by Liz Fielding
‘I don’t think online florists do dog daisies.’
‘No.’
‘I like cow parsley and rosebay willowherb too. All it costs to please me when it comes to flowers is a little effort.’
‘What about on Valentine’s Day?’
‘February? Violets. Harder to spot but they grow in their millions in the woods above the Marlowe airfield.’ She tasted the sauce. ‘You can add the basil now.’
He tipped it into the pan.
‘I’ll grate the cheese.’
‘Cheese?’ She looked apprehensive. ‘I didn’t know we had any cheese.’
He unwrapped the package that the delicatessen had wrapped in waxed paper. ‘I bought some pecorino when I picked up the marmalade—’
‘No-o-o!’
She had her hands over her mouth and nose and he swiftly wrapped it up and pushed it to the back of the fridge. ‘I’ll get rid of it later.’
She nodded, clearly not quite trusting herself to open her mouth.
He crushed a stem of basil, held it beneath her nose and in a moment she was breathing again. ‘Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry about that.’
‘Don’t apologise but for future reference is that cheese in general, pecorino in particular, or is it a morning sickness thing?’
‘I don’t know why they call it morning sickness,’ she said. ‘The vomito can hit at any time.’
‘Vomito?’
She told him about the scene at the porto, the border official who’d changed from suspicious to kindness itself once he’d realised the problem.
‘He was the first person you told about the baby?’
‘I’m sorry, Cleve. It should have been you.’
‘Don’t stress.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘If I hadn’t hung around in Cyprus…’ Delaying his departure, knowing that he would have to talk to Miranda on his return. Not knowing what he would say. ‘If I’d been there…’
She waved it off.
‘If ifs and buts were candy and nuts—’
‘Every day would be Christmas?’
They both grinned then Miranda said, ‘There are, apparently, a whole heap of things I can’t eat. Until a couple of days ago it didn’t matter because I couldn’t face anything but now I’ve got my appetite back I’ll have to look it up on the Web.’
‘I’ll take my phone with me tomorrow and check the list when we go into San Rocco.’
‘No, don’t!’ She shook her head. ‘Take no notice of me. I’m being silly. I’m just afraid that once the outside world breaks into this time alone it’s all going to fall to pieces.’
CHAPTER TEN
‘HEY…’ CLEVE PUT his arms around her and drew her close.
‘It’s those wretched hormones on the rampage,’ she said. ‘Of course you have to check for messages.’
‘No, I don’t.’ He wasn’t immune to the feeling that this was too good to be true, that something would leap out of the woodwork and mess it up. ‘Your hormones are working overtime to take care of you and we’ll respect them.’
She shook her head, but her eyes were overbright and she was blinking hard to keep the tears from falling.
‘Shall we have lunch out tomorrow?’ he suggested. ‘I noticed a restaurant overlooking the sea about a mile outside San Rocco. Maybe we could take a look around the island? This is supposed to be a holiday. I imagine even the drystone-wall builders are allowed time out to look at the view.’
‘Only when they stand up to straighten their backs,’ she said. Then grinned. ‘Is the pasta done?’
He let go of her and turned to check. ‘Just right.’ He drained it, mixed it with the sauce, stirred in some olives and then shared it between the two bowls. ‘A few olives on the top, a leaf or two of basil and we’re done.’ He checked to make sure he’d turned the oven off then said, ‘Shall we take it outside?’
They ate their supper sitting side by side, not quite touching, with the lights of Baia di Rose below them.
‘Mark Twain said that nothing improves the view like ham and eggs,’ Andie said after a while. ‘I think I’d add a bowl of pasta to that quote.’
‘What this view, this food needs, is some Neapolitan love song playing in the background.’
She laughed, shook her head. ‘I didn’t take you for a sentimental old romantic.’
‘Didn’t you? What would you choose?’
‘Sofia used to love Sinatra. When we sat out here in the evening she’d put on one of his mellow late night song albums. “In the Wee Small Hours…”’
Cleve reached for her hand and began to sing very softly.
‘I’ve never heard you sing,’ she said, when he’d finished.
‘I’ve never had anything to sing about before.’
‘Cleve…’
He lifted the hand he was holding to his lips. ‘Is it too soon to be talking names?’
‘Names?’ Andie, her hand in Cleve’s, enchanted by the sound of his voice, was jolted back to earth.
The baby… She had to remember that this wasn’t about her. It was all about the baby.
‘Far too soon,’ she said, making an effort to keep up the smile. ‘Whatever we choose we’re bound to think of something completely different when we see him or her.’
‘Where does Miranda come from? Are you named after an aunt, grandmother?’
‘Shakespeare’s heroine in The Tempest.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘Portia, Miranda, Imogen and Rosalind?’ she prompted. ‘Mum and Dad met at Stratford. They were sitting next to each other at a performance of The Merchant of Venice. The rest, as they say, is history.’
‘I’d never made the connection but, just so you know, if it’s a girl I’m putting in a bid for Daisy.’
‘Daisy Finch? It’s a deal,’ she said, doing her best not to read too much into the fact that he’d chosen her favourite flower. ‘Unless she looks like a Violet, or an Iris, or a Lily.’
‘Or a Poppy. Or a Primrose. Or a Pansy.’ He grinned. ‘I think we’ve found our theme.’
Theme? ‘It might be a boy.’
‘Let’s worry about that when you’ve had a scan. That’s if you want to know?’
Did she? Suddenly everything was moving too fast. This was supposed to be thinking time but all she’d done so far was react to situations as they’d arisen.
‘I’ll need notice of that question. Ask me something simple.’
‘Okay. What’s your favourite movie?’
‘While You Were Sleeping.’
‘Why? Tell me about it.’
‘It’s a chick flick,’ she warned.
‘I can handle that.’
‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘And what have you done with Cleve Finch?’
‘If I’m going to have a little girl I need to get in touch with my feminine side.’
Unable to help herself, she laughed and they spent the evening sharing the things they loved: food, music, films and then, when it was too cold to sit out, they went to bed and shared each other.
Afterwards, Andie lay awake in the dark, the only sounds the quiet breathing of the man beside her, the soft susurration of the sea lapping the beach below them.
She’d grabbed at marriage to stop Cleve from slipping back into the darkness. To ensure her child had a place at the centre of his world. But what about her?
She had wondered if Cleve would want to sleep with her. Question asked and answered. He was a passionate man and clearly he was taking their marriage seriously, anticipating more children. A posy of little girls…
But where was love in all this?
He had freely admitted to having sleepwalked into marriage with Rachel, to having failed her.
A divorce would have been financially painful but once there were children…
His arm looped around her, drew her against his chest and he kissed her neck, murmured, ‘You’re overthinking it. Go to sleep.’
*
The following morning, while Cleve worked on the r
oof, Andie went down to the village to pick up her bag and visit Alberto and Elena, where she spent a happy hour reminiscing and catching up.
She told them about the wedding, explaining that it would be a simple affair, but she would love to have them join her and Cleve and the Starks for a small celebration meal afterwards. She left, promising to let them know when, and went back to the villa to hunt down the dress she was hoping to wear.
The gowns had been laid in acid-free tissue and layered with silk lavender bags and she found the dress she was looking for in the second trunk. Inside the lid was an album of photographs of Sofia modelling the gowns and the colours of the kimono dress were as fresh and vibrant as the day she’d been photographed for Vogue Italia.
She swallowed down a lump in her throat, knowing that she didn’t have that kind of style. That it would never look like that on her. And when she held it up against her there was another problem. She was not model height. Even with high heels the dress was going to be too long.
‘Miranda…’
It didn’t matter. She could take up the hem or there were plenty of dresses and not all of them were floor length.
‘I’m ready whenever you are.’
Cleve appeared in the doorway looking good enough to eat in a dark blue shirt and a pair of lightweight grey trousers he’d bought the day before.
‘Stay there,’ she warned, holding the dress behind her.
He held up his hands and backed away, grinning. ‘I’m doing nothing to anger the superstition gods.’
They had lunch on a restaurant terrace overlooking the sea near San Rocco. Afterwards they picked up the rings from the jeweller and the translated declarations from the notary.
‘Shall we go to the municipio and see if they can fit us in some time this week?’ Cleve asked.
‘I’d rather ask the mayor of Baia di Rose if he’ll perform the ceremony. It feels more like home.’
‘If that’s what you want,’ Cleve said. ‘You know it’s not too late—’
‘No fuss, Cleve.’ Then, when he let the question hang, ‘It’s too soon.’
To him the last year had felt like a lifetime but maybe the kind of celebration he believed she deserved would seem indecent if you were on the outside looking in.
‘You should write to Rachel’s parents.’
‘They cut me dead at the inquest but I wrote to them on the anniversary of her death. Sent flowers. The letter came back marked return to sender. I imagine the flowers went in the bin.’
‘It must be so hard to lose a child.’
‘It’s a terrifying responsibility.’
For a moment they stood, their hands tightly clasped, contemplating the fact that, as parents, their lives would never be their own again.
*
The mayor of Baia di Rose was delighted to be asked to officiate at their wedding. All they had to do was choose a day and a time.
‘I’ll have the roof finished in a couple of days. If we get married on Saturday we could leave the next day,’ Cleve said.
Leave? So soon? But then why wouldn’t he? Goldfinch was his life.
He’d taken time out to come and find her and offer to do the honourable thing. He hadn’t bargained on a baby. He hadn’t actually bargained on a wedding. He certainly hadn’t bargained on fixing a hole in the roof.
He must be desperate to get back to his desk.
‘That suits me,’ she said.
He turned back to the mayor and asked him if the municipio was open on Saturday.
‘No, signor. But I can perform the ceremony any day, anywhere within my comune.’
‘This Saturday.’
‘Except this Saturday. It is my daughter’s birthday.’
‘Sunday, then.’
Sunday, too, was a very busy day for the mayor, what with church and lunch involving his entire extended family, but he finally agreed that he could marry them late in the afternoon, just before sunset. They just had to let him know where.
‘Any ideas? On the beach?’ he suggested.
Miranda shook her head. ‘There are some occasions that are not enhanced by the addition of sand.’
‘You don’t like picnics on the beach?’
‘Gritty sandwiches. No, thanks.’ Then, apparently able to read his mind, she blushed. ‘And it doesn’t do anything for designer dresses. Why don’t we have the ceremony on the terrace overlooking the sea?’
‘I will convert you to beach picnics,’ he warned her, before turning back to the mayor. ‘We have a date, signor. On the terrace at the Villa Rosa just before sunset on Sunday.’
They picked up a bottle of champagne to share with Matt and Gloria when they called to tell him to save the day.
Matt met them at the front door. ‘Have you checked your messages?’
Andie’s heart did a flip. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Come in. You’re going to want to be sitting down when you hear what’s happened.’
‘Is it my parents?’ she demanded. ‘Has there been an accident? Is Dad sick?’
‘Matt,’ Cleve said sharply.
‘Sorry. Nothing like that. Posy rang.’
‘Posy?’
‘She knew the house was a mess and wanted to be sure that you were okay. I was working and my mother answered the phone.’
‘Oh.’ Certain she knew what was coming, she sank onto the nearest chair. ‘What did she say?’
‘Too much. As you know she called the fire brigade and I had no idea that Cleve being here, the wedding, was a secret. I’m really sorry.’
‘What did Gloria actually say?’ Cleve persisted.
‘She said that Miranda was fine despite the bang on the head and the fire, which understandably freaked Posy out, so Mum told her not to worry because Cleve was taking good care of you. And then, because of course she’s met Posy, she said she was looking forward to seeing her at the wedding.’
Head, fire, Cleve, wedding… Not quite the full house.
‘Did she mention the baby?’
‘I think the explosion from the other end of the phone in response to the word wedding warned her that she might have already said too much. She panicked and hung up.’
Well, that was something.
‘Ten minutes later your other sister called.’
‘Imogen. Please, please tell me that your mother didn’t speak to her.’ Imogen would have had the lot out of her in ten seconds flat.
‘She’d already called me and explained what had happened so when the phone rang again I picked up. Before she could start I told her that I’d ask you to call her. Her response was that if she doesn’t hear from you by seven this evening she’ll be on the first plane out of London tomorrow. I’m so sorry,’ he repeated.
She shook her head. ‘It’s not your fault. It’s mine. Is your mother okay?’
‘She’s hiding in the conservatory, too upset to face you.’
‘Please tell her not to worry. This is my family drama and I’ve handled it really badly. I’ll tell her myself as soon as I’ve sorted this out.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate that. I’ll go and reassure her. Help yourself to the phone.’
When Matt’d gone Cleve folded himself up in front of her, took her hands in his. ‘What do you want to do?’
‘Fly to Las Vegas?’ Her laugh was a little shaky.
‘That seems a little extreme. Since the cat appears to be well and truly out of the bag why don’t we just call Immi, tell her our news and promise we’ll throw a party when we get back?’
‘All our news?’
‘You’re nervous about telling her that we’re having a baby?’
That we earned him a gazillion brownie points.
‘It’s a bit embarrassing to have to admit that at my age I wasn’t practising safe sex.’
‘That wasn’t sex,’ he said, ‘it was first aid. The kiss of life.’ For a moment he was deadly serious, then a crease appeared at the corner of his mouth. ‘What we did last night was sex.’
&
nbsp; Despite everything she laughed. ‘I can’t argue with that.’
But as he hugged her she tried not to cling too tightly. She was old enough to know that sex didn’t mean the same thing to men as it did to women; their emotions did not have to be engaged.
‘So,’ he said, after a moment, ‘do we run or do we put on a brave face and tell the world?’
‘There’s no point in running. We’ll have to face them sooner or later and if I don’t phone Immi she’ll explode.’
He handed her the phone, she dialled the number but didn’t get a chance to speak.
‘Andie! What the heck is going on? What bang on the head? What fire? Posy is frantic.’
‘She needn’t be. I bumped my head on a cupboard. The only damage was to the cupboard. The fire was nothing. The kettle was left on the stove and boiled dry. I threw a damp cloth over it and gave it a squirt with the fire extinguisher.’
‘Okay. That’s the easy stuff. Now tell me why Cleve Finch is there. No, I can guess why. How? When did that happen?’
‘Are you sitting down?’
‘Andie!’
‘I’m pregnant,’ she said, reaching for Cleve’s hand.
‘What? How long has this been going on? No, wait, it was the weekend you flew him up to pick up the Mayfly! You were a bit weird and teary at the dress fitting…’
‘I was not weird.’ She glanced at Cleve. ‘I was…tired.’
Immi laughed. ‘So, apparently, was he. Jack told me that Cleve hadn’t left until late the following morning but I didn’t think anything of it. I assumed he’d stayed in the pub but it’s obvious now that he was dropping a heavy hint.’
She didn’t bother to answer. Immi’s imagination would be working overtime and Cleve’s breakdown was between the two of them.
‘You’re really having a baby? When? Hold on, if I’m right it’s…’ Andie heard her counting on her fingers ‘… November?’
‘November,’ she confirmed.
‘I’m going to be an auntie! How brilliant is that? Do Mum and Dad know?’
‘Not yet.’
‘You can tell them when we chat tomorrow. Can you find somewhere?’
The temptation to say no was almost overwhelming but she’d already messed up big time and her parents had the right to hear it from her.
‘I can get a signal in San Rocco.’