The Italian’s Baby

‘A son,’ she murmured. ‘His heart is set on it.’

‘Best you tell him soon.’

She insisted on coming with Rebecca to the bus stop and seeing her safely on board.

‘You tell him quick,’ she called, waving her off. ‘Make him happy.’

Oh, yes, she thought. He would be happy, but she would simply have fallen into his trap. She would not let that happen.

But what else could happen instead, she had no idea.

It was like standing in the centre of a compass, with the needle flickering in all directions, with nowhere to go because everywhere was equally confusing.

At last she recognised that there was only one place where she could do what was necessary. Anger might stifle misery, but it could not deny it altogether. She needed somewhere to grieve for her dead love, and finally bury it. So she set off in that direction.

Luca had said that when you wanted to find somebody you put it in the hands of professionals, but this time the professionals failed him.

Four separate firms, working for three months, had learned only that Rebecca Hanley had travelled to France by ferry. After that she had vanished, and no amount of searching French files produced results. At last he understood that if she had managed to elude such skilled pursuers it meant that her decision to leave him was irrevocable.

When he’d faced that fact, he called them off.

He was back in Rome now, throwing all of himself into maximising Raditore’s potential.

‘You mean making more money?’ Sonia said when he used the phrase. She would never let him get away with corporate-speak.

‘Yes, I mean making money,’ he said. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

But he spoke with none of the old bite and that alarmed her more than anything. She could cope with Luca when he was wild, furious, ruthless and rude. But Luca, subdued, was alarming because so unheard-of.

‘Go away,’ she said to him at last. ‘Go right away, not like when you were in London and we talked about business on the phone every night. You’re useless to yourself and everyone else while you’re here.’

He took her advice and headed his car north, through Assisi, Siena, San Marino. The weather was turning cooler, and driving was pleasant, but everywhere looked the same to him.

Reaching Tuscany, he called in at the construction firm that he’d set up with Frank Solway’s money, and from which everything else had grown. It was still flourishing under the command of a good manager that he’d put in charge long ago. Luca examined the accounts, checked the healthy order book, commended his manager on an excellent job, and departed, realising that nobody there needed him.

After that he headed for the place he guessed he’d always meant to go eventually.

There was the long track, stretching up the gentle slope of the hill. There were the trees from behind which he’d heard angry voices, and had burst through to find a young girl being confronted by three men. The ground was bumpy here, threatening the suspension of his expensive car, but he didn’t even notice. His head was too full of visions that blurred and sharpened, taunting him with his sudden reluctance to go further.

He forced himself on until the cottage came into view. He came to a halt near the front door, got out and stood for a moment, surveying the wreckage of what had once been a liveable home. Much of the roof had been burned until it had fallen in, and beams showed against the sky.

A wall was half gone, revealing an interior that had been a bedroom, although there was nothing left to show that now. What remained was black with smoke. Once it had all looked worse. Now the devastation was partly hidden by an overgrowth of weeds. They covered the blackened walls and crowded around the door.

But then Luca saw something that made him stop. The weeds had been partly pruned back, the sharp cuts showing that it had been recently done. And now he could hear faint noises coming from the inside.

Anger possessed him that anyone should dare invade the place that was private to himself. He walked slowly around the cottage, and at the back he saw a tricycle with a makeshift trailer attached to the rear that was little more than a box on wheels. Close inspection revealed that this was indeed how it had started life. It also bore signs of having once fallen to pieces and been inexpertly mended.

Returning to the front, he shouted, ‘Come out! What are you doing in there? Come out at once, do you hear me?’

Nothing happened at first. The noise within ceased, as though whoever was there was considering what best to do.

‘Come out!’ he yelled again. ‘Or I’ll come in and get you.’

He heard footsteps, then a shadow fell across the door, and a figure emerged into the light.

At first he stared, not believing that she was really there.

He had feared never to see her again, had dreamed of her and found her gone with the first waking moment.

Their last meeting had been three months ago when she had dazzled him with the night of his life, before abandoning him in a gesture of contempt. Now it was like encountering a ghost.

She was dressed in trousers and a tweed jacket, with one hand at her throat to close it against the autumn chill. Her glamorous long hair was gone, cut boyishly short, and returned to its natural light brown colour. Her face was pale, thinner, and there were shadows under her eyes, but she was composed.

She stood only just outside the door as though reluctant to come further out into a world she didn’t trust. He approached her slowly. For once he was unsure of himself.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

She nodded.

‘What are you doing here, in this rough place?’

‘It’s peaceful,’ she answered. ‘Nobody comes calling.’

‘How long have you been here?’

‘Um-I’m not sure. A week or two, maybe.’

‘But-why?’

‘Why did you come?’ she countered.

‘Because it’s peaceful,’ he echoed. ‘At least, it is if there are no intruders.’

She nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said with a faint smile. ‘Yes.’

‘How are you managing to live here? It’s not habitable.’

‘It is if you’re careful. The stove still works.’

He followed her inside and looked around the kitchen in surprise at how she had made the place liveable.

Everything had been thoroughly cleaned, not an easy task with no electricity. How long, he wondered, had it taken her to sweep up the dust, then scrub the floor and the walls? The range looked as though it had been recently black-leaded.

Warmth was pouring from it now, and a kettle on the top was just beginning to sing. She indicated for him to sit down, and made the tea.

‘I know you like sugar,’ she said politely, ‘but I’m afraid I don’t have any. I wasn’t expecting visitors.’

‘Do you never see anyone?’

‘Nobody knows I’m here, not for certain. I ride the bike into the village, put supplies in the trailer, then get back here as quickly as I can, and park it out of sight. Nobody bothers me.’

‘You’re very determined to hide away. Why? What are you afraid of?’

She seemed surprised by the question.

‘Nothing, except being disturbed. I like being alone.’

‘Here?’

A faint smile touched her face. ‘Do you know of a better place to be alone?’

After a moment he shook his head.

They drank their tea in silence. Luca wanted to say more, but he was nervous and uncertain how to speak to her. This woman, living a hand-to-mouth existence in a ruined shack, had somehow gained the upper hand. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, except that she seemed to have discovered a peace that eluded him.

‘Do you mind if I look around?’ he asked.

‘Of course. It’s your property.’