by Holly Ford
‘But it was not you, bella,’ he said, hurriedly. ‘It was me. You see …’
He paused while the waiter took away their empty glasses.
‘There was another girl. Michaela. For two years we were together.’
A second waiter hovered behind Vito’s back. Ella looked out at the empty beach. ‘Shall we go and sit down there?’
Having signed the bill, they stepped off the terrace onto the torch-lit sand. Ella slipped her sandals off. ‘So what happened?’ she asked, as they strolled down towards the end of the beach.
‘Michaela, she would come and tell me that she loved me. For one week. One month. Then she would go back to her boyfriend. He was a Grand Prix driver.’
Ouch.
‘He would cheat on her, they would fight … she would come back to me.’
‘For two years?’
‘Si. Because always I believed that this was the time … this time she would really leave him. I thought that, in the end, I would win. Michaela would stay with me.’
‘But she didn’t?’
‘No.’
‘So you broke up with her?’
‘No. She broke up with me. They are engaged now.’
Ella sighed. Wasn’t everybody. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.
‘I am making a very sad story.’ As they reached the rocks, Vito turned to her. ‘But it is okay. There is a happy ending, I hope.’ Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone. ‘Now I have Elena.’
Taking the phone from him, Ella looked at his screensaver shot. Right.
‘She’s lovely. Did you meet her on a shoot?’
‘No,’ he shook his head vehemently. ‘She is not a model. She is a doctor in the emergency room. I met her when I did my paramedico training.’
Well, of course she was.
‘What about you, bella?’ Vito said, gently. ‘The thing you wanted — is it yours?’
Some chance. Ella shook her head. ‘No.’
‘I am sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’ She looked out at the sea. ‘Things turned out for the best.’ Oh my God — she actually meant it. Her crush had finally died. It must be the change of climate.
‘Hey, do you feel like getting another drink?’ she asked. It was worth a celebration, surely.
‘Si,’ Vito smiled. ‘But I cannot. My eyes … they must be clear tomorrow.’
‘Of course.’
They walked back towards the terrace.
‘Well, see you in the morning.’
‘Ciao, bella. Goodnight.’
Back in her suite, Ella contemplated the warm night sky. Oh, what the hell. She opened the door of the drinks cabinet. Seriously — Central Otago pinot noir? Boy, the stuff really did get around. Having checked the price, she poured herself a gin and tonic instead.
The last time she’d had one, she realised, had been the first day she met Luke. Ella shook her head. She could see him now, all tastefully packaged testosterone, pushing his sunglasses back to give her his first flirty grin. Ridiculous. She couldn’t believe she’d actually fallen for it in the end.
Sitting under the stars, she found herself suddenly homesick for nights by the vineyard’s fire and— Ella stopped herself there. She was lonely, that was all. She just wanted to talk to someone — not Luke. And what he was doing right at this moment didn’t concern her at all. Except that … well, she hoped that whatever it was, he was okay. She hated to think of him miserable, all that wicked bravado knocked out of him.
Oh, come off it, she told herself, swallowing the last of her gin. He was fine. Or if he weren’t, he would be soon. Men like Luke didn’t waste away of broken hearts. That honour was reserved for the women silly enough to care about them. Ella rinsed out her glass and went to bed.
Four days later, Ella found herself prowling the tranquil resort lobby in just the sort of agitation it had been so carefully designed to avoid.
‘Buongiorno!’ Vito breezed in, his beautiful brown eyes looking none the worse for the cocktails he’d downed the previous night. ‘You are going to the airport now?’
‘I’m trying to,’ she fumed. ‘The magazine forgot to book me a car.’ Quentin had left for London in the early hours and, now that she was no longer on the same schedule as him, everything was turning to custard.
‘Share my car.’
‘You’re leaving now?’ Well, it was nice of the concierge to have mentioned that.
‘Si. My flight is at three-twenty.’
Three-twenty? That was the same time as her flight. ‘You’re going to Sydney as well?’
‘No, I am going to Rarotonga …’ Vito’s eyebrows rose as he checked the itinerary on his phone. ‘Via Singapore, Sydney, si … and Auckland.’ He sighed. ‘Va bene. It will be nice to see New Zealand again.’
It would.
‘Come on.’ Arriving at Colombo Airport a bone-jarring four hours later, Vito rescued Ella’s bag from the waiting porters. ‘Let’s get to the lounge.’
‘I’m not flying business,’ she sighed.
‘You can be my guest. I have the gold card.’
Oh thank you, God. ‘That’s your line over there,’ she pointed out, as they reached the chaotic check-in counters.
‘There is no hurry.’ Vito shrugged. ‘I can wait here with you.’
They parted, finally, at the aircraft door.
‘Good evening, Mr Fabiano. Your seat is up the stairs,’ said the cabin attendant, respectfully. ‘Miss, take the second aisle.’
‘Ciao, bella. See you in Sydney.’
An hour after take-off, the same steward made his way down the considerable length of the aisle to whisper discreetly in her ear.
‘Thank you so much,’ Ella breathed, settling into the enormous recliner next to Vito’s on the upper deck. ‘How on earth did you manage that?’
He shrugged. ‘The seat was empty. Who is it hurting?’
Banished back to economy in Singapore, Ella was delighted to see the inside of the airline lounge in Sydney. She could see now why Lizzie never let her fly business class — it grew on one all too quickly.
She was just returning from a final trawl of the salad bar when she saw, at the table in front of her, a very familiar set of shoulders. She froze. He turned. God, did he have radar?
‘Hello, Luke,’ she said. ‘How’ve you been?’
‘Ella …’ Looking startled, he hurried to his feet. ‘How are you?’ His eyes moved over her. ‘You’re looking very’ — Luke’s mouth curved into a grin — ‘summery.’
Well, he appeared to have pulled through okay. Conscious, suddenly, that no one else in the lounge was wearing sandals and shorts, Ella tried to think of the quickest way to exit the conversation.
‘Hello.’ The woman sitting across from Luke smiled up at Ella.
‘Oh,’ Luke glanced back, ‘this is Nicolette.’
Long black hair, blue eyes — that ought to make things easier for him. ‘Nice to meet you,’ Ella smiled back. Charlotte Black in a business suit. It was funny, really — except that she couldn’t quite seem to laugh.
‘How’s Lizzie?’
‘Fine, I think.’ She nodded. ‘I’m just heading back to the vineyard now.’ She paused. ‘You haven’t seen her, then?’
‘No, I haven’t been down.’
‘Well …’ Ella smiled again. Her face was starting to hurt.
‘Are you on the Christchurch flight?’ Luke asked, quickly.
‘I wish.’ She shook her head. ‘Auckland first, then Queenstown … I think I get home sometime in July.’
‘Scusate.’ Vito, Ella’s hand luggage slung over his shoulder, touched her arm. ‘Bella, they’re calling our flight.’
‘Oh!’ She turned to him gratefully. ‘Well, we’d better be off.’
‘Luke Halliday.’ Luke held out his hand.
Shifting the weight of Ella’s luggage, Vito shook it as best he could. ‘Vito Fabiano. Piacere.’ He turned back to Ella. ‘We should go.’
‘Have we met before?�
�� Luke frowned.
‘You’ve seen his picture,’ Nicolette said.
Luke’s frown deepened.
‘He’s in the Gucci ad in duty-free.’ She beamed up at Vito. ‘I just loved your work in Australian Vogue.’
As they walked out of the lounge, Ella sighed. ‘Thank you,’ she said, slipping her arm through Vito’s. ‘Again.’
‘For what?’
‘For being you.’ She touched her head to his shoulder.
‘Ah!’ Vito stopped to look at her. ‘That was him? The man you cannot have?’
Yes … No! ‘That was just a friend.’
‘A friend?’
‘Si,’ she told him, firmly. Someone who used to be one, anyway.
‘When I see my friends,’ Vito said, shepherding her on towards the gate, ‘it makes me happy, not sad. But then’ — he smiled — ‘I am Italian.’
Chapter NINETEEN
‘Dickie …’ Lizzie slid her arms around his neck. ‘I’m so sorry …’
‘Don’t be sorry.’ Richard held her eyes. ‘We’ve been sorry for years. Just say yes. Say you’ll give it a try.’
She shook her head.
Closing his eyes, Richard touched his forehead to hers. ‘I’m too late.’
Lizzie swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘We’re too late.’
‘There was a time, wasn’t there …?’
‘There were a lot of times,’ she sighed. ‘But we can’t get them back. And we’re not the people we were then.’
‘I know we can’t go back.’ He looked at her again. ‘But Lizzie, can’t we go forward? Can’t we just start from here?’
‘I don’t think so …’ Ugh — this was awful. She just wanted to hold him and cry.
‘Why not?’ Richard rubbed her arms. ‘Lizzie, why?’
‘There’s — there’s just … too much …’
‘Too much what?’
Too much hurt. Too much to accuse each other of. Too much baggage, too many old wounds.
Lizzie managed a smile. ‘Too much water under the bridge,’ she said.
Richard looked away. ‘I can’t believe,’ he said slowly, a catch in his beautiful voice, ‘that I’m going to lose you.’
She stroked his neck.
‘Then again’ — he gave a little laugh — ‘I shouldn’t be surprised. I never did deserve you.’
‘That’s very true.’ She pressed her face into his shoulder. ‘But you’re not losing me. You can’t — you’re stuck with me forever.’
‘Promise?’
Drawing back, Lizzie sniffed. ‘We don’t have a choice,’ she nodded at Ella’s photograph.
‘Lizzie, you and I …’ Richard frowned. ‘We …’ He ground to a halt.
She shook her head. ‘We were never a very good idea,’ she laughed, wiping her eyes.
‘We were always a good idea.’ His eyes went to Ella’s photograph, too. ‘Look what happened.’
Taking his hand, Lizzie turned it in hers, looking at its oh-so-familiar lines. ‘I will always,’ she said, seriously, ‘love you, you know.’
‘My dearest girl.’ Richard sighed. ‘And I do very much fear I shall always love you.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘Thank you.’
‘What for?’
‘There isn’t a woman in the world,’ he said, ‘I’d be prouder to have a child with.’
‘But, Lizzie!’ Jules stared across the kitchen bench at her. ‘Are you sure? Is that what you really want? You’ve waited over twenty years for Richard to tell you he wants to be with you — and now you don’t want to hear it?’
‘I haven’t been waiting for him to say that,’ Lizzie frowned.
‘Well, you could have fooled me.’ Jules clicked her tongue. ‘And you’re miserable. Look at you.’
‘I’m not miserable.’
‘Yes, you are.’ Jules studied her carefully. ‘You’re different. Something’s happened to you. What is it?’
‘Girls.’ Seb walked in, a bag across his shoulder. ‘I hate to interrupt, but we’ve got a date with a van and a helicopter.’
‘We’re all loaded up?’
‘Ready,’ Seb smiled, ‘and waiting.’
Shutting her laptop, Jules hurried to her feet. ‘See you tonight.’ She downed the last of her coffee. ‘Wish us luck.’
‘Good luck.’ Rinsing out Jules’s cup, Lizzie watched the van head off to Glencairn.
‘I suppose that means I’d better get going, too.’ Wandering into the kitchen, Richard eyed the dust trail of the departing van.
‘You’ve got time for a coffee if you want one,’ she told him. ‘They still have to pick up the rest of the crew.’
‘Thanks.’ Richard didn’t sit down. Lizzie smiled to herself: it was nice that he still got nervous before a shoot, even one as small as this. Even after all these years.
‘You want to run through the script with me?’
He gave her a hopeful look. ‘Would you mind?’
Half an hour later — word-perfect — she packed him off.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to come?’ he asked her, hesitating in the doorway.
Lizzie shook her head. ‘You can tell me all about it when you get back,’ she said, rather hoping that he wouldn’t. She knew all too well what she was missing. ‘Don’t fall off,’ she added, with a grin.
‘If I do’ — he kissed her cheek — ‘I’ll blame you. And so will my agent.’
She waved as Richard drove away. Today the crew would be reliving, by and large, her trip up the Windscleugh Valley with Carr. Although they wouldn’t go in on horseback, of course. Hopefully — Lizzie checked her watch — someone else was busy taking Richard’s horse there now.
She stared at the wall, trying to put the pictures of the Windscleugh out of her mind. Carr, and the way he sat a horse, and the look in his eyes when he smiled at her. That little twitch of his mouth. God, she’d been so stupidly happy that day. She didn’t know which was harder to believe — that such times had gone, or that they had ever existed. Which they hadn’t, in a sense, she supposed, since what she’d thought she’d seen in Carr’s face, if it had been there at all, had not been real. Maybe that was the hardest thing to believe: that none of it had meant a thing. That it hadn’t mattered.
Lizzie turned in time to see Guy’s station-wagon come to a halt beside the vines. Dabbing quickly at her eyes, she pulled on her gumboots and hurried out to meet him.
At seven o’clock, Jules arrived home alone in Richard’s car.
‘What have you done with the boys?’
‘They’re just having a quick drink with the crew back at the B&B.’ Pulling up a stool at the bench, Jules fished her laptop out of her bag. ‘They won’t be far behind me.’
Lizzie poured them both a glass of wine. ‘So how did it go today?’
‘Like clockwork.’ With a click, Jules fired up the screen. ‘Want to see?’
Lizzie wandered around the bench to look over Jules’s shoulder at the rushes. Her heart gave a little lurch as a close-up of Carr at the helicopter’s controls flashed up.
‘He’s quite a guy, isn’t he?’ Jules said. ‘Doesn’t waste words, just gets things done.’ She marked the end of the shot. ‘Does he ever crack a smile?’
Feeling a sudden need to check on the pork belly she was roasting, Lizzie walked back into the kitchen.
‘His team did a great job getting the horses in there,’ Jules continued, busily marking up takes. ‘I hate to think what time they must have had to leave this morning.’
Six-thirty. And they’d just be getting back now.
‘Here we go …’ Jules glanced up at her. ‘Here’s your shot. Have a look.’
Returning reluctantly, Lizzie watched Richard recreate Carr’s slow ride up Diggers’ Gully. It looked stunning. Admittedly, you couldn’t get a bad camera shot if you fell over up there, but still, Seb had done a beautiful job.
‘It’s Sarge,’ she realised, aloud, a lump rising in her throat as Richard neared the camera.
&
nbsp; ‘It’s what?’
‘The horse.’ Lizzie swallowed. ‘His name is Sarge.’
‘Good-oh.’ Leaning forward, Jules checked the background of Richard’s close-up. ‘So, now we’re alone, are you going to tell me what it is you’ve done to him, exactly?’
‘Who? Richard?’
‘Well, I’m not talking about the bloody horse.’ Jules clicked her tongue. ‘Come on, Lizzie, one minute he looks like the cat that got the cream, the next he looks like he’s gone under the milk float. What gives?’
Lizzie bit her lip. Well, now was as good a time as any, she supposed … ‘I told him about Ella,’ she said.
Jules didn’t look up. ‘Told him what about Ella?’
‘The truth.’
‘The truth about—’ Breathing in sharply, Jules slammed her laptop shut and swivelled to stare at Lizzie. ‘It was Richard? He’s Ella’s father?’
Lizzie nodded.
‘Fuck.’ Jules pressed her fingers to her brows. ‘Of course it was Richard. Who else would it be? Jesus, she even looks like him — she always has.’
Lizzie was silent.
‘I can’t believe,’ Jules went on, ‘I actually bought that bullshit you sold me about some guy in a bar whom you didn’t know how to contact.’ She shook her head. ‘Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?’
She shrugged apologetically. ‘Because you would have made me tell Richard.’
‘I would,’ Jules agreed. She let out her breath. ‘I still can’t believe you didn’t.’
‘Well,’ said Lizzie, wryly, ‘he knows now.’
‘And Ella? Does she know, too?’
Lizzie nodded.
‘When did you tell her?’
‘A few weeks before she went off to do the gig with Quentin.’
‘So when she gets home,’ Jules said slowly, working it out, ‘it’ll be the first time she and Richard have seen each other as—’ She drew to a halt. ‘I can’t say it. It’s too freaky.’
‘Father and daughter,’ Lizzie winced. ‘I know.’
‘Listen, you guys should have some space. Seb and I will check ourselves into the B&B with the rest of the crew.’
‘No, don’t do that.’ Lizzie frowned. ‘That’ll just make it worse. I want everything to be normal — well, you know, as normal as it can be.’ She paused. ‘And anyway, we’ve already got all their rooms.’