Lucy Gordon - Married Under the Italian Sun

This last was addressed to Vittorio, hovering like a shadow with the decanter. Angel was startled. She hadn’t known he was there.

He refilled Mack’s glass before asking,

‘Something for you, signora?’ He leaned closer to her to ask, ‘A cup of tea?’

‘I’d love a cup of tea,’ she said at once, wondering what instinct had led him to the perfect conclusion. It was almost as though he were inside her head.

And as he turned to leave Angel almost thought she felt a comforting hand on her shoulder. But it was so light that she might have imagined it.

When the tea arrived it was just how she liked it, and it gave her the energy to carry on. In the end it was Mack who yawned.

‘I was up at four this morning,’ he said. ‘Can we finish this tomorrow?’

‘Sure.’

In the hall she said goodnight to him and the photographers, then returned to the kitchen to thank Berta for the meal.

‘And for the tea,’ she said. ‘It was perfect.’

‘As good as the English?’ Berta asked slyly.

‘Better than the English.’ They laughed and Angel looked around. ‘Where’s Vittorio?’

‘He left, padrona. But he will be here tomorrow. He said so.’

‘That’s lovely.’

It was absurd to feel disappointed, but she’d been sure he would wait and talk to her. There was nothing to do but go to bed and lie there in the darkness, feeling lonely, until she fell asleep and her dreams were haunted by the sound of fading footsteps.

IN THE morning Angel rose, telling herself that this would be over soon. Not long to go now, just a few more hours.

More pictures, outside, by the railings, looking down onto the long drop. She was co-operative, suggesting new poses, making the photo session last as long as possible. As she posed she glanced around for Vittorio, but there was no sign of him. He would be at the house, she told herself.

But, when they returned indoors, he wasn’t there.

The cameramen were packing up and there was no way of putting Mack off any longer.

‘Let’s talk about Gavin Alford.’

‘Gavin who?’

‘The lad who wrote that tell-all piece about you. Or perhaps you didn’t see it?’

‘Yes, I saw it, but I promise you there was very little “all” to tell. We were young, we dated, we broke up.’

‘Because of Joe’s money?’

Angel managed a tinkling laugh. ‘Good heavens, no. Gavin was history by then. Not that he was ever anything much. He meant well, but his conversation was rather limited.’

Remembering Gavin’s well-paid lies, she reckoned she could allow herself that little bit of revenge.

It was nearly over. Soon she would be free of them.

But Mack had one final shot.

‘Your baby-what sort of plans did you have? Had you chosen any names yet?’

Out of sight Angel clenched her hands, but there was no sign of strain in her voice as she spoke. ‘I didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl and it was too soon to think of names…’

That wasn’t true. She’d made lists of names, both male and female, but Joe hadn’t been interested. He’d simply refused to discuss their child, either when she had been carrying it or after she’d lost it.

But she wouldn’t say that. Instead, she talked around the subject for ten minutes, and Mack seemed satisfied.

At last it was over. They were making moves toward the front door.

But then someone said, ‘Hey, did you hear…?’ and they stopped again, prolonging the farewell by a few more excruciating minutes.

‘Yes,’ Angel heard herself saying. ‘Isn’t that fascinating? Yes-yes-’

If they didn’t go soon she thought she would start to scream.

Then she heard Vittorio’s voice, breaking into the inanities.

‘Let me help you with your bags, signore.’

She hadn’t known he was there. It was as though he’d materialised by a miracle. Before anyone could speak, he had picked up two heavy bags and strode out of the front door to place them beside the van. He came back, seized two more and strode out with them. The message was unmistakable: go!

Such was the intimidating power of his presence that everyone obeyed him, almost slinking out, as though awed by his authority. Angel followed them out to say more polite farewells, and felt Vittorio’s hand under her elbow.

As the door of the van slammed and the crew leaned out of windows, waving, calling, Vittorio murmured in her ear, ‘Don’t give in now. Just a few more moments, and they’ll be gone.’

So he understood. She’d thought he was enraged by their presence, to the point of throwing them out. But now she knew he’d done it for her. The hand under her elbow grew firmer, steadying her, offering strength.

The engine started, the van turned, and then it was moving away from them. It was mercifully over.

‘All right?’ Vittorio asked quietly.

‘I am now.’

He turned her gently and led her back into the house, his arm about her waist. He didn’t move it until she was sitting on the sofa, and then he took her hands in his.

‘Why do you do this to yourself?’ he demanded. ‘Why did you tell him all that?’

‘You heard?’

‘Yes, I was listening. Perhaps it was wrong of me, but now I understand many things about you, so I can’t be sorry I did it. But you didn’t have to tell him.’

‘I did,’ she said, turning her hands slightly so that she could clasp his in return. ‘You don’t know-you don’t know-’

‘No, I don’t know anything about you, do I? I keep thinking I do, but there’s always another mystery. Don’t keep things to yourself.’

She tried to pull herself together. ‘I’m all right-honestly, I’m all right.’

‘That is a lie,’ he said simply. ‘You’re breaking apart. You need to talk to a friend. If not me then-someone else.’

‘If not you then nobody,’ she said huskily. ‘Funny isn’t it-that you should be the best friend I have?’

‘Yes, it’s funny,’ Vittorio agreed gravely. ‘But I suppose it’s true.’ Suddenly he said, almost violently, ‘For pity’s sake, don’t suffer alone. If I’m your friend then let me be a friend. Let me help you. Tell me what to do.’

‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘It’s in my head-a kind of darkness. It isn’t here all the time-but sometimes-the doctor said it would go, and I keep thinking it has, but then…’

‘Is it because you lost your baby?’

‘Yes, that’s when it started. I fell down into a dark pit. Sometimes I think I see a way out, but it always comes back.’

Vittorio let out a long breath and silently called himself a fool. Then he did the only thing possible and put his arms around her, holding her tightly against him.

‘Go on,’ he said. ‘I want to hear the rest.’

‘The rest?’

‘The bits you didn’t tell Mack.’

‘Joe got fed up with me always being depressed,’ Angel said at last. ‘He said I was no fun any more.’ Vittorio swore with soft violence.

‘How much fun was a grieving woman supposed to be?’

‘He never thought of me as grieving. He hadn’t wanted a child and he couldn’t understand me being any different. Being fun was my job. He liked to see me teasing other men just enough to get them worked up, but always going home with him.’ She gave a self-mocking laugh. ‘I got quite good at that.’

‘Yes, I remember,’ Vittorio said wryly.

‘I’m sorry. You just made me mad, and I thought you were just one of them.’

He didn’t have to ask what ‘one of them’ meant.

‘In the end he got fed up with me being unhappy and started looking around. It was inevitable that he should find another woman. I didn’t care. I was glad to get out of that marriage, even if it meant accepting a mean settlement.’

‘Yes, you don’t have to tell me that he’s a cheapskate. What he did to me, he did to you.’

‘I got this place and a lump sum, which seemed plenty at the time, but I had no idea of the things I’d have to pay for. I had to make some money to carry us through until harvest, so I extorted a huge fee out of Mack. But in return-’

‘In return you had to bare your soul,’ he said softly. ‘And I judged you. Forgive me.’

‘It’s all right. I’ll be better now that this is over. In some ways I’m even glad. I’ve never talked about it before. There was nobody to tell.’

‘I wish you’d told me.’

‘What, the man who thought I was a wicked witch put on earth to torment him?’ Angel said with a jerky little laugh.

‘That seems a long time ago. I’m not sure it ever happened.’

‘Maybe it didn’t,’ she agreed.

A feeling of sweetness and contentment was stealing over her. It was something to do with the gentleness of his voice and his touch. At this moment she felt no desire, only a longing to stay here, resting against him, for ever.

As though he’d sensed her thoughts, Vittorio said, ‘Promise me something.’

‘What?’

‘That you won’t bear things alone any more. That you will come to me, as a friend, and tell me what you suffer.’

‘I promise,’ she said softly. ‘If I need help, I’ll come to you. I seem to have been taking your help ever since I came here. What would I have done if you hadn’t stayed?’

‘I would always have stayed. You tried to get rid of me, remember?’

‘Yes, I didn’t understand that you’re part of this place. It still belongs to you more than me…’

‘Don’t say that,’ he said harshly, getting to his feet.

‘Why not, if I’ve come to see that it’s true-?’

‘I said stop it!’ he shouted. ‘Are you really so stupid that-’

He checked himself with a sharp breath. Then he stalked out through the French windows into the garden, leaving Angel calling herself every name she could think of.

By now Angel was familiar with Vittorio’s way of retreating whenever they had a moment of closeness, as though scenting danger. So she reckoned she knew what to think when, next morning, Berta met her with the news that he’d called to say that he’d be away a few days, ‘exploring new markets for the estate produce’.