A Family For Keeps

CHAPTER SEVEN

The next day Julia left the palazzo for good, and moved into the little apartment over the restaurant. It consisted of one main room, and bedroom, with a tiny bathroom and even tinier kitchen.

New Year was almost on them, and she plunged into work, available at all hours, taking on any jobs, to keep her mind occupied.

'Don't overdo it,' Vincenzo advised one evening as she was just coming on for the late shift. 'You were here early, you helped with cleaning up all afternoon, and now you're starting work again.'

'I prefer to keep busy. The Montressis will be back soon. When New Year's over I'll try Murano again.'

'On your own?'

'Yes, but don't worry about me. If they're not there I won't fling myself melodramatically into the lagoon. I'll just keep trying until they are. I'll go as soon as Piero's funeral is over.'

It was Vincenzo who had paid for the funeral, arranging for Piero to lie beside Elena on the island of San Michele.

When the day came they both boarded the black motor boat that would take them across the lagoon. They made the journey standing up behind the black-draped coffin. Inside, Piero lay wearing the gloves, scarf and boots she had given him.

Soon the island came in sight, the outer rim of cypresses encased by a terracotta wall, and a few minutes later they reached the landing stage. Pallbearers appeared and carried the coffin onto dry land.

At the inner gate they were met by an official who checked the details with Vincenzo.

They were the only mourners. During the service she kept her eyes fixed on the coffin, topped by flowers from herself and Vincenzo. She had known Piero only a few weeks, yet she felt she had lost a very dear friend.

It was time to take the coffin to its final resting place. As they moved out of the chapel she could see that some of the cemetery was conventional, with burials in the ground, and headstones.

But this place had been created for economy of space, and most coffins were placed in narrow vaults, piled on top of one another, as many as ten high. At the outer end was a marble plaque giving the details of who lay there, with a picture. As there was also a holder for flowers a whole wall of these plaques was an impressive sight. Where two flowered walls faced each other the effect was of an enchanted bower.

Elena was on the fourth tier, her picture easily visible. She bore a marked resemblance to her father, having his sharp features and brilliant smile.

Slowly Piero's coffin was slid into the space beside her, and the end fitted into place.

'Goodbye,' she whispered. 'And thank you for everything.'

'I'd like to put some fresh flowers in my sister's urn,' Vincenzo said.

They walked along the long walls of flowers until Vincenzo stopped, pointing up at something above his head.

'That's Bianca,' he said. 'And the one beside her is her husband.'

Julia tilted her head back, but was unable to see the pictures clearly.

'How do you get up so high to change the flowers?' she wanted to know.

'There are some steps somewhere.'

He went searching around the corner and reappeared wheeling a set of steps high enough to reach the upper levels. Julia studied his sister's face and even from this distance she could see the family resemblance between them. There was a gentleness about Bianca that was instantly appealing.

'I didn't like him,' Vincenzo said, 'but she loved him. They only had four years together before they died.'

'Why didn't you like him?'

'He was too smooth a character. You can see it there in his face.'

She glanced up again, trying to get a better view of the man, whose face was partly obscured by flowers.

Suddenly she felt as though the very air about her had shuddered. She clutched the steps to avoid falling.

'What is it?' Vincenzo asked, concerned.

'I want to climb up.'

'Why? What's the matter?'

'I need to see more closely.'

Feeling as though she were moving through a nightmare, she began to climb the steps, her gaze fixed on the man's face as it grew closer. She took a deep breath, expecting it to change before her eyes. This must all be a terrifying mistake.

But there was no mistake. The face engraved in the marble was that of her husband.

She could hear Vincenzo's voice calling her from a great distance. Gradually the world stopped spinning and she realised that she was sitting on the steps, shivering violently.

'For God's sake, what's the matter?' he demanded, aghast. 'You nearly fainted up there.'

'It's him,' she said through chattering teeth.

'What do you mean?'

'My husband, Bruce. That's him up there.'

'Julia, you're overwrought.'

'I tell you, that's him.'

She forced herself to her feet. 'Let me see him again.'

'All right, and you'll find that it's just a chance resemblance.'

She climbed back to the top step and fixed her eyes on the man, almost hoping to find that it had been a mistake. But there was no doubt. It was the face she hated. Silently she went down and sat on the steps again, feeling as though she were turning to ice.

'That is Bruce,' she said slowly. 'How does he come to be here?'

'Julia, I think you're wrong. You haven't seen him for years and your memories are distorted by hatred.'

'I know what he looked like,' she said angrily. 'Oh, why was I stupid enough to lose his pictures overboard? If I still had them you could see for yourself. That's him.'

Vincenzo drew a sharp breath. If she was right the implications were so monstrous that for the moment he couldn't accept them.

'I can't get my head around this,' he said slowly. 'I know him as James Cardew. He came here five years ago.'

'Was he alone?'

'Julia-'

She clutched his hand painfully. 'Was anyone with him? Tell me.'

'He had a little girl with him,' he said slowly.

'How old?'

'About three.'

'Blue eyes? Fair hair, slightly ginger?'

'Yes.'

'That's my daughter. Where is she?'

'Mio Dio!' he whispered, appalled. 'How can this have happened?'

'Where is she?'

'Since they died she lives with me.'

'I must see her.'

'Wait!' She'd half risen and he seized her arms. 'It isn't as simple as that.'

'She is my daughter. I am her mother. What could be simpler?'

'But you can't just go up to her and tell her who you are. She thinks you're dead.'

She shook her head wildly. 'No, I don't believe you.'

'James told us that he was a widower. The child believed it. She's had years to get used to the idea. For her it's reality. Julia, please try to understand. You can't simply burst on her out of the blue.'

She leaned hopelessly against the side of the steps.

'I didn't believe I could hate him any more than I did,' she said. 'But he had one last trick up his sleeve.'

Other mourners were coming towards them along the tunnel of flowers. He helped her to her feet.

'Let's find somewhere else.'

They found a seat in the cloisters at the far end and sat quietly for a few minutes, both stunned by what had happened.

At last a harsh sound, part laugh, part sob, burst from her.

'I've dreamed of this for so long. It was going to be the happiest moment of my life. Now I feel as if I've been punched in the stomach. You've got to admit that's funny. Oh, heavens, isn't it hilarious?'

She began to laugh softly, trying to smother the sound with her hands.

'Don't,' Vincenzo begged, slipping his arm around her.

'What shall I do? Cry?'

When he didn't answer she looked up and saw that he was looking back the way they had come, to where a middle-aged woman and a little girl had appeared before the plaques of Bianca and her husband. The woman was controlling a pushchair in which a child slept.

'Who are they?' she asked in a shaking voice.

'The woman is Gemma. I employ her as a nanny.'

'And the little girl?'

The world seemed to stop. He was looking at her with an expression of terrible sadness.

'Oh, my God,' she whispered. 'That's-?'

'Yes.' He was gripping her tightly now.

'Let go of me.'

'No. Julia, stop and think. She doesn't know you. She's grieving for the death of her parents.'

'They weren't her parents. Your sister wasn't her mother.'

'But she loved her as though she was. I'm sorry, I know this is painful for you, but for Rosa's sake you must listen.'

'Rosa? Her name is Natalie.'

'Not any longer. He told us her name was Rosa. She's forgotten Natalie.'

'Forgotten me, you mean?'

'I think he set himself to drive you out of her memory, yes.'

'And he succeeded.'

'It's been five years,' he said urgently. 'The child believes what she's been taught to believe. Think what the truth would do to her now. Don't force any more burdens onto her.'

'You're saying I'm a burden to her?' she demanded, aghast.

'You would be at this moment. I beg you to leave it until we've both had time to think.'

'Time for you to spirit her away where I can't find her,' she flashed.

He didn't reply in words, but the white-faced look he gave her was so full of shock that she backed off.

'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that.'

'No, you shouldn't,' he said harshly. 'Is that the sort of man you think I am?'

'How do I know? Once I thought Bruce was wonderful. When people are fighting over a child they do things that you wouldn't have dreamed-'

'Are we fighting? Have we ever fought? I think I've deserved better from you than that kind of accusation. But since you lump me in with all the others, here'

He pulled a small notebook from his pocket, scribbled something and tore off the page with a gesture that was almost violent.

'That's where I live now,' he snapped. 'Come any time and you'll find her there. But think very carefully about what you're going to say to her.'

Without giving her a chance to answer he stormed off in the direction of the woman and child. Julia sat, frozen with dismay, shocked at herself for having said such a thing to him, appalled at the discovery that had made them almost enemies.

She watched the little scene in the distance. The woman had drawn the steps up to the wall of plaques,climbing them, then taking out the flowers. She descended and indicated for the child to climb up, with the fresh flowers she was holding. She mounted and began to place flowers in the urns, first her father's, then Bianca's.

She was coming down now, sitting on the steps in exactly the same spot where Julia had sat only a few moments ago. She wasn't weeping, merely crouching there with the stillness of despair. The woman tried to comfort her, but to Julia it was hard to tell if the child even noticed.

She felt as though a band were tightening about her heart. How well she knew that feeling of desolation, so deep that the slightest movement didn't seem worth the effort.

Then it swept over her in a tide of anguish. This child was grieving for the loss of her parents, of her mother.

Her mother! Not Julia. Not the woman who'd yearned over her through heartbroken days and agonised nights. Someone else!

Then the little girl looked up, saw Vincenzo and, with a glad cry, began to run towards him. He opened his arms and she hurled herself into them, babbling in Italian. Julia could just hear the words.

'I looked for you-'

'I'm here now,' he soothed her. 'But what are you doing here?'

'You said you were coming to the funeral of your friend, so I asked Gemma to bring me to see Mamma and Papa. I knew you'd come to see them too.'

Julia began to move forward very slowly, staying close to the wall, making no disturbance, but getting close enough to see better. Then the little girl raised her head from Vincenzo's shoulder, and Julia gasped at the sight of her. If she'd had any doubts before, they were settled now, for it was her own mother's face that she saw. This was the child she had last seen years ago, at the start of the nightmare.

Vincenzo looked back and for a terrible moment Julia thought he would ignore her. Instead he said gently, 'Rosa, I have a friend for you to meet.'

The child looked straight at her. Julia held her breath, waiting for the burst of joyful recognition.

But it did not come.

Rosa regarded her mother politely but without recognition.

'Buongiorno,' she said.

'Buongiorno,' Julia replied mechanically. 'I am-'

She fell silent. No words would come. She could hear her own heart pounding.

'This is Signora Julia Baxter,' Vincenzo said.

'Buongiorno, signora. Sono Rosa.'

She offered her hand. Hardly knowing what she did, Julia took it. For a moment it lay in hers. Her daughter had shaken her hand like a stranger.

Vincenzo was introducing the nanny, who had a kind face. Julia greeted her mechanically. She was functioning on automatic while her brain struggled to cope.

'Julia came with me to Piero's funeral,' Vincenzo explained. 'He was a friend we were very fond of.'

'I promised Carlo he could come to see Mamma and Papa this time,' Rosa said. 'He was too young before.'

'Carlo?' Julia asked blankly.

She knew that she sounded vague, but that was because her mind was rejecting the monstrous idea that was growing. Surely it was impossible?

But nothing was impossible.

'He's my little brother,' Rosa said, indicating the sleeping child in the pushchair. 'He's only two.'

She reached out eagerly to Vincenzo. 'Come with me.'

He took her hand and they went up the steps together. Julia heard her say, 'I didn't do the flowers properly.'

And Vincenzo's tender reply, 'Let's do them together.'

He helped her to arrange the leaves. When they had finished the child stood a moment looking at the pictures. Slowly she passed her fingertips over them as though seeking comfort from the cold marble, then leaned forward and kissed them, first her father, then her stepmother. Julia bent her head, unable to watch. But in the next moment she looked up again, unable not to watch.

She waited for her daughter to cry, but, as before, Rosa's face was blank. Whatever she was feeling was being kept bolted down and hidden from the world.

'Just like me,' Julia thought, appalled. 'I know exactly what's happening to her inside. But no child should feel like that, or have such a look of frozen misery. Dear God, what's happened to her?'

After a moment the little girl came down and went to the pushchair, gently shaking the toddler. He awoke with a gurgle, instantly smiling.

Like Bruce, Julia thought. He's got his face and his charm.

The nanny started to help but Rosa shook her head, polite but determined as she undid the straps and helped him out. Hand in hand they climbed the steps together.

'Look,' Julia heard her say. 'That's Papa and that's Mamma.'

He beamed and stretched out his hands to the faces of his parents, but when they encountered only cold marble he flinched back. Puzzled, he looked at his sister, and reached out again.

'Mamma,' he said. 'Mamma, Mamma!'

He began to sob, pounding the marble with his fists and screaming out his disillusion.

At once Rosa gathered the child into her arms, murmuring soothing words.

'It's all right, little one. It's all right. We'll go home now.'

She helped him down to the ground, put him back into the pushchair and kissed him gently, stroking him until he stopped crying.

'It would have been better to wait until he was a little older,' Vincenzo told her.

Rosa nodded sadly. 'I'm sorry, Uncle Vincenzo. I just didn't want him to forget them. But I should have remembered he's only a baby.'

She turned politely to Julia.

'Buongiorno, signora,' she said, as politely as a little old lady. 'I'm afraid I must be going now. I hope that we will meet again.'

'So do I,' she said with an effort.

She watched as the little party walked away, the baby's hand extended to clutch Rosa's, as though there he could find safety.

'I didn't know they were coming here,' Vincenzo said. 'Rosa just spoke of the next few days.'

'That little boy-is he-?'

'Yes, he's Bianca's son, and James'. I wish it hadn't been sprung on you like that.'

'I suppose I should have thought of it.'

Suddenly the wind that blew down the corridor of flowers was bleak and desolate. She shivered.

'It's cold. I'm going home.'

The group had reached the end of the path and were about to turn out of sight. They stopped and looked back at Vincenzo.

'We need to talk,' he said, 'but-'

'But you have to go.' She smiled faintly. 'Your family needs you.'

'You'll come with us to the landing stage?'

'I think I'll wait and take the next boat. Go quickly before they get worried.'

'Yes.' He was uneasy, but there was no choice.

Julia didn't watch him catch up with the others. She turned away and walked in the opposite direction, wondering how this could have happened. After the years of yearning and hoping she had finally met her daughter again, and the moment that should have been so happy had brought her greater pain than anything in her life.

Vincenzo didn't appear at the restaurant that evening. Julia tried not to read anything into it, but she regretted hurling an accusation at him. He was her only friend and it was foolish to alienate him.

But she knew that this practical reason wasn't the only one. Bit by bit the sense of closeness they shared had become essential to her.

She thought of him as the man she might have loved if love were not impossible for her now. Deeper than that she didn't dare to look into her own heart.

When the restaurant closed she went wearily up the stairs and shut herself in. Her brain felt as though it were going around and around on a treadmill. She must go to bed and try to sleep, but she knew she would only lie awake.

The building was old-fashioned, with shutters on the windows. As she went to close them for the night her gaze was caught by something in the calle below.

Pushing open the window, she leaned out and saw a man standing there.

'Come in,' she called.

She was at the door, waiting for him as he turned the corner of the stairs, ready to open her arms to him in her relief.

'I didn't think you'd come,' she said fervently.

He nodded almost curtly, but made no move toward her. 'I had to.'

'I thought you were angry with me after what I said.'

She stepped back to let him into the room, realising that there would be no embrace.

'No, I'm not angry any more,' he said. 'You were in a state of shock. Let's forget that it happened.'

This wasn't the joyful reunion she'd anticipated when she'd seen him in the street. He was here, but emotionally he was holding back from her in a way he'd never done before. When she laid a hand on his arm he smiled cautiously, but didn't take her into his arms.

'Perhaps you'd make me a coffee,' he said politely.

'Of course,' she replied, matching his tone.

As she was working in the kitchen he came and stood leaning against the doorway.

'I may even have deserved your suspicion,' he said. 'I wouldn't spirit her away, but for a moment I did wish I could turn the clock back, to before you appeared, and stop it happening. Rosa has been part of my family for five years. I love her. Do you think I wanted to admit that she's yours?'

'Does that mean that you're going to say that she isn't?' she asked sharply.

'I can't do that. I wish I could, but I did some checking on the internet tonight. I found several reports about the robbery, confirming everything you told me. One of them had a tiny picture of your husband, just good enough to show that he really was the same man as James Cardew.

'And the first time I ever saw you, that night Piero brought you home, there was something familiar about you. I didn't understand it, but actually I was looking at you and seeing Rosa.'

'But we're not alike.'

'Except for one thing-her forehead. She has exactly the same low forehead that you have. Usually her fringe hides it, but tonight I saw her brush the fringe back, and then everything became clear.'

They returned to the main room and he chose a single chair rather than the sofa where she might have sat beside him.

'I need to know more,' she said quietly. 'Everything you can tell me about him.'

'Does it really matter now?'

'I have six years of blanks to fill in. I won't like what you tell me, but I have to know.'

'Yes, I suppose you do,' he said at last. 'All right. I'll tell you everything I can.'