You say how long we’ll last, you arrange the conditions of the break-up-my God, you’ve even written the scene! You come back suddenly and find me in the arms of a luscious beauty. What then, Della? Do I stutter something like, You weren’t meant to find out this way?’
‘Don’t,’ she whispered.
‘Or how about, Della, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Yes, I think that would be better. Or haven’t you written my lines yet?’
He drew a long, shaky breath before continuing.
‘But our love-or what I thought of as our love-isn’t some damned programme you’re planning, where you can cut and edit and rewrite until it’s just what you want.’
She was silent, stricken to the heart by this judgement-so cruel, yet so alarmingly near the nerve.
He came close and laid his hands on her shoulders. He was in command of himself now.
‘I meant what I said, Della. It has to be marriage and total commitment-or nothing. I’m not asking you to give up your career. Just relocate. You can produce your programmes from here as well as London. But I want you for my wife-not a glorified girlfriend with an escape clause, who treats me like an idiot. I want to know you trust me to be a husband, not an inferior to be guarded against because he’s bound to let you down.’
‘That’s a terrible way to put it,’ she said, aghast.
‘It’s how I see it.’
‘Carlo, all you see is what you want. You once told me of how you go after things you’ve set your heart on. But you don’t know the reality of marriage, and I do. I’ve endured two, and I know how feelings die. Not all in a moment, but inch by inch: the little irritations that loom large when they happen for the thousandth time, the moments of boredom, the times you want to bang your head against the wall, the unending day-after-dayness of it. You have no idea-’
‘And neither do most people who marry,’ he interrupted her. ‘Follow your argument and nobody would ever get married. But they do it anyway, because they love each other enough to take the risk. And because it’s how they show their trust in each other. If you don’t trust me enough to marry me, then we have no future together-not even the few months you’ve allocated me.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, searching his face.
‘I want your promise now, or it’s finished. When you go to England, don’t bother coming back.’
She gasped. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I do mean it. You’ve been playing with me, and it stops here. Before you leave I want us to tell my family that we’re going to be married. Mamma’s expecting the announcement anyway, and we’ll leave her planning the wedding.’
‘My darling, I can’t do that.’
He drew back, looking at her coldly.
‘Of course you can’t. The answer was always going to be no, wasn’t it? It was no from the very first moment. It was no when everyone saw us together at the party and knew that I worshipped you. You saw what they were thinking-what I was thinking-and you let us all think it. You could have told me the truth at any time, and you chose not to.’
‘No,’ she whispered, horrified. ‘It wasn’t like that.’
‘Wasn’t it? Look me in the eye and tell me honestly. Was there ever one second when you really meant to marry me?’
‘Carlo-’
‘Answer me!’
‘I don’t really know what I meant. I always knew that I ought to refuse, but-’
‘But it would have been inconvenient. Isn’t that it?’
‘No, I just couldn’t bear to. It was lovely, and I wanted it to last. Sometimes I deluded myself that it might even be possible. I didn’t want to admit that it couldn’t happen, so I put it off and put it off.’
‘Very convenient,’ he said softly. ‘The truth is that you made a fool of me.’
‘I swear I didn’t.’
‘Then prove it. For the last time-will you give me the commitment I want? Because if not we have nothing more to say to each other.’
Her temper rose. ‘Are you giving me an ultimatum?’
‘I suppose I am.’
‘Don’t do that, Carlo. I won’t be bullied, and certainly not into marriage.’
‘I suppose that’s my answer,’ he said softly.
‘It has to be.’
‘All those nights you lay in my arms and whispered to me-all those dreams you let me indulge-you knew I was living in a fool’s paradise, and you left me there because it was more convenient that way.’
‘It could never last. You can’t see that now because you want me-’
‘Della, I am not a little kid to be protected. Don’t insult me.’
‘All right,’ she said, tortured by this scene, unable to endure more. ‘Maybe you were right when you said I’m trying to protect myself, so that I don’t have to be around to see the disillusion come into your eyes. I don’t want to know the moment when you ask yourself how the hell you could have done anything so stupid. I don’t want to see you avert your eyes so that you don’t have to look at what’s happening to me. I don’t want to watch you treading on eggshells because you’re trying to be kind.’
There was an expression on Carlo’s face that she had never seen before, and it frightened her. It was close to contempt.
‘At last,’ he said. ‘The truth.’
‘It’s one truth.’ She sighed in near despair. ‘But there are so many different truths in this. Don’t just look at that one-please, Carlo.’
His mouth twisted.
‘Are you sure there’s any other truth but that?’ he asked, in a deadly cold voice.
After a long time she said, in a defeated voice, ‘I don’t know. Maybe there isn’t.’
He seemed to consider this dispassionately, before reaching for the pair of trousers that he’d tossed onto the floor last night in his haste, pulling on a shirt and walking out of the door.
For some time she sat without moving, listening for his return. She couldn’t believe that he’d really left her like this. It wasn’t like him.
But as the minutes passed, with no sound of his footsteps, she was forced to recognise the truth. He would not return and she had mistaken him, seeing only his sweet temper and laughing disposition, missing the steely core that had made him fight her with a touch of cruelty.
She’d been prepared for his pain, but not for his rage and scorn.
‘That’s the getting of wisdom,’ she thought wryly. ‘We neither of us knew or understood the other well. It’s better as it is.’
After a while she forced herself to rise, call the airport, and book a seat on the afternoon flight to London. Then she set about packing her things, leaving out the clothes she would wear to travel while she showered.
It was finished. He would stay away until she’d left, and then she would never see him again. She said it over and over, trying to make herself believe it, accept it.
Lost in her sad thoughts, covered by cascading water, she failed to hear the bathroom door open, and had no idea that anyone was there until she turned off the water and opened the shower door. The shock caused her to slip, and she would have fallen if his arm hadn’t shot out and curled around her waist, holding her firmly.
He reached up for a towel, then carried her back into the bedroom, still holding her with one arm, set her on her feet and began to dry her. He didn’t speak. Nor did she expect him to. His face showed too much sadness for words.
When he’d finished she tried to take the towel, to cover herself, but he tossed it away and drew her against his chest. He hadn’t bothered to do up his shirt, and the feel of his bare skin came as a shock, as though she’d never felt it before.
And in a sense that was true. In the last hour they had moved into a new world where everything was unfamiliar-everything for the first time, everything for the last time.
He drew her down on the bed and removed the rest of his clothes so that they were naked together. She tried
