A Twist of Fate

by Joanna Rees

  ‘Do you want to learn how to cook or not?’ Alfonso demanded.

  Nico winked at Romy, who was washing salad at the sink. ‘Maybe it would just be easier to order a takeaway? A pizza?’

  Romy smiled. It was good to see the two men in her life getting on so well. Together they formed a link between her past and her present. They made it feel as if her life had direction and consistency, and that the future too would be a clear path along which she could tread.

  As she gazed out through the kitchen window at the sun setting across the orchard and the garden’s cobbled wall, she thought back to her wedding day, less than two months ago, but already it felt like a lifetime away.

  She remembered now how she’d walked from the house to the tiny church arm-in-arm with Nico, the clanking of the church bell breaking through the hazy afternoon as old ladies from the crowded balconies above threw flowers in her path.

  Behind her, Alfonso’s nieces in white dresses and lace gloves fussed around her dress, pulling the train out behind her. The same train that Maria had worn on her wedding day to Roberto, and his mother before her.

  ‘This will take ages at this rate,’ Nico had said.

  ‘But it’s nice,’ Romy had squeezed his arm and then straightened the pink rose in his buttonhole. ‘It’s all part of it.’

  ‘You’re right. It is pretty amazing,’ he’d said. ‘I’ve never been big on weddings myself, but this . . . well, this is incredible. I can’t believe how much work you’ve done to pull it all together.’

  ‘I am doing the right thing, aren’t I?’

  ‘You’re not sure?’ Nico had asked, stopping her. ‘Because if you’re not—’

  ‘No – it’s not like that,’ she’d said. ‘It’s just I’m scared that I love Alfonso too much. That I could never live without him. I don’t know if it’s possible to love someone this much. I feel so out of control. So strong, and yet so frightened.’

  ‘The only thing you’ve got to be frightened of is not making it to the altar on time. And after that you can get worried about becoming fat on Mamma Scolari’s pasta.’

  Romy had smiled then, and had waved when she’d seen that Roberto Scolari was waiting for her at the doorway of the church.

  ‘Were you worried I wouldn’t come?’ she’d teased him, noticing a tear in his eye. She’d touched his face affectionately. It had been Roberto she’d had to thank for the lavish wedding. He’d spared no expense, and she’d been able to tell how proud he was.

  ‘Of course not.’ Then he’d held her gaze and had said softly, ‘You gave back my son.’

  And as he’d hugged her, Romy knew that he really did love her like his own daughter, and that today had made him happier than he could possibly put into words. She’d turned and given her flowers to Cesca. Then she’d looked at Roberto.

  ‘I’d like you to come with me,’ she’d told him, taking his arm.

  She’d winked at Nico, who’d instantly understood, and together all three of them had walked up the aisle of the tiny church, each pew packed full of smiling guests. And Romy hadn’t imagined that she could ever feel happier than she had right then.

  She’d heard the majestic organ filling the church, the light flooding in through the high stained-glass rose window, sending shafts of colours onto the black and white tiles leading to the altar, where the priest stood with Alfonso, waiting for her. Behind him a flower arrangement of tumbling roses from Maria’s very own garden had added sweet perfume to the heady incense.

  It had felt as if every step of her life had been bringing her to this moment. She hadn’t been able to stop grinning, as her favourite of Alfonso’s nieces, Cesca, pulled back Romy’s veil, and Alfonso had been able to see how happy Romy was.

  ‘You look incredible,’ he’d whispered and she saw tears in his eyes. ‘Stunning.’

  And Romy knew that, for all the compliments she’d ever been paid in her life, this had been the best one yet.

  She had listened to the same priest who had baptized Alfonso here as a baby start the service, but her eyes had never left Alfonso’s, the rest of the church forgotten. She’d wanted to pinch herself, she was so happy.

  She’d dreamily smiled at Alfonso as he’d slipped the gold band onto her finger.

  ‘I will love you forever, Mrs Scolari,’ he’d whispered.

  And as his lips had touched hers, Romy had known that she really was safe now.

  Forever.

  The CCTV intercom monitor lit up on the wall by the kitchen door, just as the CD on the huge sound system was changing. Alfonso picked up the silver remote and paused the familiar introduction to Robbie Williams’s ‘Rock DJ’.

  The unsmiling face of Max, the burly security guard manning the gate, filled the small screen.

  ‘There’s a . . . woman . . . here who’s insisting on seeing Mrs Scolari,’ Max’s gruff voice crackled through the speaker.

  Mrs Scolari. Romy still adored the sound of those words. But it was clear from the way he’d hesitated before using the word ‘woman’ that forty-something, ex-paratrooper Max did not believe that whoever it was with him had any right to be here.

  ‘We’re not expecting anyone – are we?’ Alfonso checked, glancing across at Romy.

  ‘No.’

  Alfonso crossed over to the monitor. ‘Please tell her to go away. If she wishes to make contact with either of us, she can go through Father’s office,’ he said to Max before flicking the monitor off.

  The screen faded into a grainy black. Probably just another journalist or photographer, Romy thought, as Alfonso flicked the remote. There’d not been a week since their honeymoon when they’d not been hounded by one tabloid hack or another.

  But Villa Gasperi felt safe. It ought to, with the amount of security here – there were alarms and locks everywhere. That was because it was home to the renowned Scolari art collection. In the dining room alone there was a Titian and a priceless Da Vinci sketch. Its wine cellar wasn’t bad either, she reflected, watching as Nico poured himself another full glass of Roberto’s best Pinot.

  Romy smiled as Alfonso started singing along with the song, sidling up behind her and dancing. She laughed, but then the intercom monitor flickered back into life.

  ‘What now?’ Alfonso said, irritated. He paused the music again and went to the monitor. Romy dried her hands on a tea towel and joined him.

  ‘She’s refusing to leave,’ Max apologized. ‘She wants me to tell you – to tell Mrs Scolari – that her name is Claudia Baumann. And that she knew Mrs Scolari many years ago, in Schwedt, when they were both still girls.’

  Claudia. Schwedt . . . Even through the guard’s mangled pronunciation, the word reached out and scraped like a talon across Romy’s skin. The room seemed to sway before her eyes for a moment, as if she might faint. She steadied herself against the long wooden kitchen table – a table she’d spent Christmas at with Alfonso’s noisy, chattering family.

  Claudia. It could not be possible. Claudia was dead.

  The dogs. The dogs had been there . . .

  ‘What is it? Nico asked.

  The shock must have shown in her face. She balled her hands into fists. She tried to speak, but no words came to her. She tried to think, but all she kept seeing were Ulrich’s dogs in the woods; all she kept hearing were their snarls.

  ‘Romy?’ a voice broke through. ‘Romy?’ More urgently now.

  It was Alfonso. He was walking towards her now.

  ‘Romy? Is this woman telling the truth? Do you know her? Do you want her to come in?’

  It was past midnight. Romy took one last look at Claudia lying there asleep in the guest bedroom. She wore her hair severely short these days, shaved at the back. She looked so much older than she should.

  It didn’t seem possible that she was really here, really alive. Romy shivered, again thinking back to those dark, snowbound woods on that night, so many years ago, when they’d made their desperate bid for escape. She remembered red on white, blood on snow. Ulrich’s
dog had sunk its teeth into Claudia flesh. It had shaken her by the throat.

  Ulrich’s dogs. The ones that he’d fed on live rats.

  I would have helped. I would have stayed and helped, if I’d thought you’d stood even a chance. If I’d not thought you were already as good as dead . . .

  She stared at the familiar curve of Claudia’s cheekbone, guilt welling up inside her as she turned and sighed in her sleep, the scar on her neck a livid red. One by one the other girls’ names started coming back to Romy, their scared and tiny faces passing through her mind in a phantom parade. She pictured the photos she’d found in Lemcke’s desk. What had become of them all, those lost girls? As Claudia was now, Romy prayed they’d one day been found.

  ‘Let her sleep.’

  It was Alfonso. He gently put an arm around Romy’s waist and drew her back, before quietly closing the bedroom door.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered in the twilight of the corridor.

  Sorry – the word wasn’t enough. No matter how many times she said it to him, it could never undo all the lies she’d told.

  ‘You’ve done nothing wrong,’ was all that Alfonso said now. Her husband. This man she loved with all her being. Could he really just forgive her? Could it really be as simple as that?

  He was leading her now by the hand down the long, winding corridor to their bedroom, passing Nico’s room, from which the rumble of drunken snores could already be heard.

  More guilt, more regrets, swelled up in Romy’s chest. If anything, it was Nico rather than Alfonso who’d been the more hurt and confused by Claudia’s arrival and the secrets from her past that had begun to spill out.

  She’d read it in his eyes. What kind of friend lies to you from the first day they meet you? What kind of sick person does that? Why hadn’t Romy respected him enough to tell him the truth?

  She saw Nico thinking all of these things as she’d stood and admitted everything to him and Alfonso. There’d been no tears. Just bald statements: words falling like bricks from her mouth. Walling herself in. Cutting herself off. She’d told them about the orphanage. About how she’d caught Fox and the other boys raping Claudia. About how she’d attacked them – how she’d stabbed Fox – and had got Claudia out.

  She’d told Alfonso and Nico all this in the time it had taken for Claudia to be escorted up the long gravel driveway to the house.

  ‘I don’t expect you to forgive me,’ she’d told Alfonso when she’d finished, unable to look him in the eyes. ‘But, please, let Claudia stay. If she needs to.’

  He’d lifted her chin so that he could see her face. ‘I don’t care what you’ve done’ was all he’d said. ‘We agreed. Whatever happened before we met – it doesn’t matter. I love you. That’s all there is to it. And if this girl needs your help now, then I will help her too.’

  Romy had hated herself then. Perhaps more than she’d ever hated herself in her life. Why hadn’t she trusted him right from the start? Why hadn’t she told Alfonso who she really was? Because she’d been afraid he’d judge her? That he’d find her wanting? That he’d throw her out? She was a fool. He’d always believed in her. So much more than she’d believed in him.

  She’d vowed it then: she’d never keep a secret from him again. Everything she was, she’d give to him. There would be no more lies.

  And then there’d been the door buzzer and Max had been there, a stick-thin blonde woman standing dwarfed by him.

  Claudia.

  The sight of her took Romy’s breath away.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Alfonso had told Max, taking charge of the situation. Then he’d welcomed Claudia in as if he’d been expecting her.

  Romy stared at the girl who’d once been like a sister. But that innocent beauty had long gone. Mascara had smeared down Claudia’s gaunt face, her cheekbones pushing against the pockmarked skin there like two razor blades about to tear through a crumpled paper bag. Romy hadn’t needed to see the track-marks on her forearms to know that they’d be there. She’d recognized the haunted look in her eye, had seen it plenty of times before, and not just on those poor London hookers she’d met when she’d escaped to the West, but on models too – girls with more money than sense, whose lives had slipped out of control.

  Claudia had been clutching a magazine. In German. It had been folded open on two worn, once-glossy pages, showing Romy and Alfonso’s wedding day. And there at the bottom – Claudia had pointed to it – had been this address, the Scolari family home where Romy and Alfonso were correctly rumoured to be holed up now.

  ‘I knew it was you,’ Claudia had said. ‘I saw you in the magazine and I couldn’t stop staring at you. You’re so beautiful. My Romy . . . ’

  She’d stepped towards Romy then, her trembling hand extending as if Romy might not be real.

  ‘You have no idea,’ Claudia had said, her eyes pooling with tears, her voice cracking. ‘I’ve searched for you for so long. It feels like I’ve been searching for you my whole life.’

  Romy had swallowed down her own tears then, and as Claudia’s hand had reached her arm, her touch had been like a feather.

  ‘I can’t believe I’ve made it here. I hitched the whole way, but I just wanted to see you one last time. Just to make sure you were OK.’ Claudia’s familiar eyes had filled Romy’s vision. ‘And to tell you that – to tell you that I escaped too.’

  ‘You’re alive. I thought . . . I thought . . .’ A sob had burst from Romy. Then she’d reached out and pulled Claudia into her arms, not caring about the sour smell coming from her. Not caring about her thin, scrawny, tattoo-covered body. Only caring that she was living and breathing.

  ‘I don’t want to cause you any trouble,’ Claudia had apologized eventually, pulling away. She’d glanced at Alfonso, as if suddenly becoming aware of her opulent surroundings and her own condition.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Alfonso had reassured her, touching her bony arm.

  ‘I’m sorry for coming to your home, Romy. I don’t want anything from you. Really I don’t. But maybe you could help me . . . just for tonight.’

  She’d weakened then, and Nico and Alfonso had caught her and taken her to the couch. And as Romy had seen how desperately frail Claudia was, she’d realized that this was truly her second chance.

  ‘Of course I’ll help you,’ she’d whispered to Claudia, smoothing her hair away from her face. ‘And I will never let you down again. I’ll give you a new life, a better life than you could ever imagine, to make up for the one those bastards at the orphanage took away.’

  Now, hours later, after Romy had let Claudia bathe and had dressed her in clean pyjamas and Nico had tried out his pasta sauce on her, she was sleeping like a baby, but Romy still took one last glance along the corridor as she reached her bedroom door with Alfonso.

  ‘Do you think she’ll be OK?’ Romy asked Alfonso.

  ‘She’ll be fine. She says she’s clean. I think the worst of the withdrawal is over. She’s one brave girl.’

  Romy shuddered, thinking of Claudia’s harrowing tales of life on the street in Hamburg. She knew all too well that the same situation could well have happened to her.

  ‘She can stay for as long as you like,’ Alfonso said gently. ‘And when we go, you can bring her with us too. I will not mind.’

  She nodded, feeling a sudden spurt of hope, as Alfonso closed their bedroom door behind them. The new racing season began in less than two weeks. For the next three months Alfonso would be moving from country to country with his team. Romy would travel with him, of course, but having a companion to spend time with whilst he was working would be no bad thing.

  But what about Claudia? Is that something she might want too? Romy hoped so. She wanted to make it all up to her. Every second that had passed since she’d left her there in the woods. All the good fortune Romy had come into since, she wanted to share it with Claudia now. Poor, weak Claudia. Romy was determined to make her strong and healthy, probably for the first time in her whole life. That sweet little girl Claudia had onc
e been – well, she was still there, Romy just knew it.

  She undressed in silence, then slipped under the cool cotton duvet next to Alfonso. Her skin felt cold, as if she were made of stone. But then he reached out to her, taking her hand, entwining his fingers round hers.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he told her in the dark. ‘I know you’ve had a shock.’

  Romy swallowed down more tears. ‘I’ve been holding in this secret all of my life,’ she said, feeling tears slide down her cheeks. ‘But now Claudia is here and . . . well, I’m free of it, but I feel . . . I feel . . .’ she tried, unable to put into words how she felt. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Alfonso took her in his arms, soothing her. ‘Shhh. Stop saying that. You’re a good person, Romy,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve always known that about you. In my heart.’

  ‘But you don’t understand. Fox, that boy – I killed him.’

  ‘In self-defence. You had no choice. Romy you were a child,’ Alfonso said. ‘We can work all this out, OK? We can make sense of it in the morning.’

  Alfonso kissed her neck and she wrapped herself around him. She felt his life, his strength, pouring into her. So long as he was here, so long as he was holding her, she knew that she could never, ever truly fall.

  She woke to the sound of shouting. And something else: a noise. A sound that had invaded her dream and jerked her, heart pounding, wide awake into the cool night air.

  Alfonso was sitting up beside her. Whatever it was that had woken her, he’d clearly heard it too. He snapped on the bedside lamp. Light stretched across the bedroom. Shadows reached out from the wardrobes and walls.

  Romy could hear her breath coming in short, fast gasps. ‘What is it? Did you hear something?’ she said.

  A shout. Distant. Muffled. Then another. It was coming from downstairs.

  ‘Call the police,’ Alfonso said.

  ‘But—’ Romy was terrified.

  Alfonso was already on his feet, grabbing his jeans from the back of the chair. He stumbled for the door, pulling them on as he went, nearly falling as he did so.

  Then he was gone. Out into the corridor, bouncing off the wall. Running in his bare feet.