The Italian’s Baby

CHAPTER TWELVE

AS THE first light came through the window Luca said softly,

‘I thought you were never going to tell me that you were carrying our child.’

‘How long have you known?’

‘Almost at once. There was something about you-just like last time.’

‘You can remember that?’ she asked in a wondering voice.

‘I remember everything about you, from the first moment we met.’

They had lain in each other’s arms all night, sometimes talking, but mostly silent, seeking and finding consolation in each other’s presence. As the minutes passed into hours she felt the shell about her heart crack and fall apart, releasing her from the imprisonment of years, and had known that it was the same with him.

‘I guessed about the baby almost as soon as I saw you,’ he said, ‘but I couldn’t see any hope for us then. I knew I’d made a mess of everything. You used to say I went at things like a bull at a gate, and it was true. I’ve gone on doing things that way all these years, because I could make it work for me. By the time we met again, I’d forgotten that there was any other way.’

‘Yes,’ she said tenderly. ‘I gathered that.’

‘When we were young I knew how to talk to you. It was easy to tell you that I loved you. There was nothing in the world but love, nothing that mattered. When we met again, there were so many other things that seemed important. Chiefly my pride.

‘I sought you out because I’d convinced myself that you were the one woman in the world who could give me a child. It was nonsense, of course.

‘Sonia saw it. She said at the start that I only believed it because I wanted it to be true, and she was right. So I came looking for you, convinced that I had a sensible, logical reason, because I couldn’t admit the truth to myself.’

‘And what was the truth?’ Rebecca asked softly.

‘That I’d never stopped loving you in all those years; that life without you was desolate and empty. All that time there was a barrier about my heart. I built it up year after year, thinking if it was thick enough it would protect me, but in the end it didn’t, thank God.

‘Then I found you, and I bought shares at the Allingham to give myself an excuse to meet you. I thought I’d planned it all so well.’

He gave a faint smile, aimed at himself. ‘If you could have seen me on the night we met. I was almost sure you’d be at Steyne’s house, and I was in a state of nerves. I heard your voice in the hall and I nearly panicked and ran. Then you came in with Jordan, and you were so beautiful, but so different, I didn’t know what to say to you.

‘I don’t know what I expected-that’d you’d greet me by name, run into my arms? But you didn’t seem to know me. You were so cool and poised and suddenly I was the country bumpkin again, fumbling for words.

‘I tried to rush you-well, you remember that. But all I knew how to do was give orders, and you seemed to get further away with everything I said or did. I nearly blew it with those diamonds, but I couldn’t think what else to do.’

‘So you went at it bull-headed,’ she said, smiling.

‘As always. When I came here I’d given up all hope. I just wanted to look at the place where we’d been so happy. And when I saw you, I didn’t dare believe that we might have another chance.’

He raised himself on his elbow, anxiously searching her face in the faint dawn light.

‘We do have another chance, don’t we?’ he asked.

‘We do if we want it.’

‘I want nothing in the world but you.’

‘And the baby,’ she reminded him.

‘Just you. The baby is a bonus. But the point of everything is you.’

He was asleep before she could answer, as though simply saying the words had brought him peace. All strain seemed to have drained away from him, as it had from her, and now she understood why.

For fifteen years they had been denied the right to grieve together for their child. That denial had been a disaster, freezing something in their hearts, preventing them both from moving on.

It was not too late, she thought, holding him close and watching the dawn grow. They were free now, free to feel the pain of their loss, and then free to grow beyond it, to find each other again.

She heard a faint pattering of rain on the roof. It became louder until she knew they were in the middle of a downpour.

It went on for several days, and during that time they never left the house. Some of the time they spent in talking, but mostly they just lay in each other’s arms, beyond the need for words.

At last they made love, gently and tenderly. There was pleasure still, but it mattered less than the love they had found again, and at last he held her in his arms, whispering, ‘Rebecca.’

‘You called me Rebecca,’ she said in wonder. ‘Not Becky.’

‘I’ve been doing so for some time. Have you not noticed?’

‘Yes, I think I have,’ she said, and fell asleep in his arms.

She had the strange, comforting fantasy that the water pouring down on the little house in a torrent was washing away all pain and bitterness. When the last of the storm had passed they went out together to look down the valley at the clean washed world.

‘Breakfast,’ she said.

Soon there were other things that would have to be said, but for the moment she wanted to think only of the small prosaic matters, and make this enchanted time last as long as possible.

‘Breakfast,’ he said, understanding her perfectly.

He helped her, fumbling slightly because of the plaster on his hand.

‘I guess you won’t get mad the next time I try to take care of you,’ he said, waggling his fingers. ‘I’ve never bullied you like you bullied me that day.’

‘Some men need bullying,’ she told him.

‘Now, where did I hear that before? Oh, yes, it was what Mama used to say to Papa.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘Nothing. Just stood to attention.’

He suited the action to the words and she laughed. He grinned back, regarding her tenderly. There was a different quality to their laughter. It was no longer tense and brittle now that it was not being used to keep reality at bay.

One morning she opened her eyes slowly to find that, as always, the cottage was warm because Luca had risen earlier and built up the range. Pulling on her robe, she went out to find him bringing in a final load of logs; he dumped them in the basket, and blew on his hands.

Smiling, she went to him and took his hands between her own, trying to rub some warmth into them.

‘That’s lovely,’ he said. Then, mischievously, he put his chilly fingers against her neck, and she shrieked.

‘Sorry.’ He grinned. ‘It’s just that your neck is so deliciously warm, and it’s freezing out there.’

‘Well, it’s lovely in here.’

‘And, as you will have observed, the kettle is boiling.’ He indicated it with a flourish. ‘If you’d care to sit down, it’ll be ready for you in a moment.’

She let him enjoy himself cosseting her, but she was thoughtful, and he seemed to understand, because he was quiet until they were both eating.

‘How are you feeling this morning?’ he asked. ‘Any sickness?’

‘No, that’s gone now, thank goodness.’

‘But there is something on your mind, isn’t there?’

‘Yours too,’ she agreed. ‘I’ve felt it for the last few days.’

‘I feel it every time I go in that cold yard. Winter’s coming, and soon it’ll be a lot colder.’

She nodded. ‘It’s been wonderful, being here like this, but I guess it’s coming to an end.’

‘It has to,’ he agreed regretfully. ‘Both for your sake and the baby’s.’

‘So what have you planned?’

‘Nothing,’ he said quickly. ‘I was waiting for you to make suggestions.’

‘You haven’t arranged anything? You?’

‘I may have had a few ideas-’

‘I somehow thought you might have done,’ she said, smiling.

‘But they’re only ideas. You may not like them, and then we could think of something else.’

Her lips twitched. ‘You’re making an awfully good stab at being “reticent man”, Luca, but I can tell it’s a struggle.’

‘I’m doing my best, but I admit it doesn’t come naturally.’

‘Why not just abandon it and tell me what arrangements you’ve made?’

‘They’re not arrangements-not exactly. I only called my housekeeper in Rome, and told her to have the house ready-just in case.’

‘Very sensible. You never know when you might decide to up sticks and go home.’

‘But only if you want to. Would you rather go back to England?’

‘Would you come with me?’

‘Anywhere that’s warm, as long as it isn’t the Allingham.’

‘No, I haven’t got a home in England,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing to go back to.’

‘Then let’s go forward. My house-it’s never been a home, but you could make it one-’

‘Let’s take it one step at a time,’ she said gently.

They started preparing for departure immediately after breakfast. It didn’t take long. Luca doused the fire in the range while Rebecca gathered up food and took it outside to scatter for the birds. When she returned to the house he was waiting for her in the doorway, with her coat.

‘Are we ready to leave?’ he asked, helping her on with it. ‘Just a moment. I want to…’

She didn’t finish the sentence, but he seemed to understand because he stood back to let her pass inside.

There wasn’t much to look around, just the bedroom where they had lain together truly united at last, and the kitchen where they had cooked and talked, and bickered, and rediscovered their lost treasure.

He came with her, not intruding but simply there, holding her hand, letting her know that their feelings were in harmony.

‘We were happy here,’ she whispered.

‘Yes, we were-both times.’

‘We will come back, won’t we?’

‘Whenever you want.’

‘Then we can go now.’

With their few things packed into the car they drove back into the village, then he swung onto the road that would take them to Florence, and the autostrada that led to Rome. In Florence they stopped for lunch.

‘You’re not having regrets, are you?’ she asked.

‘No, of course not.’

‘It’s just that you’re very quiet.’

‘I was only thinking-’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ve been thinking too. We’re only about twenty miles from Carenna. It wouldn’t take very long.’

‘Let’s do it, then.’

Instead of heading straight for Rome he turned off onto a different road, and they were in Carenna in half an hour. At the church they found Father Valetti in the graveyard, heavily wrapped in scarves, deep in discussion with two men, with whom he seemed to be consulting plans. He hailed them with delight.

‘Wonderful to see you. I didn’t think you could have had my letter yet.’

‘Letter?’ Luca echoed. ‘We’ve had no letter.’

‘Then it’s providence that sent you here just when I needed to talk to you.’

‘Is something wrong?’ Rebecca asked.

‘Oh, no, not at all. It’s just that in a tiny churchyard like this we always have trouble finding space, and graves don’t last forever. Some of them receive few visitors after ten years, so it’s normal practice to rebury those together in a smaller space, to make room for new occupants. But of course the families are always given the option of keeping the original grave for a fee. And I wrote to you to ask your wishes in this regard.’

‘Do you mean,’ asked Rebecca, ‘that our baby is going to be raised?’

‘She can be, but of course the coffin will be reinterred elsewhere with all respect.’

‘Yes, but where?’ Rebecca asked with a rising excitement.

‘Well-’

‘I mean, couldn’t she come to Rome, with us?’

Luca turned on her quickly, his eyes alight.

‘It might be possible,’ Father Valetti said thoughtfully. ‘Of course, it would have to be done in the proper form-lots of paperwork, I’m afraid. Come inside and let’s look into it.’

In his office he sorted through forms while Rebecca and Luca sat holding hands, hardly daring to breathe in case their hopes had been raised only to be dashed.

‘I’d need to know to which church she will be going,’ he said at last, pushing papers across the desk at them, ‘and the name of the priest who will conduct the ceremony.’

‘I thought of having part of my own grounds consecrated,’ Luca said, tense with hope, ‘and keeping her with us.’

‘Get the priest to send me official notification of the consecration, and I’ll arrange the proper transport.’

‘Then-it can be done?’ Luca asked.

‘Oh, yes, it can be done.’

Father Valetti was a tactful man, for he left them quickly. As soon as he was gone they turned to each other, speechless with emotions for which there were no words.

When at last Luca managed to speak, it was to say huskily, ‘Thank you for thinking of this, my dearest.’

Rebecca rested her head on his shoulder and at once his hand came up to stroke her hair.

After a while they went out again into the churchyard and made their way quietly to the place where the little grave lay. Luca dropped to one knee, and laid his hand on the ground, looking intently at the spot.

Rebecca stayed back a little, guessing that what Luca wanted to say to his child was for themselves alone. Nor did she need to hear the words, for they echoed in her own heart.

‘Be patient awhile longer, little one. Your mother and father are taking you home at last. And you will never be lonely again.’

When Luca had mentioned the grounds of his house Rebecca had somehow formed the impression of a very large garden. What she found was an extensive estate, partly covered with woodland.

It stood just outside Rome, on the Appian Way, a mansion, with more rooms than one man could possibly need. She didn’t need his confirmation to know that it had been bought as a status symbol and chosen by Drusilla.

Despite this, there was no hint of Drusilla’s presence, partly because she had stripped the place of all she could carry, and partly because, as Luca explained,

‘We called it our home for lack of anything else to call it. But it was never a true home. We did not love each other, and there are no regrets.’

She knew instinctively that this was true, believing that a house where there had been love always carried traces of that love. Here there were no such traces. She and Luca could make of this home whatever they pleased.

He chose the brightest, sunniest room for the nursery, and decorated it himself in white and yellow.

‘I’ll paint pictures on the wall after the baby’s born,’ he said. ‘When we know if it’s a boy or a girl.’

‘Have you thought about names?’ she asked.

‘Not really. At one time, if it was a girl I’d have wanted to call her Rebecca, after her mother. But now…’

‘Now?’ she urged. She wanted to hear him say it.

‘We already have one daughter of that name. To have two would be like saying the first one didn’t count, and I don’t want to do that.’

She nodded, smiling at him tenderly. If there was one thing above all others that made her heart reach out to Luca it was his way of recognising their child as a real person, who had lived, even if only for a short time, and died with an identity.

‘What was your mother’s name?’ she asked.

‘Louisa.’

‘Louisa if it’s a girl, Bernardo if it’s a boy.’

He did not reply in words, but his look showed his gratitude.

‘I think Bernardo Montese sounds good,’ she mused.

But he shook his head. ‘Bernardo Hanley.’

‘What?’

He hesitated slightly before saying, ‘Where the mother is unmarried, the child takes her surname.’

‘I don’t like that idea.’

Luca took her hand and spoke gently. ‘Neither do I, Rebecca. But the decision is yours.’

They were married quietly, in the tiny local church. Luca held her hand as though unwilling to risk letting her go for a moment, and there was a calm intensity in his manner that told her, better than any words, what this day meant to him.

When the birth began he refused to leave her. It was harder and longer than last time, but at last their son lay in her arms, and she and her husband were closer than they had ever been.

‘You have your heir,’ she told him, smiling.

But he shook his head.

‘Labourers don’t have heirs,’ he said, as he had said once before. ‘It was a child that I wanted. Your child, and nobody else’s.’ He touched her face. ‘Now I have everything I want-well, except perhaps for one thing more.’

He had his wish in the spring when their daughter came home at last, and was laid in the spot he had chosen.

‘I thought it would be nice here, surrounded by the trees,’ he said to Rebecca when the service was over and they were alone. ‘And there’s plenty of room, do you see?’

She nodded, understanding.

‘You don’t mind?’ he asked, a little anxiously.

‘No, I’m glad you thought of it. But I want many years together first. We were apart for too long, and we have so much to make up.’

He kissed her hands and spoke with the same calm fervour as at their wedding.

‘Years ago,’ he said, ‘two nights before we were to be married, I promised you that my heart, my love and my whole life belonged to you, and always would.

‘Now I say it again. I will spend all my days making up to you for the suffering I couldn’t prevent. And when life is over, nothing will change. Do you understand that? Nothing. For then I shall be with you forever, and that is all the world can hold for me.’