Wife in the Shadows (17 page)

The calm, she thought, after the storm. Then, hearing the rattle of the wind against the shutters and the low rumble of thunder in the distance, she thought of all the other storms still to come. And how they could so easily tear her life apart.

And wondered how she would ever bear it.

It was just after dawn when she woke with a start, and sat up, wondering what had disturbed her. And in that same moment, discovered she was alone.

At first, she remained still, listening intently for the sound of the shower, trying to detect the aroma of coffee in the air. Searching for the normality of morning, but there was nothing.

And as her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness of the room, she saw that his clothes were missing too.

Ellie bit her lip, tasting blood. She wasn’t accustomed to this, she thought. She’d become used to waking in his arms, his warm mouth coaxing her to desire. Later, to showering with him, running her fingers laughingly over the stubble on his chin and the faint marks it had left on her skin.

Yet at some moment, it seemed, he’d decided that a clean break was best after all. And gone. Without a kiss. Without a word.

She flung back the covers and got up, reaching for her robe. With last night’s memories crowding in on her—his hands, his lips, the scent, the taste of him—it was impossible to stay where she was, or try to sleep again.

In the living room, she paused, looking round her in a kind of desperation. This little house—her refuge for so long—suddenly felt bleak and empty, as if it no longer belonged to her, but to some stranger. As if the heart had been ripped out of it. Or was it the dark hollow that had opened up inside herself that she was sensing?

She took a deep, steadying breath, then padded into the kitchen and put the coffee to brew, before toasting some bread to go with the ham and cheese she’d taken from the fridge for breakfast.

Knowing she needed to keep herself occupied far more than she required food.

She ate what she could, then showered and dressed in denim jeans and a dark blue sweater, grimacing at the pallid face which looked back at her from the mirror.

She sat down at her work table with gritted teeth, but her usual ability to concentrate had deserted her. She found she was staring at the rain-lashed window, wondering where he was, what he was doing, what he was thinking. Then endlessly repeating everything that had been said between them the previous night. Telling herself as she did so that she had done absolutely the right thing. That she hadn’t cried or begun a sentence
with ‘Can’t we …’ so that at least she could emerge from this extraordinary situation with some semblance of dignity.

And one day she’d be able to look back and be proud—maybe even glad that she’d had the strength to behave so well.

At last, she gave up on the current translation, and deciding that struggling against the wind and rain was better than fighting her unhappy thoughts, she took the ancient hooded waterproof cape that had once belonged to her grandmother from the cupboard, and went for a walk.

Under the leaden sky, a grey sea hurled foam-tipped waves at the beach, the hiss and roar of its ebb competing with the noisy gusts that whipped at Ellie’s cape, and stung her face with whipped up particles of sand.

Head bent, she battled along the deserted promenade, her imagination telling her that at any moment she would hear him say her name—her real name—and she would look up and see him there, on his way to find her and say all the things she longed to hear.

Last night in the
trattoria
she’d let fear and pride get the better of her, but now there was only her need for him. Her longing to be his in any way he wanted. However little he could offer.

She stopped, gazing up at the bulk of the hotel above her on the headland, determination building inside her. What she was planning was probably the height of stupidity, but, as he’d said last night, it was too late for wisdom.

I have to see him, she thought. Even now. Talk to him. I can’t let it end like this—not without knowing—being certain …

She made for the long, steep flight of steps cut into the cliff, and began to climb. When she reached the top, breathless and dishevelled, she cut across the gardens to the hotel’s main entrance, and the wide glass doors opened at her approach.

The foyer was almost empty, but there was a buzz of laughter and chatter from the bar where the guests were enjoying their pre-lunch drinks.

Ellie went straight across the wide expanse of marble floor to the reception desk, water dripping from her cape. A man in a
formal dark suit raised his eyes from the computer screen he was scanning and stared at her as if he could not believe the presence of such a scarecrow in the hotel’s sophisticated surroundings.

He said with hauteur, ‘I may help you,
signorina?’

Pushing back her hood, she said quietly, ‘I wish to speak to Count Manzini, if you please. I believe he is staying here.’

‘He was a guest,
signorina,
but no longer.’ The man offered a thin smile. ‘He left two hours ago to return to Rome.’

The world seemed suddenly to recede to a great distance. Ellie leaned against the edge of the desk. She said, ‘I didn’t realise he was leaving so soon. Did he say—why?’

She received a disparaging look. ‘His Excellency gave no reason for his departure,
signorina.
He is not obliged to explain himself. But I believe he received a telephone call.’

‘I see.’ Ellie paused. ‘Do you know if he is planning to come back?’

‘He did not say so,
signorina.
He was clearly in a hurry to be gone.’

Ellie lifted her chin. ‘Well, I’m sorry to have missed him, but no doubt we’ll meet up when I too return to Rome.’

‘Indubbiamente, signorina.’
He inclined his head with insincere courtesy. ‘Is there any other way in which I can assist you?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Thank you. I should also have telephoned instead of wasting a journey.’

As she walked back towards the entrance, she realised that her legs were shaking and prayed it did not show. She did not dare risk the steps again, but made her way carefully down the winding hill, half dizzy with the questions teeming in her mind.

As she reached Casa Bianca, the Signora’s door opened, and the good woman appeared under an umbrella, brandishing an envelope. ‘This came for you, cara.’ She gave her a shrewd look. ‘A boy was knocking at your door—a
fattorino
from the hotel, I think.’

The envelope was cream, thick and expensive, bearing the single word ‘Elena’.

‘Grazie.’
Ellie forced a smile and took the letter into her own house to the Signora’s evident disappointment. She removed her cape and hung it in the shower to dry, then sat down and opened the envelope.

‘Circumstances force my return to the city,’ the letter began abruptly. ‘And perhaps it is better this way, even though so much still remains unsaid between us.

‘You were right, of course. I did not come to Porto Vecchio in order to become your lover. On the contrary, my original purpose was to agree terms for the separation you requested when you left Vostranto.

‘I allowed myself to become sidetracked, but the ridiculous pretence, which should never have begun, is now over. Luca and Helen no longer exist, and should be forgotten. I accept too that the marriage between us is over.

‘In conclusion, let me say that I intend to make full financial provision for you in the divorce settlement, and you may use this or not as you wish.

‘This will be a matter for discussion at our next meeting.’

His signature ‘Angelo’ was a dark slash at the foot of the page, and Ellie felt the anger in it like a slap across the face.

She sat staring down at the words in all their bitterness and finality until the tears she could not hold back made them first blur and, eventually, vanish altogether as she wept for everything that might have been, but was now lost forever.

R
IDICULOUS PRETENCE …

Those were the words which haunted Ellie for the rest of the day, and the greater part of the night.

Of course that was all it had been, she told herself over and over again. She’d known that from the first, but, somehow, she’d allowed herself to forget for a while. To let herself be drawn into this crazy charade that he’d initiated. And, almost, in some incredible way, come to believe it.

To actually think that Angelo Luca Manzini was the lover she’d only dared to imagine in her wildest dreams. And, in the most dangerous kind of wishful thinking, to suppose that some of these dreams might even come true.

Just how many kinds of a fool was it possible to be? she wondered in quiet anguish as she contemplated what she had done. What she had allowed him to do.

After all, she knew that he didn’t care for her—that it was Silvia he really wanted. That evening at the reception, she’d seen with her own eyes that, in spite of everything, the passion still burned as brightly as ever between them.

Dear God, wasn’t it the knowledge of that, with all its attendant humiliation, that had made her leave Vostranto? Leave him, as she’d thought, forever?

Yet, somehow, he’d made her think she was beautiful—desirable—when all the time he’d simply been amusing himself. Or, which was even worse, perhaps taking his revenge for all those past rejections of his lovemaking.

Making a deliberate nonsense of her avowed indifference to him. Demonstrating that she was just the same as any of the other women who’d shared his bed. As easy to seduce. As easy to walk away from when he wished it to end.

And he had wished it, she reminded herself painfully, as she read once more the letter that she already knew by heart. He’d come to Porto Vecchio to offer her a divorce—the first one in the entire history of the Manzini family and bound to set tongues wagging in conjecture all over Rome.

But giving her the freedom she’d asked for was no simple act of altruism on his part, she reminded herself stonily. He had his own reasons for wanting their sham of a marriage to end, no matter what scandal that might provoke.

She had little doubt that Silvia was one of the topics for discussion still not touched upon, and she could only be thankful to have been spared the pain of that. Because her cousin had to be the motivation driving him to seek his liberation, no matter what the consequences.

That, she thought wretchedly, and the fact that I’ve totally failed to give him the child he asked from me.

She remembered Silvia standing greedy-eyed in the bedroom at Vostranto, already planning the change in her future. Supremely confident in her beauty, and the power of her sexuality to win Angelo back. To become the Countess Manzini as she’d always intended.

Between the two of them, they’ve wrecked my life, Ellie thought, pain wrenching at her heart. And I can’t deal with that rationally. It’s impossible.

And yet, having come all this way, making this specific journey in order to administer the
coup de grâce,
some obscure passing whim had caused him to postpone his decision. Instead, hiding behind other names, other identities, in the process messing with her head and destroying her power to reason or to be on her guard as she should have been, Angelo had played his own private game with her.

A game that was now over.

But at least she had not given him the opportunity to finish
it. The moment he’d hinted that they could not continue as they were, she’d acted swiftly, decisively. She could always be proud of that if nothing else. Proud that she hadn’t waited for sentence to be pronounced.

And if she’d changed her mind a short while later and gone to find him—well, he would never, ever know that she’d yielded to such pathetic weakness. Or be aware that, without him, she felt only half alive, pacing the floor since his departure, unable to settle or think of anything but him.

She’d stripped the bed and re-made it so that there would be no lingering trace of the cologne he used to act as a reminder of his presence tempting her to reach for him across the empty space beside her.

But, as she soon discovered, it made little difference, because he was not just in the bedroom, but everywhere.

She found him in the shower, stroking scented gel into her skin. At the stove in the kitchen, creating the best carbonara sauce she’d ever tasted to go with the pasta. In the living room, sharing the old sofa with her, his hands and lips caressing her in the preliminaries to love, before pulling her, laughing, down on to the soft rug for his possession.

She couldn’t even stand at the sink without recalling how he would appear behind her, his arms sliding round her waist as he pushed her hair away in order to nuzzle the nape of her neck.

Forcing her to the realisation that the freedom she’d demanded was just another illusion. That in her heart and mind she was still chained to him. And that her precious Casa Bianca was no longer a sanctuary but a prison.

She tried to pinpoint the time—the day—the hour when she had begun to want him, aware that it was well before she’d admitted as much to herself, ashamed to recognise how long ago it truly was. Certainly before the living nightmare of her marriage had been imposed on her.

I was like a child crying for the moon, she acknowledged sadly, knowing full well that it was unattainable. That I was
still just as I’d always been—Silvia Alberoni’s younger, plainer cousin.

Yet, I built every possible defence I could against him. Insisted he keep his distance. Threw myself into work as if my life depended on it. Tried desperately not to wonder where he was and who he might be with when he stayed in Rome. Fought each lift of the heart when he returned to Vostranto, each quiver of the senses when I was alone with him and all the other small, secret self-betrayals in case he picked them up on some inner male radar and guessed the truth.

And then I ran away, believing I was escaping from the humiliation of being set aside as the failed, unwanted wife. Thinking I could somehow avoid a broken heart. When it was here waiting for me all the time.

Oh, why did he have to follow me? Why couldn’t he have left it all in the hands of his lawyers?

Even after another three days she was unable to find answers to those or any of the other questions tormenting her, enclosing her in a kind of limbo.

On the surface, her life went on as usual. She forced herself back to work, relying on her strict professionalism to get her through her assignments.

The weather was still blustery, but fine enough to enable her to escape at some point from the four walls that used to be her safeguard. She took Poco for long walks, evading the Signora’s coy queries about ‘the return of your handsome friend’.

At the
trattoria,
which she continued to brave each evening, Santino and Maria were more discreet, but she could sense their brimming curiosity too—and their disappointment.

On the morning of the fourth day, she had just cleared away breakfast and was on her way to her laptop, when there was a loud rap at the front door.

Her heart seemed to lurch, and for a stunned instant, she stood staring across the room, aware what she was hoping and despising herself for it.

A second impatient knock and a rattle at the door handle prompted her into action, reaching for her keys.

She flung the door open, her lips parting in a soundless gasp as she saw who was waiting for her.

‘So you are here.’ Silvia walked past her into the living room. ‘I had begun to wonder.’ She began to unbutton her white trench coat. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me to sit down,
cara?
Offer me coffee? I am sure I can smell some.’

Ellie remained where she was. She said quietly, ‘Why have you come here?’

Silvia’s eyes widened in assumed surprise. ‘But, Elena
mia,
to talk to you, of course. To deal with the kind of detail that men somehow find so difficult.’ She shrugged. ‘But let us examine the broad picture first. You have, of course, agreed that your marriage to Angelo is finally and irretrievably over.’

Ellie said stonily, ‘I think that is my business and his. No-one else’s.’

‘On the contrary, as the other person most nearly involved in this, I have a right to know what is planned. And to help the matter reach a rapid and satisfactory conclusion.’ She draped her coat over the arm of the sofa, and sat down, crossing her legs. ‘I presume this is also your wish.’

Ellie walked over to the table and leaned against it, the hard, polished edge biting into her hands. ‘And what about Ernesto?’ she queried tautly. ‘Does he have a view in all this?’

Silvia examined her nails. ‘Of course, shut away in this forgotten corner, you cannot know what is happening in the wide world. Let me enlighten you. Ernesto and I are no longer together and will very soon be divorced.’

‘How convenient,’ Ellie returned bitingly.

Silvia laughed. ‘More of a necessity,
cara,
once he had heard the news. When I told him I was having Angelo’s child. Even he knew then he could not keep me with him.’

Ellie’s heart seemed to have stopped beating. She stared at Silvia, knowing she would never be able to forget the triumph in the glowing eyes, or the faint mocking smile that curved her cousin’s mouth.

She said in a voice she didn’t recognise, ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘You mean because in the past I have never been drawn to the idea of having babies?’ Silvia nodded. ‘It is true. I admit it.’ She paused. ‘But who should know better than you, Elena, how much Angelo needs an heir? And I have come to realise that, when you love a man, you wish to give him everything he wants.’ Her smile widened. ‘So that is what I have done, and you cannot imagine his delight.’

Ellie looked down at the floor, biting the inside of her lip until she tasted blood. Fighting one pain with another.

‘Naturally we wish to be married as soon as possible,’ Silvia went on brightly. ‘So I suggested that Angelo should come down here in person and talk to you. Put his powers of persuasion to good use rather than issue an ultimatum from a distance. When his heart is set on a thing, he becomes quite impossible to resist, don’t you find?

‘And as he is now instructing his lawyers, his methods were clearly successful.’ She gave a little gurgle of laughter. ‘He has always believed that the end justifies the means and I understand he had you eating out of the palm of his hand.’

She paused again. ‘But we now feel that for his grandmother’s sake—and to spare Madrina’s feelings too—it would be better if your marriage was quietly annulled. After all,
cara,
neither of you wished to marry the other, so it should be quite simple to arrange.’

‘I know very little of these things.’ Ellie was astonished to hear the steadiness of her own voice. ‘But I’ll sign whatever paperwork is necessary, if that’s what you came to hear. And now I’d like you to go.’

Silvia rose unhurriedly, smoothing her skirt. ‘You seem a little disturbed, cara.’ Her gaze searched her cousin’s white face. ‘The situation is awkward, perhaps, but there is no real need for embarrassment between us. Whatever Angelo felt obliged to do was for my sake and the sake of our future together. I know this, so please believe that I do not begrudge
the time he spent with you, or how it was spent. And I wish you well.’

Ellie did not reply. Somehow she managed to get to the door without stumbling, and hold it open for her unwanted visitor. Somehow, she managed to close it and lock it behind her.

Then she bolted to the bathroom and was instantly and violently sick.

‘You are selling Casa Bianca?’ The Signora stared at Ellie in disbelief. ‘Your grandmother’s house where you have known such happiness for so long? No, it is impossible. You could not do such a thing.’

‘I’m afraid that I must.’ Ellie gave her neighbour a strained smile. ‘Coming here for all these years has been wonderful, but nothing lasts forever, and my life is going to be very different from now on. In fact I’m probably going to get a job in England and live there, so it—it’s time to sell.’

She added, ‘Someone from the property company is coming to give a valuation this afternoon. I wanted to tell you myself before he arrived.’

‘But why—why do you do this? Italy is your home. Your friends are here. Also your family.’

Ellie winced inwardly. ‘But I’m going to find another home, somewhere else. I—I need to make a change. I’ve been thinking about it for a while.’

‘I know this while,’ the Signora said darkly. ‘It is since your handsome man went away. You cannot deceive me, Elena.’ She made an impassioned gesture. ‘So if he comes back, and you are no longer here—what then? How will he find you?’

Ellie took a deep breath. ‘There’s no question of that. I have my own life to deal with. No-one else is involved.’

‘But you were happy with him,’ the Signora said gently. ‘All the world could see it. Now it is different—as if a light inside you has gone out.’ She paused. ‘And there will be sadness here too. You will be much missed by myself and many others. Poco will grieve.’

Ellie bent to fondle the little dog’s ears. ‘Perhaps your new neighbours will like walking too,’ she whispered to him.

Detaching herself would not be easy, Ellie thought when she was back in her own living room. But it had to be done. She could neither stay here nor return to Rome.

She had to find some other place where she could hide until the wounds Silvia had so contemptuously inflicted had healed. Somewhere her cousin would never find. Or Angelo either …

Our next meeting …

It was those casual words from his letter, now torn up and burned, which had forced this drastic action from her. Because the thought of having to see him again, even briefly in the formality of a lawyer’s office, was totally, and hideously unbearable.

His betrayal of her was worse than she could ever have imagined, leaving her hollow with pain and shock. It was also incomprehensible because he already knew from the note she’d left she was willing to divorce him. There was no need for any extra ‘persuasion’ from him with or without Silvia’s sanction, so why had he gone to those lengths to seduce her? To lure her into a fantasy world and pretend such tenderness—such desire. She shuddered, her throat tightening with renewed misery. It was cynical, wicked, unforgivable.