The Italian Girl (43 page)

They ordered fish, and as they ate they talked of the old times when they’d grown up together in Naples.

‘Now, Luca Menici, I want you to answer me one question.’ Carlotta had closed her knife and fork on her empty plate. ‘Do you love me?’

‘That’s a stupid question, Carlotta.’

‘It is, but I want you to do something for me.’

‘Anything, within my capability,’ he replied guardedly.

‘Well, I have asked God many times recently why He has put me on this earth only to remove me so quickly. I feel my life has been pointless, apart from one thing. I had Ella. And what will become of her when I die has been causing me sleepless nights.’

‘Surely Papa will take care of her?’

‘No, Luca.’ Carlotta shook her head firmly. ‘That’s the point. Ella will take care of Papa. The moment I die, he’ll expect her to step into my shoes. She’ll have to run the café, cook his meals and do his washing like the good little granddaughter she is. I want more for her, Luca, so much more than I’ve had.’

‘I understand that, of course, but what other choices does she have?’

‘Wait, I haven’t finished yet. There is something else. She has a beautiful voice and it needs to be trained.’

‘Her aunt’s voice,’ Luca murmured.

‘I think perhaps it’s more like her father’s,’ Carlotta replied without emotion. ‘Luca, I have a plan. It may not be one you approve of, but I’ve made up my mind. If I died and Ella was no longer here in Naples and Papa was all alone, what do you think he would do?’

‘I have no idea, Carlotta. Get very drunk every night, I expect,’ he sighed.

‘Well, I know exactly what he would do: he’d marry Signora Barezi. Then she would take over the running of the café and look after Papa the way he’s been used to. Because Papa has me and Ella, he has had no need to marry again. I’ve performed most of the functions Mamma provided. And his other needs . . . well, he’s had Signora Barezi for those. But he will only marry her if he’s forced to by circumstances. I believe it would be best for him, and for Ella, of course. It would mean she was free.’

‘But where could she go? She’s too young to be alone somewhere,’ questioned Luca.

‘Of course. She needs a family, who will care for her, nurture and protect her and her beautiful voice.’

Luca shook his head. ‘But we have no other family, other than Rosanna and . . .’ He stared at his sister aghast, seeing her determined face in the flickering candlelight. ‘No, Carlotta. Surely you would not send her to Rosanna?’

‘I admit it has major drawbacks,’ she replied, ‘but it’s the best I can do for her. I must give her a chance, Luca. I want her to have a future. Rosanna has money. She’s cultured, cosmopolitan. She can teach Ella all the things she will need to know. And once she hears that voice, she’ll know where Ella must go to train it.’

Luca looked at his sister in horror. ‘But, Carlotta, what about Rosanna? Sending her husband’s illegitimate child to live under the same roof? You couldn’t do that to her, surely?’

‘Luca’ – Carlotta smiled suddenly – ‘that is the only beauty of knowing you will die. It gives you power. It’s a long time since I had any and I will use it because I must. I know Rosanna will be happy to care for Ella, to look after her dead sister’s child. If nothing else, she’ll feel it’s her duty. Besides, it’s only for a couple of years. Ella is almost an adult. All I ask is that Rosanna steers her along the right path. And besides, there’s no reason why Rosanna should ever know.’

‘And what if Roberto and Rosanna reunite? What then, Carlotta?’

‘Is it likely? They have been separated for a long time now. You tell me Roberto does not even come to see his own son. It sounds unlikely there will be a reconciliation. And even if there is, I can see no reason for either of them to ever learn the truth.’

‘So you will take the secret with you?’

She paused, then nodded. ‘Yes. Luca, this is my plan: I want you to take Ella to England as soon as possible. We will tell her she is going on a holiday and I want you to make sure that after I die, she never returns permanently to Naples.’

Luca stared at her in shock. ‘You would send your daughter away, knowing you will never see her again, or her you? Is that fair on Ella?’

Carlotta shook her head in frustration. ‘No, of course it isn’t “fair”, but nothing about this situation
is.
It’s simply the best I can do. Don’t you see? If I die and Ella is here, Papa will cling to her. Ella will never manage to get away, just as I didn’t.’

‘But she will have to return for your . . .’ Luca couldn’t say the words.

‘No, I don’t want her to attend my funeral,’ Carlotta said bluntly. ‘I have made a will, asking for only you and Papa to be present. Luca, she must
not
come back. Please, I beg you to make sure she doesn’t. I don’t care how you do it – lie to her if you have to.’

He studied his sister, admiring her courage and determination to make such a decision, but questioning its morality. ‘What about Rosanna? She’ll have to be told of your intentions.’

‘Yes.’

‘She wants to come and see you.’

‘No.’ Carlotta suddenly looked very tired. ‘It’s best if I don’t see her. I wouldn’t trust myself. Please, Luca. I know what is right for my child. You will help me, won’t you? Allow me that much peace of mind in this dreadful situation.’

If it was her last wish, then he must help to grant it. Finally, he nodded. ‘I will do everything I can.’

‘Thank you.’ Carlotta’s features relaxed in relief. ‘And once you’ve taken Ella to Rosanna in England, would you come back and be with me? I have been told of a convent hospital near Pompeii that takes the dying in their final weeks. I think I would like to go there.’

‘I must speak to the seminary, but you know I’ll be with you for as long as you wish.’

Carlotta stretched her hand across the table and held on to his, her eyes suddenly full of fear.

‘Until the end, Luca.’

Much later, as he tucked himself up in the narrow bed he’d slept in as a child, his head spinning with confusion, Luca pondered sadly how many wrong decisions were made out of love.

39

The British Airways jumbo jet taxied down the runway at JFK. Stephen squeezed Rosanna’s hand as he saw her frown.

‘Okay, darling?’

Rosanna nodded and smiled weakly at him. She was beginning to wish she hadn’t agreed to accompany him to New York. Nico had been crying as they’d left home at six thirty that morning and Abi had looked distinctly fraught. And now, as she left the plane and accompanied Stephen into the terminal building, she couldn’t help but remember how many times in the past she’d made this walk with her hand in Roberto’s.

They waited ages in the queue at immigration; Roberto and she had always been whisked straight through and out to a waiting limousine. Then they stood in another queue for a cab, eventually setting off for Manhattan. Their room at the Plaza was lovely, but it wasn’t a suite with the best view. Rosanna chided herself harshly for making the comparison. Those days –
and
Roberto – were gone.

Lying on the bed, she called home as Stephen took a shower. Abi told her that Nico had settled down the minute they’d left and was now tucked up in his cot fast asleep. Relieved, Rosanna stood up and began to hang her clothes in the wardrobe. It was only just past two New York time, and she felt fractious and exhausted.

Stephen emerged from the shower. ‘That feels better. I always feel so grubby when I get off a plane.’

Rosanna nodded and continued to unpack. Stephen surveyed her. ‘Is there anything you’d like to do this afternoon, Rosanna? Shopping? Sights?’

‘I don’t mind, whatever you wish.’

‘Are you sorry you’ve come with me?’ he asked her suddenly.

She saw the hurt expression on his face and felt immediately guilty for her churlish thoughts, which Stephen had read well enough to feel. ‘No, I’m just very tired from the flight.’

He saw her bottom lip pucker and tears well in her eyes. ‘What is it? Is it memories of him?’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I thought I was getting better, really. But coming here . . . I can’t explain it.’ Rosanna brushed her eyes with the back of her hand. Stephen reached for a tissue from the table and gently wiped the tears from her face.

‘Don’t you see that the very fact you were able to get on the plane and fly here means you
are
getting better? A few weeks ago, you’d never even have considered it. Really, darling, the amount you and Roberto travelled, if you don’t face the demons now, there’ll be no-go areas for you all across the globe.’

‘This one is the worst. We spent so much time here and now he’s made New York his home.’

‘But Roberto’s not here, Rosanna. He’s thousands of miles away in Paris.’

‘I’m so sorry, Stephen, I’m being selfish and awful. Maybe this was just too soon. Maybe I should go home. I—’

‘Please stop apologising, Rosanna. If you can’t talk to me about these things, then who
can
you talk to? I’d much prefer you to be open with me. It’s the only chance we stand of ever having a proper relationship.’

‘You’re so kind, really, I don’t deserve you. What would I have done without you?’ she snuffled into his shoulder.

‘Nothing much is the answer to that,’ he chuckled. ‘Now, what do you say to room service? We’ll have a club sandwich and a cup of tea, and then I’m going to tuck you up in bed for a rest while I go out and see some potential clients. I want you to think where you’d like to go for dinner tonight. does that sound okay?’

‘Perfect.’ She nodded gratefully.

Stephen left Rosanna in bed an hour later. She fell into a deep sleep and awoke feeling refreshed and much calmer. She showered, then chose a favourite cocktail dress to wear for the evening. She chastised herself for breaking down and being such a misery, when Stephen had been kindness itself. ‘If you don’t pull yourself together, you’ll lose him,’ she told her reflection firmly in the mirror as Stephen opened the door to their room.

‘Wow, you look gorgeous.’ He kissed her on the top of her head. ‘Are you sure you want to go out?’ he murmured, his hands travelling down the silky back of her dress.

‘Of course. I’ve put this on specially, and besides, I’m starving. We could always eat downstairs in the hotel restaurant, then it won’t be far to come back to our room, will it?’ she said playfully.

They went downstairs and had a drink in the Oak Bar, then decided to stay in and eat at the Edwardian Room. Rosanna ignored the surprised stares of several other diners as she took her place at their table.

‘See? Your public haven’t forgotten you, Rosanna,’ said Stephen, winking at her.

At midnight, they finished their liqueurs and took the elevator to their room. As soon as he’d closed the door behind them, Rosanna kissed him hard on the lips. They fell onto the bed, tearing at each other’s clothes. In that moment of passion, she felt desperate to finally exorcise the ghosts of the past.

The following day, feeling much calmer, Rosanna and Stephen went shopping. It was a long time since Rosanna had bought any new clothes, and the stores were full of lovely new-season items. Stephen followed her as she made her way through the ladies’ department of Saks, appearing from the changing rooms and twirling for his approval. She insisted on buying him Ralph Lauren shirts, ties and a Dior suit in navy blue. She also chose numerous presents to take back home to Nico.

They arrived back at the Plaza laden with carrier bags. Rosanna sank onto the bed and surveyed her purchases. ‘I’d forgotten what fun that could be.’ She smiled. ‘Abi will be proud of me.’

‘You used to do this regularly, did you?’

‘Oh no. I’m a once-a-year shopper. I used to go with Rob . . . I mean, go and have one day of madness in whatever city I was in. I know I spent a lot today, but those clothes will last me for the next three winters at least.’

‘Rosanna, you hardly need to excuse yourself. I’ve never known you spend any money on yourself before. And talking of clothes, what will you wear to dinner tonight at the St Regents’? I should think it’ll be quite formal.’

‘Then I shall wear this.’ Rosanna knelt down and opened one of the boxes. She held up an exquisite lilac silk shift dress with a matching jacket. ‘Okay?’

‘Perfect,’ Stephen nodded.

An hour later, they were in a cab heading up Fifth Avenue.

‘What does your client do?’

‘He originally made his money in the oil business in Texas. He’s one of the richest men in America. You’ll die when you see their penthouse – it’s so over the top. Lots of money, but little taste – except in art, that is,’ Stephen clarified. ‘The man has a collection worth tens of millions. I go there and spend the entire time staring at the walls.’

‘What a waste.’ Rosanna shook her head.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, surely beautiful paintings should be seen by lots of people, not hoarded like a commodity for only the wealthy to stare at?’

‘I agree, but please don’t say that to our host. People like him are my living, Rosanna,’ Stephen teased her gently.

‘Of course. I will behave perfectly,’ she said primly.

The cab stopped at the canopied entrance to a prestigious apartment block on Fifth Avenue. A liveried doorman hurried forward and the two of them climbed out.

‘Good evening. We’re guests of Mr and Mrs St Regent,’ said Stephen.

‘Then you’ll want the top floor, sir,’ the doorman said as he led them inside and pressed the button to summon the elevator. ‘Have a nice evening.’

When the doors reopened, they stepped out into a thickly carpeted corridor. Stephen rang the bell by the front door and a maid opened it immediately.

‘Good evening, sir, madam. May I take your coats?’

As she handed her jacket to the maid, Rosanna saw a comely woman with bouffant blonde hair and far too much make-up hurry into the hall. She wore an obviously expensive garish purple gown, but her smile was broad and welcoming.

‘Stephen, honey. I’m so glad you could come tonight. John was so excited by your little catalogue.’ She kissed him on both cheeks. ‘And this is . . .’ The woman stared at her. ‘Oh my God! You’re Rosanna Rossini! Well, I’ll be damned!’ Trish St Regent turned and called her husband. ‘Hey, Johnny, come and look who’s standing in our hall!’ She turned her attention back to Stephen. ‘Well, sugar, I really had no idea that this little lady was your girlfriend. You dark horse, you,’ she giggled girlishly.