thoughts and feelings. But these commonplaces were all that would come.
There was a brief agitation around them as people tried to get past.
‘We’re in everyone’s way,’ she said. ‘It was nice seeing you again.’
‘And you.’
Carlo watched her return to her table, waiting for the moment when she would look back at him. It never came. He saw a middle-aged man rise, put his arm around her and kiss her cheek. So that was her escort, he thought, no doubt chosen for his suitability.
He’d said she was looking well, but the truth was she was looking fantastic: beautiful, glamorous, sexy, every man’s dream. After the way she’d claimed to be getting old it was like another rejection hurled at him.
He returned to his own table, where his family were regarding him with curiosity, and Alan Forest with awe.
‘You know her?’ he asked, wide-eyed.
‘We met once briefly.’ He was still standing, watching her, willing her to turn and look at him.
‘Get her over here-we’ll all celebrate together.’
‘I’m sure she has her own arrangements,’ Carlo said, trying to keep the tension out of his voice.
‘Nonsense. We’ll have a great time-’
‘I don’t think we should trouble them,’ Evie broke in quickly. ‘She’s with a party of her own.’
Della was certainly having a night of triumph. People were coming up to congratulate her, kiss her, admire the award. The man with her was regarding her with proprietary pride, and it was clear to Carlo that everyone else saw them as a couple.
As he watched, Della lifted the statuette, so that it glittered in the light, and her crowd of admirers cheered and applauded.
Then she finally turned his way, and for a moment their glances locked. He thought her smile grew broader, her eyes more triumphant, as though she was telling him something.
He understood. She did very well without him. Just as she had always known she would. She had tried to warn him, but in his blind arrogance and stupidity he’d refused to see it.
‘I guess you’re right,’ Alan Forest said, beside him. ‘That lady doesn’t need us. She’s got everything she could ever want in the world.’
‘Yes,’ Carlo said, almost inaudibly. ‘She has.’
He sat down, and after a moment he felt Evie’s hand creep into his and give a sympathetic squeeze.
The next day he went home.
The award was the most prestigious there was, and it set the seal on her career. Congratulations poured in, also offers. Now everyone wanted her.
As well as work, she could occupy herself with Gina’s pregnancy, but she soon discovered that she was no longer needed. The Christmas visit to the grandmother had been a success, and it wasn’t long before Mrs Burton invited Gina to make her home with her.
‘I still want you to be part of the baby’s life,’ Gina explained to Della. ‘But-’
‘But you want to be with your own family. Of course you do.’
‘I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me.’
Her new home was a hundred miles away, just too far for easy visiting.
On the last day of February Della escorted the girl there herself, and it was a happy occasion. Mrs Burton was a vigorous woman in her sixties, prosperous enough to take on the new responsibility, and eager to do so. She and Della established cordial relations, and there was an open invitation to visit.
It had ended well, but as she returned home Della realised that she was more alone than ever.
She reached the houseboat in the middle of a thunderstorm. Rain poured down in torrents, and it was a relief to get inside. Soon she’d dried off and done her best to get warm, but somehow it didn’t work. There was a part of her that remained trapped in a chill desert, and no amount of heating could reach it.
She went to look at the statuette, high on a shelf where it could broadcast her achievement, trying to draw comfort from it. But it only reminded her of that night, and his face, tense and drawn. Something was destroying him, just as it was destroying her.
She wondered if he, like her, had an ache in his heart so intense that it was an actual physical pain that went on and on. It had been there for months and she was beginning to wonder if it would ever fade.
But surely she’d made the right decision?
She listened, almost as though expecting a voice to answer her. But the only sound was the drumming of the rain in a bleak universe.
Reaching into a drawer, she took out the folder of pictures from her time in Naples. There were a hundred stills, plus a disk recorded in a camcorder, taken by a friendly passerby. Since returning she’d rarely allowed herself to look at it, but now she slipped it into the machine.
It was like watching strangers. The man and the woman were totally in love, totally right for each other, rejoicing in that rightness. Nobody watching would have known that her thoughts were far away, planning to leave him. Certainly he hadn’t known. There was a defenceless innocence in his manner towards her because he trusted her totally.
And he was wrong, she thought, tears streaming down her face. He shouldn’t have trusted her for a moment, because she’d been planning to betray him. He’d never suspected because there wasn’t a dishonest bone in his body, and when he found out it had nearly ruined him. Even then he’d wanted her back, and she’d refused because she hadn’t one tenth of his courage.
She could hardly bear to look at the blissfully happy young joker before her eyes. He’d gone, replaced by the haggard, distant man she’d seen at the awards. And she had done that to him.
She switched off and sat in the darkness for a long time.
If I go to Naples, he’ll know the truth as soon as he sees me. He’ll know I can’t keep away from him. How can I tell him that, after what happened?
Pride. It mattered, didn’t it?
The drumming of the rain seemed to give her the answer. Pride. Emptiness. A lifetime without love. Years of endless, searing misery.
Or the flowering that was there inside her at the thought of seeing him again. It spread, streaming through her veins, taking her over until there was nothing left but joy.
I could tell him that I love him, and that I got it wrong. Maybe there’s even a chance we can still find the way. But if not, if it’s too late, at least I can tell him that I’m sorry.
While she waited for the flight to be called she sat down for a coffee, and at once her cellphone went. It was Sol.
‘Where are you?’ he demanded. ‘I just got a text saying you were going away for a few days-’
‘I’m going to Naples.’
‘To see him?’
‘No,’ she said quickly. She couldn’t bear Sol to know the truth just yet. ‘I’m still looking over sites-tying up loose ends. I’ll be in touch.’
‘Yeah. Right. How long will you be gone?’
‘I don’t know. I have to go now.’
Della was hardly aware of taking her seat, fastening the belt. She was on edge until the plane rose from the ground, and then there was the relief of knowing that the decision was final.
The flight to Naples was three hours. She began to wonder what she would do, having made no plan of action beyond putting up at the Vallini.
I don’t even know where he is. He may not be at Pompeii now, or even be in Naples any more.
She tried not to think that she might arrive too late, closing her eyes, fighting the fear. But the thought took hold of her. Her whole life might be haunted by her failure to find him in time. Then a sudden violent lurch brought her back to the present. She opened her eyes to find everyone looking around in alarm.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are experiencing a little turbulence. Please fasten your seatbelts…’
She hated this, but comforted herself with the thought that it wasn’t far now. It was hard to fasten the belt because another lurch made it fly out of her hand.
You’re nearly there now. Concentrate on that thought, and on seeing him again.
