by Lucy Gordon
‘I know your silences,’ she said sadly. ‘I can always tell.’
Why was she here? she wondered. In a moment of madness she’d thrown up everything and followed him to Naples, hoping to teach him that he could love her and still let her be free. But within a few hours they were enmeshed in the old quarrel. Nothing had changed. However much it hurt, perhaps they were better apart. In a moment she would find the courage to tell him finally.
‘Are you hoping for a PR contract from Sandro Danzi?’ he asked, in the tone of a man determined to find a more pleasant subject.
‘No, I already have that. I’ve invested my money in his business, and I might go in a bit deeper.’
At Celia’s feet Jacko gave a small grunt and became alert.
‘What is it, boy?’ she asked, touching him gently.
‘He’s seen another guide dog,’ Francesco said.
The strange dog was leading a young man towards them.
‘Hey, there!’ he called.
‘Sandro!’ Celia’s face lit up. ‘This way,’ she called.
The newcomer was in his early thirties, tall and strikingly handsome, with a brilliant smile that appeared as soon as he heard her voice.
‘Go for it, boy,’ he instructed his guide, and the dog came forward confidently until he reached the table, gave Francesco an appraising look, and nudged Celia with his nose.
Francesco rose and stood back while Celia said the stranger’s name again, reaching out a hand to him.
‘Meet my friend Francesco,’ she said. ‘Can we talk English? My Italian isn’t up to a three-way conversation.’
Sandro put out a hand, which Francesco shook briefly. Sandro’s returning clasp was firm and confident, and although he had to reach behind him to find a chair he did so in the easy way of a man with no real doubts.
‘Francesco, this is Sandro,’ Celia said.
‘I’m her boss,’ Sandro said at once. ‘She does as I tell her.’
‘No way!’ Celia instantly riposted. ‘I’m his associate. I give advice, and he listens if he knows what’s good for him.’
Sandro laughed. ‘Well, it was worth a try. I’m always trying to get the better of her, but I haven’t managed it yet. Awkward, prickly, argumentative, difficult, contrary—did I miss anything?’
‘If you did, I’ll remind you later,’ Celia said through her laughter.
‘Tell me, Francesco,’ Sandro continued, ‘have you found her awkward?’
‘Don’t get him started on that subject,’ Celia said. ‘He becomes so annoyed with me that he may go off pop.’
‘You have my sympathy,’ Sandro observed to Francesco.
‘Thank you, but I don’t need sympathy,’ Francesco said, hearing himself sound pompous and stuffy, hating it, but unable to stop.
‘Really? I’d have thought anyone who’d experienced Celia’s more maddening ways had earned all the sympathy he could get.’
‘Oi!’ Celia cried indignantly.
‘The world should know the truth.’ Sandro sighed. ‘I’m black-and-blue from the bruises. At least, they tell me I’m black-and-blue. For all I’d know I could be pink-and-green.’
‘Red-and-yellow,’ Celia supplied.
‘Polka dot!’ Sandro declared triumphantly.
Celia loved that, Francesco noted grimly. She laughed and laughed, reaching out to Sandro, touching his arm until he took her hand, and they sat there shaking, united in mirth.
Francesco watched them, feeling lonelier and more excluded than ever in his life.
‘I’d better be going,’ he said politely. Part of him wanted to escape, but part wanted to say here and watch them.
‘Don’t let me drive you away,’ Sandro said politely. ‘Stay for a coffee.’
‘Just one, thank you,’ Francesco said.
Then he would go, leaving them with each other, and he would never see or think of her again. Meantime, he must make polite conversation.
‘So you’re in business together?’ he said. ‘Is it going well?’
‘It’s getting off the ground,’ Celia said.
To Francesco’s surprise this remark was greeted with a deep groan. ‘You promised…you promised,’ Sandro moaned.
‘Oh, dear—yes, I did.’ She looked overwhelmed with guilt. ‘Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa,’ she intoned, beating her breast.
‘You’re frightening the dogs,’ Sandro told her sternly.
‘Sorry! Sorry!’
‘She swore she wouldn’t make any more terrible puns,’ Sandro explained to Francesco. ‘And that one was truly terrible. It was the worst pun I’ve ever heard. And I’ve heard them all.’
‘Quit boasting!’ Celia ordered him.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘But I don’t understand,’ Francesco said. ‘Where was the pun?’
‘We’ve got a little firm called Follia Per Sempre,’ Sandro told him. ‘Madness For Ever. It used to be mine until my friend here mounted a hostile takeover bid—’
‘I bought half,’ Celia put in quickly.
‘It exists to help blind people,’ Sandro resumed.
‘You mean, visual aids?’ Francesco asked.
‘Good Lord, no way. None of that sensible stuff. Madness means exactly that—helping the blind do crazy things.’
‘The crazier the better,’ Celia supplied.
‘Like deep-sea diving,’ Francesco muttered.
‘That, too, and parachuting,’ Sandro said cheerfully.
‘Parachuting?’ Despite his good resolutions Francesco couldn’t keep the outrage out of his voice. ‘You don’t seriously mean jumping out of aircraft and falling thousands of feet?’
‘And why not?’ Celia asked in a challenging voice.
‘Because—’ Francesco tried to control himself and failed. ‘Because you’re blind, that’s why not. Because it’s madness. Because you could be killed.’
‘Anyone can be killed,’ Celia riposted. ‘Why shouldn’t we be as free to take the risks as sighted people?’
‘You could say that we’re acting like a pair of damned fools,’ Sandro said, seeming to consider the matter seriously. ‘And you’d probably be right. But why not? There are as many sighted fools as blind fools, but we’re supposed to keep quiet about our foolishness.’
‘We’re supposed to keep quiet about a lot of things.’ Celia sighed.
‘That’s true,’ Sandro said at once. ‘But no more. The days of silence are over. We stand up for our right to act like idiots.’
‘Indeed, we do,’ added Celia sonorously.
‘Plenty of people think like you,’ Sandro said, in a voice so reasonable that Francesco wanted to commit murder. ‘They feel that blind people should know their place as semi-invalids, and be grateful that the world allows them to emerge into the light at all. Our firm exists to combat that view. The dafter it is, the more we want to do it.’
‘You could say,’ Celia added, ‘that stupidity is a human right, and it ought to be enshrined in law somewhere.’
‘Why bother?’ Francesco said crossly. ‘You’re doing fine without the law.’
‘Celia, I think your friend is afflicted with a severe case of common sense,’ Sandro said, shaking his head.
‘I know,’ she replied mournfully. ‘I’ve been trying to cure him, but I’m afraid it’s too late.’
‘But our fight continues?’
‘Indeed, it does. Never let it be said that we were deterred by common sense!’
‘Will you two stop?’ Francesco said, goaded beyond endurance. ‘People are looking at you.’
‘That’s all right,’ Sandro said cheerily. ‘We can’t see them, so it doesn’t bother us.’
It was the way they both said we that pierced Francesco like a knife. We—we who live in a world from which you are excluded.
‘I’ll leave you two to talk business,’ he said, rising.
‘Actually, we’re leaving, too,’ Celia said. ‘Did you bring the stuff?’ This was to Sandro.
&nb
sp; ‘All of it.’
‘Then we’ll listen to it on my machine at home.’
‘Let me drive you there,’ Francesco said.
Courtesy demanded that he make the offer, but it tore him apart. On the one hand it would tell him where she lived. On the other it would force him to deliver her there with another man, and then drive away while they went in together.
When they were in the car Celia said, ‘I live in the Via Santa Lucia. That’s near the shore.’
‘The quickest way from here—’ Sandro began, and proceeded to give every turning accurately.
‘You know the way very well,’ Francesco said through gritted teeth.
‘That’s because I used to live there. I designed the interior to suit my needs, and when Celia needed somewhere, and I’d already moved out—’
‘Yes, I understand,’ Francesco said hastily.
Before long he was drawing up outside a tall apartment block.
‘Thanks, we’ll manage from here,’ Sandro said. ‘It’s only on the lowest floor. Good evening.’
Francesco replied politely and stayed in the car, watching them go in. He could see the apartment. The only one in the building that was dark. He sat for a moment, waiting for the lights to go on, until it dawned on him that this wouldn’t happen. The two inside had no need of lights. United in confidence and laughter, they were also united in their indifference to darkness.
He pictured them going inside, turning on the computer, listening together, deep in their private world
Sandro would say, Who on earth was that?
And she would reply, Oh, that’s just Francesco. He’s nobody.
I thought he was getting a bit tense.
He’s always tense about something. Forget him!
And they would.
After a while he drove away.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘I’VE decided to invite Celia to have dinner with the family,’ Hope declared three days later. ‘I would like to know her better.’
Francesco forced himself to smile.
‘That’s nice of you, Mamma, but I don’t think she’ll accept.’
‘Why ever not? She likes going out. She told me so. Anyway, she’s already accepted. I noted her cellphone number when she was here, and called her last night.’
Francesco had the feeling that a tank was rolling over him. It was a sensation familiar to all Hope’s sons, but for once he tried to rebel.
‘Mamma—’
‘She agreed in principle, but we still have to set a date. Kindly ask her if Saturday would suit, or if she would prefer another date.’
‘Why don’t you do that yourself, since you get on so well?’
‘Because I want her to understand that the invitation comes from you also. Besides, surely you know her better than I?’
‘I’m not sure,’ he said wryly.
‘Oh, you’re being difficult today. Very well, I’ll send her an e-mail.’
‘You have her e-mail address?’
‘Oh, yes, and she told me how it works. When she opens her e-mails the computer turns them to speech. She listens, then replies into the microphone, and it reaches me in the normal way. Didn’t you know that?’
‘Yes, I knew that. I just didn’t realise you and she had exchanged so much information.’
‘You’d be amazed at how much I know, my son.’ Then, seeing his darkened eyes, she added gently, ‘But Celia was also discreet about many things.’
He relaxed slightly.
His first thought had been to rebel against this dinner invitation. He’d had no sign of Celia since the day she’d visited the villa. He hadn’t contacted her, and although he braced himself whenever the phone rang it was never her.
Now he was becoming used to the situation, and he told himself that his mother’s idea might be a good one, establishing for both of them that they could still be friends, in a civilised manner.
Besides, he missed her damnably.
Celia accepted for Saturday, and the word went out to as many of the family as could make it. Primo and Olympia accepted at once, so did Carlo and his wife, Della, and also Ruggiero, whose marriage to Polly three months earlier had provided Francesco with his excuse for a sudden return. Luke and his wife, Minnie, made a special trip from Rome.
Only Justin was missing—Hope’s eldest son, who lived in England with his wife and three children. But in a phone call he promised to bring his whole family ‘for the wedding.’ Francesco had spent so much time abroad that his love-life had been a closed book to them for too long. Now everyone was curious about his lady.
‘Giulio and Teresa are coming,’ Toni informed Hope, mentioning his elder brother and his wife, who lived just outside Naples.
‘Excellent.’
‘Also Teresa’s sister, Angelica,’ Toni said, in the tone of one making a confession. ‘Cara, I know you don’t like her—’
‘I don’t dislike her. I just wish she’d shut up sometimes and let someone else speak,’ Hope said frankly. ‘And she’s horribly tactless.’
‘I know, but she’s visiting them just now, so she had to be included.’
‘You’ll have to take care of her, Poppa,’ said Carlo, who happened to be there at that moment. ‘Keep her attention occupied.’
‘How?’ Toni demanded plaintively.
‘You must flirt with her,’ Hope declared calmly. ‘She’s quite attractive for her age, so you should have no trouble.’
‘You wouldn’t mind my flirting with her?’ Toni asked his wife faintly.
‘We must all do whatever is necessary, caro.’
She kissed him and departed from the breakfast table, humming, leaving her menfolk aghast.
‘You’ll have to take firm action, Poppa,’ Francesco said, grinning.
‘How?’ his much-tried father repeated.
‘Strike a blow for all men. Really flirt with Aunt Angelica. Make Mamma so jealous that she’ll be careful what she tells you to do in future.’
‘But my heart wouldn’t be in it.’ Toni sighed. ‘And your mother knows that.’
‘Of course, or she’d never have suggested it,’ Carlo said. ‘She knows she’s got you on a string.’
Toni nodded. ‘Always,’ he said. ‘Right from the moment I first set eyes on her.’
On Friday Hope informed Francesco that he was to collect Celia the next day and bring her to the villa.
‘Perhaps she’d rather get here without my help,’ he observed.
‘No, she’s fine about that,’ Hope informed him. ‘She said she’d prefer you to a taxi.’
‘I see that the two of you have decided everything,’ he observed.
‘Of course. No point in waiting for you. Make sure you look your best tomorrow.’
‘Any minute you’ll be telling me to wash behind my ears,’ he said wrathfully.
‘Don’t forget to do that, either,’ Hope instructed him.
He might complain that his mother still treated him like a kid, but the next day he was on the road to Celia’s apartment, elegantly turned out and wondering what kind of reception he would receive. Whatever it was, he decided that his best course was to keep back emotionally and stay safe. Somehow he would endure the evening, although he couldn’t think how.
Celia was sitting by the window as he drew the car up, her head turned slightly in an attitude of listening. By the time he reached the door she was already opening it.
She was beautiful, in a long dress of honey-coloured silk which brought out the soft glow of her skin and the blue of her eyes. Diamonds sparkled in her ears and about her neck. They were tiny. It was Celia’s way never to overdo things. But they announced that she was putting the flags out tonight.
‘You’re lovely,’ he said, instantly forgetting his resolution to be distant.
‘Will I do you credit?’
‘You don’t need to ask that. You know exactly what you look like. Don’t ask me how, but you do know.’
She laughed delightedly. ‘Yes, I
do. I chose this colour because I know you like it.’
‘Well, I guess you know my tastes well enough by now to be able to pick the colours in the—Hell!’ He caught himself up, horrified at what he’d nearly said.
Had there ever been another woman like this one? he wondered. Celia laughed and laughed until he thought she would collapse.
‘In the dark!’ she choked. ‘You were going to say in the dark.’
‘All right, I’m sorry,’ he growled. ‘I forgot—’
‘Of course you did. Oh, darling, that’s wonderful. I begin to think you’re human after all.’
He stared at her, feeling all at sea—not for the first time.
‘You’re not upset? I didn’t mean to—’
‘I know. You didn’t mean to make a joke about my blindness but you did—well, you almost did. It’s a start. I’ll teach you yet.’
‘Will I ever understand you?’
‘Probably not. Never mind. Give me a kiss.’
He opened his arms and would have drawn her against him, but she brushed her lips faintly against his and slipped away at once. He followed into her front room, where a dark gold velvet jacket lay over a chair. Beside it sat Jacko, wearing his harness.
‘Ready?’ she asked him, reaching for the jacket.
‘We don’t need to take him, surely?’ Francesco asked, taking the jacket and holding it up to receive her arms. ‘I’ll be with you all the time.’
‘I can’t leave him behind,’ she said firmly. ‘It would be like telling him he’s useless when he needs reassurance. He hasn’t quite settled with me yet. Jacko!’
The dog came to stand obediently in front of her.
‘Andiamo!’ she said.
As soon as he heard the Italian for let’s go! Jacko turned so that she could take hold of the long handle.
‘We’re ready,’ Celia said. ‘If you’ll just open the door and lead the way?’
He did so, escorting them to the car, showing Jacko into the back and Celia into the front.
‘I’d better warn you that there’s going to be a big crowd tonight,’ he said. ‘My family all want to meet you. Including,’ he added in a hollow voice, ‘Aunt Angelica.’
‘Is she the one who puts her foot in it?’
‘Good grief, you mean, I’ve told you about her before?’