CHAPTER SEVEN
HELEN’S first view of Sicily was very strange to her. It was the place that indirectly had affected everything in her life, including the person she had become. ‘The old country’ had been like an extra member of the family, issuing silent commands, the yardstick by which everything was judged, and against which she had always rebelled. And now here it was, a triangle of land floating in the midst of a glittering blue sea, and all she could think of was how beautiful it looked.
But she soon turned away. Lorenzo needed her now. He was pale and staring into space, counting the seconds as they descended, getting closer to the moment when some family member would meet them with the news- perhaps that his mother was dead.
Helen took his hand between both hers and squeezed it. He gave her a grateful look and squeezed back, trying to smile. His vulnerability touched her heart. For so long she’d tried to keep her feelings for him within limits, but the whole pretence was falling apart. She’d chosen to make love with him because her rising passion could no longer be denied. But this was more than passion. Her heart ached for him.
As they came through customs Lorenzo looked around him anxiously until he saw a young, fair woman, behind the barrier. She was waving, smiling, giving a thumbs-up sign with both hands. He dashed forward to embrace the young woman eagerly but carefully, for she was heavily pregnant.
As Helen grew closer she heard her say, ‘It’s all right, my dear. She’s out of danger, and longing to see you.’
She glanced at Helen and he hastened to introduce them. ‘Helen, this is Heather, who is married to my brother, Renato. Heather, this is Helen Angolini who came with me because-because-’ he seemed unable to find the words.
‘I understand,’ Heather said quickly. ‘Welcome, Helen. The family will be so glad to meet you after all Lorenzo has told us.’
This wasn’t the moment to ask what Lorenzo had said about her. In no time they were in the back of the car, hurrying to Palermo and the hospital where Baptista lay.
‘Mamma simply passed out,’ Heather explained, ‘and her heart rhythm became very unsteady. In view of her age we were worried. But the doctors have managed to stabilise her and she’s looking a lot better.’ She smiled at Helen. ‘She was thrilled when I told her you were coming too.’
Helen smiled abstractedly, and left the other two to talk.
So this was Heather, the woman with the beautiful voice, whom Lorenzo called
In a few minutes they had reached the hospital and were ushered upstairs to the room where Baptista lay. Just outside it stood a man Helen recognised from Lorenzo’s pictures as his brother Renato. He was a dark and swarthy, not as tall as Lorenzo and heavily muscled. He broke into a smile at the sight of his brother, and grasped his hand.
‘Mamma has just woken after a good sleep, and she’s well,’ he said. ‘Her first words were to ask about you.’
He opened a nearby door, pulling it wide, so that Helen had a clear view on the bed and the beautiful white- haired woman already looking eagerly to the door. Lorenzo went to her swiftly, gathering her into his great arms so that she almost vanished in his embrace. Helen caught a brief glimpse of her face, glowing with happiness at the return of her youngest, before the door was closed.
Renato was embracing Heather, giving her a look in which love and anxiety mingled. She made the introductions.
‘We have all looked forward to meeting you, Helen,’ Renato said, courteously. ‘It was time Lorenzo brought you here.’
She wasn’t sure how to answer a remark that seemed to imply so much. Luckily Renato’s attention was claimed by the arrival of Bernardo and his wife, Angie. Again, Helen recognised them from Lorenzo’s snaps.
More greetings. More keen glances as though her presence had some deep significance. The kindly Angie noticed her looking lost, and embraced her warmly.
‘You came all this way to be with Lorenzo?’ she said. ‘That was wonderful of you. Some good news will do wonders for Baptista’s recovery.’
‘Good news?’ Helen echoed.
‘Of course I understand it’s too soon to say anything officially,’ Angie said. ‘But we’re all thrilled that Lorenzo has found you. I’ll tell you a secret. I’ve been expecting this ever since he came home in April, complaining that you wouldn’t marry him.’
‘He-?’
‘All he could talk of was you, and how you turned him down as soon as you met. And I thought then how clever you were because Lorenzo is a little too used to being chased. It was good for him to be unsure of you, and I just knew you were the one.’
‘But-you don’t understand-’ Helen said urgently, ‘I wasn’t trying to trap Lorenzo. I’m only here to-to-’
Her voice died. Why was she here? Did any woman travel halfway across the world for a man unless he mattered more than anything in life? And hadn’t she secretly known how her action would look to his family?
Apart from the joking reference in New Orleans, Lorenzo hadn’t asked her to marry him, and she hadn’t said yes. Now she was beginning to realise that question and answer were somehow already behind them.
Renato touched her arm. ‘My mother would like to meet you,’ he said.
She followed him into the room where the white-haired woman was half sitting up in bed, in the circle of Lorenzo’s arm. At the sight of Helen she smiled and reached out to her.
If Helen hadn’t understood before, she understood now. Baptista had not only called her ‘my daughter’, but had done so in Sicilian, underlining the fact that Helen was no outsider but one of them. In the same moment Helen became aware that the rest of the family had followed her into the room.
‘No, that is so cold,’ Lorenzo’s mother protested. ‘You must call me Baptista. And you must let me thank you for coming so far. Lorenzo has told me much, and I think you have a wonderful heart.’ She sounded breathless.
‘That’s enough, Mamma,’ Lorenzo said quickly. ‘You’re tired.’
‘Yes, I am. There’ll be time for talking later. For now, I have only one more thing to say.’
She reached out to an elderly man standing by the window, whom Helen had not previously noticed. He was tall and thin with white hair and a gentle face. He moved to the bed, looking down at Baptista with a smile.
‘You know that Fede and I had planned to marry,’ Baptista said. ‘Now we will bring the date forward, so that we can make the most of the time that we have together.’
Her hand clasped in his, she looked up at the old man, and Helen drew in her breath at the love that blazed from their eyes, dimming everything else in the room.
The others were wreathed in smiles, congratulating the couple, eagerly making plans. Helen began to edge aside, but Baptista wouldn’t let her hide.
‘You will be at our wedding,’ she declared, ‘and our whole family will be together.’
Helen tried to say something, but no words would come. The tide was carrying her along at an ever-increasing pace.
Lorenzo stayed with his mother when the others left for the Residenza where the Martelli family lived. It was about half an hour’s journey away, on a road that swung inland into deep countryside, before turning back to the coast
At last Helen saw the great house, made of yellow stone that glowed softly in the sunlight. It stood high up, overlooking the sea, a building of three stories, each a little smaller than the last, so that each storey was surrounded by a wide terrace, and each terrace was covered in blooms. Clematis, bougainvillaea, jasmine, oleander-the varieties and colours went on forever.
As she was led up to her room Helen had no time to take in much beyond a general impression that the Residenza was built in mediaeval style, with everything of the best. Tiles and mosaics lined the corridors. Broad staircases led up to lofty regions.
