Franco would have thought if he were more perceptive.
‘We will discuss this tomorrow,’ he repeated.
Still the bumbling fool wouldn’t understand. ‘But there’s so much to settle. Come on, we’ll have a bottle of wine and-’
He stopped. Franco had raised his head and looked him in the eyes. Ruth thought she would have died if he’d turned that look on her. There was more in it than resentment. There was sheer murderous hate for this creature who stomped all over his most sacred memories with hobnailed boots.
At last Franco understood. He faltered into silence, grew pale, and even stepped back as though afraid that Pietro might strike him. But that wouldn’t happen, Ruth knew. Pietro had no need of his fists when his eyes could convey such a terrifying message.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ Pietro said quietly, and walked out of the shop, across St Mark’s and into the labyrinth of
He went on walking for an hour, caring nothing for where he went, seeing nothing, feeling nothing except the inner emptiness that was his defence against a feeling that was a thousand times worse. When he became aware of his surroundings he found he was approaching his home.
He moved mechanically, going to his room, switching on the computer, reading it with dead eyes, checking his emails.
And there was one from Gino.
Ruth arrived later that evening, having resisted the temptation to hurry after Pietro. He wouldn’t thank her for dogging his footsteps, she knew.
Her resolutions were all made. The earthquake that had happened inside her was something he must never be allowed to suspect, and until she was more sure of herself she would keep her distance.
There was no sign of him when she entered, but she could hear his steps coming from behind the closed door of his room. This way, then that, then back again, like a prisoner pacing his cell. Once she thought she heard a fist being slammed down. Then there was silence again while she stood, wondering what to do.
Without warning the door opened.
‘Don’t stand there,’ he said curtly. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to come in.’
‘I didn’t want to disturb you.’
‘Thanks, but a pot of strong English tea would do me more good.’
She made some and took a large mug of tea in to him.
‘Where’s yours?’ he wanted to know. ‘I hate drinking alone.’
When she returned he said, ‘I sent Minna to bed, so I’m afraid it’s make-do-and-mend in the kitchen.’
‘I had something on the way home.’
‘Are you being tactful?’ he demanded suspiciously.
‘I thought it might make a nice contrast to Franco.’
He groaned and spooned sugar into his mug. He’d taken a fancy to the tea she made, and would sometimes drink it in preference to coffee.
Ruth was feeling her way carefully. The resolve to keep her distance had died with the first sight of his haggard face. The protectiveness she’d felt in the shop came surging back.
‘This is Franco’s fault,’ she said angrily. ‘Why did you say he could bring his party here? You could have simply thrown him out.’
‘Could I?’ Pietro said ironically. ‘Do you think that would have stopped him? It wouldn’t. He’d have ground on and on until I’d have had to kill him to make him shut up.’
‘Killing him might have been a good idea,’ she said thoughtfully.
Pietro shook his head. ‘Bad for business.’
‘I suppose.’
‘I was becoming afraid of what I might do. So I said yes.’
‘But that didn’t really shut him up.’ She sighed. ‘He just found something else to badger you about-until you gave him that look.’
‘You saw it, then?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Did it give much away?’ he asked, apparently indifferent.
‘Plenty.’
‘He’ll never know what danger he was in at that moment.’
‘Oh, I think he knows,’ she said lightly. ‘He got a grandstand view of your eyes.’
Pietro gave a grunt that might have been satisfaction.
‘Anyway, it’s too late now,’ he said. ‘I’ve agreed and I won’t go back on my word, but I’d give anything not to have this happen.’
He saw her looking at him and grimaced.
‘I know, I know. I sound like a mean, miserable old miser, turning his back on the world.’
‘You’re not old,’ she said, venturing to tease him a little.
He gave a faint smile. ‘Thanks.’
‘And why shouldn’t you turn your back on the world if that’s what you want to do?’
‘It’s commonly held to be a bad thing.’
‘But if the world no longer has anything that you want, why should you pretend about it? What’s the point of being a count if you can’t get your own way?’
‘I wish my father could hear you. He was an aristocrat of the old-fashioned type. If you had a title then certain things were expected of you. It was your duty to present a particular face to the world and behave in a lordly manner, no matter how you felt inside. Plus, of course, you always got your own way.’
‘But you don’t agree?’
‘His beliefs were right for his time, but not for now.’
‘Then you don’t have to go on with this. There must be someone else’s place Franco can take over. Don’t just give in to him.’
‘You’re very fierce. I wouldn’t like to meet you in a
‘I’m only saying you should keep your home the way you want it.’
‘The way I want it,’ he sighed.
She could have kicked herself. Of course this desolation wasn’t the home he wanted. Without the woman he loved it was simply all he had left.
The woman he loved. She’d always known it with her head, but now she realised what it really meant. It meant that he’d chosen to die inside rather than live without her. Somewhere inside Ruth there was an ache.
‘I shouldn’t have said that,’ she said awkwardly. ‘It’s none of my business-about your wife. I’m sorry.’
He became suddenly still, as though she’d struck him. Slowly he turned and gave her a keen look.
‘What do you know about my wife?’ he asked in a strange voice.
When Ruth didn’t answer, Pietro said, ‘What is it, Ruth? What did you mean about my wife?’
‘Nothing. I had no right to mention her. I didn’t want to make you angry.’
‘I’m not angry, but I would like you to answer me. Just how much do you know about her?’
He sounded as if he resented her knowing anything, Ruth thought, her heart sinking. Had his love really been so powerfully possessive that even the mention of her name was forbidden to others?
‘I know hardly anything,’ she said awkwardly. ‘Just that she died last year, and it hit you very hard. It must have done for you to turn away from the world like this.’
‘Like I said, mean, miserable miser,’ he replied ironically.
‘That’s your business. You don’t have to grieve the way other people think you should. Only you know what-’ She forced herself to stop, afraid of making everything worse.
‘Yes, only I know,’ he said quietly.
‘No, that’s not true,’ she said, gathering her courage. ‘She must have known as well.’
‘Known what?’ He turned quickly to look at her, and there was a strange, keen look in his eyes.
‘How dreadfully you loved her. She must have known that. People don’t just understand what we say, but what they feel in the atmosphere.’
