“Papa, promise me you’ll rest?” She kissed his cheek.
“Of course, my dear. I’m so pleased you brought him. I’m so glad Richard’s come home.”
Stefano was waiting for Christina, holding her shawl.
“Do you mind if we walk a bit?” Christina asked. “I’d rather not go home just yet.”
Stefano nodded, but said nothing. They continued for several blocks until they reached the old Roman theater, which had been built during the reign of Augustus in the first century before Christ. It was originally quite large, but over the years many of the stones had been carried away and used for other buildings. Only two of the magnificent columns that originally supported the portico remained and they were referred to locally as the “Two Widows.”
As they entered the grounds, Christina explained this to Stefano, partly in an effort to make conversation and partly as a way of letting him know that her opinion of him had softened. But Stefano didn’t respond. He seemed to be lost in thoughts of his own.
“Do you mind if we sit for a moment?” She seated herself on the first row of curved stone seats.
Stefano stood next to her, staring off beyond the columns to the tower of St. Trophime.
Christina wanted to tell him how much she appreciated the way he’d treated her father, but his continuing silence was making it difficult. Finally, he sat down beside her.
“Signore, I think I owe you an apology. I’ve misjudged you and I want you to know I’m sorry. It’s certainly not your fault that you resemble someone who was…who was very important to me.”
Very gently, Stefano took her hand. Christina found the warmth of his touch comforting and was vaguely surprised that she felt no inclination to pull away. She looked into his eyes and saw something unsettling in their blue depths.
“Signora
,
you must forgive
me
. I didn’t know. Your husband told me only that I looked like a childhood friend of yours. He did not tell me he was dead, nor…” It was Stefano’s turn to falter. “Nor did he tell me that he was the man you loved. I’m truly sorry.”
“I wish I knew why he brought you here. I often have difficulty understanding why he does things.”
Stefano dropped her hand. “Oh, I understand…completely,” he said bitterly. “At least what he wants from me. He made that quite clear.”
“Will you tell me?”
Stefano looked at her and then stood up. He glanced off toward the church again. “Your husband brought me here to seduce you, Signora
.
” Stefano looked at her, gauging her reaction to this. “Oh yes, I’m afraid it’s true. And I admit, in the beginning, it didn’t seem such a bad offer. ‘Come to Arles, learn the business and seduce my young wife.’ Quite a bit less work than I was used to at the factory. I like to travel and I like women well enough.” He shrugged and tried to smile at her. “But you must believe me when I tell you that I had no idea of the circumstances. I thought his wife would be wild perhaps, or maybe he was just unable to satisfy her. If you will forgive me, I see that is obviously not the case.”
“But why? After all he went through to take me from Richard in the first place—why would he now want to give me to another man?”
Stefano shook his head. “I don’t know, Signora
.
I don’t know.” He started to reach for her, seeing the pain on her face, but he thought better of it and his hands fell back to his sides. “I shouldn’t have told you. What I’ve done will ruin my family, but I have no wish to hurt you.”
“What?”
“You aren’t the only prisoner in that house, Signora.”
“What do you mean?”
“My brothers also work at the factory. Their jobs depend on my…shall we say, ‘success’ with you. They have large families, Signora. Many will suffer for my failure.”
“But must my husband know? You’ve only just arrived. Can’t you tell him I’m being difficult, that I’m unwilling to spend time with you? Tell him I dislike you for the very reason he thought I would find you attractive.”
Stefano pondered her words for a moment. “It’s possible, I suppose. I think he plans to return to Venice in a few weeks. Impulsively, he took both her hands. “No matter what happens, I won’t let this hurt you, Signora. I promise.”
The next six weeks went well. Guy was extremely kind to Christina and seemed to enjoy Stefano’s company. Christina treated Stefano coolly whenever they were in the house or with Guy, but when they were out walking or visiting her father, she enjoyed his company. They talked of Venice and the Conservatorio, of her father and of Stefano’s family. It had been a long time since Christina had had a friend.
But then Christina’s father died. He passed away one night in his sleep. Much to Guy’s disgust, Antonio left whatever proceeds might come from the sale of the house to the abbey at Montmajour as an endowment to provide a retreat for his daughter for the rest of her life. After leaving his few servants small sums, there was no money left. Guy had already managed to relieve him of the bulk of what would have been his Christina’s inheritance.
Antonio left the contents of his house to his daughter. The night before Guy left for Venice, he told Christina to go to her father’s house and pick out anything she might want to keep. What remained would be sold at the end of the week.
Christina and a few of the servants saw her father buried beside her brother and her mother in the family mausoleum at Beauvu. Christina asked Stefano not to accompany her. She had no wish to upset Richard’s family with his presence. The Baron, pleading ill health, sent his condolences, but did not attend and she was unable to see him.
She rode back to Arles alone in her carriage. Her father had died peacefully and she knew it was for the best. He hadn’t been himself since Marco’s death, yet his sudden departure from her life left her feeling very much alone in the world. The rest of her family was in Italy and now she had no one at all in Arles, except of course, her husband. And though Guy had behaved more evenly since Stefano had come to live with them, she knew better than to trust him. She would not make that mistake again.
Christina wandered through the rooms of her father’s house, trying to select some things for herself. She sent her bed and her armoire to Montmajour, along with a few other pieces from her bedroom and a chest full of her personal mementos. She didn’t really think she would want to spend much time at the abbey, but who knew what the future might bring? It was a comfort to know that there was somewhere she could go where she would always be welcome…
and safe
.
She opened the door to her father’s library as Francesca appeared behind her.
“Signora, your father asked that I give this to you if anything happened to him.” She handed Christina a letter with her name written boldly across the front.
She glanced at it, thinking it had been some time since Antonio had written with such a steady hand. Then she looked at Francesca. The older woman’s eyes were swollen and impulsively, Christina hugged her.
“Signora,” she said, as she began to cry. “Please forgive me, but I miss him.”
“I know,” Christina said sympathetically. “You will keep in touch, won’t you?”
“Oh yes, Signora
,
I promise.” Francesca took another moment to collect herself, then returned to her inventory of the household items that would be offered for sale.
Christina went into the library and closed the doors. It was the last room she had to deal with and the one where she felt closest to her father. The books she would have sent over to her house. The clock, the small mahogany table with the faun’s feet, and of course the family portraits she would keep. She turned and looked at the chair in front of the fireplace. Her mother had done the petit point covering herself and for Christina it held many fond memories.
She ran her hand lovingly over the back of the chair, remembering the night she and Richard had taken their supper in that very room and how tenderly he’d held her as they shared their dreams of a future together.
Hoping to turn aside the thoughts that suddenly threatened to overwhelm her, she sat down and opened her father’s letter.
4 Juin 1753
Dearest Daughter,
I write this on the day of your unfortunate marriage though I do not intend that you should have it while I live. I have done you a great disservice for which I pray that you will one day be able to forgive me.
Christina, I’ve always loved you. I hope you know that. And perhaps for that reason, you can understand why I had to consent to Guy’s demands. You must believe me when I tell you I had no choice. The loss of that shipment would have ruined me if Guy had insisted on collecting the notes. I still don’t understand what happened. I never should have let him convince me to try another shipper—but that is behind me now.
Can you understand how badly I wanted to have something to leave to you and your brother, how important this business has been to me? Now, I know it was all for nothing. I’ve failed at all I tried to do for the both of you and lost you both, as well.
There’s something else I want you to know, Tina. I’m sure that Richard was not responsible for Marco’s death. He simply couldn’t have done it. He’s much too fine a young man. And though I can’t understand why he left you without a word, I know there must have been a reason.
After Marco died, I really should have ignored Guy’s threats and sent you to Richard, no matter where he was. Had I been able to do anything, I should have done that. Richard loved you, Tina. I know it as surely as I loved your mother, and I had no right to deprive you of that. It is all too rare. Instead of helping you, I’ve given you to an irresponsible and vindictive young man. I pray night and day that you will somehow be happy.
Forgive me, Tina, for I shall never forgive myself.
Papa
Christina began to sob even as she threw the pages into the fire. She didn’t hear the knock at the door or Stefano’s footsteps as he came into the room.
“Signora
?
Oh, Signora, don’t…” he said, touching her shoulder.
When she looked up at him, he took her hand and pulled her to her feet, immediately taking her in his arms. He held her close, trying to soothe her.
Christina didn’t question it. She only knew that when she looked up, Richard had looked down at her. It was Richard she wanted now and he was there, giving her the comfort of his strong embrace.
She cried for Richard, for her father, for her brother, and for everyone who had left her all alone in a world that no longer held anything that mattered to her. She cried for all that had been lost, for a future that had once seemed so bright, for Richard’s children, which she would never bear and for Richard, Richard, Richard.
Stefano held her until she quieted.
“Signora, please don’t cry. You’re breaking my heart. I can’t bear to see you so unhappy,” he said softly.
And it was the sound of his voice, not at all like Richard’s, that finally brought her back to herself. When she looked up at him, he kissed her. It happened too quickly for her to stop it and once she felt the warmth of his mouth on hers, she didn’t want to. It was Stefano who finally pulled away. He looked shaken.
“Forgive me. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“It’s my fault. I’m sorry,” she said as she eased herself out of his arms. “And thank you, you were only being kind. Believe me, I understand.”
“Signora…”
“No. I was upset and you comforted me. That’s all there is to it.”
Stefano started to speak again, but she silently implored him to let the matter drop.
“Very well.” His eyes searched hers for a moment. “I came to tell you that the pieces you’re sending to the abbey are on their way. The men have finished upstairs and are working across the hall.”
Christina, behaving as though nothing had passed between them, briskly began to explain to him which things from the library should be sent over to the house.
The first week of December, Christina and Stefano took the carriage outside the city walls to the Alyscamps. It was unseasonably warm, though breezy, as they entered the broad avenue. Most of the trees had lost their-leaves, but the stately cypresses still bordered their path with dark green shapes that bent gracefully in the wind.
Few of the intricately carved sarcophagi remained in the ancient Roman necropolis. They had been stolen or given as gifts by the monarchs of France for hundreds of years. Still, enough unornamented tombs remained to lend a solemn tone to the surroundings as they walked the nearly mile-long path to the tiny chapel of St. Honorat.
Stefano had become distant since the day he’d kissed her at her father’s house. He spent more time at the warehouse and less time with her now, and Christina was unsure if it was because there was more work for him in Guy’s absence or because he was avoiding her. Whatever the reason, on many nights Christina found herself dining alone. She hoped that by persuading Stefano to come out with her today, she would have a chance to really talk to him, something she had not been able to do for three weeks, something she had no difficulty admitting to herself that she missed.
As they walked, Christina chatted about the history of the place, mentioned having played there as a child and how, as a little girl, she had always wanted to be buried there like a great Renaissance lady.
“It sounds as though you had quite a flair for the dramatic. How is it that you never found your way to the stage?” Stefano asked.
Christina was pleased. He seemed in better humor than he had for some time.
“I’ve only been on the stage to sing with the Conservatorio and I was so nervous, it’s a wonder I sang a note.” She laughed, but then she reached out and took his hand. “Stefano, tell me, is something wrong?”
Stefano gently pulled his hand away from hers and kept walking.
“Please tell me. Have I done something to upset you?”
He stopped abruptly and faced her, taking a moment to study her beautiful face before he answered.
“Your husband will be returning in just two weeks and, to be truthful, I dread the consequences.”
“What consequences?”