happen to me, because I don’t let it. I wonder if he’ll be at the airport?
He was. He and Toni stood there, waiting as they came out of Customs, Hope carrying the child, and Polly saw Toni’s face light up with joy. Then he was running forward, arms outstretched, to embrace his wife and grandson together.
Ruggiero’s face remained blank. Nor did he move as Toni and Polly greeted each other pleasantly.
‘All this has thrown him for six,’ Toni muttered in her ear. ‘Since my wife called he hasn’t known what to do with himself.’
That could be taken both ways, she thought. It didn’t tell her about Ruggiero’s true feelings. But then she saw him smiling at her with a hint of relief, as though he’d just been hanging on until she came back. And, despite her efforts to stop it, a spring of pleasure welled up inside her.
They had come in two cars, to ensure enough room for everyone on the return journey.
‘You and the baby go with Poppa,’ Ruggiero told his mother. ‘I’ll take Polly.’
The little surge of happiness was there again, irrational and reprehensible, but too strong to be fought. He opened the door for her and made sure she was comfortable before going around to the driver’s side. She looked at him, smiling. She couldn’t help herself. Something told her that his next words would be momentous.
As Toni’s car pulled away Ruggiero turned to her.
‘Let them go for the moment,’ he said. ‘There is something I must say to you first.’
‘Yes?’
‘You did bring them, didn’t you?’
‘What?’
‘The pictures. You promised faithfully to bring me pictures of Sapphire. Please, Polly, don’t tell me you forgot. You don’t know how important it is.’
So this was all he wanted-why he’d lit up at the sight of her. The depth of her bitterness warned her how far she’d strayed into danger.
‘Please, Polly,’ he repeated.
‘It’s all right. I’ve brought the pictures.’
With sudden resolution, as though he’d been given a reviving draught of life, he started the car and swung out of the airport.
Well, what did you think was going to happen? Polly thought scathingly. That he was going to forget her and see you? Get real!
On the way home she said, ‘Have you been sensible while I was away?’
‘No riding. I swear it.’
‘Short of that.’
‘I dropped in at work for an hour, but I behaved very feebly, and came home early. You’d have been proud of me.’
‘How about the pills?’
‘Just a couple at night. I’m on the mend.’
When they reached the villa Primo and Olympia were there. Apart from Carlo and Della, away on their honeymoon, they were the only Rinuccis who lived in Naples, so their arrival represented the rest of the family.
At first Polly stayed where Matthew could always see her, lest he grow alarmed. But he was easy in company-a natural charmer, who relished the attention.
Everyone was delighted when Ruggiero dropped down on one knee to look his son in the eye, and received a steady stare in return.
‘Buongiorno,’ Ruggiero said politely.
‘Bon-bon-’ he tried to repeat.
Ruggiero repeated the word and the tot responded by yelling, ‘Bon, bon, bon!’ in tones of delight.
Everyone laughed and clapped.
‘His first Italian word,’ Hope cried. ‘Why don’t you sit down and hold him?’
He sat on the sofa, and she helped little Matthew to get up beside him. He peered closely at this new giant, and finally became curious enough to try to climb onto his lap.
‘Better not,’ Ruggiero said quickly. ‘I’m still a bit sore, and I’d be afraid of dropping him.’
It was an entirely reasonable excuse. Surely Polly only imagined that he’d seized the first chance to back off?
He behaved impeccably, regarding the child with apparent interest, smiling in the right places, watching as he was bathed and dressed in the sleepsuit that Polly had brought with her, then put to bed. It was agreed, for the moment, that he should sleep in Polly’s room, in a crib that one of the maids had rescued from the attic.
‘I suppose you’re going to say that was mine?’ Ruggiero asked with resigned good humour.
‘No, this was Carlo’s,’ Hope declared triumphantly. ‘You managed to set fire to yours.’
Everyone laughed, including Ruggiero, but it seemed to Polly that he was doing everything from a distance, trying not to reveal that this first meeting with his son meant nothing to him.
When Matthew had fallen asleep, Ruggiero said unexpectedly, ‘Could you all give us a moment, please?’
Everyone smiled at this sign of fatherly interest, but when the door had closed behind them he said urgently to Polly, ‘The photos? Can I have them now?’
‘Of course. I unpacked them ready for you.’
She took the two albums from a drawer and handed them to him.
‘Thanks,’ he said briefly, and departed without a look at the sleeping child.
That night Polly stayed up late in her room, telling herself that she was watching over the little boy, but secretly knowing that she was watching over his father. Opening her window and looking out, she could see the glow from his window next door. There was to be no rest for him tonight.
She imagined him turning the pages, seeing ‘Sapphire’s’ face over and over, feeling fresh pain with every new vision.
Why had she let herself be taken by surprise? Deny it how he would, Sapphire had been the woman he’d loved so passionately that a few days ago the briefest imagined glimpse of her had driven him to madness, almost claiming his life. Perhaps he would have preferred that, now she was dead. He was, in effect, a widower, but denied a widower’s freedom to mourn openly-denied even the memories of a shared love that might have made his loss bearable.
Suddenly she remembered that Freda’s wedding pictures were in the second album. In the hurry and agitation it had slipped her mind, but now she wished she’d remembered and removed them. It was too late, but she might have spared him that.
A quick glance showed that Matthew was still sleeping. She went out into the corridor and knocked softly at Ruggiero’s door.
‘Come in.’ The words came softly.
He was sitting on the bed, his hands clasped between his knees, the wedding pictures open beside him.
‘I just came to see if you were all right.’
‘I’m fine-fine.’
She sat on the bed beside him.
‘No, you’re not,’ she said gently. ‘I’ve been watching you all evening, and you’re like a man stretched on a wheel. Your nerves are at breaking point-even your voice sounds different.’
‘Different how?’
‘Tense. Hard. Every five minutes you ask yourself if you can survive the next five minutes, and then the next. You smile at people and try to say the right things, but it’s taking everything out of you.’
‘Am I really as transparent as that?’ he asked, with a brief wry smile.
‘No, I don’t think anyone else has noticed.’
‘Just Nurse Bossy-Boots, keeping an eagle eye on the patient?’
Or a woman with a man whose every word and gesture means something, she thought, and longed to be able to say it aloud.
He sighed and squeezed her hand. ‘No, it’s not just your being a nurse. You see things that nobody else does. Where do you get it from?’
