The Temptation of Gracie

by Santa Montefiore

  She padded downstairs in her bare feet. So apprehensive was she that she didn’t notice the cold as she trod over the freezing flagstones towards the kitchen. ‘Uncle?’ she called out. The house remained silent but for the rhythmic tick-tocking of the grandfather clock in the hall. She recalled the moment she had intruded on his private moment with Guido Vanni in the kitchen, but that was unlikely to be the case now. None of the servants came in at Christmas time and besides, since then, she had not witnessed anything improper.

  Gracie decided that he must have gone out. She was disappointed, albeit a little relieved, for if he had simply gone for an early morning walk, there were no grounds for concern. She felt foolish for being irrational and made herself a cup of coffee in the cafetière on the stove. While the water bubbled up through the coffee granules she thought of the box and the brushes and tools, and longed for Uncle Hans to return so she could ask him what he meant by giving her such a present.

  The house was eerily quiet; the air inside it oppressive. Gracie sat at the kitchen table and tried not to feel afraid, and yet the tension grew ever tighter in her chest, as if someone were clutching her heart and squeezing it. She was restless, anxious, unable to sit still. At last she stood up, taking her coffee with her, and wandered back into the hall.

  She did not expect her uncle to work on Christmas Day, but he had been acting so strangely recently that it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he had gone to his study to absorb himself in what he loved doing best. She took her steaming coffee cup through the house to the studio. The first rays of sunshine were breaking through the glass, falling in shafts of light onto the wooden floorboards, illuminating the room that was her and Rutger’s domain. It seemed so very still and quiet. She went to the door of Hans’s studio and noticed it had been left ajar. That in itself was unusual and the hand on her heart squeezed harder. Hans never left it unlocked. She approached with the caution of a deer advancing towards a sleeping pride of lions. Placing her hand on the door she pushed it gently and peered inside.

  The first thing she saw was a chair, placed in the centre of the room. It looked forlorn there in a puddle of light. Her eyes were then drawn to the pair of feet suspended above it. Her breath caught in her throat. The feet were bare, lifeless and a queasy shade of grey. Suddenly, the room spun and a wave of nausea crashed against the walls of her stomach. The coffee cup fell out of her hand and smashed onto the floorboards. Gracie reached for the wall to stop herself from falling too; to stop the world from whirling because she needed to be sure.

  When at last she was able to focus again she lifted her eyes. There, hanging from the large beam that spanned the entire room, was Uncle Hans.

  Chapter 24

  Anastasia stared at her grandmother in horror. It was one thing to be told that Uncle Hans had hanged himself, but quite another to watch her grandmother unravel before her eyes. She didn’t know what to say. As Gracie had neared the end of the story her voice had gone as thin as ribbon. Anastasia had had to inch closer to hear – and she had not wanted to miss a single syllable. From time to time Gracie had faltered and taken a deep breath. She had massaged her throat as if trying to relieve a tightness in it, and she had stumbled on various words, the emotions they roused being at times too much. Anastasia had watched her grandmother struggle to get the story out, afraid to move in case she disturbed her stream of consciousness. In case her grandmother noticed her there, because, in truth, as the tale reached its terrible climax, it was as if she was talking to herself.

  Anastasia stared at Gracie, who looked very small now, and knew that there was nothing she could say to take away the trauma of that shocking discovery, or the guilt of believing she was the cause. All she could do was follow her heart and put her arms around her, embracing her fiercely. Gracie allowed herself to be embraced. She also allowed herself the luxury of crying; of expressing what she had spent the last forty-four years concealing. At first her cry was a silent howl, a contraction of the diaphragm so tight as to actually cause pain as it laboured to eject her anguish in a long, drawn-out breath. And then, as she inhaled, her diaphragm relaxed so that when she exhaled again her cry found its voice. It came out in a loud, unfamiliar moan. It was as if grief, buried so deeply within her being, was at last being released, rising up through the layers and layers of resistance and secrecy accumulated over the decades. Gracie unburdened her shame, her remorse and her love.

  Anastasia was alarmed. She had never heard a human, or an animal for that matter, make such a sound. The fact that it was coming out of her grandmother sent her into a sudden panic and she searched the darkness for her mother. Carina, who was on the higher terrace talking to Madeleine and Lauren, heard the strange howling and instinctively knew to whom it belonged. She excused herself and hurried down the steps to find Gracie sobbing in the arms of her daughter.

  Anastasia was overwhelmed with relief to see her mother. She had managed to extract the whole story but she was too young and inexperienced to deal with the sorrow that had come with it. Carina took the chair on the other side of her mother and gently put a hand on her back. ‘Mum,’ she said. ‘It’s me, Carina.’

  Slowly Gracie eased herself out of Anastasia’s arms. She was unable to speak. Her body shuddered. She seemed confused by it, as if it was reacting without her consent. ‘It’s okay, Mum. Let it all out. Whatever it is, just let it out.’ Carina remembered how her mother had once, a long time ago, said those words to her.

  The three of them remained at the table in silence as Gracie’s breathing gradually grew more regular and her body stilled.

  ‘What did you do, Granny?’ Anastasia asked, keen to draw her away from the image of Uncle Hans hanging from the beam.

  ‘I fled,’ Gracie replied huskily. Carina handed her a napkin, left over from dinner, and watched her wipe her eyes.

  ‘Where to?’ Anastasia asked.

  ‘London.’

  ‘You didn’t tell Gaetano?’

  Gracie began to cry again, this time softly. ‘I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell anybody.’ Anastasia caught her mother’s eye. They stared at each other in bewilderment. ‘You see, I was the cause of Uncle Hans’s suicide.’ Her voice was barely a whisper now. ‘They had discovered his business and were coming to get him. In which case, they’d come for me too. I knew then that Rutger hadn’t gone to Holland for Christmas, but had fled too. I doubted he’d be coming back. If I stayed, I’d have to explain why I forged the Piero Bartoloni. I’d have to betray Gaetano. I couldn’t do that. The only thing I could do was disappear, and hope they’d never find me.’

  ‘What did you tell your mother?’ Anastasia pressed, as Carina tried to piece the story together from what Anastasia had relayed and from what was now being said.

  ‘I told her he had committed suicide and that I had run away out of fear.’

  ‘Didn’t she wonder why he had killed himself?’

  Gracie had now stopped crying. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, folding the napkin with shaky hands. ‘She just accepted it. The body was returned to London and he was buried in Camden. She never questioned me. It was as if she knew why. As if she knew already and didn’t want to discuss it.’

  ‘Didn’t you ever tell Gaetano where you had gone? Didn’t he try to find you? Did he know where to look?’

  Gracie shook her head sadly. ‘He was never going to leave his wife, dear. He wanted to. I don’t doubt that. But he couldn’t. It was a fantasy and nothing more. A fantasy we both wanted, but that sort of dream requires more than will. It requires strength and Gaetano, bless him, didn’t have it. I realised while on the plane back to London that I had to let him go.’

  ‘But you never said goodbye to Gaia, either.’

  ‘I said goodbye to no one. I just ran, like a coward. I’m not proud of myself. But I was young. I thought by my running away the problem would just disappear.’

  ‘Did it?’ Anastasia asked.

  Gracie sighed and unfolded the napkin only to fold it again. ‘I
n one respect it did. Uncle Hans’s solicitor dealt with his will and Joseph and I inherited his estate. He had given his villa in France and a great deal of money to Jonas Blythe a few months before his death. That didn’t surprise me. He loved Jonas. As for my brother, Joseph accepted his inheritance with enthusiasm. He bought a big house in Belgravia. But I didn’t want Hans’s money or his homes.’

  ‘Was La Colomba left to you?’

  ‘Yes, it was. But I never returned. I left it to deteriorate. I shared the money with my mother, hoping she’d move out of that horrible old house, but she didn’t. That was my mother. She remained there until she died.’

  ‘What did you do with the rest? Uncle Hans was so rich.’

  Gracie glanced at Carina and hesitated.

  Carina stroked her mother’s back and smiled sympathetically. ‘Mum, Anastasia told me about your past with Uncle Hans. She didn’t mean to. I coaxed it out of her. I was worried about you.’

  ‘I would have told you, dear, but I didn’t think you’d be interested.’

  Carina was horrified. The fact that her mother’s tone was not in the least accusatory, rather it was matter-of-fact, as if she had accepted long ago that her daughter was not interested in her, made Carina feel even worse. ‘Oh, Mum!’ She put a hand on her heart. ‘Did you really think that? I’m so sorry. It couldn’t be further from the truth. I am interested. I guess I’ve just been preoccupied with work – God, that’s a feeble excuse.’ Her eyes began to shine. ‘I won’t blame work. One can always make time if one wants to. I’ve been a terrible daughter and a terrible mother and I’m going to change. I don’t want to be that busy, selfish person any more.’ She took a breath as a tear escaped and trickled down her cheek, leaving a glistening path in her make-up. ‘Will you forgive me?’

  Gracie put a hand on hers and gave a small smile. ‘If you forgive me for having kept the biggest part of my life secret.’

  ‘It’s your secret to keep, Mum.’

  Gracie turned to Anastasia. ‘You ask me what happened to my inheritance. I shared it with my mother, but I couldn’t bring myself to use it on myself. My guilt was too great. So, it is invested. I have no idea how much is there, but it will be considerable. I have left it to your mother in my will, with a letter of explanation.’

  ‘You weren’t ever going to tell me?’ Carina asked.

  ‘No. I didn’t think I could ever tell anyone. Your father never knew I had it.’

  ‘But that’s extraordinary.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Gracie. ‘But when I said I fled, I fled in every way. I turned my back on that chapter of my life and started a new one. I met your father and married very quickly. He was everything that Gaetano was not. He was twenty years older than me. Stable, sensible and strong and he was from a world closer to the one I had grown up in. He wasn’t a dashing aristocrat like Gaetano, but he was kind and I knew I’d be safe with him. I put away my brushes and I vowed never to paint again. It would have been much too painful to have opened Uncle Hans’s box and used his tools, or any tools for that matter. I simply couldn’t bring myself to paint again. How I regretted having painted that forgery. It wasn’t even a good forgery. I hadn’t taken the time or the trouble to do it properly. It was never meant to be seen by experts. It was meant to hang in Bruno’s palazzo and fool only him. But Fate had other ideas and it ended in my beloved uncle’s death. I will never forgive myself for that. So, my dear,’ she said, looking steadily at Carina. ‘The money is for you, once I am gone.’

  ‘Don’t say that, Mum.’

  ‘We all have to go sometime.’

  ‘But I don’t want to think about it. I’ve only just found you.’

  Gracie felt as if something soft and warm were cupping her heart. She felt strong, suddenly, as if the love she was receiving from her daughter and granddaughter was bolstering her fragile spirit with an inner coat of armour. ‘Will you do something for me?’ she asked them both.

  ‘Of course,’ they replied in unison.

  ‘Will you come with me to La Colomba tomorrow? I feel ready to face it. I think I should, while I’m here. It might be my last chance. It’s haunted me for so long I think I should confront it, in order to let it go.’

  Anastasia took her hand. ‘Of course, we’ll go with you, won’t we, Mum?’ she said.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Carina replied. ‘I’ll ask for a cab to take us after lunch, unless you want to miss Mamma Bernadetta’s final lesson.’

  Gracie smiled. ‘I don’t think we could do that to her, do you? I’m sure she’ll have planned something special.’

  That night Gracie stood at her window, staring out into the valley, which was veiled in darkness. She thought of the countless times she had stared up at this castle from her own window at La Colomba, wondering whether Tancredi was there. Whether he was thinking of her. Yet, here she was, in the castle, his castle, and here he was too and yet they might as well have been thousands of miles apart. She wondered whether he had ever thought of her over the years that followed her departure, as she had so often thought of him. She had written him a letter once she had arrived in London and told him not to try to find her, that her leaving was the best thing for both of them. She also told him about Uncle Hans’s suicide and begged him never to divulge who had forged the Piero Bartoloni – if she was to go down for forgery she wanted to go down for a good one!

  How her heart had ached for him. How it ached for them both. She had lost her uncle and Tancredi in the very same moment and with them she had lost her way of life and everything that was familiar to her. Now she recognised the extraordinary resilience of the human spirit, for she had withstood it all. She hadn’t collapsed and refused to go on, but put one heavy foot in front of the other and taken a step into her future, without having a clue what it would hold. She remembered having told Tancredi that grief was like crossing a bridge and until you crossed that bridge you couldn’t begin to understand what it meant to lose someone you loved. Well, she had crossed that bridge all over again with the loss of Uncle Hans and her lover, and another layer was duly dug into the depths of her soul. She returned to England a very different woman to the one who had come home for Christmas. She cared even less for material things. She had patience for everyone, compassion for those who needed it and a more profound understanding of the world. She had never been a religious person, but in the months that followed she thought much about God. There had to be some purpose to all of this, she argued. Oma and Uncle Hans were not dust, she was sure of that. They were out there somewhere, in another dimension, where she would one day join them. It had to be so, because when she was in nature, among the flowers and trees and birdsong, she felt it intuitively. She couldn’t have explained this feeling to anyone, but it was strong, like a guiding hand on her heart.

  Gracie grew to love the English countryside. After she married Ted they moved down to Badley Compton and started their life together there. She adored the sea, the pebbly beaches and rugged cliffs. She relished walking in the long grasses and watching the cows chewing the cud. She even took pleasure from the grey clouds, drizzle and fog. Loss inspired her to appreciate the natural world around her and in her appreciation that world slowly healed her. Tancredi did as she asked and did not come looking for her. She buried her past beneath the new life she had chosen and she never dug it up. When the fear of being caught and imprisoned for forging art had passed she began to enjoy her marriage. In Ted she found her level. He was the sort of man she could be content with. He didn’t set her heart racing, but she had already experienced that and she knew it would never happen again. She closed the door on the sensual side of her nature and accepted a very different kind of love. Ted would not hurt her or let her down or give her empty promises. He could be relied on and she was grateful for that. They made new friends together in the town and those people did not intimidate her, or judge her, but accepted her for what she was. She had no desire to go anywhere again. Like a child whose hand has been severely burnt she had no yearning t
o put her fingers near the fire. She had found contentment and was satisfied with that.

  Now, as she gazed down into the valley, she longed to know what happened after she left. What had become of her forgery? Had they pursued Hans only to drop the case after his death? She couldn’t bear to return to England not knowing and yet, she was too afraid to confront Tancredi. He hadn’t recognised her and that had cut her deeply. It had felt like a rejection although, how could it have been? He’d have had to have recognised her first in order to have rejected her. And what if he did recognise her and they did speak, and it was as if they had never known each other? That would almost be worse. A few minutes of polite conversation would hurt her even more and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to take it. In that case it would be better not to speak at all.

  At that moment her attention was drawn to a tear in the sky that revealed the twinkling dots of faraway stars. The sight uplifted her and she thought of Carina and Anastasia and the bond they had forged over the week they had been here. It was as if they had each been touched by something special, and transformed. When she thought of her daughter and granddaughter she experienced a wonderful expanding in her chest. Not the tight, contracting regret of before, but a warm, loving enlargement, as if her heart was rising like a cupcake in the oven. How thankful she was for that. Even if she never spoke to Tancredi and never found out what had become of her painting, she had rediscovered her family and that was more important than her past. She had a very strong feeling that the present would be the foundation upon which her future would be built. In which case, she had so much to look forward to.