by Lucy Gordon
Tonight she had revelled, siren-like, in her customers' adulation, making him wonder at the different moods that turned her into so many people. Any of them, or none of them, could be the real woman, and all of them were driving him mad.
'You should try harder to free yourself from me,' she said. 'It's just a question of being strong-minded.'
'Maybe I don't want to be strong-minded.'
Snow began to fall, just a few flakes at first, then more and more. Through them she searched his face in the cold light. 'In the end I'll go away and leave you,' she whispered. 'Like everyone else.'
'I know,' he said sadly. 'But who knows when the end will be? Not tonight.'
As he spoke he gathered her into his arms, and she went into them easily, offering her lips to his kiss and returning it with passion.
She knew that very passion was her enemy. It threatened to distract her from her purpose, but she couldn't help it. He brought her back to life, and the feeling was sweet, wild, and frightening.
'No-no-' she whispered, more to herself than him. He drew back to look at her with troubled eyes. 'Do you want me to stop?'
'No,' she said explosively, fastening her mouth on his. She was kissing him with frantic desire, possessed by feelings that were almost too sweet to be borne. It was she who explored his mouth, almost attacking him in her urgency, teasing his lips, his tongue, feeling the deep satisfaction of his response.
'Stay with me tonight,' he murmured against her mouth.
But she shook her head. 'Not now-not tonight-'
'Mio Dio! How much do you think one man can stand?You're not being fair. He ill-used you and you revenge yourself on us all.'
'No, it's not that, I swear it. But I don't feel that I belong anywhere. The past is over and I can't tell about the future.'
'Your daughter is all that matters to you, I know that.' He sighed, resting his forehead against hers. 'But I can be patient and hope for my turn.'
'Even if it never comes?'
'Do you believe that one day you'll get your heart's desire?'
'I have to,' she whispered.
'So do I. Let's leave it there, and hope for better times.'
He slipped his arm about her shoulders, and she leaned contentedly against him as they walked the rest of the way in the falling snow.
At midday on Christmas Eve a cannon was fired from the turrets of the Castel Sant'Angelo in Rome, and Christmas had officially begun.
She and Piero listened to it together on a battery-powered radio she'd bought. The restaurant had closed, Vincenzo had gone off to his family, and she had settled in for Christmas at the palazzo.
They had stocked up with seasonal goodies, including panettone, the traditional rich fruit cake.
'We're supposed to fast for twenty-four hours after the cannon,' Piero explained, 'but I don't believe in slavishly adhering to every tradition.'
'Neither do I,' she said. 'Let's have some cake.'
As they munched she said, 'I remember when I was a child, hanging my stocking up on Christmas Eve.'
'Children don't do that in Italy,' he explained. 'Stockings don't go up until Epiphany, January sixth.'
'I'm not waiting until then to give you your present.'
'You gave me those gloves, and the scarf, two weeks ago,' he reminded her.
'Well, I had to give them to you early before you froze to death. What happened to all that money you were supposed to be spending on yourself?'
'I gambled it away. I used to be notorious for breaking the bank at Monte Carlo.'
'All right, don't tell me. Anyway, here's some boots and warm socks. I had to guess the size.'
The size was perfect. He put them on and paraded splendidly before her. She smiled and applauded, feeling content.
'And this is yours,' he said, pulling out a small object, carefully wrapped in newspaper.
Opening it she found a china Pierrot figure in a black mask and a costume decorated with many colours. Now she knew what had become of his money. She had seen this in a shop and it cost a fortune. 'Pierrot,' she said.
'So that you don't forget me,' he said. '
Do you think I ever could? Buon Natale, Pierrot.'
'Buon Natale.'
Vincenzo's gift to her was a cell phone. He called her halfway through Christmas Day. 'It's a sad Christmas for you,' he said.
'Not really. I have my friends now, and I have hope. Is that your niece I can hear?' Behind him she could make out a little girl's laughter.
'Yes, that's Rosa.'
'It's a lovely sound,' she said wistfully.
'Your time will come. Cling onto that hope.'
'I will. Buon Natale.'
'Buon Natale-Sophie.'
She smiled and hung up without answering.
After the lull of Christmas there was an immediate flurry of business. As they were clearing up on the second night she said, 'Do you mind if I hurry away? I want to get back to Piero.'
'Isn't he all right?' Vincenzo asked quickly.
'He's got a bit of a cold. I'd just like to make a fuss of him.'
'I suppose he caught cold going to San Zaccaria.' Vincenzo groaned. 'I wish he wouldn't do that in this weather.'
'But he doesn't any more. He hasn't been there since-' She fell silent as the truth dawned on her. 'Since that day I went to Murano.'
'And we met your boat,' Vincenzo said. 'And you came ashore and hugged him.'
As Julia reached home she looked up, wondering if Piero would be there, looking out for her as he sometimes did. But there was no face at the window, and for some reason that made her start to run.
He was probably just asleep, but still-
When she entered their room she couldn't see him at first. He was lying stretched out, breathing heavily. She moved quietly, not to awaken him, but then she realised that he was unlikely to have awoken, whatever she did.
His forehead was hot to the touch, and there was an ugly rasping sound to the breath, which seemed to tear his throat.
'Piero,' she said, giving him a little shake. 'Piero!'
He opened his eyes, but only a little way.
'Ciao, cara,' he croaked.
'Oh, my God,' she breathed. 'This is bad. Listen, I'm going to get help for you.'
'No need,' he gasped, and his feverish hand sought hers. 'Stay here,' he whispered. 'Stay with you-only you.'
'No,' she said fiercely. 'You've got to get well. I'm calling Vincenzo. He'll know what to do.' Then, before she could choke back the idiotic words she heard herself say, 'Don't go away.'
The ghost of hilarity flickered over his gaunt features. 'I won't.'
She found her cell phone and left the room. She didn't want him to hear her call. To her relief Vincenzo answered at once.
'It's Piero,' she said. 'He's very ill. I think it could be pneumonia.'
He made a sharp sound. 'All right, stay with him. I'll call an ambulance and be right there.'
She returned to find Piero sitting up, looking around him anxiously. As soon as he saw her he stretched out an arm.
'I wanted you-you weren't there…'
He held onto her like a child, his eyes fixed on her face.
'I called Vincenzo. He's sending for an ambulance.'
'Don't want-hospital-' came the painful rasping. 'Just you. Hold onto me.'
She settled him back on the sofa, and knelt beside him, one of his hot hands in hers. He kept his eyes on her, as though seeing her was all he asked. Her heart was heavy, for something told her that the end was very near.
He knew it too, she was sure, and wanted to spend his last few moments alone with her.
She heard a noise outside and went quickly to look out of the window. Down below, in the little garden that fronted onto the Grand Canal, she could see Vincenzo, opening the wrought-iron gate, and propping it so that it stayed open.
She returned to Piero, clasping him in her arms, and after a moment Vincenzo joined them.
'The ambulance is on its way,' he
said.
As he got a better look at the old man his eyes signalled his shock, and he leaned over the back of the sofa, grasping Piero's arm warmly.
'Old friend, don't give us a fright like this.'
Piero managed a faint smile.
'Don't need-ambulance,' he croaked. He looked at Julia. 'I have-all I want-since she came back to me.'
Vincenzo frowned. Her eyes met his, reminding him of what they had realised earlier.
'He doesn't mean me,' she said softly.
Vincenzo nodded. He had understood.
'Of course I came back,' she said to Piero. 'You always knew I would, didn't you-Babbo?'
She hesitated only a moment before using the pet name that only his daughter had used. It was a risk, but worth it. She knew she'd guessed right when he turned a radiant face on her.
'Oh, yes,' he whispered. 'Always. I kept going to wait for you. People told me you were dead, but I knew-one day-you'd be on the boat.' A faint smile touched his lips. 'And you were.'
He gave a sigh and his eyes closed. Vincenzo's gaze met Julia's and she could see that he felt helpless.
Piero's eyes opened again and when he spoke his voice was faint.
'I was afraid-but when you saw me-you smiled- and I knew that I was forgiven.'
She drew in her breath. Suddenly her eyes were blinded with tears.
'There was nothing to forgive, Babbo,' she murmured.
'But there was-' he insisted weakly '-said such terrible things-you know my temper-always sorry afterwards but-this time-this time-'
His breathing came faster, more laboured. A frantic note crept into his voice. 'I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it-'
'Of course you didn't. I always knew that. I forgave you long ago.'
A smile broke over his face, and although the light was fading from him it was the most brilliant smile she had ever seen. Shining through it was the glow of happiness and peace.
Suddenly he seemed to become afraid. 'Elena- Elena-'
'I'm here-always. I love you, Babbo.'
'I love you, daughter.'
Vincenzo turned away, covering his eyes. A few moments later there was the sound of footsteps outside, and a voice calling, 'Is anybody there?'
Hastily controlling himself, Vincenzo went out into the hall where two young men had arrived with the ambulance. He beckoned and they quickly followed him.
One of them gasped when he saw the room. 'What a way to have to live!' he said. 'The sooner we get him to hospital, the better.'
Julia spoke in a muffled voice. 'You're too late.' They drew near to where the two figures clasped each other. Piero's eyes were closed and his rasping breathing had stopped. He lay quiet and peaceful.
'Poor old fellow,' said one of the young men sympathetically.
Julia laid her cheek tenderly against Piero's white hair. 'Don't feel sorry for him,' she said softly. 'He died as he wanted to, in his daughter's arms.'
The two young men took over, laying Piero gently on trolley. Julia planted a last kiss on his forehead before he was wheeled away, down into the garden and into the ambulance boat tied up in the water.
Together they stood at the window as the ambulance pulled away down the Grand Canal, until its lights were no longer visible. When it had gone Vincenzo opened his arms and she went into them.
'I'm going to miss him so much,' she said.
'So am I. But you were right. He was happy at the end and that's what matters.' He took her face in his hand and looked down at her.
'You were wonderful,' he said tenderly. He brushed the hair back from her face, then drew her against him, with her head on his shoulder, and they stood like that in silence for a long time.
'I'm taking you away with me,' he said at last. 'You can't live here alone.'
'All right, I'll move. But not now.' She turned back into the room, suddenly so lonely. 'I want to spend one more night here.'
Piero's few pathetic possessions were still there, including the gifts she'd given him. She sat down on the bed, lifting his gloves, looking at them, stroking them.
'Who was he really?' she asked.
'Professor Alessandro Calfani, a philosopher. Once I thought I knew him well, but now I think I never knew him in any way that mattered. Did you understand what he meant about Elena forgiving him?'
'He told me she used to call him Babbo, but stopped after some kind of estrangement. It sounded as though they had a big row. I guess when he wanted to say sorry, it was too late.'
'But it was all right for him in the end.' Vincenzo sat down beside her, and slipped his arm around her shoulders.
Suddenly the sight of Piero's things hurt her unbearably, and she buried her face in her hands. She struggled to fight the tears, but it was useless, and at last she cried without trying to stop.
'I loved him so much,' she wept against Vincenzo's shoulder.
'So did I,' he said sombrely, holding her tightly as much for his sake as hers.
'Stay with me here tonight,' she said. 'I want to remember him with you.'
He drew her down onto the bed that was only just big enough for the two them, and drew blankets over them.
She was still weeping and he made no effort to stop her. Sometimes he kissed her tumbled hair. Once he drew it back and stroked her face with tender fingers before kissing her gently on the mouth. She looked at him quickly.
'It's all right,' he whispered. 'Go to sleep. I'm here.'
She closed her eyes and he felt her relax. At last her breathing told him that she was asleep. He rested his head against her and had begun to drift off when she stirred and began to mutter.
'Julia,' he whispered, but then, 'Sophie.'
She gave a gasp that was almost a cry, and awoke.
'What is it?' he asked.
'It's a dream-it keeps coming back-'
'What happens in your dream?'
'It's about Annina.'
'You identified with her,didn't you? I can see why now. You loved your husband, and he shut you away for years-'
'And I died,' she said slowly. 'I died.'
'That's what you said, standing before her picture.'
She looked at him quickly.
'But how could you know that? It was only in my dream.'
'You were sleepwalking. You really went up there, and I came with you, just to see that you were all right.'
She searched his face. 'Yes, you did, didn't you?' she said. 'And you said you were my friend.'
'Do you remember anything else?' he asked anxiously.
'Yes.' She gave a faint smile. 'You kissed me.'
'That was the first time I ever kissed you, and you didn't know, not then or next day. I kept hoping you'd remember, but you looked through me.'
'Why didn't you tell me?'
'I couldn't. You needed to remember for yourself.' He grinned. 'I made good resolutions about waiting until the moment came.'
'You didn't keep them very long.'
'True. I'm not a patient man.'
'I'm glad of that.' She reached up and put her arms about his neck. 'I'm so glad of that.'
When he was sure he'd understood her properly he tightened his own arms about her.
'My love,' he said, 'let us drive the ghosts away. They have no place here now.'
'No,' she whispered, drawing him close. 'Not now.'
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next day Julia left the palazzo for good, and moved into the little apartment over the restaurant. It consisted of one main room, and bedroom, with a tiny bathroom and even tinier kitchen.
New Year was almost on them, and she plunged into work, available at all hours, taking on any jobs, to keep her mind occupied.
'Don't overdo it,' Vincenzo advised one evening as she was just coming on for the late shift. 'You were here early, you helped with cleaning up all afternoon, and now you're starting work again.'
'I prefer to keep busy. The Montressis will be back soon. When New Year's over I'll try Murano again.'
'On your own?'
'Yes, but don't worry about me. If they're not there I won't fling myself melodramatically into the lagoon. I'll just keep trying until they are. I'll go as soon as Piero's funeral is over.'
It was Vincenzo who had paid for the funeral, arranging for Piero to lie beside Elena on the island of San Michele.
When the day came they both boarded the black motor boat that would take them across the lagoon. They made the journey standing up behind the black-draped coffin. Inside, Piero lay wearing the gloves, scarf and boots she had given him.
Soon the island came in sight, the outer rim of cypresses encased by a terracotta wall, and a few minutes later they reached the landing stage. Pallbearers appeared and carried the coffin onto dry land.
At the inner gate they were met by an official who checked the details with Vincenzo.
They were the only mourners. During the service she kept her eyes fixed on the coffin, topped by flowers from herself and Vincenzo. She had known Piero only a few weeks, yet she felt she had lost a very dear friend.
It was time to take the coffin to its final resting place. As they moved out of the chapel she could see that some of the cemetery was conventional, with burials in the ground, and headstones.
But this place had been created for economy of space, and most coffins were placed in narrow vaults, piled on top of one another, as many as ten high. At the outer end was a marble plaque giving the details of who lay there, with a picture. As there was also a holder for flowers a whole wall of these plaques was an impressive sight. Where two flowered walls faced each other the effect was of an enchanted bower.
Elena was on the fourth tier, her picture easily visible. She bore a marked resemblance to her father, having his sharp features and brilliant smile.
Slowly Piero's coffin was slid into the space beside her, and the end fitted into place.
'Goodbye,' she whispered. 'And thank you for everything.'
'I'd like to put some fresh flowers in my sister's urn,' Vincenzo said.
They walked along the long walls of flowers until Vincenzo stopped, pointing up at something above his head.
'That's Bianca,' he said. 'And the one beside her is her husband.'