He clenched his fists and pressed them against the glass. No! Be honest with yourself!
He’d seen it. He’d just been too bitter and screwed-up and suspicious to admit he felt it too. He’d tried to tell himself Eve was just doing her job.
‘Dio!’ His voice was a cry of anguish in the ghost-filled room. For how long had he been using his own cynical, emotionally sterile standards to judge everyone else? He remembered how bitterly he’d berated his father, his damning words coming back to haunt him mockingly: If he’d loved her he would have protected her …
He’d been wrong about everything.
He loved Eve, and it didn’t make him able to protect her. It just gave him greater power to hurt her.
Frantically throwing clothes into his bag, he just hoped it wasn’t too late to say sorry.
* * *
The streets of Florence were deserted as Raphael drove through them in the early hours, jumping red lights and screeching round corners far too fast. He didn’t care if he was pulled over by the polizia. Marco would vouch for him.
As he got nearer to Luca’s flat he began to feel almost light-headed with adrenalin and lack of sleep. Every fibre of his body thrummed, and each minute that passed was like a knife-edge on his frayed nerves.
If Luca had laid one finger on Eve.
He had spent the entire crucifyingly slow journey from Venice thinking about exactly what he would do. And it wasn’t pleasant.
This was it. Abandoning his car on the double yellow lines outside Luca’s building, he pressed the buzzer and waited for the concierge. He had had plenty of time to work out his line on the plane.
‘Raphael Di Lazaro. I’m afraid I need to see my brother urgently. Our father …’
Instantly the concierge opened the door, ushering Raphael in with compassionate haste. He had been reading all about Antonio’s illness in the newspaper he had hastily folded under his desk, and wasted no time in offering his sympathy.
‘Grazie. I’m sorry—I’m still a little shocked—which appartemente is my brother’s?’
‘The penthouse, signore.’
Raphael concealed a grimace. He should have guessed Luca would occupy the flashiest apartment in the building.
The lift seemed to take an eternity as it climbed to the top floor. In the greenish tinted mirrors Raphael hardly recognised his own face. He seemed to have aged twenty years in the last twenty hours—which was roughly the time since he’d last seen Eve. Stubble darkened his jaw, and his eyes were almost as shadowed and hollow as Catalina’s. He was still wearing the blue shirt that she’d soaked with her tears, he thought in distaste, remembering the dry, feverish heat of her thin body as he’d tried to console her. Eve’s cool freshness seemed as remote and unreachable as a waterfall in a desert.
Please, God, let her be there.
The lift doors opened. There was only one door in the small, tastefully bland hallway.
When Luca opened it Raphael experienced a small twinge of surprise that he was fully dressed. An unpleasant smile spread slowly across his face when he saw Raphael.
‘Raphael—how good of you to drop in and see me! It’s rather a strange hour for a social call, though, wouldn’t you say?’
Pushing him roughly aside, Raphael strode into the apartment and started opening doors. ‘Where is she?’
‘I’m sorry—who?’
‘Eve.’ He said it like a snarl, not knowing how long he could hang on to his last shreds of self-control.
‘Ah! The delightful Eve! I’m afraid you’ve missed her. By now she’ll be just about—’ he checked his watch ‘—touching down at Heathrow, I should imagine. We only stopped off here to kill a few hours before her flight.’ His greasy laugh sent a fresh surge of adrenalin pumping through Raphael’s body. ‘But I’m very glad we did! I guess I have to thank you, big brother—you broke her in beautifully!’
White-faced, Raphael turned back to Luca. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘What? That she’s flying back to London right now?’ Luca said with exaggerated innocence. ‘Would you like to call the British Airways check-in desk? I can’t remember the flight number, exactly, but—’
‘Oh, I’ll check she was on it, believe me. Although I admit there’s a chance that you’re telling the truth about that.’
‘Ah, so the bit you don’t believe is that Eve was keen to practise her new-found skills on me?’ Luca looked suddenly incredibly pleased with himself, like a magician the moment before he pulls a rabbit out of a hat in front of an eager audience. ‘Well, since you did so much of the groundwork, perhaps you deserve to see the photographs.’
For a second Raphael seriously thought he was in danger of passing out as Luca held out a fan of five or six Polaroid snaps of a blonde girl. In the top one she was reclining on a bed, naked except for black stockings and stiletto-heeled shoes.
It was Eve.
‘They’re not up to your standard, I know, but rather nice—’ The next moment there was a sickening thud and the unmistakable snap of bone as Raphael’s fist smashed into Luca’s face and he fell backwards against the open door of the apartment. Stepping over his crumpled body, Raphael didn’t even look down. It was only as the lift carried him back down to the ground floor that he noticed his hand was wet with blood.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
London. Six months later.
‘And so she was wondering if you’d like to do an article on it. What do you think? Eve? Eve!’
Eve dragged her gaze away from the couple in the corner of the sandwich bar and back to Lou, who was looking at her sternly.
‘Sorry—what was that?’
‘Marissa. She was wondering whether you’d do a couple of thousand words on single pregnancy for the magazine. It struck us that there’s been loads written about actually being a single mum, but not much about going through a pregnancy alone.’
‘Probably because most people actually manage to stay with their partner for at least nine months,’ muttered Eve gloomily.
Lou took no notice. ‘You take the starting point of doing the test—you know, mixed feelings and so on—who do you tell first?—right through to how you choose a birth partner.’ She beamed. ‘Of course, I hope to feature in this article pretty heavily …’
Eve took a sip of her tea, hoping it would dislodge the familiar lump in her throat that signalled the onset of tears. Again. Who would have thought she could still have any tears left?
‘It would be quite a positive piece, you see. There’s really nothing that a partner does that your best friend or a health professional can’t. And maybe does better.’
Eve squeezed her eyes shut for a second. What about telling you how beautiful you are with that particular fierce sincerity? What about holding you and talking to you in the middle of the night when you can’t sleep?
The man at the table in the corner reached across and smoothed a strand of hair back from the girl’s face. In the warm fug of the little sandwich bar he had taken off his outdoor coat to reveal a blue shirt, and though his dark hair was neatly cropped, and his face was much less arresting, he still reminded her of Raphael.
But then, somehow or other, most things did.
At that moment the baby gave a little jump, and Eve’s hand fluttered to her belly. No doubt Raphael hadn’t given her a moment’s thought since he’d returned to the palazzo that day and found her gone, but, for Eve, forgetting him just wasn’t going to be an option. Ever.
‘So you’ll do it, won’t you? The deadline for copy is a week on Wednesday.’
‘I can’t.’
Lou almost choked on her latte. ‘Eve, you must! This is a great opportunity to earn a bit of extra cash before the baby’s born and reach out to other women going through the same thing. OK, forget the positive angle and say how difficult it’s been—how you worry that your unhappiness during pregnancy might have somehow affected the baby, how you wonder what to tell it about its father as it grows up.’
‘Sorry, Lou.
I really can’t. I had a letter this morning about giving evidence at Luca di Lazaro’s trial. I’m flying out on Monday.’
‘Oh, God. You should have said.’
‘They’re still not completely sure that they’re going to use me—and if they do when it’ll be—but the prosecution want me to be on hand just in case.’
‘Will you be giving evidence about Ellie?’
Eve shrugged, making little dark stars out of a splash of coffee on the table with the end of a spoon. ‘I don’t know. I’ve sent the barrister those photographs Ellie sent me from Florence, of her on the steps of the Uffizi, so they can match them up to some pretty lurid photographs they found in Luca’s flat. But they might want me to give evidence about what happened on the journey back from Venice—the stuff I told the police about at the time.’
Lou’s eyes were round with dismay. ‘Oh, no, Eve … You can’t go through all that again. Not in your condition! Do they know you’re pregnant?’
‘No, but it makes no difference. I’ve got to do this—for Ellie’s sake more than mine. I mean, it’s not as if he actually harmed me in any way on the jet. After he pulled his little stunt I made sure we weren’t alone for a second.’
‘No, but you were still an absolute wreck when you got home.’
Eve sighed. ‘I know, I know. But that wasn’t entirely down to Luca. He only offered me a line of cocaine—’
‘Blimey, Eve, you make it sound like a cup of tea!’
‘No—I mean, I was shocked and everything, and his aggression when I refused scared me a bit, but Nico—the steward—was there, and I knew he would make sure I was safe. I must admit it was a horrible, horrible moment when he said that he’d known Ellie and I realised that he must have been her supplier, but … well, I was a wreck before I even got on the plane with him.’
No change there, then, she added mentally, suspecting Lou was thinking exactly the same thing. She had been enormously supportive throughout the appalling trauma of Eve finding out she was pregnant, but six months down the line her willingness to hand out a constant supply of tissues was starting to wane. Eve couldn’t blame her.
‘So, will he be in court too?’
‘Who?’
‘Who do you think? Raphael, of course.’
‘I don’t know.’ She hadn’t dared ask Marco. ‘I hope not.’
‘Well, I bloody well hope he is, and that his new girlfriend can see exactly what kind of bastard he is! The kind who seduces young girls and gets them pregnant, then buggers off without another word.’
Eve winced and looked down into the dregs of her tea. ‘Not quite without another word. He did call the magazine …’
‘Yeah—great,’ said Lou with blistering sarcasm. ‘What was that message again? Tell her I’m sorry. She’ll understand. Make sure she has my number. Nice one, Romeo. Like she’s really going to call!’
‘Don’t,’ whispered Eve.
‘Well, honestly! She’ll understand. Understand what? That he just had to distribute his virile Italian charms fairly amongst the female population? It would be petty of any girl to object to that, wouldn’t it?’
A fat tear slid out from under Eve’s glasses and dripped into her cup. Noticing it, Lou was instantly contrite.
‘God, Eve, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just hate the thought of you having to face that bastard again.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Eve replied unconvincingly, removing her glasses to wipe her eyes with a paper napkin.
‘I’ll come with you.’
Eve gave her a watery smile, touched by the determination in Lou’s voice. Her sympathy might be wearing thin, but her loyalty never failed.
‘Don’t be silly. I’ve had enough trouble getting time off from my work at such short notice. Marissa would hit the roof. And I don’t know how long I’ll be there or anything.’
‘Well, I’ll phone every day. At least three times,’ Lou conceded reluctantly. ‘Someone’s got to remind you to take your iron supplement.’
* * *
Raphael emerged from the court building and stood for a moment breathing in the damp air of the winter evening. Rain was falling steadily on the street-lit pavement, and he threw back his head and let it wet his face. It had been a long, gruelling day.
It was Catalina’s first day in the witness box, and she hadn’t coped well. Bit by bit the defence barrister was undermining her confidence, making her version of events seem more and more shaky by the hour. It was exactly what she had been afraid of.
It was also exactly what Gianni Orseolo, the prosecution barrister, had feared.
Appearing in the doorway of the building, Gianni shook out a huge purple and green umbrella emblazoned with the gold logo of his polo club and came over to Raphael.
‘Are you walking this way? Good. Not a great day, I think you’ll agree. They’re tearing her to shreds out there. I’m calling a new witness tomorrow. Catalina won’t stand up to any further questioning.’
They watched a grey-faced Catalina being led out of court by her parents, a sight that left them both subdued.
‘Bene,’ said Raphael curtly. ‘I think I may stay away tomorrow. I’m not sure I can stand another day of looking at Luca’s smug face, and I ought to go and see my father.’
‘Well, unless it’s urgent I recommend you put it off for another day. Tomorrow’s witness could make up some ground for us—it might be worth coming in to see Luca squirming in his seat. How is your father, by the way?’
‘Until the trial started he was improving every day. Being back at the villa made a big difference. But all this has hit him hard. He adores Luca.’
Gianni Orseolo came from one of Florence’s wealthiest families, and he and Raphael had known each other since they were boys. Not well enough to be in the habit of exchanging confidences, but there was something peculiarly intimate about their close proximity under the umbrella in the dark, rain-lashed street.
‘The golden boy, eh? While you were the black sheep? And now Antonio has to shift his perspective a little.’
‘And me too.’ Raphael thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his long coat and looked out into the rain. ‘I’d got very used to the idea of hating my father and blaming him for my mother’s death. I. Someone … changed my perspective on that …’
At least that was one thing he had to thank Eve for. At least she had left a tiny glimmer of something good in the ruins of his life.
As always, he ruthlessly pushed the thought of her out of his mind.
‘Families are complicated things,’ Gianni agreed lightly, ‘which is why, Raphael old friend, we are very wise in choosing to avoid that path ourselves.’
Raphael said nothing.
Gianni’s car was easily recognisable amongst all the small city hatchbacks and family saloons parked along the street. Raphael gave a short bark of laughter as they approached the ridiculously predictable red Ferrari.
‘Very nice, Gianni. Very practical.’
‘It is for my purposes. As a young bachelor—’ he smiled rakishly ‘—one has to invest in all the right equipment to attract the right ladies.’ He pressed the keypad, setting off a volley of flashing lights on the dash, but just as he was about to stoop and open the impossibly streamlined door he turned thoughtfully back to Raphael.
‘I know it’s none of my business, but you look like you could do with a good night out.’ That was a pretty huge understatement. Secretly Gianni was horrified by how gaunt Raphael appeared, almost as if it should be he who was in the dock for drugs crimes, not Luca. ‘Look, I’m heading out of town at the weekend. Going to stay in the villa of an old mate with a few friends. You’d be more than welcome—it would do you good to get away from all this and have some fun. I’ve got the perfect girl—’
‘No.’ Raphael had left the shelter of the umbrella and was already walking away from Gianni along the darkened street.
‘Dinner, then. You’d love this girl—’
Raphael shook his head. �
��Thanks, Gianni, but no.’
‘Can I at least give you a lift anywhere?’
Raphael had almost disappeared into the darkness, but his voice drifted back through the rain.
‘ Grazie, but I prefer to walk.’
Shaking his head in bewilderment, Gianni slid into the driver’s seat and fired up the engine with a roar. If he didn’t know Raphael better he’d say he looked like a man with a broken heart.
Raphael had got walking without thinking down to a fine art. Head down, oblivious to the rain, he cleared his mind of everything except the calming rhythm of his footsteps.
As soon as Luca’s arrest had been secured he had taken his camera and headed back to Columbia. Not, this time, to the places and people with which he had become so familiar on previous trips, but to the mountains. The days he had spent there, just walking and photographing the landscape, had helped him come to terms with Eve’s betrayal, even if they hadn’t brought him any closer to understanding it.
Before he went he had called the magazine and left a message and a number. Not knowing what to say to the bored-sounding receptionist, he’d simply asked that she tell Eve he was sorry, hoping she would recognise and respond to the private meaning those words held for them both. When she didn’t, he’d had to conclude that it and everything else that had happened between them had ultimately meant more to him than it had to her.
He hadn’t been able to make sense of it, so, with his habitual ruthless self-control, he’d blanked it out. As a policy it probably wasn’t conducive to long-term mental health and happiness, but he was prepared to take his chances.
The rain was falling harder than ever now, and he could feel it seeping under the upturned collar of his coat and trickling down his neck. Suddenly, with all the pain of a physical blow, he was reminded of Venice. Standing in Piazza San Marco as the storm broke … the fury that had burned in Eve’s indescribably beautiful eyes which had turned so quickly to passion.
Latin Lovers: Italian Playboys Page 49