The Italian’s Miracle Family

CHAPTER SEVEN

WHEN Alysa next awoke she was alone, and the sound of frying was coming from the kitchen. She made haste to get up, although she felt feverish, and another coughing fit attacked her. She took some more of the medicine, noting with dismay that the bottle was now empty.

‘You sound bad,’ Drago said as soon as she appeared in the kitchen.

‘I’m all right, really. That medicine is good but I seem to have finished it.’

‘Don’t worry, there’s another bottle. I’ll make you some coffee. Sit down.’

He served her eggs, bacon and delicious coffee, smiling briefly when he looked at her, which wasn’t often. She had the sense that he was uncomfortable in her company, and wondered if he was simply embarrassed at the position in which he found himself. He hadn’t brought her here to nurse her through a childish ailment.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said after only a few mouthfuls. ‘I can’t eat very much.’

‘I think you should go back to bed.’ He touched her forehead with the back of his hand. ‘You’re feverish. Go on.’

He was right, and she was glad to lie down again. But it was strange that he sounded almost curt, as though he couldn’t get rid of her fast enough.

When she awoke the light had changed, becoming duller. She sat up, listening to the silence of the house, and feeling suddenly fearful.

Not to worry, she thought, getting out of bed. She would find Drago and all would be well. But as she moved through room after room a nameless dread began to take hold of her. He was nowhere to be found.

Keep calm, she told herself. He must be somewhere.

But every door she opened only revealed more emptiness, and the dread began to envelop her. Looking out of the window, she saw the mountains rearing up, covered in snow, a white hell into which he had disappeared.

The car; he might have taken it.

But when she descended to the garage the car was still there. Drago hadn’t merely gone away. He’d vanished into thin air.

She stood, nonplussed, wondering what was going to happen now. She was alone, abandoned in a strange country, trapped by the snow, and she didn’t feel up to doing anything except going back to bed. She ought to be strong-minded, but how would that help?

‘Are you out of your mind?’

Drago’s shout, coming out of nowhere, made her jump and turn to see him coming in through the garage door, enveloping her in an icy blast.

‘What the devil are you doing out here, dressed like that?’ he yelled. ‘Get back inside.’

‘I just-’

‘Go in before you catch pneumonia.’

He took hold of her arm, hustling her inside and up the stairs, muttering furiously.

‘Why do I bother looking after you if you have no common sense?’

‘You vanished. It worried me.’

‘I went to get you some more cough mixture. I thought we had another bottle, but I was wrong, so I went down to the village. I had to walk because the car wouldn’t be safe in these conditions.’

‘You walked all the way down there and back in the snow?’

‘Yes, and for what? For a dimwit who hasn’t the sense to keep warm when she’s sick. If you die of pneumonia, I’ll really lose patience with you.’

She gave a husky laugh, which brought on another fit of coughing.

‘I’ve got you some pills as well. Have a couple now, and some cough mixture, then go back to bed while I get the place warmer and fix you something to eat. And stand away from me. I don’t want your germs.’

She eyed him satirically. ‘And they say chivalry is dead.’

‘This isn’t chivalry, it’s self-protection. Just do as I say.’

She took the medicine and went thankfully back to her room. But before getting into bed she looked out of the window at the mountains, which were already becoming shadowy as the early-winter dusk began to fall. Down below she saw a door open, and Drago appear, heading for the woodshed. He emerged with his arms full of logs, which he carried into the house. A few moments later he made another journey to fetch charcoal.

Then sounds came from along the corridor, telling her that he was refilling the range, causing the house to grow warmer at once, or so it seemed to her.

But the consoling warmth had little to do with the heating. Drago had returned, and the demons that had haunted her for the last year were in retreat. Comforted, she climbed into bed and snuggled beneath the covers.

He brought her some soup, and a cup of coffee, both of which he set down at a careful distance.

‘Eat that even if you aren’t hungry,’ he said brusquely. ‘I don’t want you starving to death either. You’d do it just to be awkward.’

‘Then why don’t you just throw me out of the window and get it over with?’ she demanded huskily. ‘Think of the trouble you’d save.’

He appeared to consider this before saying, ‘Too difficult to explain away the body. It suits me better if you stay alive.’

‘Gosh, thanks!’

He gave her a ribald grin before vanishing.

The grin faded as soon as he was out of her sight. He’d been on edge since he’d awoken that morning, to find himself lying with his arm over her. It wasn’t what he’d meant to happen. He’d stayed with her the night before out of concern and a desire to be on hand if she needed him. When sleep had overcome him he’d lain down beside her, careful to stay outside the bedclothes, not touching her.

He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d put his arm over her, but he must have done so, because he’d been holding her when he awoke. At all costs she mustn’t find out. In their special circumstances it was a betrayal of trust. He could only be thankful that he’d awoken first, and had escaped without discovery.

Even so, he’d been on edge when she’d got up, waiting to detect any hint of suspicion in her manner, but there’d been nothing. She’d merely looked bedraggled and vulnerable, a different woman from the austere female he’d met only three days ago. But that had only increased his feeling of guilt, and he’d taken refuge in a surly manner.

It was almost a relief to discover that the medicine had run out, so that he’d had to take a long walk down to the village through the snow. He’d looked in to tell her he was going but, finding her asleep, had slipped quietly away.

He’d hoped the walk would clear his head, but his confusions merely settled into a different pattern. The discovery that his wife had been pregnant by her lover had shattered him, but he’d been prepared for new pain. What he hadn’t anticipated was Alysa’s agony.

If asked to describe himself he would have refused, then done it unwillingly: a straightforward man who loved his family, but without frills or fine words. That was him. Empathy was something for others, those with time to waste.

But Alysa’s suffering had torn through him, so that he felt it with her. It was a new sensation, and if he was honest he didn’t like it. From now on he would simply help her recover, pray for the snow to melt, and bid her goodbye with relief. Above all he’d decided he would behave with circumspection, and speak to her with the greatest care.

But that was before he’d arrived home to find her in the freezing garage, and his explosion of temper had banished good resolutions to the far ends of the earth. Having seen her safely in bed, he stormed into the kitchen and got to work in a fury. As he prepared the meal they would eat that evening, he lashed his anger to keep it alive, because that way he might avoid the thoughts and feelings lying in wait for him.

He scowled when she finally emerged into the kitchen, still in his robe.

‘Are you sure you’re ready to get up?’ he growled.

‘Yes, I feel better now. Those pills you got me are good.’

‘Go and sit by the fire while I finish making supper.’

‘Can’t I-?’

‘Do as you’re told.’

‘Yes, sir!’

Her office colleagues would laugh if they could see her now, she thought, curling up on the rug by the fire and tossing on some more wood. She was famed for her cool head and ability to organise. But right now it was nice to be waited on.

Supper was steak and red wine, which he brought to her by the fire, and they picnicked like children. It was the best steak she’d ever tasted.

‘I feel guilty that you had to go out for me,’ she said.

‘I’m the one who feels guilty, trapping you up here without even a change of clothes.’

‘Look,’ she said awkwardly. ‘About what I did to Carlotta’s things…’

‘Did you really do all that?’ he asked, fascinated.

‘Every last slash.’

‘Did it make you feel any better?’

‘Much,’ she said, with such feeling that he grinned. ‘I’m sorry, Drago, I know you must have treasured them.’

‘If I did I was a sentimental fool. I should have done what you did long ago. Have you kept any souvenirs of James?’

‘I may have something lying around. It’s a while since I looked.’ She saw his wry look and said, ‘All right, I still have one of his shirts. He was wearing it the day he said he loved me-at least, he didn’t actually say that. Now I think of it, he phrased it very carefully, but at the time…’ She sighed. ‘I guess I heard what I wanted to hear.’

‘Yes, we do that when we’re very much in love.’

‘And you were, weren’t you? Very much.’

‘I didn’t think it was possible to love a woman as much as I loved her,’ he said slowly. ‘We met on every level-mentally, physically, everything. No matter how often I made love to her it wasn’t enough. In bed she was never the same woman twice, and I always wanted more of her.’

‘How long were you married?’

‘Ten years.’

‘And all that love you spoke of-it was still there, wasn’t it?’

‘As much as on the first day,’ he said slowly. ‘And she loved me the same way. I would have sworn it. Until she met him, and he changed her.’

‘So you blame James?’

‘I hate him,’ Drago said simply. ‘I don’t hate him any less because he’s dead. I’m glad he’s dead. I hope he suffered agonies. I hate him as much as you must hate Carlotta, or you couldn’t have carved up her clothes. If she’d been there herself, I dread to think what you’d have done to her.’

‘Maybe. I blamed her for taking him from me, but I wonder if she could have done that if he hadn’t been willing.’

He didn’t answer, and she looked up to find him staring into the fire.

‘It works both ways,’ he said at last. ‘You’re saying that she must have been willing too, but I don’t believe that.’

‘Perhaps she was a little restless. Maybe she just meant to have a minor flirtation and it got out of hand.’

‘No. She didn’t flirt. At parties I used to watch her. She’d laugh and tease the men, but there was a line she never crossed. And nor did I. We had a wonderful marriage until she met him.’

‘But did you know what she was thinking? Do we ever know, no matter how close we think we are?’

He grimaced. ‘You mean I was fooling myself then, and I’m still doing it now? Maybe you’re right and I just don’t have your courage. I want to keep my memories. Nothing so beautiful will ever happen to me again, and I can’t let it go.’

‘You still love her.’

‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘The love is dead, but it was glorious while it lasted, and I can’t just consign it to the rubbish heap. If I have to live with dreams for the rest of my life, I’ll do it rather than live without them.’

She regarded him in wonder. On the surface this big, powerful man was armoured against anything the world could do to him. The truth was hidden away inside his heart, in a place so secret that even he feared to visit it often.

He understood her look, and said, ‘I’ve never told that to anyone but you.’

‘And I’ll never repeat it,’ she promised.

‘Thank you. I know I can trust you.’

As he said it he looked away from her. But then he looked back, and the trust he spoke of was there in his eyes, communicating directly without words.

He must have looked at Carlotta like that-with total, defenceless confidence. Only two people in the world had seen it. Carlotta was one, and she was the other. It felt strange to have something in common with that woman.

‘I think you’re right to keep your dreams of her,’ she said. ‘If only for Tina’s sake.’

‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Is there anyone for whose sake you have to keep quiet?’

‘Nobody.’

The word fell on him like stone, and he recalled what she’d told him of the bleakness of her life. Not that she would call it bleak. She would simply say she was organised.

He moved beside her and put his arms about her, holding her tight.

‘You’ll get my germs,’ she protested.

‘To hell with them.’

After a while she asked sleepily, ‘Are there many more letters to read?’

He pulled over the bag so that several envelopes fell onto the floor. They each took some and began riffling through them. Alysa opened one in James’s handwriting and read:

I never believed in the kind of love you hear about in songs, until I met you, and you showed me it could happen. Before that, I always settled for the easy version of love that I could take or leave. I never risked the kind that tears out a man’s heart and tells him he’d be better dead than losing his woman. But then I met you and knew that you were that woman. You gave me courage. Bless you for that, my darling.

She stared into the fire until she saw Drago looking at her, and handed the letter to him.

‘“Better dead”,’ Drago read aloud. ‘He didn’t know what he was saying.’

‘He was never like that with me,’ she murmured. ‘He was always cheerful, funny-even when we-And it was nice sometimes.’ She broke off to sneeze.

‘Don’t force yourself,’ Drago said gently.

‘I used to think it would be lovely if he was a bit more romantic, but I told myself that he just couldn’t find the right words, and he loved me really. But the way he wrote to Carlotta-all passion and intensity-it’s like a different man. I guess I never really knew him, because he didn’t want me to.’

‘I was luckier than you,’ Drago admitted. ‘Whatever Carlotta did at the end, I know who she was in the years before-the woman who gave me all herself. Nothing can change that.’

‘Good,’ she said with sudden decisiveness. ‘Hold onto that thought. It’ll stop you becoming a psycho like me.’

‘You’re not a psycho.’

‘I was headed that way. I can see it now. I deadened my heart because I thought it would be easier. But it wasn’t. Listen to your friend, Drago. Don’t become like me.’

He grinned tenderly. ‘If my daughter could hear you now. You really took her advice to heart.’

‘You mean about looking after you?’

‘Yes, you’re doing a great job.’

‘Then we’re even.’

She didn’t know how long they sat there on the floor, leaning against each other, but she could happily have stayed for ever. It wasn’t thrilling or dramatic, or any of the things she had known with James. But every moment that passed was healing something deep inside her, bringing her back to life.

And him too. That thought made her almost happy. Let him put Carlotta on a pedestal if that was what he needed. She wouldn’t spoil it for him.

‘Time you were in bed,’ he announced suddenly. ‘I’ll make you a hot chocolate and you can take your pills.’

While he was in the kitchen she took another letter. It was from Carlotta, and she read it with little more than casual interest. She was beginning to feel that nothing else could happen.

Within a few lines she discovered her mistake. Carlotta had written:

We made a pact to be honest with each other, so I’m going to tell you the complete truth. You asked if you were my first lover since my marriage, and, though I’d love to say yes, the truth is that there have been others.

Alysa’s hands tightened on the paper so that it crumpled. When she’d flattened it she read it again, wondering if she’d misunderstood. But there was no mistaking what Carlotta was saying.

I know now that I married before I was quite ready. It was thrilling to defy my mother with an elopement, and Drago was insistent, so I yielded unwisely. I should have lived a more exciting life before I settled down. I realised soon after the wedding that domesticity bored me, so I compensated with a few little ‘adventures’.

‘Bitch,’ Alysa muttered, barely aware that she was speaking.

Drago never found out. I did my best to be a good wife to him in other ways, and I gave him Tina, whom he adores. So I don’t really feel guilty. My love, never fear. To you I will be faithful. With you I find a completeness and a fulfilment that I never found with Drago.

Here it was, the proof that Drago was fooling himself. Far from being the woman who had given him all of herself, she’d shared herself out pretty freely, it seemed. He’d endured her betrayal and loss, but this would break his heart finally.

A sound from the kitchen made her stuff the letter back into the envelope. It was instinctive. Without thinking about it, she knew she wasn’t going to show him this.

‘Anything interesting?’ he asked, coming in and setting down the hot chocolate.

‘No, just more of the same,’ she said casually. ‘Oh, that looks lovely.’

He gathered up the letters and tossed them back into the bag.

‘Enough of them for tonight,’ he said.

He pushed the bag onto a low shelf. Alysa watched, blaming herself for not taking the letter while she’d had the chance. Now she could do nothing without arousing his suspicion.

She maintained a calm façade as she bid him goodnight and retired to bed. She even managed to sleep for a while. But then she awoke, every nerve on edge, knowing that she must secure that letter before he saw it.

She might argue with herself that it was illogical for her to protect him, but this wasn’t logic. This was emotion, a luxury she hadn’t allowed herself for too long. Drago had said he trusted her, and what happened to him now was in her hands.

Moving silently, she got out of bed and looked out into the corridor. The house was silent, and no light could be seen beneath Drago’s door. This was her one chance. It took a few seconds to creep into the main room where there was still a faint glow from the dying fire, locate the bag on the shelf and speed back to her room.

A quick search revealed the cruel letter. She read it briefly to make sure it was the right one, then slipped it into the drawer of her bedside locker. Feverishly she began searching through the remaining letters, just in case there was another mention of Carlotta’s infidelity. She found it in James’s reply, and took that too. When she was sure she’d removed everything dangerous, she slipped back into the corridor and stood in the darkness, listening fearfully. But there was no sound.

Then a quick dash to replace the bag where Drago had left it. It was done. Now all she had to do was get back to her room. She was almost there when she heard his door opening, and turned, standing petrified in the light of the window.

Then she saw something that shocked her. A smile illuminated Drago’s face, so that for a moment it was brilliant with joy. His hand moved as if to reach out to her, but then it fell back to his side and the smile died.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked politely.

‘Yes-yes. I just had to-get up for a minute. Goodnight.’

She fled to her room and stood leaning against the door, trying not to believe what had happened: for a split second in the darkness Drago had thought she was Carlotta. He’d smiled, almost reaching out to her. But then the smile had died as the sad truth had overcome him again.

Now Alysa was passionately glad at what she had done. It was wrong, disgraceful. She was a thief. But she had protected him from further grief, and she wasn’t sorry.

She could hear him moving about in his bedroom next door to hers, and the mysterious communication that seemed to unite them showed her his movements-from the door to the window and back again, from the door to the wall, to the window.

A pause, then the sound of the window being opened. In her mind she could see him standing there, looking out at the dark mountains with the moon rising behind them, trying to cool himself in the chill air. Vainly seeking an elusive peace.

She knew the moment when he closed the window and began to pace the room again, until he ended up by the wall that separated him from her. She held her breath, hoping he’d gone to bed.

But then came the sound of a long groan, like an animal caught in a trap. It shivered away into nothing, and after that there was silence.