The Italian Girl (47 page)

‘No, of course not. We’ll be fine,’ said Ella.

‘If you’re sure. I can go on Saturday, so you won’t miss any school.’

‘Of course I’m sure. Nico loves his Auntie Lala, doesn’t he?’ Ella cuddled Nico, who wriggled in pleasure.

‘Thank you, Ella. I appreciate it very much.’

‘Are you okay?’ Ella asked, noting the tense expression on her aunt’s face.

‘Yes, I’m okay.’ Rosanna left the kitchen and went into the study to write out a list of the belongings she wanted to collect.

On the train on the way to London, to keep her thoughts from what she had to do in the next couple of hours, Rosanna pondered over the way Ella seemed to have adapted so very well to her new life. She’d enrolled her in a small private school in a neighbouring village. In the past two months, with the help of a tutor, Ella’s English had improved immeasurably and she’d begun to make new friends. The coursework was difficult for her, but the teachers were being very accommodating by giving her extra tuition. They were confident that her English was good enough to pass a handful of exams in the summer. If she wanted to take more, they’d said she was welcome to stay on the following year. Next week, Rosanna and Nico were going to watch her school carol concert. Ella had been given a solo and had come home, eyes shining, to tell her aunt the good news.

Rosanna had grown extremely fond of her niece and admired her courage and tenacity. The twice-weekly telephone calls from Luca relaying news of Carlotta were a low point and usually resulted in a bout of tears, but for the most part, Ella seemed to have accepted the situation and was doing her best to come to terms with it. Rosanna found it comforting to be able to tell Luca how well Ella was doing. She knew it helped Carlotta, who Luca said had been slipping in and out of consciousness for the past two days. Luca had warned Rosanna last night that he thought the end was close now, but that he felt their sister was ready.

The train pulled into Paddington station and Rosanna walked along the platform to find a telephone box. And, hands shaking, she dialled the number of the Kensington house. Even though she knew Roberto was in New York, she still wanted to double-check. The line rang for a good two minutes before she replaced the receiver and smiled her apologies at the irate businessman waiting to use it. She walked outside and caught a taxi from the rank.

‘Campden Hill Road, please,’ she said.

‘Right you are, miss.’

Even though she knew Roberto was not in residence, Rosanna’s heart began thumping as the taxi drove along Kensington High Street, turned left and drew to a halt in front of the house.

‘That’ll be six quid, love.’

Rosanna paid the driver and stepped out of the taxi. She stood for a moment looking up at the graceful white house. Then, taking a deep breath, she walked up the steps to the front door.

The familiar and once comforting smell of the house hit her as she stood in the hall. She felt suddenly dizzy and sank onto the bottom stair, as her breathing accelerated and she struggled to control it.

Come on, Rosanna
, she told herself,
an hour is all you need and then you can go home
.

She got to her feet and felt inside her handbag for the list. It was very short and included mainly odd trinkets she’d bought and treasured as they’d travelled around the world. She walked up the stairs of the silent house, wanting to get the worst over with first. She pushed open the door of the bedroom she’d shared with Roberto and stepped inside.

Everything was exactly as it had been – even her photograph was still standing on the table next to Roberto’s side of the bed. The entire house felt unlived in and Rosanna wondered how often Roberto had stayed here since they’d separated. Perhaps not at all, by the looks of it. She went to the wall-length wardrobe and opened it. There, hanging side by side with her clothes, were a number of his suits; by her shoes, his larger ones. She reached to remove the first dress, then stopped. She didn’t want it or any of them; she had plenty at home. Besides, she’d never wear them – they’d be too painful a reminder.

Rosanna sat down abruptly on the bed and put her head in her hands. This claiming of her possessions had just been a poor excuse, a reason to allow herself to step back into the past. But this emptiness was the brutal reality and there was no turning back the clock.

Just one hour of remembering, then I must forget – forever
, she thought.

Rosanna wandered through the house, picking up a framed programme cover of
La Traviata
at Covent Garden, crystal glasses she’d bought in Vienna, a candelabra she’d found in a flea market in Paris and placing them in the holdall she’d brought with her. Each item evoked a moment for her, a special feeling. She relived the joy, throwing herself wholeheartedly into the past, finding no pain, only pleasure.

In the drawing room, there was a photograph of the three of them just after Nico had been born. Her own eyes were alive, her face vibrant. Rosanna went across to the mirror that hung above the fireplace and studied her reflection. She knew she looked different now. Her eyes were sad and dead.

‘I love you, Roberto. Whatever you have done, I will always love you, always love you,’ she murmured to herself.

She walked downstairs to the kitchen and called a taxi to take her to the station. She sat down to wait, and almost without thinking switched on the cassette machine that sat in its usual place on the table. Her own voice streamed into the room, taking her by surprise.

Rosanna closed her eyes as she listened. Then she began to sing. Quietly, hesitantly at first, then as she gained the confidence of privacy, her voice drowned out the one coming from the machine. Her eyes still closed, she sang ‘
Sempre libera
’, Violetta’s heart-rending aria from
La Traviata
, as though her life depended on it.

When she finished, the silence was shattering.

Then she heard someone clapping.

She opened her eyes, the kitchen spinning a little as she did so.

There, in front of her, stood Roberto.

43

Rosanna didn’t know how long they remained silent, staring at each other. His face was fuller, less angular than she remembered, and his figure bulkier, but he was still the same Roberto and her traitorous heart skipped a beat.

‘
Ciao
,’ he said eventually.

‘
Ciao
.’ She blushed. ‘I didn’t know you were here.’ Rosanna stood up, the moment she had dreamt of,
known
would happen, now upon her. ‘I must go. I was collecting a few things.’

‘It’s still your house too, at least for the next couple of weeks,’ Roberto shrugged.

His casualness, the way he was obviously so unruffled at seeing her after all this time, tore at her soul. She desperately tried to pull herself together.

‘My solicitor said you were in New York.’

‘I wasn’t planning to be here, but I arrived at Heathrow from a concert in Geneva and there’s an eight-hour delay on my flight back to New York. There’s fog at Heathrow, so I thought I’d come back here and sleep for a few hours.’

‘Don’t let me stop you,’ she said abruptly. ‘I was just leaving.’

‘You’re going back to The Manor House?’ he asked.

‘Yes. I have a cab on its way to collect me.’

‘How is Nico?’ Roberto was watching her intently.

‘He’s fine.’

‘He’s probably grown a lot since I last saw him.’

‘Yes,’ she answered as coolly as she could manage.

‘You’re still not intending to return to the stage?’

‘No.’

‘You should.’

‘I have your child to care for, remember?’

‘Of course. I apologise. I remember your strong feelings on the subject.’

She could take no more. ‘I must go.’ Rosanna walked towards the kitchen doorway in which he stood. ‘Excuse me.’

Roberto made no attempt to move aside.

‘Let me pass. Let me
pass
!’ She hit out at him and he grabbed her by the elbows to restrain her.

‘Stop it, Rosanna, stop it!’

‘Just let me go . . . let me . . .’ despite herself, tears began to stream down her cheeks. ‘You weren’t meant to be here! You weren’t meant to be here!’ she repeated hysterically.

‘Rosanna,
cara
, I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. I can’t bear to see you cry.’ Roberto released his grasp on her elbows and folded her into his arms.

For a few seconds she remained taut, then her body gave up the struggle and relaxed against him as she continued to sob helplessly. He stroked her hair gently. ‘Please forgive me. I was a pig just then. I’m sorry. You know it’s my way of coping,
principessa
.’

The sound of him calling her by her pet name, smelling his familiar aroma and feeling his arms around her was unbearable. With enormous effort, she pulled away from him and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

‘I’m sorry for being silly and emotional. We’re grown-ups now.’

‘You’ll never be a grown-up in my eyes,’ he murmured. ‘You will always be that thin little girl in the cotton dress who sang “
Ave Maria
” at Mamma and Papa’s anniversary party. Come, Rosanna, shall we have a drink while we wait for your car? For old times’ sake.’

She stood, knowing with every fibre in her body she should leave now, but found that her legs refused to take her. She watched, silently, as Roberto peered into a cupboard and brought out a half-full bottle of brandy.

‘This hasn’t been touched since we left here. Luckily, it’s one of the only things that improve with age.’ He found two glasses, sat at the table and poured some brandy into them. ‘Come, sit down.’

She finally persuaded her legs to move and joined him at the table.

‘Rosanna, if nothing else, today has given me a chance to say how sorry I am.’ Roberto took a mouthful of brandy. ‘This has all been my fault. I was a bastard to do what I did. I know you can never forgive me, but I wished to say it anyway.’

Rosanna sighed, having found her voice. ‘It’s the way you are, Roberto,’ she whispered numbly. ‘It was stupid of me to think that you could be any different.’

‘And the way you are,’ he countered. ‘Some wives would tolerate their husband’s . . .
peccadilloes.
’

‘While they’re giving birth to their husband’s child? I doubt it,’ retaliated Rosanna, feeling some reality return to her jumbled senses.

Roberto had the grace to blush. He shook his head. ‘It meant nothing. I didn’t love her.’

‘Do you now?’

‘No.’

‘Then why are you with her in New York?’

‘It’s convenient, that’s all. And Trish St Regent tells me you have someone in your life too?’

‘Yes.’ Rosanna berated herself for blushing.

‘Are you in love with him?’

‘It’s too early to tell. I think perhaps in the future I could be.’

‘You’ll be lucky if you find love again. Me, I will not,’ he shrugged.

‘I don’t think you know what love is, Roberto.’

‘Yes I do. I know because, when you made me leave that night, I spent a week here at the house alone, crying. I’ve thought about you every day since we parted. There’s barely an hour that goes past when I don’t miss you. But what does it all matter now?’ Roberto sighed, refilling his glass with brandy.

He’s a consummate actor
, Rosanna reminded herself.
I cannot,
must
not, believe what he’s saying.
‘Then why didn’t you ever contact us? Why have you not tried to see your son for eighteen months? Because you loved us?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, Roberto.’

‘I told you that night, if you made me leave without giving me a chance to explain, I would never return. Think back, Rosanna. Try to remember how angry you were. I shall never forget the way you looked at me on the doorstep. Your face was filled with such disgust, such hatred. I thought you would prefer it if I left for good. Was I wrong?’

‘No, of course not,’ she lied bravely. ‘It was what I told you I wanted. But I thought you would contact me, if only to see Nico.’

‘But don’t you understand that I couldn’t bear to see you or our child, knowing that I’d have to leave you both after an hour, two hours? You know how we are, Rosanna. With us, it’s all or nothing. I understood you didn’t want me back, so, for all our sakes, I made a complete break. Even so,’ he admitted, ‘I’ve tried to call you several times. You were obviously not at home.’

‘Even I have to leave the house sometimes, Roberto.’
He’s lying, he’s lying
, she told herself firmly.
He’s hardly thought about us at all
.

‘Please, Rosanna. This might be one of the last times we talk. I’m being honest with you. I swear I have called you. At the very least, believe I still love Nico, if nothing else.’

‘It’s hard when you’ve made no effort to see him,’ she countered, at last glad to feel genuine anger on behalf of her son. ‘But I will try to believe it for Nico’s sake, if not for my own.’

‘Oh
principessa
.’ Roberto swept a hand through his hair. ‘Why did it turn out like this? We were so happy, the three of us. We’ve both lost so much. And it’s all my fault, I know, I know.’

The doorbell rang, a shrill noise penetrating the tension.

Rosanna stood up. ‘My taxi is here. I must go.’

‘Of course.’ Roberto stood up too. ‘You know,
cara
, that I will never stop loving you,’ he said softly.

Say it back, Rosanna,
say
it
, she urged herself.
You know you belong with him, no matter what he is and how he might hurt you.

But she didn’t reply, and instead, with a huge effort of will, walked upstairs to the front door, Roberto following behind her.

‘Goodbye, Roberto.’ She walked down the steps, then turned back and looked up at him. ‘If you want to see your son in the future, please let me know.’

Then she turned and hurried to the cab, the world a blur through her tears.

Roberto watched the taxi leave. Then he shut the front door and slowly made his way back down the stairs to the kitchen. He sat down at the table and poured himself another brandy. He could still smell her perfume hanging in the air. He felt devastated and completely empty.