‘Who, me?’ he exclaimed. ‘No way!’
‘Be brave, brother,’ Renato told him, his arm about Heather. ‘It’s not so bad when you get used to it. Ouch!’ His wife had dug him in the ribs.
‘Forget it,’ Lorenzo said firmly. ‘I’ll think about it in ten years. In the meantime, no way! Do you hear me?’ Alarmed, he looked at the sea of smiling faces. ‘Do you hear me?’
Baptista smiled. ‘Let’s wait and see.’
Midnight. The guests had gone, the streets were almost empty. In the full moon a couple strolled hand in hand. They said little. They no longer needed words.
‘I know nothing about people,’ he said at last. ‘And nothing about love, except that I feel it-for you, and for our child. I get everything wrong. You’ll have to show me what to do-’
‘I’m not sure that I can,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I know nothing about love either. I thought I did, but that was just romance. When love came it was completely different. I found that it could be hard and cruel and made me cry with the pain of it.’
‘Do you have any regrets?’
‘No. It’s just that I got a lot wrong, too.’
Then one of them-later, they could never remember which-said, ‘We’ll have to find the way together.’
EPILOGUE
BERNARDO and Angie’s baby daughter was born in October, and baptised the following January, in the Martelli chapel in Palermo Cathedral. The choice was a significant one, as it marked another stage in Bernardo’s reconciliation with his family. He had resumed his father’s name and accepted some of his father’s property, and now his choice of Palermo Cathedral over the village church in Montedoro filled Baptista with pleasure.
Not that Montedoro would miss out. Another celebration was planned there, with much gaiety, that Lorenzo was personally planning to direct.
The little chapel was crowded, as it had been for the marriage of Fede and Baptista, and the baptism of little Vincente, Renato and Heather’s son.
As Angie’s pregnancy advanced it became clear that she would need an assistant in the practice, but finding one was a problem. She was adamant in refusing to employ Carlo Bondini. The answer came in an unexpected way when her elder brother Steven came to visit, his face full of tragedy, seeking a refuge. He returned a week later, taking over her old house, and soon made himself so popular with the patients that they began scheming to ‘imprison’ him too.
It took some time to find a date for the ceremony, because Angie’s father and Jack, her remaining brother, were determined to be there.
At last they were all gathered around the font in the chapel, almost directly under the recently installed plaque that proclaimed Marta Tornese one of the family. Angie held her child in her arms, sometimes looking fondly down into the little girl’s face, sometimes glancing up at her husband, now almost a different man. The joy of his marriage had brought him tranquillity, and now his eyes were fixed on his wife and child like a miser with treasure.
Yet he was a little troubled too. Right up to yesterday evening there had been some discussion about the names. Now he wasn’t sure what had been decided, for Angie and Baptista were being secretive.
It was the moment for the godparents. As chief godmother Baptista stepped forward. The priest asked her to name the child.
‘Marta,’ she said, smiling at the man who was her son and not her son. ‘Marta Martelli.’
Lucy Gordon
