you took of me when I first came here.’
‘We went to the consulate to get you a new passport,’ he recalled.
‘But how do you come to have it? I never did remember to give them to you.’
‘No, and I raided your computer for them. This was the best, so I printed it out to keep.’ He stopped and watched her for a moment, remembering. ‘I’d never loved you as much as I did then. That previous night, I came to the edge of telling you everything.
‘I backed off at the last minute, but when I went through those pictures and saw how you looked at me I knew I had to tell you, because you were the only person I could ever trust with the truth. Suddenly it was all clear, and I knew I could tell you everything.’
‘Oh no,’ she whispered, dropping her head into her hands. ‘And then you found that folder and realised I’d betrayed you. No wonder you were so terribly hurt.’
‘You didn’t betray me. I’ve known that for a long time, but I was in such a state of confusion that I couldn’t wait to be rid of you. You made me think, and I didn’t want to think. It was only after you’d gone that I realised what I’d done-chosen safety and predictability over life. I kept that picture with me to remind myself what I’d lost.’
‘But why didn’t you call me and ask me to come back?’ she asked.
‘Because I thought I had nothing to offer you, and you were better without me.’
‘That will never be true. I want you with me all my life.’
‘If only…’ he said longingly.
‘My love, I know what I’m asking of you is hard, but do it for me. Do it for
Without speaking, he slipped to his knees and laid his face against her, his hand gently touching her stomach. Ferne caressed him, also in silence. Nothing more was needed. He had given his answer.
Hope was in ecstasies as they reached the villa that evening, greeting them both, but especially Ferne, with open arms.
‘Welcome to the family,’ she said. ‘Oh yes, you’re a Rinucci now. You’re going to have a Rinucci baby, and that makes you one of us.’
Ferne couldn’t help smiling at the way she’d been taken over. Then Hope went even further.
‘I’m so looking forward to another grandchild,’ she said blissfully.
‘But Dante isn’t actually your son, is he?’ Ferne said, startled.
‘Oh, son, nephew, what does it matter? He’s a Rinucci, and now so are you.’
Next day, she took over the preparations for Dante’s tests, telephoning a contact at the local hospital. He moved fast, and Dante was admitted that day for a lumbar puncture and a CT scan. From behind a window, Ferne watched as he prepared for the scan; he kept his eyes on them until the last minute, as he was swallowed up in the huge machine.
After that the minutes seemed to go at a crawl until they were given the results. During that endless time, Ferne realised that she had always known what the truth would be.
‘The tests show that you’ve already had one mild rupture quite recently,’ the doctor said. ‘You were lucky. You came through it. You might even go on being lucky. Or you could have a major rupture in a few weeks and possibly die.’
Dante didn’t reply, but sat in terrible stillness, as though already dead. After a lifetime of avoiding this moment, he was forced to confront it.
‘But surgery can make it all right?’ Ferne’s voice was almost pleading.
‘I wish I could say that it was as simple as that,’ the doctor replied. ‘The operation is very difficult, and there’s a high death-rate. But if he goes into a coma first then the rate is even higher.’ He addressed Dante directly. ‘Your best chance is to have it now before things get worse.’
Dante had been sitting with head sunk in hands. Now he looked up.
‘And if I live,’ he said, ‘can you guarantee that I’ll still be mentally normal?’ He choked into silence.
Gravely the doctor shook his head.
‘There’s always a chance of complications,’ he said. ‘I wish I could give you a guarantee, but I can’t.’
He walked out, leaving them alone, holding each other in silence. After all the dancing with fate, all the arguments, there was only the bleak reality left. With the operation or without it, the possibility of death was high. And, with it, there was a real chance of something Dante considered far worse.
Why should he choose to walk into the unknown? Ferne knew that there was only their love to make the risk worthwhile, but was that enough? Now he was really dancing to the edge of the abyss, but not with fate, with herself, trusting her to stop him plunging over. But even she had no power to do that.
At that moment she would not have blamed him for walking away.
‘What am I going to do?’ he asked desperately. ‘Once I would have said that dying didn’t worry me, and it would have been true. But now there’s you-and her.’ He pointed downwards, and a wry smile twisted his mouth. ‘Who’d have thought that having something to live for could be so scary?’
She waited for him to say more. The only words that mattered would come from him.
‘I’ve used my illness as a way of avoiding responsibility,’ he said after a while. ‘I didn’t see it like that at the time. I thought I was doing the sensible thing. Now it just looks like a form of cowardice. My whole life has been a sham because I couldn’t face the reality.’
He looked at her in agony, whispering fiercely, ‘Where do you get your courage? Can’t you give some to me? Because I don’t have any. Part of me still says just walk away and let it happen as it will.’
‘No!’ she said fiercely. ‘I need you with me. You’ve got to take every chance of staying alive.’
‘Even if it means becoming like Leo? That scares me more than dying.’
She drew back and looked into his face.
‘Listen to me. You ask me to give you courage, but can’t you understand that I need
‘Me? A clown, a chancer?’
‘Yes, a clown, because I need you and your silly jokes to shield me from the rest of the world. I need you to make fun of me and trip me up, and take me by surprise and get the world in proportion for me. You made me strong and whole, so that now I need to be able to reach out and hold your hand for
He searched her face intently, trying to discern the answer to mysteries. At last he seemed to find what he needed, for he drew her close, resting his head on her shoulder.
‘I’ll do whatever you wish,’ he said. ‘Only promise to be there.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE doctor emphasised that there was no time to lose, and a date was set for the next day.
They spent that evening at the villa, where the family had gathered to wish Dante well. He had apparently recovered his spirits, even making a joke of his new deference to Ferne.
‘I don’t believe this is Dante,’ she said. ‘It’s so unlike him to keep agreeing with me.’
‘He’s turning into a Rinucci husband,’ Toni said. ‘However strong we look to the rest of the world, at home we all obey orders.’
Nobody knew which of the wives murmured, ‘So I should hope,’ but the others all nodded agreement, and the husbands grinned.
‘But he’s not a husband,’ Hope pointed out. ‘Perhaps it’s time that he was.’
‘You’ll have to ask Ferne,’ Dante said at once. He smiled up at her with a hint of the old, wicked humour. ‘I just do as I’m told.’
‘Then you’ll be a perfect Rinucci husband,’ she said in a shaking voice.
‘But when is the wedding?’ Hope asked.
‘As soon as I come out of hospital,’ Dante said.
‘No,’ Hope said urgently. ‘Don’t wait so long. Do it now.’
