Lucy Gordon - The Italian’s Miracle Family

‘You stupid woman!’ he groaned. ‘Going out in that snow. You’ve caught your death of cold now.’

She couldn’t answer, too caught up in her distress to have any breath left.

‘I’ve got to keep you warm,’ he muttered. ‘Wait here. Don’t go away.’

The idiocy of the words struck him before he was out of the door, but he was moving fast, dashing to his bedroom to seize up his own thick dressing-gown, then back to her, ordering, ‘Put this on. I’ll be right back.’

He returned to find her wearing the dressing gown, but not exactly as he wanted.

‘Pull it right across the front to protect your chest,’ he commanded, demonstrating. ‘Now get back into bed, and drink this.’

He produced another glass of brandy which he almost poured down her throat. She choked but finished it.

‘That’s better. Now lie down so that I can pull the bedclothes over you. What’s that?’

She was struggling to speak, but another bout of coughing tore her. When she’d calmed down she gasped, ‘Made-a mess-of everything.’

‘I couldn’t have made a bigger mess if I’d tried,’ he said with feeling.

‘Not you-me. Going out like that.’

‘Shut up. The blame is mine and we both know it. What was I thinking of? I should have read those letters first instead of just dumping them on you.’

‘Makes no difference,’ she said in a hoarse whisper. ‘You couldn’t have known about my baby. Not your fault.’

‘Don’t be generous,’ he begged. ‘It makes me feel worse. I’d rather you yelled at me.’

‘Can’t-no breath.’

He managed a brief laugh. ‘Then chuck something at my head. Shall I find you a heavy object?’

‘No energy-consider it chucked.’ The words ended in another coughing fit. ‘Oh dear,’ she said.

‘I agree. Wait a minute, I’ve just thought of something.’

He left and returned after a few minutes with a bottle and spoon.

‘We always kept medicine up here, just in case. I wasn’t sure there was any left after all this time. This is good cough-mixture. Open your mouth.’

She let him coax her until she’d swallowed some, and felt it soothing her as it went down.

‘Now lie down and try to get to sleep,’ he said as he’d said so often to his child. Right this minute, that was how he felt about Alysa-she was his to protect.

Alysa lay back, exhausted from coughing and weeping. She no longer had the energy to do anything except sink into the warmth and let the world fade away. She was safe, as she hadn’t been for a long time, and it was blissful to let go.

‘I’m OK now,’ she murmured. ‘You don’t have to mother-hen me.’

‘Just go to sleep.’

She closed her eyes at once.

Hours later she awoke in the same position, feeling rested after a dreamless sleep. She stretched, and discovered that she was not alone on the bed. Drago lay just behind her, fully dressed and outside the bedclothes, evidently taking his nursing duties seriously.

‘Mother hen,’ she said tenderly.

Moving carefully, not wanting to disturb him, she eased herself out of the bed and made her way to the bathroom. When she returned Drago was lying in the same position, except that his arm was stretched out over the space she had occupied, as though he’d been searching for her. She contrived to slide in underneath his arm without disturbing him, and held quite still in case he should awake. He seemed dead to the world, but after a moment his arm tightened around her. She slept.

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.