‘Just a moment,’ he told Alysa. ‘I’ll be back. Don’t go, please.’
He hurried off to talk to his daughter. After a brief hesitation Alysa began to back away under the trees. Her eyes were still fixed on him, noticing how, as soon as he joined the family, he seemed to become a different person-smiling, seemingly at ease, just as they expected.
She knew what it was doing to him inside, and part of her longed to respond to his plea for help. But now her sense of self-preservation was telling her to run for safety. When she’d backed away far enough, she turned and slipped out of the cemetery.
She spent the rest of the day strolling around Florence, looking at the sights without really seeing them. After all, it was only sensible to make the most of her brief trip. Then she blamed herself for prolonging the torment by trying to imagine James and Carlotta here in this lovely place, wandering the streets together, kissing in the shadows.
Then she admitted the truth: that she was avoiding Drago di Luca.
Everywhere looked the same, with no one place mattering more than another, no destination luring her.
‘Nowhere to go,’ she murmured wryly. ‘That just about says it all.’
Darkness came early, bringing the lights on in the mediaeval streets. Almost of their own accord her steps turned to the Ponte Vecchio, the magnificent bridge over the River Arno that she had seen at a distance the night before. It was lined with shops on both sides, mostly jewellers and goldsmiths, and she strolled past them until she reached a shop at the end that sold not jewels but padlocks.
The window was full of them, covering shelves and hanging from the ceiling. The costliest jewels in the world couldn’t have been displayed more lovingly. Looking closer, Alysa saw that many of them had tiny pictures etched on the side.
Just like the one she’d seen before, she thought. And there it was, nestling among the others-a padlock with a heart daintily engraved on it, so like the one James had given her and then secretly taken back that it might have been the same.
Alysa stared and blinked, as though hoping that she would see something else next time. But it was the same padlock.
‘I don’t understand,’ she murmured.
She didn’t know she’d spoken aloud, but a middle-aged man standing beside her grinned and spoke cheerily, first in Italian, then, when she looked puzzled, in English.
‘You like my padlocks? They are the best in Florence.’
‘I can see that,’ she said politely. ‘But why so many?’
‘Why, for Cellini, of course.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You’ve never heard of Benvenuto Cellini?’
‘I know he was a great Florentine goldsmith and sculptor in the sixteenth century, but that’s all.’
‘Come and meet him.’
Taking her arm gently, the man led her to the end of the bridge, where she found a bust of Cellini raised high on an ornate plinth. It was impressive and elegant, but what caught Alysa’s attention were the railings that surrounded it, which were covered with padlocks. Hundreds of them.
‘Lovers put them there,’ the shop owner confided. ‘It’s an old tradition. They buy a padlock, lock it onto the railings and throw the key into the River Arno. That means that their love has locked them together for all time, even unto death.’
‘How-how beautiful,’ Alysa stammered. A terrible dread was rising in her.
‘Isn’t it charming? It’s also good business, because when lovers come to me I usually manage to sell them three. Then they leave one with Cellini, and each gives one to the other, but they also swap keys so that only they can open each other’s locks.’
‘Can I see some of them?’ she asked, speaking in a daze.
‘Of course. It’s this way back to the shop.’
Once there he spread a collection on the counter, and she picked up the one that was exactly like James’s gift, the heart studded with tiny stones.
‘Ah, yes, everyone likes that,’ the shopkeeper said. ‘They’re real diamonds and it’s the most expensive one I have.’
‘Even unto death,’ she murmured.
‘That’s the part that always affects them,’ he said. ‘They know they’ll be together for eternity.’
There in her mind was the picture of James and Carlotta, lying in the smashed chair, dead in the same moment. Together for eternity.
‘How much?’ she asked in a bleak voice.
He told her the price and she gasped.
‘Yes, you’d have to be really in love to pay so much,’ he conceded. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘If your lover gives you this one, then you can rely on him for ever.’
‘Oh yes,’ she murmured. ‘For ever.’
‘Why don’t you bring him in to see it?’
‘I think we’re a bit past that point,’ she said wryly. ‘Thank you, but I must be going.’
She fled while she still had some self-command, turning back across the bridge so that she didn’t have to pass the statue again with its terrible display of lovers’ vows.
James and Carlotta had been here, hung a padlock on the railings, tossed the key into the Arno and swore love unto death. Then they had exchanged padlocks, each taking the other’s key. That was what she’d found in his bag, and that was why the key hadn’t fitted. It was all so clear when you knew.
She’d told herself that nothing could hurt her any more, but she found she was shaking as she’d done so often in the past. But, instead of weeping, she began to laugh at this last deadly joke that had lain in wait for her. It was hilarious, the funniest thing that had ever happened.
She made her way blindly along the streets, shuddering, laughing, pressing her hand to her mouth, knowing that she was receiving strange looks, caring nothing for them, or even for the fact that she was lost.
Now she was in a quiet part of the city, within sight of the river, and went down to lean on a low wall overlooking the water. Vaguely, downstream, she thought she could see the apartment building where Drago had taken her last night-the place where James and Carlotta had been free to indulge their love.
And, to her dismay, she was swept with longing for the one person in the world who she could reach out to at this moment. If Drago were here she would run to him, blurt out her misery, knowing that he would understand everything that was too hard for her to say. And she would find his powerful arms open to her in comfort. She had no doubt of it.
He’d known that soon her brave facade would collapse, leaving her defenceless. He alone had seen the fear behind the mask, because it was so like his own.
The need for him was so strong that she took out her mobile phone and found the card with his number. But when she’d dialled two figures she stopped and hurriedly turned the phone off.
‘What am I doing?’ she whispered. ‘I must be mad. Everything that happened last night just wasn’t real. I’ve got to get home to England, then everything will be normal again.’
Using the river as a guide, she finally managed to make her way back to the hotel.
‘There are some messages for you,’ the young man at the desk told her, pushing a paper towards her. ‘The gentleman sounded urgent.’
‘Thank you. Please have my bill ready first thing tomorrow. I want to leave early. And, if anyone else should call, please tell them I haven’t returned.’
She was booked on the two o’clock flight the next day; she would leave for the airport as early as possible. In her room she packed hurriedly, ignoring the phone when it began to ring.
She was afraid he would turn up at her hotel, but to her relief he didn’t. At last the phone stopped ringing, and she gave muttered thanks that Drago had given up.
Next morning she left quickly. Luck was with her. There was an earlier flight with vacant seats and she managed to change her ticket. After checking in, she went to wait in the departure lounge, telling herself that soon she would be free. Just a little longer…
‘Excuse me,
