The following morning, Luca stood uncertainly in the arrivals hall and suddenly heard his name being called over the tannoy. He went to make himself known at the enquiry desk as requested, and was led by a security officer through a maze of corridors to a small hospitality lounge. It was deserted, apart from Roberto, who was pacing the floor.
Luca walked towards him. Roberto’s arrogance, his easy self-confidence had disappeared. He looked like any overweight, middle-aged man with a problem.
‘Thank you, thank you for coming, Luca.’ Roberto nodded at the security officer, who left the room. ‘I thought it would be better to talk in private. Please, sit down.’
Luca sat and prepared to listen.
‘I . . .’ Roberto scratched the unkempt stubble on his chin. ‘First, I want to say I understand that you have every reason to dislike me. You’ve known for all these years that I was the father of Carlotta’s child. When I married Rosanna, it must have been hard for you both.’
‘Neither of us wanted to hurt Rosanna. We knew she loved you,’ Luca replied coldly.
‘I swear, I didn’t know about Ella until I got the letter yesterday. Donatella Bianchi, a woman who I’ve known for a considerable length of time, was at my New York apartment and opened Carlotta’s letter without my permission. Donatella has told me she intends to take a copy of the letter to Rosanna personally.’
‘Donatella Bianchi,’ murmured Luca.
‘You know her?’
Luca nodded. ‘Oh yes. I know her. But why would she want to do this terrible thing to Rosanna?’
‘To punish me for leaving her. She realises Rosanna is the only woman I’ve ever truly loved. It’s the perfect revenge. Donatella knows your sister will almost certainly leave me when she hears the news. Or that at the very least it will drive a terrible wedge between us. And we have had enough problems recently.’
‘Roberto, have you ever told Rosanna you had a liaison with Carlotta?’
‘No. I didn’t think it was important. Rosanna was a young girl when it happened and . . . yes, I was too frightened of Rosanna’s reaction. Luca, please, help me.’ Roberto fell to his knees. ‘I’m desperate. I beg you, if you can think of a way, I promise before God I will be the best, most loving husband in the world. I love Rosanna, I can’t live without her.’ Roberto bowed his head and his shoulders began to shake.
Luca looked down at the man before him. He could see Roberto was broken, humbled in desperation. He finally knew that, selfish or not, at the very least the man loved his sister with all his heart.
And, of course, he now knew of a way to stop this, to keep Donatella quiet forever. On the other hand, had there not been too many lies already? Was it not better that Rosanna knew the truth? It would cause her pain, but she would get over it in time.
Then he pictured his sister’s face, in their parents’ café, staring at Roberto for the first time.
Whatever he was, she loved him. However he behaved, she wanted him. He was Nico’s father and, Luca asked himself, who was he to play God? Surely all he could do was act with integrity, and give Roberto the information he needed. What happened beyond that was not up to him.
Luca looked at Roberto and took a deep breath.
‘Roberto, I know of a way we can end this.’
51
Donatella walked into the lobby of the Savoy hotel.
When Roberto had called her in Vienna, begging her to meet him in London before she went to see Rosanna, she hadn’t been able to resist. To watch him plead and squirm for mercy one more time would be most enjoyable. She had absolutely no intention of changing her mind. Nothing he could do or say would help him now.
He was waiting for her in the American Bar. She greeted him with a kiss on both cheeks.
‘How are you? You look a little pale, Roberto.’
‘Drink?’ he asked, ignoring her question.
‘Yes. Campari and soda, please.’ Donatella sat down and crossed her long legs as Roberto ordered drinks from the waiter. ‘So, Roberto, what is it you wished to see me about?’
‘I wanted to ask you if you would reconsider. I wanted you to know that if you show that letter to Rosanna, it will not only destroy me, but her also. She has done nothing to you. Why would you punish her?’
‘Do you really expect me to care? I loved you very much, Roberto, but now’ – Donatella flicked her hand – ‘it has gone. In fact, I have a new boyfriend. I’m moving back to Milan and we’re thinking of getting married.’
‘Congratulations,’ murmured Roberto as the drinks arrived.
‘Now, what shall we drink to? Freedom maybe?’ Donatella’s green eyes sparkled venomously over the rim of her raised glass.
‘You’re enjoying every moment of this, aren’t you?’ Roberto took a sip of his mineral water.
‘It was about time someone treated you the way you’ve treated everybody else. Do you realise that if it wasn’t for me you would never have got your first big break at La Scala?’
‘What are you talking about now, Donatella?’ Roberto asked wearily.
‘I gave Paolo de Vito an enormous cheque for a scholarship fund at his precious school on the condition that you were given your first leading role. You see, Roberto, others have cared about you, helped you. It’s a pity you have never cared about them.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘No matter,’ Donatella shrugged. ‘Ask Paolo one day.’
‘Well then, if it’s true, I thank you for your help,’ he nodded.
‘A meek Roberto,’ she commented acidly. ‘My God, you must love her very much.’
‘He does,’ said a voice from behind her.
Donatella turned round to see a slim, dark-haired young man standing behind them. He looked familiar but she couldn’t place him.
‘Luca, come and join us.’ Roberto nodded to a chair.
‘Thank you.’ He sat down.
‘Oh, of course, you’re Rosanna’s sainted brother. Have you been employed to come here and make me search my soul?’ Donatella said dismissively. ‘You’ll sink to any level, won’t you, Roberto?’
‘Signora Bianchi, I’m here to see you for a completely different reason. It’s only coincidence that Roberto told me of your knowledge of Carlotta’s letter at a time when I was about to contact you anyway.’
‘And why would you need to speak to me?’
‘It’s about this, Signora Bianchi.’ Luca pulled an envelope out of his pocket, opened it and then laid a polaroid photograph on the table.
Donatella picked it up and studied it. Both men watched the colour drain from her face.
‘What is this?’ she asked.
‘I think you know perfectly well what it is,’ said Luca calmly. ‘You once paid Don Edoardo, il parroco at La Chiesa Della Beata Vergine Maria, three million lire to buy it.’
‘If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go outside for some air.’ Roberto stood up, nodded at Luca, and left.
‘I . . . yes, of course. Now I remember it.’ Donatella looked distinctly flustered.
‘A friend of mine took this photograph at an apartment recently in New York.’ Luca spoke quietly, unhurriedly. ‘A Mr John St Regent, the current owner of the drawing, told my friend he paid several million dollars for it.’
‘Mamma mia! Well, that is an amazing coincidence. We . . . had a burglary at our palazzo just after I bought the drawing, you see. It was stolen, along with several other paintings. I had no idea it was worth that much. What is it, a Leonardo?’ Donatella laughed nervously.
‘Yes, I think that’s exactly what it is, Signora Bianchi. You say it was stolen from your home?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then that is most odd, as John St Regent told my friend that it was your husband who sold it to him.’
‘I . . . no.’ Donatella shook her head. ‘Your friend got it wrong. He made a mistake.’
‘Well, it’s a simple matter of a telephone call, Signora Bianchi. I am sure the Italian police will be able to asce
rtain the truth,’ shrugged Luca equably.
‘My husband is dead. The authorities can hardly question him now.’
‘No, they can’t. But they can question you. I believe you knew how valuable that drawing was when you paid Don Edoardo a pittance for it. I also know that if the police found out you had conspired with your husband to take an artwork of national importance out of Italy, you could end up in prison.’
A flicker of fear crossed Donatella’s face. ‘Luca, I swear, I didn’t know the truth. My husband appears to have deceived me too,’ she answered desperately.
‘Roberto tells me you are very good friends with the St Regents. It’s unlikely they have not told you about – in fact, shown you – their most precious possession.’ Luca shrugged. ‘But I’m not here to judge your innocence or guilt. As I said, I can simply tell the police what I know, and they can discover the truth, or . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘You can change your mind about telling Rosanna who Ella’s real father is. Then we can all continue our lives as normal.’
Donatella looked outraged. ‘You’re blackmailing me!’
‘I don’t believe I have committed any crime, Signora Bianchi, whereas you clearly have. I love my sister, that’s all.’
Donatella drained her glass and banged it down on the table. ‘And loving your sister means saddling her with a child that she doesn’t know her husband sired? You call that love?’ she mocked.
Luca said nothing, just watched her calmly.
Donatella sat in silence, still trying to think of a way to salvage her perfect plan to ruin Roberto’s life. But nothing came to mind. At last she sighed resentfully and looked at Luca. ‘All right, you win. I don’t wish to take the chance of being implicated, especially as I’m soon to move back to Milan. So I agree I will not tell your beloved Rosanna about her husband’s illegitimate daughter.’
‘I must also ask you for the copy you have of the letter.’
Donatella nodded sulkily and opened her handbag. She pulled out an envelope and handed it to Luca.
‘This is the only one?’
‘Yes, I swear.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Well, once again, Roberto has got away with his misdemeanours. You aren’t stupid enough to think Ella’s conception will remain a secret forever, are you? Or that this will mean Roberto will stay faithful to Rosanna? If you do, you are deluded.’
‘Signora Bianchi, I can only do what I think best for now. The rest I must put in God’s hands.’
Donatella stood up. ‘I will leave before Roberto returns. I know he’ll be looking self-satisfied and I couldn’t stand that. I know him better than anyone, even his precious wife. We were meant to be together, you know,’ she murmured wistfully.
‘I think you’re right, Signora Bianchi. The two of you deserve each other. Goodbye.’
Luca watched Donatella stalk across the bar and disappear, but the sense of relief that she’d agreed to the bargain did not arrive. Instead, a great wave of sadness closed around his heart.
Roberto appeared round the corner, his eyes hopeful. Luca nodded at him. ‘It’s okay, she’s gone,’ he said quietly.
‘She agreed?’
‘Yes. Here.’ Luca handed him the envelope.
‘Thank God.’ Roberto wiped his sweating brow. ‘Luca, can I buy you a drink? Anything, anything I can do to thank you.’
‘No.’ Luca shook his head and stood up. ‘I must leave. Just look after my sister and your son. Goodbye.’
Luca arrived at Abi’s flat forty-five minutes later. Abi appeared to let him in, fresh from the shower in her robe.
‘Hello, darling,’ she smiled at him.
Luca stood, silent and unmoving in the doorway. His face was white and his eyes were haunted.
‘What on earth’s the matter?’ she asked him. ‘Come and sit down, Luca.’ She walked towards him and touched his hand. It was ice cold. ‘Luca, for goodness’ sake, tell me, where have you been? What’s going on?’
His arms hung limply at his sides as he stood there. Abi stepped forward and put her own arms around him, then reached up and stroked his hair. ‘Please, Luca, whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as you think.’
She led him into the sitting room, sat him down on the sofa and took his hands in hers.
‘Listen, my darling, you must tell me what has happened, what’s upset you. I love you, you know that. Just this once, let me be your confessor.’
Luca looked up at her. ‘Abi, it’s all so complicated, such a muddle in my head. I feel, I feel . . .’
‘Well, I feel like a brandy.’ Abi stood up and went to the kitchen to collect a bottle and two glasses. She poured some into each glass and handed one to Luca as she sat down. ‘Now, drink up, then we can talk, okay?’
Luca swallowed the glass of brandy straight down. And then he began to tell her. Abi sat there, her eyes growing wider and wider.
‘Do you see, Abi, that at every step, Roberto is the perpetrator? And what have I done today? Sent him back to Rosanna, when I had the perfect opportunity to rid her of him forever.’
‘Luca, she loves him. Whatever he’s done, or might do, that will never change. Love has nothing to do with sense.’ Abi looked at him and smiled sadly. ‘I above anyone know that. And you can’t – mustn’t – punish yourself. You’ve done what you thought best to protect your family.’
‘Yes, I can look at it that way, or I can say that I’m no better than Roberto, since I too have deceived Rosanna. And once again, Roberto has escaped without punishment. I, like everyone else, did as he requested and lied for him.’
‘But it was a lie told with the very best of intentions, Luca, and one that was necessary, I think. I must admit, there is one part of the whole saga that I find funny . . . several million dollars for a drawing that, however lovely to look at, is virtually worthless. Stephen was sure about that, was he?’
‘Well, he’s the Renaissance expert and he took the drawing through a thorough authentication process,’ Luca confirmed. ‘He told me he understands why Donatella’s husband was convinced it was a Leonardo. There are strong similarities and he thinks the drawing would still fetch a few thousand dollars at auction because it’s so old and in such immaculate condition.’
‘What did Stephen actually say to the owner when he was asked whether it was the real thing?’
‘He took the decision not to tell Mr St Regent his true opinion; he told him he wasn’t qualified at such a high level to make a definitive judgement and that he would have to seek a second opinion from the world’s leading Leonardo experts. Which, of course, Mr St Regent won’t ever do, as the drawing was removed illegally from Italy in the first place. As Stephen said to me, he gets enormous pleasure from the drawing, so why spoil it for him? And of course,’ Luca added, ‘the less Donatella knows about its real provenance, the better.’
‘But all that money, Luca. It doesn’t seem fair on our Mr St Regent.’
‘A few million dollars to him is like a few pounds to you and me, believe me, Abi.’
‘Well then. Come on, Luca, stop being so hard on yourself. You couldn’t have done any more and you can’t keep beating yourself up about it.’
‘But Roberto is such a bad influence on Rosanna, Abi. The way she left Ella and Nico alone . . . that wasn’t my sister. She becomes a different person when she’s with him. And now she hates me because I told her so.’
‘It’s her life, Luca, and you must let her live it.’
‘I know, I know. But listen, Abi, I’ve come back here tonight not only to tell you the outcome of the meeting with Donatella, but because I have something else I must talk to you about.’
‘Really? And what is that?’ she asked him warily.
‘I had expected that the past six months might give me the time I needed to help me decide about the future. As it’s turned out, I’ve had little time to think about myself. Carlotta, then Rosanna and Nico and now Roberto and Donatella.’ Luca shook his head. ‘I’
m so very confused, about myself, my God. And you, of course.’ He looked at her and smiled at her tenderly. ‘At present, with all my uncertainty, it would be wrong to return to the seminary, but also I cannot make the kind of commitment to you that I wish to, until I am absolutely sure that I can say goodbye to all I’ve wanted and believed in since I first walked into La Chiesa Della Beata Vergine Maria in Milan over ten years ago. So’ – Luca paused to gather the strength to tell her – ‘I’ve spoken to my bishop and he made a suggestion which I think might be the answer. I’m going to Africa, Abi. There’s a church being built in a village outside Lusaka in Zambia and I’m to be a lay preacher and assist the priest. Maybe there, away from everything, I can finally make sense of my life.’
‘I see.’ Abi’s shoulders sagged in disappointment.
‘I can understand if you feel angry. I realise I’ve never done anything to earn your love and you’ve offered so much to me. But, Abi, please don’t wait for me any longer. I can promise you nothing just now because I don’t know myself what the answers are.’
Abi took a gulp of her brandy, then licked her lips. Her hands were shaking slightly.
‘Luca, do you still love me?’
‘Of course, amore mio. I have no control over that. You know I adore you.’
‘But you still love your God more,’ she said slowly. ‘Well, I could sit here and try to persuade you to stay, to tell you that I am what you need. But I know from bitter experience it’s pointless, so I won’t try.’
‘Do you hate me? Have I used you? Oh Abi, the thought of hurting you makes me feel so terrible.’
‘No, I don’t hate you, Luca. How could I? I love you. I knew from the beginning you were promising nothing, but it was a chance I was prepared to take. I’ve lost and God’s won yet again. When are you leaving?’
‘I must go tomorrow.’
Abi nodded silently. Then she looked at him, her eyes bright with tears. ‘If you really love me as you say you do, then you’ll grant me one last wish.’
‘Anything you want, cara.’
‘Give me one night. For us, for the love we have.’
The Italian Girl Page 43