Sophie's Secret

by Anne Weale

  She was tempted to tell him she already knew but decided against it. Paolo’s version of the story might be a long way from the truth.

  In her flat, Sophie made instant coffee and asked him to pour out two brandies. When she sat down on the sofa Marc joined her there, but leaving a space between them.

  ‘When I was eighteen,’ he said, ‘I thought myself in love with a beautiful girl called Marina, who worked for us as a maid. She was a little older—twenty—and she seemed to feel the same way. It wasn’t difficult for us to find times and places to be alone together and the inevitable happened. We became lovers. I wanted to marry her but she felt, rightly as it turned out, that my family wouldn’t consent. I couldn’t touch my trust fund until I was twenty-one so we wouldn’t have any money. Well, that was OK. We had all our lives ahead. We could wait a few years. Then Marina started a baby and marriage became more urgent.’

  He paused, his expression withdrawn. Watching his face, Sophie knew in her bones that he had really loved the girl and hadn’t been merely using her.

  ‘When I talked to my grandfather,’ said Marc, ‘he wouldn’t hear of our marrying. He said we were both far too young and unsuited in every way. There was a ferocious row and I told him to go to hell. But Marina wouldn’t come away with me. She didn’t want to leave her family and she didn’t think I could earn a living for us without my family behind me. I still think she was wrong. I could have made it on my own.’

  ‘I’m sure you could,’ said Sophie.

  That brought a slight smile to his face. ‘Marina didn’t have your adventurous spirit. She hadn’t grown up on a boat under the aegis of an artist. Had I been more mature, I should have realised it was expecting too much for a girl from her close family background to run off with a guy like me. When it comes to the crunch, there aren’t many women who are prepared to risk everything for love. Risk is not what your sex is about. Women are programmed to nest, not to take chances.’

  Generally speaking, she agreed with him, and this wasn’t the moment to say that she had different priorities.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘My grandfather offered her a substantial lump sum and a long-term income for the child providing she agreed to have nothing more to do with me.’

  Sophie gave an exclamation of distress. ‘That was a cruel thing to do.’

  ‘Some people would think it was generous. He thought it fair. In retrospect, I believe it was. Being older and wiser than I, he saw that a marriage between us would have been a disaster—like my parents’ marriage. The reasons would have been different, but the outcome would have been the same. If Marina had loved me she would have refused his offer and come away with me.’

  ‘Perhaps she did love you but knew that she wasn’t right for you. Perhaps her parents pressured her into agreeing.’

  ‘I’m sure they did, but I don’t think they had to press hard. If a woman loves a man, she doesn’t go and marry someone else a few weeks later.’

  ‘Surely she might if she had a baby to consider?’ But even as she said it Sophie knew that, loving Marc, she could never marry anyone else. To let another man make love to her would be unthinkable.

  ‘That premise might have held water thirty or forty years ago,’ said Marc. ‘It doesn’t today. Italy has its quota of single mothers like everywhere else. I suspect Marina’s heart healed a lot faster than mine. I already knew that my mother had taken ruthless advantage of my father’s passion for her. Marina’s behaviour confirmed that women were devious creatures, not to be trusted. That remained my opinion until I met you. Almost immediately I fell in love with you. In fact I was pretty far gone by the end of our first evening together, in Paris. But when I realised who you were and that, for whatever reason, you weren’t being straight with me, it revived my distrust of women.’

  ‘I was on the point of telling you lots of times. One of the reasons I didn’t was because of something that happened when I was a child. For a little while I went to school here. Only for a couple of months, and then Michael decided I wasn’t being taught anything I couldn’t learn from him and that I was being fed ideas he didn’t approve of. The only thing I remember is being invited to another child’s birthday party. I’d never been to a party so I was very excited.’

  ‘How old were you when this happened?’

  ‘About seven. Old enough to be worried about fitting in. I had a uniform dress to wear for school, but I didn’t have any other dresses. I always wore shorts in summer and jeans in winter. So I went in clean jeans and a red jumper a lady on Burano had knitted for me. Michael had bought a red ribbon to thread through my plait. I must have looked quite nice.’

  ‘I’m sure you looked adorable,’ said Marc. ‘But I suppose all the other little girls had expensive party dresses.’

  ‘Yes, but that wasn’t what hurt. The mother who was giving the party knew who I was and so did one of the other mothers. They had a whispered conversation and finally my hostess came over and led me out of the room. She said she was very sorry but I’d been invited by mistake and one of her maids would take me back to my grandfather. She gave me a big gift-wrapped parcel by way of compensation. But I never knew what was in it because Michael sent it back. I’d never seen him so angry. I was terrified he was going to go back there and storm at them.’

  While Marc had been listening to this, his own expression had become increasingly thunderous. ‘I’d like to know who it was who objected to you. She must have been a prize bitch,’ he said. ‘I don’t think much of your hostess, but perhaps the other one’s husband was her husband’s boss—she may have been afraid to remind her whose house it was. I know there are people in Venice who worship money and status. There are people like that everywhere. But to humiliate a child…’ His dark eyes were brilliant with anger.

  ‘I don’t think I felt humiliated, just baffled,’ said Sophie. ‘When he’d calmed down, Michael explained it to me. He said people like that didn’t matter. They had different values and they were never happy. But the next day at school a lot of the girls weren’t as friendly as before. One of them even parroted something said by her parents…that Michael was a down-and-out and the school shouldn’t have accepted me as a pupil.’

  ‘Surely you can’t have thought I would look down on you?’

  ‘No, but I felt your family might. I’ve learnt to conform to conventional society, but deep down inside I still feel I’m an outsider. Don’t misunderstand me; I don’t feel in any way inferior, just different. An alien being in a world where I have to survive but which often I don’t like. Aliens shrink from revealing themselves,’ she added, with a wry smile.

  ‘We’ll make our own world on Capolavoro,’ said Marc. ‘It will be even better than growing up on Torcello. I’ll still have to go away sometimes, but not as often. I’m tired of jetting around from big city to big city. I want to live quietly with you and try to make up for the pain you must have felt after your grandfather died and left you alone in the world.’

  ‘Perhaps we’ll be even happier because we’ve both been through bad times,’ Sophie said softly.

  As she spoke, all over Venice bells started chiming the hour. She stood up and held out her hand to him. Marc took it and rose to his feet, his expression questioning.

  ‘Last time you were here it was different. You thought you might be coercing me and I didn’t know where I stood with you. This time there are no obstacles. Before we go back and break the news to your aunts, could we unplug the telephone and pick up where we left off?’

  He scooped her up and, cradling her in strong arms, carried her towards the bedroom.

  The next time the bells chimed the hour, Sophie opened her eyes to see that the sky had cleared and the rosegold glow of a Venetian sunset was pouring through the skylight. Turning her head a little, she looked into smiling dark eyes and gave a long sigh of happiness.

  At last she had found where she belonged.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ‘WHERE do you get your ideas
?’

  Every professional writer has been asked that question many times.

  I find my ideas while travelling. One lovely October day I was on the island of Torcello, waiting for the ferry, when I noticed an old boat moored a little way along the tow-path. The sea is in my blood and I’ve written more than twenty books with part of the action taking place on board a schooner or some other sailing boat. On the way back to Venice I wondered why anyone would leave a boat to rot at her moorings.

  Later, missing my husband, who was far away in the foothills of the world’s highest mountain, I sat in a caffè on the Riva, with a notebook on my lap and a pre-dinner spritz at my elbow. As I watched the sunset I found the story you have just read beginning to form in my mind.

  Of all the places I’ve been to since my first trip abroad, none has cast such a strong spell on me as Venice. It deserves a place on everyone’s travel wish list. I shall go again, as soon as possible, knowing there are other tales of the Venetian lagoon waiting to be written.

  Anne Weale

  eISBN 978-14592-6981-1

  SOPHIE’S SECRET

  First North American Publication 1997.

  Copyright © 1996 by Anne Weale.

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  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any Individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure Invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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