The Photograph: A gripping love story with a heartbreaking twist

by Debbie Rix

  There was a tall Christmas tree in the corner of the room between the pale grey sofas. It was decorated discreetly with white lights and small straw decorations. Sophie picked up a pile of tinsel from the table.

  ‘Who wants to finish decorating this tree?’ she asked the children. ‘I think Mummy might have forgotten to put this on…’

  Noah and Lucas, suddenly animated, ran over to the tree, grabbing handfuls of brightly coloured tinsel. They had just finished draping it around the Christmas tree, when Flora came back into the kitchen in search of more cocktails.

  ‘Oh, here you are,’ she said to Sophie. ‘Hamish was wondering where you’d got to… What on earth…?’ She stood back and stared in disbelief at the multicoloured decorations. ‘Children… I thought we’d discussed this…’ she said, curtly.

  ‘Aren’t they lovely?’ Sophie said admiringly. ‘Tabatha seemed to think you didn’t like them, but I assured her that must be wrong. How could anyone not love such pretty decorations?’

  Flora gave Sophie a look of complete contempt. But Sophie, emboldened by the children’s happiness and secretly pleased to have scored a minor triumph over her hostess, merely smiled politely.

  ‘Well…’ she said, ‘Hamish and I really ought to be going… Thanks so much – it was a… lovely party.’

  As Hamish and Sophie walked home, he asked her if she had enjoyed herself.

  ‘Yes… in the end, it was quite good fun. I like to think I made it a memorable evening…’

  Sophie’s family arrived the following day, just in time for lunch.

  ‘I love the house,’ said Victoria, her sister-in-law, gazing around at the old kitchen, as Sophie served up some carrot and coriander soup. ‘I keep trying to persuade Simon to leave London, but he won’t hear of it… Maybe you could make him change his mind.’

  ‘Change my mind about what?’ asked Simon, coming in with his father and Hamish. They had been on a ‘guided tour’ of the property, including the newly restored wine cellar. Hamish opened a bottle of white wine and poured it into six glasses arranged on the table.

  ‘To move out of London, darling,’ said Victoria. ‘Why can’t we live somewhere like this, instead of that shoebox we call home in Cricklewood?’

  ‘Oh Vic… we’ve been through this…’ said Simon, sipping his wine. ‘Lovely plonk, by the way, Hamish.’

  ‘Well… we’re going to have to move eventually,’ Vic continued, ‘when the b—’ she stopped mid-sentence.

  Sophie, who was putting a plate of cheese and biscuits out on the table, looked up.

  ‘When the what…?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh nothing… you know – when… if… we ever start a family.’ Victoria shrugged her shoulders casually.

  ‘Glass of wine, Vic?’ Hamish proffered her a glass.

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Why aren’t you drinking?’ asked Sophie.

  ‘Oh… just that… it’s… lunchtime,’ said Vic. She was obviously flustered.

  ‘Is there something you haven’t told us?’ asked Sophie, suspiciously.

  Simon and Vic looked at each other.

  ‘Vic…’ Simon began.

  ‘They’re expecting a baby,’ said Angela, gently. ‘They weren’t going to mention it – I’m sure I don’t need to explain why. They didn’t want to—’

  ‘What?’ asked Sophie. ‘Didn’t want to… what?’ She could feel tears pricking her eyes.

  ‘Upset you, darling,’ said Alex, gently.

  ‘Upset me?! So you all know about their baby, but I am not to be trusted with that information. I’m to be treated like a child, or some feeble-minded idiot… is that right?’

  ‘No! Darling, don’t overreact,’ said Angela, reaching out to take Sophie’s hand. ‘I’m sure you understand… they just didn’t want it to dominate Christmas. They would have told you in January, sometime.’

  Sophie, embarrassed and near to tears, rushed from the room.

  ‘Oh God,’ said Hamish. ‘Sorry about this. Do please sit down and eat… the soup will get cold. And kick the bloody cat off that chair, Alex. Wretched animal. I’ll be a few minutes.’

  Sophie lay on her bed, her back to the door. Hamish tiptoed into the room, as if visiting a sick relative. He sat down, gingerly, on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Sophie… please.’

  ‘Please what…’ she said, her voice thick with tears.

  ‘Don’t spoil it for everyone. It’s not their fault – is it? They were just trying to be sensitive. They know how much you want a baby. He’s your brother for God’s sake. Can’t you be happy for them?’

  Sophie rolled over and looked at Hamish, her eyes red with crying, mascara smeared across her cheeks.

  ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘No, I can’t be happy for them. I’m not happy. I’m jealous. I’m… envious as hell… I didn’t even know they were trying. It’s so unfair.’

  She turned away again.

  Hamish sat in silence, uncertain what to say, what to do. Eventually he said: ‘Are you coming back down?’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I can’t come down – not yet. Tell them I’ve got a headache.’

  As the winter sun dropped low in the sky, casting a rose-coloured glow on the room, Angela tiptoed into the bedroom, walked around the bed and lay down facing Sophie. She held her daughter’s face in her hands and wiped away the tears.

  ‘Darling… darling girl. I’m so sorry. They just wanted you to have a lovely Christmas in your new house – which is looking fabulous by the way. The tree, with Rachael’s decorations, is a particular triumph. She would have been so proud of you, darling.’

  ‘What… of her barren granddaughter?’

  ‘Don’t use that word. You are not barren! You’re about to start treatment. In January – it’s all going to kick off. You’ll see. There will be another baby before you know it… I just know that.’

  ‘Do you?’ asked Sophie. ‘Really?’

  ‘I do… I really do.’

  ‘I want it so much, Mum… It hurts. In here…’ She banged her chest with her fist.

  ‘I know, love.’ Angela stroked her cheek.

  ‘Last night, we went to a party,’ said Sophie. ‘The local rich couple. They have four children – four! And she doesn’t even seem to like them. They have everything money could buy, but not their mother’s love. It made me so mad.’

  ‘Well not everyone can do parenting… Maybe you can be a friend to those children. Do you want to come downstairs now? Vic and Simon have cleared away and were wondering if you fancied playing cards? Or… watching a movie?’

  Sophie blew her nose and sat up. ‘What must they think of me?’

  ‘They understand… But let’s try and move on – just for the next few days. All right?’

  ‘All right… and thank you… thank you for being my mum.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sant’Antioco

  July 1959

  It had been several weeks since Tommaso visited Rachael at the cottage. At first she thought little of it, but as the days turned into weeks, she began to feel anxious. She was an innocent, in so many ways – unfamiliar with the games lovers play, uncertain of the rules. Her first and only lover, until Tommaso, had been her husband. The courtship had been supervised, in effect, by her father, and they had slept together for the first time on their wedding night. It had been a nervous, tentative affair. Both were virgins, neither quite sure what to do. In fact, Rachael realised several days into her marriage that they had not actually made love at all that first night.

  Tommaso was the first man she had encouraged since József’s death. More than that, the first man she had allowed to be so intimate with her – both with her body and her emotions.

  She recalled snatches of conversations she overheard when she was living in the camp in Austria. The other women working in the kitchen sometimes spoke of the perils of sleeping with a man before marriage. She remembered Nadia, one of the older women in the camp, as she stirred the large p
ot of goulash for the inmates, criticising a pretty girl who had arrived a few weeks before and was receiving a lot of attention from the young men in the camp.

  ‘She’d better watch it, that one. She’s too free and easy,’ Nadia had said. ‘They’ll all get the wrong idea – you mark my words. She’ll regret it.’

  Rachael had not quite understood what Nadia had meant at the time. The other women had nodded their heads and muttered, ‘Yes. You’re quite right,’ and Rachael didn’t like to ask what they meant by ‘free and easy’. And what was ‘the wrong idea’?’

  Now, as she looked back on that glorious afternoon with Tommaso, making love on the sofa, she wondered if she had been too free and easy. Had Tommaso now got ‘the wrong idea’ about her? Is that why he had stayed away?

  Another comment slipped unannounced into her memory from those days in the camp kitchen: ‘When they get what they want, they’ll drop her – you’ll see.’

  Is that what Tommaso had done?

  When she visited the town to go shopping, she looked for Tommaso everywhere. She sat in the cafe hoping he might come and take her order for a coffee. But he never came. Disappointed, she wandered down the cobbled streets, with Angela trailing behind her, glancing around, thinking she would bump into him in a shop or side street. But it was as if he had disappeared.

  And, to add to her worries, since the evening when Tommaso had been invited to stay for supper, Giles had become distant, even unfriendly.

  One market day, when she asked him for a lift into town, he replied sarcastically: ‘Can’t the fisherman give you a lift today?’

  He always referred to Tommaso as ‘the fisherman’ and it irked her.

  ‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ she replied, sharply, determined not to be intimidated by him.

  He blushed, perhaps sensing he had gone too far.

  Her father appeared on the veranda, his briefcase under his arm. ‘Are we going?’ he asked, a little impatiently.

  ‘Yes, sir – of course.’

  Rachael sat by the window, Angela on her lap, gazing desultorily out at the dry summer landscape. Giles also appeared distracted. George, sensing the uncomfortable atmosphere between his daughter and his student, endeavoured to break the silence.

  ‘We have a lot to do today, Giles – I hope you are full of energy.’

  ‘Yes, sir… of course.’ Giles sounded lacklustre.

  ‘And what are your plans, Rachael?’ George asked.

  ‘Oh… just shopping. It’s market day, so I thought I might get some fish…’ She looked down at the top of Angela’s head, and blushed.

  Giles felt unable to resist a retort: ‘Has the fisherman not been around – I thought he brought you fish when you needed it?’

  Rachael sighed. She should answer – casually. But she understood exactly what he was asking and didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that Tommaso appeared to have deserted her.

  ‘Yes… he’s brought us fish,’ she lied. ‘I just want a little extra and a chance to see the catch for myself. There’s so much variety here…’

  Giles parked the truck in the square and George went, alone, into the basilica.

  ‘Shall I come back for you in a couple of hours?’ Giles asked.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Rachael, determined to be civil. ‘That would be so kind – yes please.’

  Taking Angela by the hand, she walked down to the market near the harbour. There, she pottered among the stalls, picking up vegetables, flour and other provisions. The fish stall, in particular, did not disappoint and she bought two large lobsters and a seabass. The sight of the fish lying on the top of her basket filled her with sadness – as she thought back to the fishing excursion she had with Tommaso.

  Angela, bored with the expedition, began to fidget and pull away from her mother. Rachael struggled to carry her basket while at the same time keeping hold of Angela’s hand. Suddenly, the basket was whisked away from her. She swung round and Tommaso was standing behind her. He took her free hand and pulled her away from the market, down a small side street, dragging Angela behind her. He looked about him warily, before kissing her passionately on the mouth.

  ‘Oh…’ she said, as their lips parted, ‘where have you been?’

  He blushed; he looked awkward, embarrassed.

  ‘I take you home now,’ he said.

  ‘No… someone’s coming for me. And you haven’t answered my question. Where have you been?’

  ‘I will tell you… but I take you home – please.’

  Against her better judgement, she allowed herself to be led by the hand towards his Lambretta. He put the shopping in the footwell and they climbed aboard. It felt so good to have her arms wrapped around him once again, Angela nestling safely between his legs. They drove out of town by a different route – not past the cafe where his sister worked, but by a back road.

  When they arrived at the cottage, she took the shopping into the kitchen. Angela was tired and Rachael carried her upstairs and lay her down on her bed, where she fell instantly asleep.

  When Rachael came downstairs, Tommaso guided her over to the sofa. He kissed her and embraced her, but she pulled back.

  ‘No… where have you been? It’s been weeks since I saw you.’

  ‘I… been working. Much… fishing.’

  ‘I see… but couldn’t you come and see me after work?’

  ‘No… your father…’

  ‘My father… what about my father?’

  Tommaso got up and paced the room.

  ‘Tell me please,’ she urged him. ‘Did my father say something to you?’

  He turned and looked at her. He sat back down beside her, taking her hand in his and kissing her fingers, one by one.

  ‘Your father ask me… do I love you?’

  Rachael felt her stomach flipping. She held her breath.

  ‘And what did you say?’

  He kissed her cheek, her forehead, her mouth.

  ‘I say… yes… I love you very much.’

  Rachael felt an unadulterated joy. She grinned, a wide happy smile of relief, of happiness. She had known all along that he loved her; she wasn’t a fool – like the girls in the camp. He hadn’t ‘got what he wanted’ and deserted her. He loved her, truly loved her.

  ‘I love you too,’ she said, kissing him and laying her head upon his shoulder.

  She could imagine their life together – living peacefully in the cottage, watching Angela grow, maybe having another child – and they would be happy on this island in the sun.

  He kissed her again, his hands reaching beneath her dress, feeling her skin soft and warm beneath his fingers.

  ‘Angela?’ he asked as he nuzzled her neck.

  ‘She’s asleep,’ she whispered in his ear.

  After they had made love, and he had gone, she realised he’d never told her why he had stayed away. Why telling her father that he loved her had been such a problem?

  When George came back home that evening, he went through to the sitting room to collect something from his desk. Giles, who was staying for a drink as usual, remained on the terrace where Rachael sat at the table, shelling peas. He glared at her.

  ‘I waited for you in the square for ages,’ he whispered. ‘I even went down the market to look for you. I was worried. Where were you?’

  ‘Oh… I’m sorry. I got a lift. I should have found a way to tell you, but we went out of town a different way. Angela was so tired and the shopping was heavy. It just seemed sensible.’

  ‘Who from,’ asked Giles, ‘the fisherman?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rachael, defiantly. ‘It was from Tommaso, if you must know. He happened to be there and he offered. I’m sorry if it inconvenienced you.’

  ‘Who was inconvenienced?’ asked George cheerily, coming back onto the terrace.

  ‘Giles, Papa. He offered to take me home after the market, but I… I got a lift from someone else.’

  ‘Who?’ George asked casually, studying his daughter’s fac
e.

  ‘From Tommaso.’ Her eyes flashed, and her face was flushed in the rosy haze of the setting sun.

  ‘Well, that makes sense,’ said George, calmly. ‘I’m sure Rachael didn’t mean to cause any problem for you, Giles. I think we are all tired tonight. Giles – would you mind if we didn’t have a glass of wine this evening? I think Rachael and I need an early night. We’ll see you tomorrow.’

  It was unusual for George not to offer Giles a glass of wine. Scarcely a day had gone by since they moved to the island when he had not done so. They routine had hardly ever altered – they drank wine, they discussed the dig, they watched the sun go down over the wood and the sea beyond. It was as much a part of their working day as the dig itself. Giles, looking a little hurt and confused at this sudden dismissal, nevertheless took his leave.

  ‘Rachael,’ George said quietly, as soon as the young man had left, ‘sit down please… I want to talk to you.’

  Rachael, feeling uneasy, did as she was told.

  ‘My darling… I think it would be better if you didn’t see Tommaso anymore.’

  ‘Why? Why on earth not?’

  ‘Trust me about this. Please.’

  ‘Is it because he’s just a fisherman?’

  Rachael could feel the indignation rising, her cheeks flushing. Angela, who had been pottering around the garden, saw the pain on her mother’s face and began to cry in sympathy.

  ‘Come here, darling, it’s all right.’ Rachael picked the child up and nursed her on her lap, rocking her to soothe her.

  ‘No… it’s not his profession. He’s a very interesting young man. But… I don’t know how to tell you this Rachael … He is promised.’

  ‘Promised?’

  ‘Elsewhere.’

  She was confused.

  ‘He is engaged to someone else.’

  Rachael stared at her father in disbelief. ‘No… he can’t be… he wouldn’t… no.’

  ‘He has been promised to a girl in the village most of his life. He cannot break the bond. He does love you, Rachael – I believe him when he says that. But the other day – when he was here, he told me about this other engagement… He didn’t mean to, I don’t think. But we were chatting about customs on the island and he mentioned, casually, that he had been promised to this girl since he was a young boy.’