‘You see,’ Vittorio said. ‘His last coherent thoughts were about you. He didn’t die a stranger after all.’
‘No,’ she choked. ‘He didn’t die a stranger.’
He turned her face up to him. ‘Why are you crying?’
‘Because you’ve given him back to me. Oh, my love-’
Then she did throw her arms about him in the way he’d dreamed of on his journey here. He clasped her tightly, like a man holding on to recovered treasure.
‘I’ve come to take you home,’ he said. ‘Our home. Yours and mine together. Without you it isn’t a home at all.’
‘Don’t,’ she whispered longingly. ‘Part of me wants to with all my heart, but-my love, I’ve missed you so much, but at the same time I’ve discovered something that I’ve always wanted. I’m not sure I can give it up now.’
‘Why should you have to give it up? There are other universities. We’ll find one closer to home and you can continue your studies there. I don’t want to take that away from you. I don’t want you to lose anything that makes you
But in the next moment he backtracked. ‘No, forget I said that. You mustn’t say yes just to please Sam. I don’t want you on those terms. If you’d rather stay here I’ll give you some money to help you complete your education, and then I’ll go away and not bother you again. I can always hope that you’ll come to me one day, but it has to be on your terms.’
‘There’s no need for money,’ Angel said shakily.
‘No need? When you’re working in that place for peanuts?’
‘I don’t have to stay there. I had a call from a magazine-’
‘No,’ he said fiercely. ‘You mustn’t take even one step back to that life. If you’ve really found your path you’ve got to stick to it, no matter what. Even if-even if there’s no place for me.’
‘Don’t,’ she said frantically. ‘I gave you up once, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do it again.’
‘I want you willingly, or not at all. So, perhaps I should do it for you.’
Pulling out his chequebook, he sat at the table and scribbled.
‘Take it,’ he said. ‘Don’t be too proud.’ He gave a frayed smile. ‘We both know how fatal pride can be, but you’re wiser than me. Let there be an end to pride.’
She took the cheque between nerveless fingers, staring at the large amount.
‘Your share of the harvest,’ he said. ‘I still want you to come back to me, but if not-goodbye, my darling.’
He kissed her cheek gently, the kiss of a friend, not a lover, yet no kiss he’d ever given her had been more full of love.
Then he walked out of the room.
She didn’t move. She was still staring at the cheque, knowing suddenly that another fork in the road had appeared. And this time she
His footsteps were on the stairs outside. It was the sound that had haunted her dreams so often, footsteps, fading, retreating out of her life for ever, leaving emptiness behind. She had heard those footsteps so many times, and never understood until now.
The road forked ahead of her, but the footsteps led only one way.
‘Vittorio,’ she cried, coming back to life.
He had almost reached the street when he heard. He stopped, not sure whether the sound was real or part of his longing. But the next moment it came again, followed by a door being flung open, feet hurrying down to him.
‘Vittorio! Wait for me, my love-my love!’
Only half believing what he heard, he began to retrace his steps. He was dreaming-as he’d dreamed of this so often before.
The next moment he saw her flying down the stairs towards him, her shining eyes full of the answer he sought. He opened his arms wide to receive her, and she flung herself into them, for ever.
Lucy Gordon
Lucy Gordon cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Richard Chamberlain, Sir Roger Moore, Sir Alec Guinness, and Sir John Gielgud. She also camped out with lions in Africa and had many other unusual experiences which have often provided the background for her books. She is married to a Venetian, whom she met while on holiday in Venice. They got engaged within two days.
You can visit her website at www. lucy-gordon. com
