Summer at the Lake (27 page)

‘I could lie to you and suggest that an excess of excitement had kept you awake,’ he answered her, ‘but since I’d rather be frank, I’d sooner say that I’d never seen you looking more radiantly beautiful than when you danced with Marco last night. I doubt I was the only one to think that.’

‘Oh dear. And I suppose everyone considers me a wicked and corrupting influence on him. Is that what
you
think?’

‘Esme, what on earth could make you say such a thing?’

‘Because we didn’t just dance last night, we . . . we kissed.’ She’d had no intention of admitting this to him, but now that the confession had slipped out, she was glad; it felt good to say the words aloud rather than have them spinning reproachfully round and round in her head.

She watched her father take stock of this as he lowered his cup. ‘I can’t say as I’m terribly surprised,’ he said quietly.

‘Has my behaviour been that obvious?’

He frowned. ‘Why is this all about you, Esme? Does Marco play no part in it?’

‘You sound cross.’

‘I’m cross that you should feel you alone are responsible for the situation in which you and Marco find yourselves. You’re two young people who have been attracted to each other from the day you met.’

‘You’ve known all along, haven’t you?’

He smiled. ‘I would have to be devoid of every one of my senses not to have guessed.’

‘Is that why you didn’t want me to be alone with him when he was so ill?’

‘Yes, I was concerned about the appropriateness of the two of you being alone together and what might transpire, and how it would affect you, and the consequences.’

‘The consequence is that I feel wretchedly miserable,’ she said gloomily.

He put a hand out to her. ‘Don’t be miserable. I won’t allow that. Instead, I want you to treasure what you’ve experienced here. It will inevitably come to an end, but the memory will last as long as you want it to last.’

‘You sound as if you’ve put a lot of thought into this.’

‘Anything to do with you I put a lot of thought into. It’s why I told Angelo to leave you alone last night. I should have done that at the start, but I didn’t want to appear too heavy-handed and, I’m afraid, some lessons in life have to be learnt the hard way.’

Filled with love for her father, she rose from her chair and hugged him. ‘I don’t deserve you,’ she said, ‘you’re too good to me.’

He hugged her back. ‘Nonsense, I just want you to be happy.’

When she sat down, and after Maria had appeared with their boiled eggs and toast, Esme explained about her wish for him to paint Marco’s portrait.

‘I was going to suggest that myself,’ he said.

Tapping at the top of her egg, Esme said, ‘You’re incredible, you know that, don’t you? You understand me so well.’

‘Not incredible at all. I’m just trying to make up for the ruined years of your childhood.’

‘You don’t have to. It wasn’t your fault. Besides, it wasn’t all bad.’

‘Even so, I should have stood up to your mother more. It’s my greatest regret.’

‘Another life lesson learnt the hard way,’ she said. Minutes passed, then dipping the corner of a piece of buttered toast into the yolk of her egg, and wanting to lift the mood between them, Esme said, ‘So what about you and Elizabeth? What are you going to do about her?’

Her father laughed. ‘What indeed?’

‘She’s very taken with you.’

‘Are you saying you’d like her as a stepmother?’

‘She would bring some fun and laughter into your life when I’m away at college.’

‘And drive me mad into the bargain!’

‘Oh, she’s not that bad. She has a good heart.’

‘She’s perfectly barmy in a very charming and eccentric way, but I intend to return home to England a single and relatively unscathed man. Now then,’ he continued, and swiftly changing the subject, ‘this picture of Marco: oil or watercolour, and where would you like me to paint him?’

‘Oil,’ she said decisively. ‘On the stone steps leading down to the lake.’

They soon realised that since the stone steps were in the full glare of the sun for most of the day, there was no way Marco could sit in the scorching heat for so long. Instead, he was positioned in the shade of the majestic cedar tree on a white-painted wicker chair reading a book. Except he wasn’t reading, he was chatting with Esme who was sitting to his right in another chair.

The painting took three days to complete but at no stage during its creation would William let anyone look at it and if Elizabeth or any of the other guests so much as hinted at wandering over to get a glimpse, he immediately covered it with a large cloth.

Elena was given the honour of being the first to see the portrait and took them all by surprise by bursting into tears at the sight of it. She fled back to the kitchen, her face buried in her apron. Within seconds Giulia came out to see what could have reduced her cook to such paroxysms of distress and her reaction, while less dramatic, was still a reaction worth observing. She was plainly moved by the portrait. ‘William,’ she murmured, ‘this is an extraordinary likeness; you have captured him perfectly.
Bravo!
And though you couldn’t possibly know, you have somehow caught the similarity with his father.’

Longing to see the painting for herself, Esme bounced on the balls of her feet. ‘Let me see, let me see,’ she cried excitedly. ‘It’s not fair that everyone else gets to see it before me!’

Laughing, her father invited Esme and Marco to take a look together.

‘My aunt is right,’ Marco said slowly, ‘I do look like my father. Or, at least, how I remember him.’

He turned to shake hands with William. ‘Thank you,
signore
. If you ever tire of the painting, I would happily give it a good home.’

Neither Esme or father said anything, both knowing that would never happen.

The following morning, and to Esme’s dismay, she awoke with a blinding headache and nausea, which put paid to her joining her father and Elizabeth and a number of other guests on a trip across the lake to Lezzeno to see the grotto there. Alberto had taken great pleasure in telling them that Lezzeno had once been a stronghold of witchcraft and myriad grisly evil goings-on. Another of his tales revolved around a tragic love story.

‘
Troppo sole ieri
’ – too much sun yesterday – was Elena’s diagnosis when Esme didn’t make it down for breakfast. Elena consequently appeared in person with a tray of tea and a freshly baked roll with some jam, which she insisted Esme try.

She managed to drink the tea and then went back to sleep. When she woke the hotel was very quiet. The clock on her bedside table showed it was half past twelve. Feeling guilty that she had slept for so long, she tentatively sat up to judge how she was now feeling. To her relief she no longer felt sick and the hammering pain in her head had magically gone away.

Hearing a quiet knock at the door, she assumed it was Elena or Maria back for the tray. ‘
Sì
,’ she responded.

But it wasn’t either of them; it was Marco with another tray. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, coming into the room and letting the door close behind him, while solicitously avoiding looking directly at her in bed. ‘Are you well enough for a glass of lemonade? Or perhaps you would prefer tea? I have brought you both.’

She hastily readjusted the bedclothes as he settled the tray on the ottoman at the end of the bed. ‘I’m feeling a lot better, thank you. It’s very quiet.’

‘Everyone has gone out for the day. My aunt, too, she has gone to the bank in Como. It’s just me, Maria and Elena here. It was Elena who said I should bring you something to drink. This is not the usual lemonade she makes, this is her special version made from her own mother’s recipe. But knowing your fondness for it, I decided tea might be better for you. So you have the choice.’

‘In that case, I’ll have a cup of tea and work my way up to Elena’s special lemonade.’

He poured her a cup and brought it over to her. ‘Would you like me to leave now?’ he asked, standing a few feet from the bed, his hands crossed behind his back.

Her head was telling her he shouldn’t stay, but the chance to be alone with him was too great to pass up. ‘Perhaps you could stay for a little while,’ she replied, hoping to placate the voice of her head.

He pulled over a chair and sat down. He did it so quickly, she wondered if he was worried she might change her mind. ‘To return your favour when I was ill,’ he said, ‘would you like me to read to you?’

‘No, talk to me instead. Tell me . . . tell me how I’m going to cope with never seeing you again.’

‘You are going to be fine without me, Esme,’ he said solemnly. ‘You are going to return home to England and happily fall in love many times and then you will meet the man who will be perfectly right for you. And you will have children; a sweet little blonde girl and a mischievous dark-haired boy. They will both have blue eyes just like you.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Because I will pray for this to happen for you. This is the future I want for you, Esme, to be the happy wife and mother in England. One day you will return to the lake and you will bring your husband and children to see where you once stayed and you will tell them you had a good friend here who loved you greatly. And who knows, we might meet again some time.’

The cup he’d given her rattled in the saucer and she began to tremble so much she had to put it down on the bedside table. ‘I don’t think I want to hear any more of that future,’ she said, blinking back tears. ‘I know we’ve only known each other for a few months, but I’ll never feel for anyone else what I feel for you.’

‘Don’t cry,’ he said, reaching out for her hand. ‘I need to leave here knowing that I have not made you sad. You must promise me that.’

‘I can’t! Oh, why do you want to be a priest?’ she cried, her voice rising tremulously. ‘You could be anything you wanted!’

‘I know that, but this is what I have chosen, and what has chosen me. Listen,
mia cara
, love does not come without sacrifice. When we choose to love someone, it will always cost us something. Remember that. Remember also that true love lasts for ever; my love for you will always be in your heart.’

‘But never to see you again,’ she mourned, ‘that’s too big a sacrifice. Won’t God let you change your mind?’ she persisted.

‘Of course he would.’

‘But it’s what you want to do, more than anything else in the world, isn’t it?’

‘Since I made the choice I have never once doubted it, not . . .’ He hesitated, his gaze drifting from her face. ‘Not until I met you.’ He smiled, his blue eyes soft and filled with tenderness. ‘But I am glad I have known such temptation; it will make me a better priest.’

She stared back at him disbelievingly. ‘But there must have been girls you liked before me who . . . who
tempted
you?’

He shook his head. ‘There has been no one like you, Esme. You are unique. Never forget that.’

His words were too much and she started to cry; she felt as if the world was ending for her. He took her in his arms and held her. She cried and cried, shuddering inconsolably against his shoulder. He shushed her and stroked her back, briskly at first, his hands comfortingly warm and sure, then slower until it was a soothing languorous caress.

‘Please don’t cry,’ he murmured, his lips moving against her neck. ‘To remember you this way will be more than I can bear. You have no idea how painful it is for me to know that I am hurting you so much.’

Breathing in deeply, she struggled to pull herself together and little by little, through her subsiding tears, she eventually fell quiet.

‘That’s better,’ he said softly, his hands still moving in slow circles on her back and shoulders.

When she was sure she wasn’t going to cry again, she sat up straighter and tilted her head away from him. She was about to apologise for making a scene, and for looking a fright, when he put one of her hands to his lips and kissed the fingertips. ‘You have such a generous soul,
cara
, it is that which makes you compassionate towards others. Never lose that. If only because I fear you will need it in order to forgive me for hurting you so badly.
Ti amo tanto
.’

‘I love you too,’ she said.

He stroked her face and she closed her eyes. His touch was light and delicate and made her senses spiral. Trembling with joy and something else she couldn’t name, she felt intoxicated with love for him. When she opened her eyes and gazed into his sensitive face, she saw a look of total adoration in it. But suddenly his expression altered and she saw a new emotion blaze in his face; it was an emotion that went deeper than just adoration. It was then that she felt the moment spark between them and his lips met hers and he kissed her deeply.

She kissed him back with sad and fierce longing, feeling the tension in him as his hands began moving over her, caressing and exploring. Her mind and body suffused with an unfamiliar warmth, she pulled him closer to her and leant back with him against the pillows. His breathing quickened and she felt the thud of his heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt. With trembling hands, he unbuttoned the front of her nightdress. Now at his touch, she quivered, overwhelmed by the mounting sensations he was making her feel. She watched him pull off his shirt, flinging it to the floor, and when she traced her hands over his smooth chest, he looked at her almost shyly. ‘
Ti amo
,’ he repeated and lay down beside her.

‘Seb’s invited me to his wedding,’ Floriana blurted out.

It had been the last thing she had intended to say and just as she was imagining a large cartoon hand slapping her mouth shut, her sister threw her one of her classic looks, the one that said,
Oh, for goodness sake, why does everything have to be about you?

For once Ann had a point, this wasn’t the time or place to talk about Seb, this was all about their parents and welcoming them home after their three-month trip away and giving Dad the chance to show off the holiday DVD he had compiled of their holiday. While Mum had been dealing with the shock of readjusting to normal life after having everything done for them onboard ship and was reacquainting herself with the kitchen and washing machine, Dad had been in the spare room editing the epic number of hours of video footage he’d taken during the cruise.