kitten with a fierce tongue, as it turned out. Her new house guest was none too pleased that his paid carer had filched all his cash. But after an initial burst of outrage over the theft, Samuel had deflated, apologised for his obscenities and allowed Lara to take him by the elbow and help him into a taxi, where he sat in silence till they got to the flat.

  Lara could have tried to call a doctor, but she didn’t know anything about the medical, welfare or aged-care systems in Italy and she certainly didn’t have enough Italian to work it out quickly.

  You’re such a kind person.

  Lara took a moment to consider Hilary’s summation of her personality. It was generous, really, given she’d handed Hilary her resignation notice out of the blue, without enough time for her friend—pretty much her only friend these days—to find a replacement for Lara’s role as property manager in her boutique real estate agency. But there’d been no time; she’d had to get as far away from Brisbane as she could.

  In reality, it was no great loss for Lara. She’d only taken the job last year because she needed the money, it was local and part-time, and she hadn’t wanted anything too taxing. Unfortunately, chasing rent, filling in forms and delivering eviction notices had been slowly killing her. The job was filled with conflict, which made her queasy and sleepless (well, more sleepless) and made her scratch at the inside of her left wrist until it was red and raw. The only good thing about the job was that she’d made a new friend in Hilary, her first friend in a long time. Plus the money she’d earned had largely gone into her bank account and stayed there, meaning she could now be here in Italy with no pressing financial worries. She had a bit of time up her sleeve to work out a proper plan.

  Despite Lara’s abrupt and unexplained departure, Hilary, bless her, still seemed to love her. Although Hilary didn’t know everything about Lara, she knew enough. Her eyes had quickly spotted the red claw marks on Lara’s wrist when she came to say goodbye, and she had asked no questions.

  I’ve got to go. The kids are destroying the

  house. Text me updates.

  Lara looked around. What was she doing? She’d only arrived at this flat around ten last night. It was a great Airbnb apartment, on the top floor of a copper-coloured five-storey building. It had an expansive balcony running down one side, and her host had taken her out there to show her the sea of lights, with the dome of St Peter’s immediately recognisable nearby.

  He’d shown her where everything was and how to use the numerous keys to the lift door, which opened right into the apartment, and the ones to the metal grate doors that opened onto the balcony, and the gates at the front of the building. As soon as he left, she’d collapsed into a deep, exhausted sleep.

  But right now there was no sign of jet-lagged weariness, because adrenaline had spiked her blood. What had she done? What was she going to do with the elderly man resting in the bedroom?

  She pulled shut the large wooden-framed windows against the heat outside. She was just considering phoning Sunny, waking her up and asking for advice when a sound startled her.

  ‘I, er…’

  Lara turned to see Samuel in the hall, stooping, one hand on the wall to prop him up.

  ‘Oh, hi, I thought you we
re having a rest.’ She stepped towards him till she was within reaching distance in case he fell.

  ‘I need help,’ he said. His gaze was directed at the floor, whether from embarrassment or because it was just physically easier she wasn’t sure. She winced, looking at him. It must be so uncomfortable, painful even, to have that sort of curvature in your spine.

  ‘What can I do?’ she asked, uneasy. She had no idea about aged care. Was he hungry? Did he need help to go to the toilet? Had he wet the bed?

  Until two days ago when she left Brisbane, she’d been living with her mother and sister, helping to raise Sunny’s children, Daisy and Hudson. With those two kids around, there wasn’t a bodily fluid she hadn’t wiped up at one point or another. But could she do the same for an elderly stranger?

  ‘I need to get home,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, of course.’ Relief. ‘I can get us a taxi, or an Uber. I’ll come with you,’ she said. She would make sure he got home safely and then leave him be.

  ‘My home is in Chianti,’ he said, lifting his chin to make eye contact. It was a strong chin; his face had good bones beneath that papery skin. The colour of his eyes, even at his age, was stunning.

  ‘Okay, great,’ she said, reaching for her phone so she could book the Uber car.

  ‘Chianti is south of Florence,’ Samuel said.

  ‘Florence?’

  ‘I came down to Rome on the train this morning. Reeba came with me. I hired her through an agency in Florence. She’s from Algeria, a student on a gap year, travelling her way over to the US, or so I was told.’ He paused. ‘I didn’t realise she’d use my trip to Rome as her passage to get one step closer.’

  ‘I’m so sorry that happened to you,’ Lara said. ‘It’s very unfair and not your fault—’

  He cut her off. ‘The theft is an insult, but not my biggest problem. I need to get home by this evening. I’m needed there.’

  ‘Are you sure? You’ve had a shock and an already stressful day by the sounds of it.’ She inched a chair closer to him while she talked.

  He huffed at that but leaned further into the wall.