Unmasking Elena Montella (33 page)

‘
Oh, yes!’ Anastasia grinned. She turned to see what Prof thought but he’d left the shop. She frowned just as a sales assistant walked over to give her his music box spiel.

‘
I’ll take it,’ she said, producing a credit card before the assistant had time to open his mouth.

‘
I lost you,’ she said a moment later outside the shop, her new acquisition well-wrapped up in a carrier bag.

‘
Sorry,’ he said.

They walked out and found themselves in San Marco. The tables outside
Quadri’s
and
Florian’s
packed with tourists, the Easter sunshine prising jackets and jumpers from them. The Campanile soared high into the sky, its vivid green spire tipped with a golden angel and, standing opposite, the wedding-cake dreaminess of the Doges’ Palace. It was only a short walk from here to the Danieli, and Prof was itching to get back to his room but he wasn’t quite sure how to go about it.

‘
I really didn’t expect to meet someone like you out here,’ Prof admitted at last in a voice barely above a whisper.

‘
I didn’t expect to be met,’ Anastasia replied.

Prof looked down at his shiny shoes and wondered how, exactly, they were to say goodbye. They’d passed the boundary of handshakes and yet weren’t familiar enough for an embrace. But Anastasia solved the problem by leaning forward and kissing him daintily on the cheek.

‘
Goodbye, darling,’ she said. ‘Don’t you go forgetting me, will you?’

Before Prof had a chance to tell her that he could sooner forget himself, she’d turned and walked away into a crowd of tourists and was gone.

Prof gazed up into a sky dotted with tiny white clouds, the haunting notes of
Für Elise
playing in his mind. It had been part of a programme he’d taken Elena to hear on their first date together, and the unexpected reminder in the shop had shaken him. It was as if somebody was reminding him that he wasn’t meant to be there with Anastasia.

‘
Remember this?’ Emiliana asked, walking through to the living room with an old, stuffed bear in her arms.

‘
Fernando? Where on earth has he been?’

Emiliana shook her head. ‘Rosanna gave him to me after my divorce.’

Elena stretched her hands out to greet the ancient bear. ‘Dear Fernando! I’d forgotten all about him!’

Fernando, the custard-coloured bear, who’d been around for as long as Elena could remember, was “a sharing bear”. He didn’t belong to anyone in particular - rather he was given to the member of the Montella family who was in need of him most at the time. He’d been given to Elena and Rosanna when they’d split up from boyfriends or been dumped over the years; when they’d been unsuccessful in interviews; when Rosanna had failed her driving test for the first, second and third time; and every other family incident which required a custard-coloured cuddle.

‘
You know why I’m giving him to you now?’

Elena frowned. ‘Because I’ve just split up with two fiancés?’

‘
No. Because I think you should give him to Rosanna.’

‘
Rosanna!’

‘
She sounded very upset when she rang.’

‘
She’s
upset?
Mon dio!
That really is the limit! I’m made out to be the villain here. I don’t believe it!’

Her mama shook her head silently. ‘Take Fernando. You know it’s the right thing to do.’

‘
I’m not using Fernando as a peace offering. It would be more appropriate for me to give her a cobra.’

Emiliana glowered at her daughter. ‘Can you hear what you’re saying?’

‘
At least I’m being honest! I really think it’s me who needs Fernando - not Rosanna!’

Emiliana threw her hands in the air in desperation - a gesture which immediately reminded Elena of her sister. Her mama was right - there would never be any running away from her family; there was nowhere to hide from your relatives because they were a part of you. Still, that didn’t mean you had to forgive them in a hurry.

‘
I’m not ready to speak to her yet,’ Elena said after a few moments of silence.

‘
But you will talk to her?’

Elena sighed. ‘Not yet.’

‘
You need to sort this out. You can’t let it fester away-’

‘
I know, Mama! Just let me get my head round things, please!’

The two women looked at each other across the small living room. ‘I hate to see my two daughters fighting. You’ve no idea what that does to a mother!’

‘
Don’t start!’

‘
Well, you’d better put a stop to all this nonsense soon.’

Elena got up. ‘Mama! This isn’t my fault!’

Her mama glared at her.

‘
Well,’ Elena began, ‘maybe it is – a bit. But don’t heap
all
the blame on me.’

‘
I’m not apportioning blame. That’s not my job.’

Elena sighed. It seemed that that was exactly what her mother was doing.

‘
So, how did your trip go?’ Rosanna asked Sandro the next morning. Her question was more out of politeness than real interest, and she was still rather angry at him for his rude eviction of Mark and Reuben.

‘
It went very well,’ he said. ‘In fact, so well that I may have to leave Venice.’

‘
Leave Venice?’ Rosanna asked, shocked. Sandro was as much a part of Venice as the water and he’d lived there most of his life. How on earth could he think about leaving? And there was something else which shocked Rosanna: how such a move would affect her. If Sandro left that would mean she’d have to leave too.

‘
It’s really very inconvenient,’ Sandro explained, his face scarred with a scowl. ‘I mean, my whole life is here but, I’m told, I have to be in New York if I really want to make things happen. That’s the place to be for me now.’

‘
Oh,’ Rosanna said, stunned. Already, she was planning ahead. There’d be no more freeloading off Sandro Constantini. No more lucrative modelling assignments from the only real artist she sat for. That was bad news.

‘
But how can you think of leaving Venice?’ she asked in a plea for him to think about all he’d be giving up. ‘How can you contemplate living in a place without water? And living in a place with high-rise buildings! How will you
breathe
in such a place?’

‘
Venice isn’t the only place in the world with water, Rosanna! New York’s surrounded by water and, as to open spaces, there’s always Central Park,’ Sandro said in defence of his new home.

‘
But how will you cope without this place?’ Rosanna said, sounding more and more like an anxious mother who doesn’t want her only child to leave home.

‘
I’ll have to find another place,’ he shrugged, taking in the studio with a quick glance. ‘The change will be good for me and, more importantly, good for my art. I feel ready for a new beginning. An artist shouldn’t ever become settled or too complacent or they stagnate.’

So, Rosanna thought, that’s what it all came down to – Sandro Constantini’s art. She was fighting a losing battle there, wasn’t she? She was up against an artist’s ego and bank balance.

‘
I don’t think your
Bimba
will like it,’ she said at last, pulling out her trump card.

Sandro’s face froze and he gave a weary sigh. ‘I’ve been thinking about her,’ he said. ‘New York is no place for a cat.’

‘
No!’ Rosanna agreed, thinking that the animal she had hitherto hated might now turn out to be her saviour.

‘
I’ll have to give her away, I suppose,’ he said, his mouth puckering up into a blossom-like kiss – the sort he usually reserved only for his precious
Bimba
.

‘
Give her away!’ Rosanna was aghast at such a declaration. The cat was his child. Was he really willing to make this sacrifice for his career? She wondered.

‘
I have to make this sacrifice for my career,’ he said.

‘
Gosh!’ Rosanna said. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘
I could think of nothing else on the plane back. My mind was a maelstrom!’ he said, ever the drama queen. ‘I love this place, of course.’

‘
You’ll never find another like it,’ Rosanna interrupted.

‘
I know. You don’t need to tell me that.’

I do, she thought. Before you sell it. ‘So, you’re really prepared to give it up?’

Sandro threw his head back and gazed up at the criss-cross of dark beams. It was a space like no other. Would he be able to find such a space in New York? Was there such a space anywhere in the world to rival this one?

‘
I don’t think I can really sell it,’ he said at last.

Rosanna breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness for that, she thought.

‘
I will, perhaps, rent it out.’

Even worse. There was no way that Rosanna could afford to rent something like Sandro’s.

‘
Do you have anyone in mind?’ she asked, realising that she’d soon be packing her bags and heading back to the mainland.

‘
It would be a good idea if I could find another artist,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘
An artist?’

He nodded. ‘It makes sense. It’s such an excellent space.’

‘
Yes!’ Rosanna said, getting excited. ‘And I might just know somebody who’d be interested.’

‘
Really?’

Rosanna nodded. She wasn’t sure what kind of money Reuben made or even if he’d be interested in moving to Venice but it was worth a try.

‘
Because, if you know of someone, perhaps my dear
Bimba
wouldn’t have to move after all!’ he said, getting excited.

Rosanna frowned. That wasn’t quite what she had in mind.

‘
There would be a discount, of course, if you could find somebody to look after the cat!’

Rosanna smiled. Things might just work out in her favour after all.

Elena’s first morning in Positano was spent taking a coastal path around the cliffs. The sea was a thousand shades of blue and the spring sunshine had forced her to roll up the sleeves of her jumper.

She walked with quick, definite strides, as if she knew where she was going. She didn’t, of course. She was just following the set route in the hope of finding a little bit of peace and space.

She stopped and sat down on a low, sun-warmed stone wall and let her gaze fall down the sheer slope to the sea. Her mama had woken her early with a cup of coffee and the subtle words, ‘Wake up! You’ve got a lot of thinking to do!’

‘
Thanks, Mama,’ she’s muttered back, pulling the sheets around her face in an attempt to escape back into sleep. It didn’t work, of course. If Elena had needed any reminding as to where Rosanna got her plate-clattering-in-the-sink skills from, she’d had it that morning. Her mama had moved through the house with the force of a tornado, only she managed to make more noise.

‘
Ah! You’re up at last,’ she’d said when Elena had surfaced, as if that hadn’t been her intention all along. ‘I’ve got to go out,’ she’d added.

Elena nodded, thinking that she might be able to sneak back into bed.

‘
I’ll drop you in town,’ her mama said. ‘Come on! I’m leaving in ten minutes.’

Elena didn’t bother arguing. Her mama had told her to go for a walk to, ‘get your head cleared out’, and so here she was. But just how did you clear your head out? She’d crammed so much into hers recently that she didn’t know where to begin.

For a moment, she thought about the golden mask. She’d brought it with her and it was safely stashed in the boot of her hire car in case her mama had a surreptitious rifle through her luggage.

Hadn’t Stefano told her that the mask would help her with her decisions? It couldn’t help her here in Positano, could it? Maybe the mask only worked in Venice.