quiet kiss had seemed to mark the return to their daytime selves.
Who would have thought she would return to Italy like this?
When Ben had dragged her away from Rome she could never have foreseen the way she had awoken on her first morning back, yawning and stretching luxuriously in the great bed.
She felt full of vigour, leaping up and plunging into the shower. She breakfasted on coffee, feeling no need of anything else, and hurried to get dressed. Her exhilarated mood had calmed and now she was thinking of Angelo again, wanting to see again the places where they had been together in a time when happily ever after had seemed possible.
He had been twenty, a charming handsome boy and a ‘poor student’, he’d always claimed, although he’d seemed to do little studying and always had money to spend. Elise had suspected the existence of a well-off family in the background who’d urged him to study, paid him an allowance but took little further interest.
But she’d been too much in love to spend much time puzzling about the discrepancies. He’d loved her. She’d loved him, and their shabby apartment had been a haven where nobody was allowed to intrude.
Before leaving she took out the cellphone Vincente had given her the night before and turned it off. Deeply as he’d affected her, today was Angelo’s and she didn’t want to be disturbed.
There were a dozen places to visit, but her feet seemed to find their own way through the streets to the great Trevi Fountain. It was as magnificent and beautiful now as it had been then, the great half circle dominated by the statue of Neptune. It was here that Angelo had urged her to toss in a coin and promise never to leave him, or Rome. And she had promised with all her heart.
But the very happiness of the memories made them terrible to face. The young man she had loved was still here, sitting by the water, laughing at her as she hurriedly sketched him. She was clever at drawing and he had told her that she must become a great artist.
‘Not me,’ she’d protested. ‘I can draw well enough for fashion but real art would be beyond my reach.’
It was true, but she had a facility for capturing a likeness. Her picture of him had caught his essence-not just his face but his air of anarchic humour. She remembered how they’d gone back to his room and he’d stretched out on the bed, watching her as she converted the sketch to a water colour. He’d been delighted when she gave him the finished picture.
‘I shall have it framed and hung in a place of honour,’ he’d vowed. ‘Now come here.’
He’d held out his arms for her to join him on the bed, and she’d forgotten the rest of the world.
That had been almost their last happy time. A week later Ben had arrived. Now she wondered if Angelo really had framed the picture, and what had happened to it.
She stood looking at the water sparkling in the sunlight. Nearby was a young couple, tossing coins, vowing to return to Rome and love each other for ever.
‘For ever,’ she murmured. ‘If they only knew.’
Before leaving the fountain she closed her eyes and spoke to Angelo in her heart.
Suddenly her mind was filled with memories of the night before, when only Vincente had existed, and the warmth began to spread through her body again. She had loved Angelo passionately, but she had been an ignorant girl, with no knowledge of what a man’s skill could do for her, the heights to which it could drive her. She knew now that Angelo had been an unskilled boy, but she had loved him truly and never wanted more. Not then.
She shut off the thought. It was a betrayal of Angelo even to think of Vincente at this moment.
Elise spent the next few hours going around the little cafes where they had been together, pleased to find so many of them still there. But in her heart she knew she was only putting off the moment she didn’t want to face, and finally she hailed a taxi and told the driver to take her to Trastevere.
She got out a short distance from the apartment and strolled through streets that had once been familiar to her. They were different, more prosperous. Some of the shops had been updated and when she went inside there were no faces that she recognised, although many of them had been family businesses.
The greatest shock was awaiting her when she came to the little street where the shabby buildings had huddled together. They were all gone and in their place was a building site, crawling with workmen.
‘Can I help you?’
The speaker was a middle-aged woman with a cheerful face.
‘I was looking for a place where I used to live,’ Elise said. ‘But it’s not here any more.’
‘That’s right. They’re spending money on Trastevere now, bringing it up to date. It doesn’t do to be sentimental about the old days.’
‘I suppose not. What about the people who used to live in this street?’
‘All rehoused. They won’t be back. These apartments will cost a mint when they’re finished. Whatever was here before has gone for ever.’
‘Yes, I can see that,’ Elise said quietly.
She walked away. There was nothing to stay for.
CHAPTER FIVE
ELISE found a small cafe and drank mineral water at a table in the sun while she considered her position. But her brain seemed to have trouble functioning. Even after eight years she had hoped to find someone who remembered Angelo and could tell her how and when he’d died. But now there was only a blank.
She took out the cellphone, wondering if there would be a message from Vincente, but there was only a text from a Signor Baltoni, asking her to call him. She did so and discovered that he was the lawyer Vincente had mentioned, who would be delighted if she would come to see him as soon as possible. They settled on a time that afternoon.
He turned out to be an elderly man with a smiling, grandfatherly appearance.
‘I’ve taken the liberty of obtaining a small bank loan on your behalf,’ he said. ‘It’s not much but it’ll keep you going while you decide what you want to do.’
The amount astonished her, so did the low interest rate.
‘Didn’t they mind letting me have it on such favourable terms?’ she queried.
‘The bank is always ready to accommodate good customers.’
‘But I’m a stranger.’
‘Yes-well-er-’
‘Somebody wouldn’t have guaranteed this for me, would they?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘Or shouldn’t I ask?’
‘You shouldn’t ask,’ he said at once.
She could go storming off to see Vincente, kill the whole arrangement, or she could keep quiet and let things take their course. Of course, there was no real choice. She must tell Vincente firmly that she couldn’t accept this.
A soft breeze reached her through the open window. As if in a dream, she rose and went to look out over Rome, for this place was high up on the fourth floor. In the distance she could see the glint of the river, and the gentle grace of St Peter’s. Below her, the trees of the Borghese Gardens fluttered in the slight wind and a bird on one of the topmost branches burst out with a song of summer.
‘Fine,’ she said, turning back. ‘Then I won’t ask.’
He beamed with relief and after that everything went smoothly. When she emerged into the sunlight it was with the realisation that she was sufficiently prosperous to live up to her address. It also dawned on her that she had somehow crossed a line and agreed to stay in Rome-at least for a while.
At Signor Baltoni’s suggestion, she looked up a small domestic agency which operated from the basement of the building where she lived and arranged for some part-time staff to care for the apartment. That was a relief as its size had daunted her.
