The Italian’s Baby

CHAPTER EIGHT

LUCA awoke with only one thought. He had won. Again. As always.

She had tried to leave him and couldn’t. She belonged to him again, just as he’d planned, and now there was nothing standing in the way of their future together.

He turned over, reaching for her, wanting to share warmth with her, to see in her eyes his own knowledge that they belonged together.

She wasn’t there.

He listened for the sound of the shower, but there was only silence from the bathroom. Her clothes were gone. She was gone.

He dialled her room, but the ringing went unanswered.

No matter. She’d gone out for a walk, to contemplate what had happened between them. She was planning for their future. He told himself this while his mind frantically tried to shut out his fears.

He called her cellphone, but it was switched off. Next he tried Nigel Haleworth, the hotel manager, attempting to make his voice sound casual.

‘Nigel, sorry to call so early, but I need to contact Mrs Hanley. She doesn’t seem to be in her room. Do you know when she’ll be back?’

‘Funny you should ask that,’ came Nigel’s bluff voice. ‘I’ve just had her on the line, saying she won’t be back.’

‘Of course she will, she…’ Luca checked himself on the verge of an indiscretion. Since he couldn’t say… ‘She just gave me the night of my life’, he substituted, ‘She has her job here.’

‘Not any more, apparently. She’s given in her notice and simply walked out, which is a bit inconvenient, actually. She should have let me have some notice, instead of just clearing out her things and going.’

‘Where is she now?’ His throat was tight. His voice sounded strange to his own ears.

‘Didn’t say.’

‘But suppose mail should come for her?’

‘She said she’d be in touch about that. Look, why don’t you call Danvers Jordan? They were practically engaged, so he’s bound to know. In fact, he’s probably the one who wanted her to leave. Young love, eh?’

Luca ground his teeth, but this was no moment to tell the manager that his information was out of date. He tried Rebecca’s cellphone again, but it was no real surprise to find it still switched off. He knew now that she meant business.

A knock at his door revealed a hotel messenger with mail that had been delivered for him at Reception. He sorted through the envelopes quickly, automatically setting aside those that looked important, although none of them felt important at this moment.

Then he stopped as he came to one with Rebecca’s handwriting. He suddenly seemed paralysed. He did not want to read it, in case it said what he knew it would.

Then he tore it open and read,

Luca, my dear,

Last night was a goodbye. I couldn’t bear to leave you finally without one last reminder of the best there was between us. I know now I can’t love you again. Please don’t blame me for that, but treasure the sweetest memories, as I shall.

Goodbye,

Becky

His first reaction was denial. It was impossible that he had found her and lost her, and that she had simply vanished without giving him the chance to bar her way.

He kept pain at bay by fixing on details. It chilled him to think of the smirks in Reception as she handed this in at the desk when she’d left. They would guess.

But then he studied the envelope, and saw that it had a cancelled stamp and a postmark. It had come in the mail, which meant it must have been posted yesterday.

Suddenly all the strength seemed to drain out of him as he realised that she had made love to him last night in the knowledge of that letter already written, and beyond recall.

With strength gone, he had no defence against pain, and he found himself caught up in it like a man caught in heavy waves, being smashed against rocks. There was no way out, no protection, just suffering to be endured.

At last anger came to his rescue. It was the talisman by which he silenced all other feeling and he invoked it now against his enemy.

He was waiting at Danvers Jordan’s office before the working day began.

‘Just tell me if you know where she is,’ he said dangerously as soon as he’d closed the door.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Danvers said coolly.

‘I hope, for your sake, that’s true. I’ll ask you one more time. Where is Rebecca?’

‘Look, if I knew, I’d tell you. She’s nothing to me any more. You’re welcome to her. But she seems to have finished with the pair of us.’

He barely controlled a sneer as he surveyed Luca.

‘I did what you demanded, and left you a clear field. It doesn’t seem to have done you much good, but what did you expect? Rebecca is a lady. Of course she didn’t hang around once she’d enjoyed her “bit of rough”.’

At one time Luca would have knocked him down for that, without a second thought. But now he couldn’t move. When he finally managed to get some strength into his limbs it was only enough to walk away.

He didn’t look where he was going, for his attention was fixed on the grinning clown in his head. It hooted with derisive laughter, mocking him for his weakness in swallowing an insult, and saying that it was all her fault. The habit of not doing what she wouldn’t like had returned at a fatal moment. And he was the clown.

Travelling was the best way to escape, because a woman could convince herself she was headed somewhere, instead of going around in circles.

Just who that woman was Rebecca couldn’t have said. She no longer knew herself since the day she’d discovered the worst of Luca, and then spent the night in his arms, driving him on to excess after excess, knowing that she was leaving in the dawn. She had taunted him with cold, heartless lust, and then something had driven her to pay him back in his own coin.

The woman she had once been could never have done it. The woman she had become could have done nothing else. She had told him, in his own terms, that she would not let herself be his victim. After that there was nothing to say.

She supposed he hated her now, which was probably a good thing. At last they could really be free of each other.

She discovered that anger was the best defence against grief, and now that she was alone her anger flared fiercely. He had deceived her in the worst way, creating an illusion for his own purposes. And all the time he’d sat above the scene like some infernal creator, pulling strings. The calculating look she had seen in his eyes had been the true one.

She could not forgive him, not merely because he’d manipulated her, but because he had destroyed her memories.

She knew now why she had never used the word love about their new relationship. It had been hard, shiny, superficial, and, for all its pleasure, unsatisfying. It had ended as it had deserved to end.

Once they had had so much more, and now she blamed herself for being content with so little from a man who had nothing else to give.

And nor did I, she thought. It’s too late for me too.

She headed for Europe-France, Switzerland, Italy-visiting out-of-the-way places, while the weeks passed and the days ran into each other. And all the time she knew that if she was to make a final break with the past there was one place that she must go.

She travelled everywhere by train and bus, refusing to hire a car for fear of leaving traces that Luca might pick up if he was pursuing her. She had taken some precautions to prevent herself being found, but she was still being careful. When she went to Carenna it was on an ancient bus that choked and grumbled over the roads.

The sight of the hospital evoked no memories, although it looked as though it had been standing for a hundred years, save for some building work at the rear.

There was the police station, also old, and presumably the same one where Luca had been held to keep him from her. And there was the little church where they were to have been married. Probably the priest was the same man.

But when she wandered in she discovered a young man who had been there only a year. After the first impulse to leave she found herself talking to him. He was easy to talk to, and the whole story came out.

It was two hours before she left, and then she wandered around the town for an hour, trying to come to terms with what she had just learned, and what she had seen. It changed everything. Nothing in the world looked the same in the light of the discovery she had made. But she had nobody with whom to share it.

When her inner haze cleared she found she was standing in front of the little house where she had once lived, for a brief, happy time. It was occupied now by a large family, some of whom she could see through the open door.

She walked closer, noticing automatically that the wallpaper was the same that Luca had put up fifteen years ago. There were rows of leaves of yellow and green.

Suddenly the rows began to swim together. She leaned against the wall, telling herself it would pass soon, but she knew better.

A large woman came out of the house, volubly expressing sympathy, and almost hauling her indoors.

‘I was the same with every one of mine,’ she said. ‘Have you known long?’

‘Suspected,’ Rebecca said, sipping a hot lemon drink thankfully. ‘I haven’t been sure until now.’

‘And your man? What does he want?’

‘A son,’ she murmured. ‘His heart is set on it.’

‘Best you tell him soon.’

She insisted on coming with Rebecca to the bus stop and seeing her safely on board.

‘You tell him quick,’ she called, waving her off. ‘Make him happy.’

Oh, yes, she thought. He would be happy, but she would simply have fallen into his trap. She would not let that happen.

But what else could happen instead, she had no idea.

It was like standing in the centre of a compass, with the needle flickering in all directions, with nowhere to go because everywhere was equally confusing.

At last she recognised that there was only one place where she could do what was necessary. Anger might stifle misery, but it could not deny it altogether. She needed somewhere to grieve for her dead love, and finally bury it. So she set off in that direction.

Luca had said that when you wanted to find somebody you put it in the hands of professionals, but this time the professionals failed him.

Four separate firms, working for three months, had learned only that Rebecca Hanley had travelled to France by ferry. After that she had vanished, and no amount of searching French files produced results. At last he understood that if she had managed to elude such skilled pursuers it meant that her decision to leave him was irrevocable.

When he’d faced that fact, he called them off.

He was back in Rome now, throwing all of himself into maximising Raditore’s potential.

‘You mean making more money?’ Sonia said when he used the phrase. She would never let him get away with corporate-speak.

‘Yes, I mean making money,’ he said. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

But he spoke with none of the old bite and that alarmed her more than anything. She could cope with Luca when he was wild, furious, ruthless and rude. But Luca, subdued, was alarming because so unheard-of.

‘Go away,’ she said to him at last. ‘Go right away, not like when you were in London and we talked about business on the phone every night. You’re useless to yourself and everyone else while you’re here.’

He took her advice and headed his car north, through Assisi, Siena, San Marino. The weather was turning cooler, and driving was pleasant, but everywhere looked the same to him.

Reaching Tuscany, he called in at the construction firm that he’d set up with Frank Solway’s money, and from which everything else had grown. It was still flourishing under the command of a good manager that he’d put in charge long ago. Luca examined the accounts, checked the healthy order book, commended his manager on an excellent job, and departed, realising that nobody there needed him.

After that he headed for the place he guessed he’d always meant to go eventually.

There was the long track, stretching up the gentle slope of the hill. There were the trees from behind which he’d heard angry voices, and had burst through to find a young girl being confronted by three men. The ground was bumpy here, threatening the suspension of his expensive car, but he didn’t even notice. His head was too full of visions that blurred and sharpened, taunting him with his sudden reluctance to go further.

He forced himself on until the cottage came into view. He came to a halt near the front door, got out and stood for a moment, surveying the wreckage of what had once been a liveable home. Much of the roof had been burned until it had fallen in, and beams showed against the sky.

A wall was half gone, revealing an interior that had been a bedroom, although there was nothing left to show that now. What remained was black with smoke. Once it had all looked worse. Now the devastation was partly hidden by an overgrowth of weeds. They covered the blackened walls and crowded around the door.

But then Luca saw something that made him stop. The weeds had been partly pruned back, the sharp cuts showing that it had been recently done. And now he could hear faint noises coming from the inside.

Anger possessed him that anyone should dare invade the place that was private to himself. He walked slowly around the cottage, and at the back he saw a tricycle with a makeshift trailer attached to the rear that was little more than a box on wheels. Close inspection revealed that this was indeed how it had started life. It also bore signs of having once fallen to pieces and been inexpertly mended.

Returning to the front, he shouted, ‘Come out! What are you doing in there? Come out at once, do you hear me?’

Nothing happened at first. The noise within ceased, as though whoever was there was considering what best to do.

‘Come out!’ he yelled again. ‘Or I’ll come in and get you.’

He heard footsteps, then a shadow fell across the door, and a figure emerged into the light.

At first he stared, not believing that she was really there.

He had feared never to see her again, had dreamed of her and found her gone with the first waking moment.

Their last meeting had been three months ago when she had dazzled him with the night of his life, before abandoning him in a gesture of contempt. Now it was like encountering a ghost.

She was dressed in trousers and a tweed jacket, with one hand at her throat to close it against the autumn chill. Her glamorous long hair was gone, cut boyishly short, and returned to its natural light brown colour. Her face was pale, thinner, and there were shadows under her eyes, but she was composed.

She stood only just outside the door as though reluctant to come further out into a world she didn’t trust. He approached her slowly. For once he was unsure of himself.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

She nodded.

‘What are you doing here, in this rough place?’

‘It’s peaceful,’ she answered. ‘Nobody comes calling.’

‘How long have you been here?’

‘Um-I’m not sure. A week or two, maybe.’

‘But-why?’

‘Why did you come?’ she countered.

‘Because it’s peaceful,’ he echoed. ‘At least, it is if there are no intruders.’

She nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said with a faint smile. ‘Yes.’

‘How are you managing to live here? It’s not habitable.’

‘It is if you’re careful. The stove still works.’

He followed her inside and looked around the kitchen in surprise at how she had made the place liveable.

Everything had been thoroughly cleaned, not an easy task with no electricity. How long, he wondered, had it taken her to sweep up the dust, then scrub the floor and the walls? The range looked as though it had been recently black-leaded.

Warmth was pouring from it now, and a kettle on the top was just beginning to sing. She indicated for him to sit down, and made the tea.

‘I know you like sugar,’ she said politely, ‘but I’m afraid I don’t have any. I wasn’t expecting visitors.’

‘Do you never see anyone?’

‘Nobody knows I’m here, not for certain. I ride the bike into the village, put supplies in the trailer, then get back here as quickly as I can, and park it out of sight. Nobody bothers me.’

‘You’re very determined to hide away. Why? What are you afraid of?’

She seemed surprised by the question.

‘Nothing, except being disturbed. I like being alone.’

‘Here?’

A faint smile touched her face. ‘Do you know of a better place to be alone?’

After a moment he shook his head.

They drank their tea in silence. Luca wanted to say more, but he was nervous and uncertain how to speak to her. This woman, living a hand-to-mouth existence in a ruined shack, had somehow gained the upper hand. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, except that she seemed to have discovered a peace that eluded him.

‘Do you mind if I look around?’ he asked.

‘Of course. It’s your property.’

‘I’m not using that as an excuse to pry. I’m just interested in what you’ve done.’

There wasn’t much to see. Apart from the kitchen only the bedroom was habitable, and that only because the weather was dry. She had pulled the bed away from the hole in the roof and hung a blanket across a rope to make a kind of wall between herself and the exposed part of the room.

One corner of the bed had been badly burned, so that the wooden leg was weakened, and was now boosted by a wooden box. The bed itself sported a patchwork quilt that he remembered from his childhood, although not so bright.

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I found it in a cupboard and when I’d washed the smoke out it looked good.’

‘No, I don’t mind. My mother made it. But it seems to be all you have on the bed.’

‘I’ve got a cushion for the pillow, and I just huddle up. It’s cosy, and I’m warm enough.’

‘You are now, but the weather’s turning.’

‘I like it,’ she said stubbornly.

He opened his mouth to protest, but then it struck him that she was right. The place was homely and snug, and although it wasn’t actually warm it gave the impression of warmth. He thought of the Allingham with its perfect temperature control, and he could remember only desolation.

‘Well, if you like it, that’s what counts,’ he said, and went back into the kitchen.

‘Is this all the food you have?’ he asked, opening a cupboard. ‘Instant coffee?’

His scandalised tone made her smile briefly.

‘Yes, I’m afraid it is instant,’ she said. ‘I realise that to an Italian that’s a kind of blasphemy.’

‘You’re a quarter-Italian,’ he said severely. ‘Your grandmother’s spirit should rise up and reproach you.’

‘She does, but she gets drowned out by the rest of me. I don’t keep all my food in here. Fresh vegetables are stored outside, where it’s cooler.’

He remembered that outside, attached to the wall, was a small cupboard, made of brick, except for the wooden door. This too had been scrubbed out, and fresh newspaper laid on the shelves, where there was an array of vegetables.

‘No meat?’ he asked.

‘I’d have to keep going into the village to buy it fresh.’

He grunted something, and went back inside.

She poured him another cup of tea, which he drank appreciatively.

‘This is good,’ he said. ‘And it doesn’t taste of soot. Whenever I’ve been here and made coffee, I’ve always ended up regretting it.’

‘Have you returned very often?’ she asked.

‘Now and then. I come back and cut the weeds, but they’ve always grown again by the next time.’

‘I wonder why you haven’t rebuilt it.’

He made a vague gesture. ‘I kept meaning to.’

‘Why did you come here today?’

He shrugged. ‘I was in the area. I didn’t know you were here, if that’s what you mean.’

It would have been natural, then, to ask her why she’d taken refuge in this spot, when there were so many more comfortable places, but for some reason he was overcome with awkwardness, and concentrated on his tea.

‘You’ve done wonders here,’ he said at last, ‘but it’s still very rough. If anything happened, who could help you?’

She shrugged. ‘I’m content.’

‘Just the same, I don’t like you being here alone. It’s better if you…’

He stopped. She was looking at him, and he had the dismaying sense that her face had closed against him. It was like moving through a nightmare. He had been here before.

‘I’m only concerned for you,’ he said abruptly.

‘Thank you, but there’s no need,’ she said politely. ‘Luca, do you want me to leave? I realise that it’s your house.’

He shot her a look of reproach.

‘You know you don’t have to ask me that,’ he said. ‘It’s yours for as long as you want.’

‘Thank you.’

He walked outside and strode around to where the bike and trailer were parked.

‘Is that thing of real use?’ he demanded.

‘Oh, yes, if I persevere.’ She smiled unexpectedly. ‘And I couldn’t bring the wood for the range up in a car.’

‘You’ll be needing some more soon,’ he observed, looking at the small pile by the wall. Then he said hastily, ‘I’ll be going now. Goodbye.’

He walked away and got into his car without another word. A brief gesture of farewell, and he was gone. Rebecca stood watching him until the car had vanished.