Her lips twitched. ‘You’re making an awfully good stab at being “reticent man”, Luca, but I can tell it’s a struggle.’
‘I’m doing my best, but I admit it doesn’t come naturally.’
‘Why not just abandon it and tell me what arrangements you’ve made?’
‘They’re not arrangements-not exactly. I only called my housekeeper in Rome, and told her to have the house ready-just in case.’
‘Very sensible. You never know when you might decide to up sticks and go home.’
‘But only if you want to. Would you rather go back to England?’
‘Would you come with me?’
‘Anywhere that’s warm, as long as it isn’t the Allingham.’
‘No, I haven’t got a home in England,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing to go back to.’
‘Then let’s go forward. My house-it’s never been a home, but you could make it one-’
‘Let’s take it one step at a time,’ she said gently.
They started preparing for departure immediately after breakfast. It didn’t take long. Luca doused the fire in the range while Rebecca gathered up food and took it outside to scatter for the birds. When she returned to the house he was waiting for her in the doorway, with her coat.
‘Are we ready to leave?’ he asked, helping her on with it. ‘Just a moment. I want to…’
She didn’t finish the sentence, but he seemed to understand because he stood back to let her pass inside.
There wasn’t much to look around, just the bedroom where they had lain together truly united at last, and the kitchen where they had cooked and talked, and bickered, and rediscovered their lost treasure.
He came with her, not intruding but simply there, holding her hand, letting her know that their feelings were in harmony.
‘We were happy here,’ she whispered.
‘Yes, we were-both times.’
‘We will come back, won’t we?’
‘Whenever you want.’
‘Then we can go now.’
With their few things packed into the car they drove back into the village, then he swung onto the road that would take them to Florence, and the
‘You’re not having regrets, are you?’ she asked.
‘No, of course not.’
‘It’s just that you’re very quiet.’
‘I was only thinking-’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ve been thinking too. We’re only about twenty miles from Carenna. It wouldn’t take very long.’
‘Let’s do it, then.’
Instead of heading straight for Rome he turned off onto a different road, and they were in Carenna in half an hour. At the church they found Father Valetti in the graveyard, heavily wrapped in scarves, deep in discussion with two men, with whom he seemed to be consulting plans. He hailed them with delight.
‘Wonderful to see you. I didn’t think you could have had my letter yet.’
‘Letter?’ Luca echoed. ‘We’ve had no letter.’
‘Then it’s providence that sent you here just when I needed to talk to you.’
‘Is something wrong?’ Rebecca asked.
‘Oh, no, not at all. It’s just that in a tiny churchyard like this we always have trouble finding space, and graves don’t last forever. Some of them receive few visitors after ten years, so it’s normal practice to rebury those together in a smaller space, to make room for new occupants. But of course the families are always given the option of keeping the original grave for a fee. And I wrote to you to ask your wishes in this regard.’
‘Do you mean,’ asked Rebecca, ‘that our baby is going to be raised?’
‘She can be, but of course the coffin will be reinterred elsewhere with all respect.’
‘Yes, but where?’ Rebecca asked with a rising excitement.
‘Well-’
‘I mean, couldn’t she come to Rome, with us?’
Luca turned on her quickly, his eyes alight.
‘It might be possible,’ Father Valetti said thoughtfully. ‘Of course, it would have to be done in the proper form- lots of paperwork, I’m afraid. Come inside and let’s look into it.’
In his office he sorted through forms while Rebecca and Luca sat holding hands, hardly daring to breathe in case their hopes had been raised only to be dashed.
‘I’d need to know to which church she will be going,’ he said at last, pushing papers across the desk at them, ‘and the name of the priest who will conduct the ceremony.’
‘I thought of having part of my own grounds consecrated,’ Luca said, tense with hope, ‘and keeping her with us.’
‘Get the priest to send me official notification of the consecration, and I’ll arrange the proper transport.’
‘Then-it can be done?’ Luca asked.
‘Oh, yes, it can be done.’
Father Valetti was a tactful man, for he left them quickly. As soon as he was gone they turned to each other, speechless with emotions for which there were no words.
When at last Luca managed to speak, it was to say huskily, ‘Thank you for thinking of this, my dearest.’
Rebecca rested her head on his shoulder and at once his hand came up to stroke her hair.
After a while they went out again into the churchyard and made their way quietly to the place where the little grave lay. Luca dropped to one knee, and laid his hand on the ground, looking intently at the spot.
Rebecca stayed back a little, guessing that what Luca wanted to say to his child was for themselves alone. Nor did she need to hear the words, for they echoed in her own heart.
‘Be patient awhile longer, little one. Your mother and father are taking you home at last. And you will never be lonely again.’
When Luca had mentioned the grounds of his house Rebecca had somehow formed the impression of a very large garden. What she found was an extensive estate, partly covered with woodland.
It stood just outside Rome, on the Appian Way, a mansion, with more rooms than one man could possibly need. She didn’t need his confirmation to know that it had been bought as a status symbol and chosen by Drusilla.
Despite this, there was no hint of Drusilla’s presence, partly because she had stripped the place of all she could carry, and partly because, as Luca explained,
‘We called it our home for lack of anything else to call it. But it was never a true home. We did not love each other, and there are no regrets.’
She knew instinctively that this was true, believing that a house where there had been love always carried traces of that love. Here there were no such traces. She and Luca could make of this home whatever they pleased.
He chose the brightest, sunniest room for the nursery, and decorated it himself in white and yellow.
‘I’ll paint pictures on the wall after the baby’s born,’ he said. ‘When we know if it’s a boy or a girl.’
‘Have you thought about names?’ she asked.
‘Not really. At one time, if it was a girl I’d have wanted to call her Rebecca, after her mother. But now…’
‘Now?’ she urged. She wanted to hear him say it.
‘We already have one daughter of that name. To have two would be like saying the first one didn’t count, and I don’t want to do that.’
She nodded, smiling at him tenderly. If there was one thing above all others that made her heart reach out to Luca it was his way of recognising their child as a real person, who had lived, even if only for a short time, and died with an identity.
‘What was your mother’s name?’ she asked.
‘Louisa.’
