The Italian Girl

by Lucinda Riley

  ‘Unfortunately, this has nothing to do with me. I’m only related to Ella by marriage,’ corrected Roberto.

  ‘Of course, we spotted her talent as soon as Ella came here,’ the headmistress burbled on, her face growing pinker by the second. ‘She was so shy when she arrived, but we’ve worked very hard to bring her out of her shell.’

  ‘And you’ve done a remarkable job, has she not, cara?’ Roberto turned to Rosanna.

  ‘Yes.’ Rosanna was trying to stop Nico from grabbing the chocolate biscuits the headmistress was holding.

  ‘Do you have an ambition to be a singer, Ella?’ Roberto looked down at her.

  ‘Oh yes.’ Ella smiled shyly, unused to being the centre of such attention and praise.

  ‘Then we must find you the finest teacher in England. It is never too early to begin training, is it, Rosanna?’

  ‘Oh no, absolutely not,’ she agreed.

  ‘Well, we can arrange private lessons here, Mr Rossini, and . . . oh, would you all mind very much having your photograph taken with me? It’s just for the local paper,’ the headmistress encouraged.

  Roberto put his arm around the woman’s shoulders and smiled as the camera flashed, Nico wriggling in Rosanna’s arms. ‘And now we must go home,’ he stated. ‘My son has had enough.’

  ‘A Merry Christmas to you all,’ the headmistress called, as the four of them walked towards the door.

  The next day, Roberto declared he wanted to take Rosanna into Cheltenham to do some Christmas shopping.

  ‘Would you mind looking after Nico for us, Ella? We want to buy him his presents from Santa Claus,’ Rosanna asked her.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘We shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours,’ she added, not wishing her niece to feel left out, or as though she was being used as an unpaid babysitter.

  ‘Don’t worry. I like looking after Nico,’ Ella smiled, still on a high from the night before.

  After Rosanna and Roberto left, she went into the kitchen to tidy up from breakfast and hummed along to the carols on the radio as Nico played with some toys on the floor. When Roberto had burst unexpectedly back into Rosanna’s life, Ella had feared the worst – that she would no longer be welcome as part of the family she’d grown so fond of. But this morning, she felt happier than she had for a long time. The great Roberto Rossini had said she had talent. He was finding her a singing teacher and had suggested that next year she try for a place at the Royal College of Music in London. Although thoughts of her mamma were never far from her mind, even those couldn’t dampen her spirits today.

  She heard a car pull up in the drive and went to the front door to see who it was. Her heart dropped to her boots as she watched Stephen climb out of his Jaguar.

  ‘Hello, Ella.’ He smiled at her as he opened the passenger door and retrieved two carrier bags full of parcels. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m well. We didn’t expect you back until Friday,’ she replied nervously.

  ‘I finished my business in New York faster than I thought, so I flew back early.’

  There was a crash from the kitchen and the two of them ran inside to see what had happened. Nico had pulled a biscuit tin onto the floor and the contents had spilt out. He was collecting the broken biscuits one by one and stuffing them into his mouth with relish.

  ‘I see Nico’s fine then.’ The child gave a shriek of delight as Stephen picked him up and kissed his crumb-covered face. ‘How are you, little chap?’ he asked. ‘And where’s your mamma?’

  ‘She’s gone shopping. For Christmas presents, I think,’ said Ella cautiously.

  ‘Oh, then we’ll wait for her to come home. She won’t be that long, will she?’ Stephen said, sitting down at the table with Nico in his lap. ‘Did she take a taxi?’

  ‘Er, no. She got a lift.’

  ‘Who from?’

  Ella did not reply. ‘Would you like some coffee, Stephen?’

  ‘I’d love some, yes. Ella, what’s happened?’ he asked her gently as she filled the machine.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Look, I know something’s up. I called on Sunday and there was nobody here. Then when I phoned from Heathrow this morning, the receiver was picked up and then put down again as soon as I spoke.’

  ‘Stephen’ – Ella’s voice was low and she did not turn round – ‘you had better talk to Rosanna. It’s not my place to tell you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Ella, but I think I can guess: when Rosanna went to the house in London, she met Roberto. He’s back, isn’t he?’

  Ella turned round, her eyes wide, her face pale. ‘I didn’t tell you, Stephen, please. You guessed.’

  ‘And I guessed right, too. I knew it, I knew it.’ He shook his head and sighed despairingly. ‘I told her not to go to London without me.’

  Ella wondered if he was about to cry. The misery on his face was obvious. ‘Come, Nico.’ Ella took the child from his arms, placed him on the floor by his toys and put a cup of coffee on the table in front of Stephen.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She patted his arm mechanically, not knowing what else to do.

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ he sighed. ‘This isn’t fair on you. Do you know if Roberto’s staying?’

  ‘For Christmas? Yes, he is.’

  ‘I see.’ Stephen looked down at Nico. Then he stood up, leaving his coffee untouched.

  ‘Look, it’s best I leave. There’s a pile of toys in the hall for Nico, and a couple of presents for you and Rosanna.’ He knelt down and kissed the top of Nico’s head. ‘Bye-bye, little chap. You be good now.’

  ‘Bye-bye.’ Nico looked up at him and smiled obliviously.

  ‘What shall I tell Rosanna?’

  ‘Just tell her I called in. Goodbye, Ella. Take care of yourself. Merry Christmas.’ He kissed her lightly on the cheek and left the kitchen.

  Ella went to the window and watched him as he walked to his car, his devastation palpable in his hunched shoulders and lowered head.

  ‘Goodbye, Stephen,’ she murmured sadly.

  45

  Christmas passed in a haze of happiness for Rosanna. During the festive week they stayed at home, enjoying lazy days sitting by the fire watching Nico play with the extravagant toys Roberto had bought him. In the evening they settled down to supper, a film and languid lovemaking afterwards.

  The only thing that spoilt the tranquillity for Rosanna was thoughts of Stephen. Ella had told her of his visit, and she’d immediately hidden the presents he’d left for them all, not wanting Roberto to know he’d called round. Rosanna knew she should telephone him, arrange to meet and explain things to him in person, but just now, with the euphoria of Roberto’s return, she simply couldn’t face a showdown. The guilt of her inability to do so ate away at her.

  At the end of the week, on New Year’s Eve, Roberto took Rosanna and Nico into Cheltenham for lunch. Ella had declined to join them, saying she had a headache and didn’t feel up to it. The three of them arrived home at four o’clock to a silent house.

  ‘Ella? Ella?’ Rosanna called from the hallway.

  Getting no response, she ran up the stairs. Ella’s bedroom door was closed. She knocked, but there was no reply so she pushed the door open. Ella was sitting on the window seat. Her knees were curled up to her chest and her arms were closed tightly around them. She was looking out of the window, motionless as a statue.

  ‘Ella, what is it?’ The girl did not acknowledge her presence. Rosanna walked over to her. ‘Cara.’ Rosanna sat down next to her. ‘Tell me, please.’

  ‘Luca called. Mamma died at eleven o’clock this morning.’

  With a supreme effort, Rosanna fought back her own devastation at the news for Ella’s sake. ‘Oh cara.’ She reached out a hand to her niece. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

  ‘She is all I have . . . had . . .’

  Rosanna moved closer and put her arm round her shoulders, feeling her tension. ‘You have us, Ella, really.’

  ‘But you don’t want me. I’m an intruder here. Now y
ou have Roberto back, I’m in the way.’

  ‘Ella, please don’t say that. I love you and Nico adores you. You’re an important part of our family.’

  ‘I just . . . I thought I had prepared myself. I knew it would happen, but now it has, I . . .’ She looked up at Rosanna with anguished eyes. ‘She didn’t want to see me when she was dying and now Luca says she doesn’t want me at her funeral! Why? Why? Rosanna, did she not love me? Was that it?’

  ‘No, Ella! Listen to me. The reason she has done these things is because she loved you so very much. She wanted to spare you the pain of watching her suffer, and now she doesn’t want you to stand by her graveside and weep. Her plans for you meant she was prepared to lose you sooner than she needed to. She did it for you, Ella, can’t you see?’

  ‘She was my mamma. I want to say goodbye to her, I want to say goodbye . . .’ Ella crumpled suddenly and sobbed onto Rosanna’s shoulder. ‘What will become of me now? I can’t stay with you forever. I must go back to Naples.’

  ‘Oh Ella.’ Rosanna stroked her hair. ‘Do you hate it so much here?’

  ‘No, of course not, but it isn’t my home.’

  ‘Ella, Roberto and I, and most importantly your mamma, want you to make your home here with us. You know she wrote me a letter asking me to take care of you until you were old enough to take care of yourself. And in that letter, she said she thought you stood a better chance of developing your singing talent here, where we can help you.’

  ‘So’ – Ella looked up at her – ‘you will do this because it’s your duty? Because Mamma has asked you to?’

  ‘No.’ Rosanna gently smoothed the long dark hair back from Ella’s face, understanding her vulnerability and wanting to reassure her. ‘Cara, when you first arrived here, I hadn’t seen you for many years. We were strangers, and we had to get to know one another. But since then, you’ve become like a daughter to me, and a good friend too. I’d hate to see you leave. Really, cara. I have grown to love you.’

  ‘You are sure you’re not just saying these things, Rosanna?’

  ‘You know I’m not. But it must be your decision, Ella. If you wish to return to Naples, no one will stop you. Remember, though, your mamma sent you away because she didn’t want you to end up running the café for your grandfather as she did. If there’s one thing I know Carlotta wanted, it was to give you your chance, your future, at whatever the cost to herself.’

  ‘Because she never had hers,’ murmured Ella. ‘She was so beautiful, I’ve often wondered why she didn’t want more from life.’

  ‘She did once,’ mused Rosanna. ‘Then something went wrong, Ella. I’m not sure what it was, but she changed. If you want to make Mamma happy, then you must use your talent and the opportunity she planned so carefully to give you.’

  ‘You really think I have talent, Rosanna?’

  ‘Oh yes, cara, and so does Roberto.’

  ‘And you honestly don’t mind having me here?’

  ‘No, I honestly don’t.’ Rosanna kissed the top of her niece’s head tenderly. ‘Now, why don’t I go and get us both a cup of tea?’

  Later that evening, when Rosanna had sat with and then soothed an exhausted, distraught Ella to sleep, she came downstairs. Roberto was watching a film in the sitting room, a half-eaten sandwich on a plate in his lap.

  ‘How is she?’ he asked, without looking up.

  ‘Much calmer. The poor thing.’ Rosanna slumped onto the sofa. ‘I remember only too well what it’s like to lose your mamma very young.’

  ‘At least your sister was lucky she has you to take care of Ella for her.’

  ‘It’s the least I can do,’ said Rosanna. ‘I’m family.’

  ‘Ah, the Italian way,’ said Roberto, glancing at her briefly.

  ‘No, the human way. And remember, I too have lost a loved one today.’

  Roberto didn’t respond to her comment. He took a bite of his remaining sandwich. ‘I made myself a snack as there was nothing else for dinner.’

  ‘Roberto, stop it! What’s wrong with you? Why are you behaving so selfishly?’

  ‘Because, my darling, I have to go away in two weeks’ time. I have a concert in Vienna. I wanted you and Nico to come with me, but now I suppose you won’t be able to.’

  Rosanna stared at him in disbelief. ‘No, you know I won’t. How could you even imagine that I would leave Ella alone at the moment?’

  Roberto said nothing and continued eating.

  ‘How long will you be away?’ Rosanna was outwardly calm, but anger was beginning to smoulder inside her.

  He shrugged. ‘Three weeks, I think, maybe more. I must call Chris and finalise the itinerary tomorrow morning. Maybe you could join me in Vienna later?’

  ‘I doubt it very much,’ Rosanna replied coldly. She stood up. ‘I’m going to bed now. Goodnight, Roberto.’

  Rosanna was awoken later by Roberto gently nuzzling her neck. ‘Cara, cara, I’m so sorry for being selfish. You’re grieving for your sister and I behaved like a complete bastard.’

  ‘Yes, Roberto, you did,’ she agreed with feeling. ‘How could you be so insensitive?’

  ‘It’s only that I hate the thought of us being apart so soon. It made me react badly. Say you forgive me. Please?’

  Even though she was still furious with him, Rosanna rolled over and let him kiss her.

  ‘Please try to think of others occasionally, Roberto.’

  ‘I will. Ti amo, Rosanna.’

  And then, as always, the last vestiges of her anger disappeared as he began to make love to her.

  ‘Stephen?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s Luca. How are you?’

  Stephen paused before he answered. ‘I’m . . . okay. How is your sister?’

  Luca hesitated for a moment before answering quietly: ‘She died two weeks ago. Did Rosanna not tell you?’

  ‘No. I . . . I’ve been busy recently and haven’t seen her. I’m very sorry for your loss, Luca.’

  ‘In many ways it was for the best. At the end, she was in so much pain. And now Carlotta has been laid to rest, I must begin to get on with life and make some decisions of my own. Stephen, now you’ve visited New York, have you any further details on the drawing?’

  ‘Yes, I have, as a matter of fact. I’ve been waiting for you to call me. We need to talk, Luca, but not on the telephone. Will you be coming over to England soon?’

  ‘Yes. I want to see Ella, but I have a few things to organise here in Naples for Carlotta before I fly over.’

  ‘Then give me a ring when you know when you’re arriving.’

  ‘I shall see you at Rosanna’s, surely?’

  ‘I’m afraid quite a few things have changed since we last spoke,’ replied Stephen brusquely. ‘So no, you won’t. But I’ll leave Rosanna to tell you all about that. Goodbye, Luca.’

  Donatella opened the door to Roberto’s apartment. She picked up the pile of mail that lay on the doormat and took it over to the table.

  She marched through the sitting room into Roberto’s bedroom and flung open the wardrobes. Her first instinct was to get a knife from the kitchen and slash every item of his clothing that hung inside. But that was childish, and too ineffectual. He deserved far, far worse.

  She pulled out several of her suits, skirts and cocktail dresses and threw them onto the bed. She emptied out two drawers of lingerie: the black suspenders Roberto had liked her to wear, the silk stockings that his hands had caressed as they made love . . . Donatella swallowed hard. She would not shed a tear. Oh no. She would take her emotion and turn it into anger, just as her therapist had suggested.

  ‘I hate you, I hate you,’ she muttered under her breath as she pulled a large suitcase out from the top shelf of a cupboard and began throwing her clothes inside it. ‘I will punish you, I will punish you,’ she repeated as she closed the suitcase and left the room.

  It took her barely fifteen minutes to collect the few things she had in Roberto’s apartment. Then she sat down at the table an
d took a pen from her handbag.

  Should she leave him a note? What could she say to him? Was there anything that might frighten him? Shake the unbearable arrogance from him just for a few seconds?

  When Roberto had not returned from the concert in Geneva, and she’d heard nothing from him, she had called Chris Hughes. He’d told her that Roberto was in England, but that he had no idea where he was staying or how long he’d be there. Donatella had screamed at Chris, telling him that she could guess exactly where Roberto was staying. Chris had not denied it. She’d slammed the telephone down and, later, she’d gone out to a cocktail party and got very, very drunk.

  The following morning, she’d woken up hung-over and reflected that there was every chance Roberto would turn up in the future, brazen it out and expect her to accept the situation. She’d made herself a Bloody Mary and asked herself whether she was prepared to accept this too.

  It had taken a long time to come to the conclusion that she wasn’t. He’d used her for almost ten years, treating her like a piece of rubbish that he could throw away whenever the mood took him. She’d kidded herself for years that he would one day forget Rosanna and marry her instead. Donatella knew now this had been a fantasy.

  She’d packed her Louis Vuitton bags and spent Christmas with some old friends in Barbados. Every night when she was alone in bed, her resolution had become stronger and stronger. And, slowly, the love began to turn to burning hatred.

  Donatella bit her lip. It was hard to keep that feeling going, sitting amongst Roberto’s things, in an apartment where they’d shared so much. Had she meant anything to him? No, she answered herself brutally, and knew it was the truth.

  She wanted to punish him, make him hurt, as she’d hurt so many times; make him feel the true pain of loving and losing.

  She’d wracked her brains over the past month to try to think of some way she could teach him a lesson he’d never forget. But the man was seemingly invincible. She could go and sell her story to the newspapers, but that would only give him the attention he relished, as well as demeaning herself. There seemed to be no skeletons in his closet that he hadn’t already revealed.