The Italian Girl (26 page)

‘
Cara
, you must not doubt me. No one but you, ever. Please, don’t look so sad. Surely it’s a happy thing we are talking about? I have never asked a woman to marry me before.’

‘I know. And it frightens me. Perhaps we should wait a while—’

‘No! I’m sure.’ Roberto put his arms around her. ‘
Amore mio
, I will love you and protect you always. You will not regret this, I promise.’

As he kissed her tenderly, then held her against him so tightly that she could scarcely breathe, Rosanna knew there was nothing, even if she wished it so, that she could do.

Roberto Rossini had always been her destiny.

23

‘
Bastardo, bastardo!
’

Paolo’s secretary hurried into his office.

‘Signor de Vito, what is it?’

‘I’m sorry, Francesca, I am angry at something I have read in the newspaper.’

Francesca nodded nervously and left the room.

Paolo ran a hand through his hair as he studied the photograph of Rosanna and Roberto emerging from Le Caprice.

‘Why, Rosanna, why?’ he groaned.

He picked up the receiver and dialled the number of the Savoy in London.

‘Could you kindly put me through to Signorina Menici’s room?’ he asked the receptionist.

‘Thank you, sir.’

A few minutes later the receptionist informed Paolo that there was no reply from Miss Menici’s suite.

‘I see.’ Paolo looked at his watch. It was only eight thirty in the morning in England. He guessed where Rosanna must be and pondered whether he should ask the receptionist to put him through to Roberto’s suite instead.

‘Could you ask Signorina Menici to call Paolo de Vito when she’s available?’

‘Of course. Goodbye, sir.’

Paolo put down the receiver and tried to concentrate on details of the proposed set of
Rigoletto
, which sat on the desk in front of him.

Donatella, too, had seen the photograph in the newspaper. She burst into tears, then, wiping her eyes, paced up and down the sitting room, simmering with all the rage of a woman scorned.

Three weeks Roberto had been in London. And many times she’d tried to contact him at the Savoy. She had good news to tell him. While they’d been in New York, Giovanni had agreed to her request for a separation. He’d even offered to consider a divorce in the future. He’d seemed remarkably calm about it and there’d been little argument.

When she’d returned to Milan, Donatella had raced to Roberto’s apartment, convinced that, finally, they could be together, but had been amazed to find an estate agent measuring up the rooms. The agent had told her that the apartment was to be sold fully furnished, but had no idea where Roberto was planning to live in the future.

Donatella had driven back to Como fuming. Why had Roberto not told her of his proposed move? Why was he not answering her telephone calls?

That evening, Giovanni had been peculiarly amiable. He’d greeted her with a smile and presented her with a beautiful pearl necklace. She’d managed to hide her distress and had pretended her plans for moving out were still imminent. But that was all before this morning, when she’d finally seen the evidence of what she’d dreaded all along. Roberto had taken a new lover.

In an attempt to alleviate her anger, Donatella threw an expensive jade statuette across the room. It landed unharmed on the thick Aubusson rug.

She tried to console herself with the thought that this affair with Rosanna Menici was probably a last fling, that he would return to her, tail firmly between his muscular legs, asking forgiveness and promising never to stray again. After all, it was not as though Roberto had married the girl.

‘Don’t do this to me, Roberto, please, I love you,’ she moaned as she knelt down to pick up the jade.

There was little more she could do until Roberto returned to Milan. She’d been prepared to give up a lot for Signor Rossini. And she was damned if she was going to let him go without a fight.

‘Carlotta, Carlotta, look! Here!’ Marco Menici spread the newspaper on one of the tables in the café. ‘See, it’s Rosanna with Roberto Rossini.’

Carlotta stopped cleaning the café floor, propped the mop against the wall and looked over her father’s shoulder at the photograph. As she read the words underneath, Carlotta held on to the back of a chair for support.

‘Who would have believed it? They make a handsome couple, do they not? Just think, Carlotta, if Rosanna was to marry the son of our best friends!’

‘Yes, Papa, it would be remarkable indeed. But I must get on. It’s getting late and I have still to go shopping.’ Carlotta moved away and grabbed her mop as Marco walked off to the kitchen.

As soon as he left the room, Carlotta groaned with inner pain. Roberto and Rosanna . . . ‘No! It cannot happen!’ she whimpered.

Later that day, Carlotta walked to the local church. She went inside, lit a candle for Mamma and knelt down to pray.

Afterwards, she walked back towards the café, feeling a little calmer. There were always photographs in the newspapers of Roberto Rossini with different women; surely Rosanna was just another and the relationship would come to nothing?

Luca . . . she wished she could talk to Luca. In his cloistered world at the seminary in Bergamo, he would not have seen the photograph. She must write to him, ask his advice. He’d tell her it would be all right.

Carlotta went up to her bedroom, drew out a sheet of notepaper and a pen, and began to write.

Two weeks later, the subjects of so much high emotion were on their way in a taxi to Marylebone Register office. Roberto clasped his bride’s hand tightly in his.

The taxi stopped in front of the steps and Roberto climbed out. Having told no one but Chris of the engagement, he had arranged the marriage ceremony for nine thirty in the morning, thinking it less likely they would be spotted. Their final performance at Covent Garden had been last night. In three hours the two of them would be on a plane heading for Paris and after that . . . he would whisk his new wife away for three whole weeks to a secret place where they could remain undiscovered by the paparazzi. He was not ready to share her with the world yet.

‘The coast is clear.’ Roberto helped Rosanna out of the taxi and they hurried up the steps.

Chris Hughes was waiting inside. He smiled at them.

‘Rosanna, you look beautiful.’ He kissed her on both cheeks, then shook Roberto warmly by the hand. ‘I’ve brought my secretary, Liza, to be your other witness. She’s just gone to the ladies’ room.’

‘Good, good,’ Roberto nodded. ‘You understand, we just want a few weeks’ peace before the newspapers hear of our marriage.’

‘Sure. Ah, here she comes.’ Chris indicated a thin young woman who was walking down the steps towards them.

‘Thank you for coming, Liza.’ Roberto shook the girl’s hand. ‘You’re sworn to secrecy, of course.’

‘Of course.’ Liza nodded tremulously. ‘I think it’s very romantic.’

‘Right, let’s get on with it. You’ve got a plane to catch and so do I,’ said Chris briskly.

‘Good morning. Would you like to come through?’ The registrar appeared from the office.

The four of them followed him into an adjacent room that contained a desk at one end with three rows of chairs in front of it. The registrar indicated that the witnesses should sit down, then beckoned the bride and groom forward.

As Rosanna stood in front of the desk next to Roberto, she felt sad that none of her family and friends were here to share this special moment with her. But Roberto had been insistent about marrying before they left London.

‘There’s no reason why we shouldn’t have a proper ceremony later,
cara
, and invite all our friends and family, but I don’t want to give you the opportunity to change your mind. Or for others to change it for you,’ he had added darkly.

Luca, Papa, Carlotta, Abi, Paolo, Luigi . . . Rosanna thought of them all as she listened to the words that would legally tie her to Roberto for the rest of her life. She knew they’d all be terribly hurt that she hadn’t told them, but it couldn’t be helped.

Rosanna repeated her vows after the registrar, while Roberto smiled encouragement at her.

Then he slipped the wedding ring onto her finger.

‘And that concludes the ceremony,’ beamed the registrar. ‘You are now Mr and Mrs Roberto Rossini. May I be the first to congratulate you.’

‘Thank you.’ Roberto shook the registrar’s hand. ‘I trust I can count on your discretion?’

‘Of course. If I had a pound for every clandestine marriage I’ve conducted, I’d be a rich man. My lips are sealed. Now, at the risk of sounding like a stickler for tradition, I do think you should kiss the bride,’ the registrar encouraged.

‘Of course. How could I forget.’ Roberto leant across to Rosanna and kissed her tenderly on the lips.

‘If you and your witnesses would like to sign the register, that will be everything,’ said the registrar.

Ten minutes later, Roberto and Rosanna climbed into a taxi that Chris had hailed for them.

‘Have a great honeymoon, guys,’ he said, closing the door.

‘We will, Chris. You know where we’ll be, but only contact us if it’s really urgent,’ called Roberto through the open window.

‘Sure. But you’d better let me know how, when and where you want the world to discover your happy news. Prepare yourselves for a storm of media interest, especially from the direction of Milan.’ Chris raised a knowing eyebrow. ‘See you when you get back to London.’

He waved as the taxi drew away.

‘Well, Signora Rossini, we’ve done it.’ Roberto smiled at his new wife.

‘Yes, I’ve married an old man.’ Her fingers twined themselves round his.

‘Well, I’m going to show you just how young you make me feel when we reach Paris.’ He kissed her gently on the forehead.

‘Will it be the first time you’ve made love to a married woman?’ asked Rosanna, enjoying his caresses.

‘Of course,’ murmured Roberto. ‘Of course.’

When they arrived in Paris, a limousine drove them to the Ritz hotel.

‘Welcome, welcome,
monsieur et madame
. Please follow me. Your suite has been prepared.’ The manager ushered them swiftly into the lift.

Rosanna drew in her breath as she followed the manager into the suite. The sitting room was elegant and ornately furnished, with heavy gold damask curtains framing the floor-length windows which looked out over the Place Vendôme.

‘This is the beginning of the most wonderful honeymoon, Signora Rossini,’ Roberto said as he took a bottle of champagne from the ice bucket and popped the cork.

Rosanna accepted the glass he handed to her.

‘
Principessa
, I want to tell you that you have made me the happiest man in the world. To us.’

‘To us.’ Their glasses touched and, leading her into the bedroom then cupping her face in his hands, he began to kiss her. ‘
Ti amo
, I love you,
cara
.’

His hands began to undo the buttons of her blouse. He slid it from her shoulders and let his fingertips glide across the smooth contours of her breasts, barely touching the skin. They fell back onto the bed, locked in an embrace.

Later as they lay naked, their legs entwined on the rumpled sheets, Roberto gently brushed a lock of Rosanna’s hair out of her eye. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked down at him.

‘I’m hungry,’ she announced.

‘Then I shall call down and ask them to deliver us our wedding feast. Maybe some
foie gras
and some tender
filets mignon
, yes?’

‘I think I would like pasta,’ Rosanna shrugged.

Roberto rolled his eyes. ‘Pasta! You are in the Ritz in Paris, the culinary capital of the world, and you want pasta?’

‘Yes. A big plate of pasta and a salad. And you, you should watch your waistline.’ Rosanna put her arms around Roberto’s torso. ‘I don’t want a husband with middle-age spread,’ she teased.

Roberto pulled in his stomach, a wounded expression on his face. ‘You think I am fat?’

‘No, but like any man of your age, I think you must be careful.’

‘I am married for only a few hours and already my wife puts me on a diet! Well, tonight we feast; tomorrow – maybe – I fast.’ Roberto went over to the telephone and dialled room service while Rosanna slipped into the bathroom to shower.

After they’d eaten, they climbed between the soft linen sheets and lay together, staring at the beautiful mural on the ceiling. Roberto’s hand lazily caressed her naked body.

‘
Cara
, I know I say it often, but you have reformed me. Before you and I first made love, I used to think sex and love were two different things. I finally understand now why it’s possible to be monogamous. Once you’ve experienced what we have, then you need never seek pleasure from another.’

‘I thank God you feel that way,’ Rosanna murmured, ‘and I pray that you always will.’

‘
Principessa
, you do understand that many people will tell you what you have done is stupid?’

‘Yes, I know, Roberto.’

‘That they will say a leopard can never change his spots? That it cannot last?’

‘Yes.’

‘Please, Rosanna, whatever you might hear in the future about me, please, I ask this of you: remember this moment, remember me looking down at you and telling you how much I love you, how much I need you. You have lodged in my heart and will be there until the day I die. Tell me you will not let anything break us apart.’

‘As long as you can look me in the eye as you are doing now and never lie to me, then we’ll be together always.’ Rosanna settled herself for sleep in his arms. ‘
Caro
, when we come back from our honeymoon, can we visit Naples before we go back to London?’ she asked drowsily. ‘I feel very bad not telling my family about our marriage. Maybe if we went to visit them together, they might forgive us. We could go to Milan too, and see Paolo.’

‘I . . . yes, if we have time.’

‘Can we see a little of Paris tomorrow?’ she whispered. ‘I’ve never been here before.’

‘Yes, if we can take care to disguise ourselves from the scum of the paparazzi.’ His face hardened for a moment, before adding gently, ‘Then I will whisk you away to a place where no one can find us. Sleep well,
amore mio
.’