The Italian Girl (36 page)

‘I understand.’

The two-minute bell rang. ‘Right, we’d better make a move.’

Rosanna sat in the box beside Chris, drinking in the smell of the old theatre. She leant over the plush velvet rail and stared up at the saucer-shaped dome of the magnificent pale blue and gilt ceiling. A smile curved her lips as she reflected that in normal circumstances she would be waiting nervously on the other side of the red curtain, not admiring the architecture. A shiver of excitement ran though her as the lights went down and the orchestra launched into the overture.

She watched as Roberto sang with Francesca Romanos, not even pausing for breath on the hard semi-tone lift during the Act One love duet. As he sang ‘
Vittoria! Vittoria!
’ during Act Two, Rosanna felt a tremor of emotion run round the audience. And after ‘
E lucevan le stelle
’, the audience rose to their feet, stamping and clapping for several minutes until the conductor raised his baton to begin again.

It was then that Rosanna knew how hard it would be to stay away. All those years of dedication and training . . . how could she leave this world? It was hers as much as Roberto’s and part of their magic was being together on stage.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she watched Roberto and Francesca take a five-minute standing ovation. She had listened to Francesca carefully, trying to spot faults. There were few. She was very, very good. She was also young and extremely pretty.

‘How are you feeling?’ asked Chris as they made their way out of the box.

‘Depressed,’ sighed Rosanna. ‘I was hoping it wouldn’t touch me, but of course, it has.’

‘That’s good news.’ Chris led her into the Crush Room where a crowd was gathering for a champagne reception.

There was a round of applause as Roberto and Francesca entered the bar. Roberto spotted Rosanna and made straight for her.

‘
Principessa
, did you enjoy it?’

‘I don’t think “enjoy” is the right word,’ grimaced Rosanna, ‘but you were superb,
caro
.’

‘Excuse me,’ said Chris, switching into full-on agent mode. ‘Can I borrow Roberto for two minutes? There’s someone over there I want him to meet.’

Rosanna was left by herself as the two men made their way across the room.

‘Hello, Rosanna.’

Rosanna turned to find Francesca Romanos smiling at her. As a performer, Rosanna respected Francesca, but she’d always found her somewhat frivolous as a person. Still, she knew when to give credit where it was due. ‘Congratulations, Francesca. I thought you were very, very good,’ she said.

‘Thank you. You don’t know what that means to me. I’ve always been a huge admirer of yours. And Roberto, as always, was brilliant. I think we sing well together.’

‘You do.’ Rosanna tried not to let her feelings show.

‘So, how is your baby?’

‘Oh, he’s fine. Thriving, in fact.’

‘And have you decided when you’re coming back?’

‘No.’

‘I see. Is there a chance you might not?’

‘I really don’t know,’ said Rosanna, growing more uncomfortable by the second.

‘It’ll be hard if you don’t,’ Francesca chattered on regardless. ‘I mean, letting Roberto go off by himself all the time. He’s such a charmer. He had a string of beautiful admirers queuing up in New York.’

‘Did he? Well, that’s nothing new. My husband is indeed a charismatic man,’ Rosanna said, trying to sound unconcerned, but already dying inside.

‘I’m sure you’re used to it, but the way some women throw themselves at famous men like Roberto would drive me mad. I mean, there was one in particular – Donatella, I think she was called – who just wouldn’t stop pestering him. I told Roberto he ought to be more careful. He should know better than anyone what gossip can be like, even though
we
all know it was innocent,’ she added cosily, winking at Rosanna as though they were sharing some private joke.

‘Of course. I’m sure it was. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must find my husband.’ Rosanna knew she was being rude, but she couldn’t bear another moment.

‘Oh. Yes, of course. Goodbye, Rosanna . . . maybe I’ll see you later.’ Francesca looked petulant as the conversation came to an abrupt end.

Rosanna didn’t care. She walked swiftly in the direction of the ladies’ powder room.

‘Donatella,’ she moaned as she locked herself in a cubicle and leant heavily against the door. ‘Why, Roberto, why?’

‘I want to go home. I promised the babysitter we’d be back by twelve.’

Roberto looked down at his wife. Her face was pale, her eyes tinged with red.

‘But,
cara
, I have people I must see before I leave.’

‘Then I will ask Chris to drive me home,’ she responded tartly.

‘Rosanna, please, I . . .’ But she walked away before he could finish. Immediately, a conductor accosted him.

‘So, I hear you’re coming to Glyndebourne next year, Mr Rossini?’

Ten minutes later, Roberto extricated himself to look for Rosanna.

‘Have you seen my wife?’ he asked Francesca.

‘Yes, she left a few minutes ago with Chris Hughes. I think she was tired.’

A waiter appeared at his side. ‘Champagne, sir?’

‘Why not?’ sighed Roberto, grimly taking a glass from the waiter’s tray.

Rosanna remained silent as Chris drove out of London.

‘You’re very quiet,’ he commented. ‘Did it hurt badly, watching Francesca?’

Rosanna didn’t reply.

‘You know that she isn’t a patch on you, honey. All the opera houses want you back with Roberto. Just say the word and I can start to book you again.’

‘I have Nico. He’s all I need,’ she replied robotically.

‘And Roberto.’

‘I think I must get used to being without him.’

‘So, you’re not going to return.’

‘No. Tonight has made up my mind. I am not.’

‘But can you and Roberto really stand all the separations?’ persisted Chris. He was, after all, her agent and no matter how much he sympathised with Rosanna’s predicament, it was his job to bring her back into the fold. ‘I mean, Roberto’s a very gregarious man. When he has you beside him, it’s all he needs. He turns up to rehearsals, has few temper tantrums and generally behaves impeccably. He’s altered completely since you married him and the change has all been for the good. Having you has allowed him to build on his fame. But it worries me to think of you at home while he’s away. Sorry if I’m speaking out of turn, but you must know he has this . . . this impulsive streak that he finds difficult to control when you’re not together . . .’

‘Like in New York, you mean? With Donatella Bianchi?’ spat Rosanna.

Chris was silent. Eventually, he said, ‘I didn’t know you knew.’

‘I didn’t, until Francesca took it into her head to update me tonight. And thanks for confirming it, Chris.’

‘Shit! That stupid bitch!’ Chris banged the steering wheel hard with the palm of his hand.

‘Were they having an affair?’

‘Oh Christ, Rosanna, I don’t know,’ Chris groaned.

‘But you were there with Roberto in the apartment. You must have seen his comings and goings.’

‘No, really, I didn’t. I was away a lot.’

‘So, what about the morning Stephen called you? Did you answer the telephone because Roberto wasn’t there? Wasn’t there at five thirty in the morning as his wife was in labour?’ Tears pricked her eyes.

‘No, okay, he wasn’t there, but he could easily have been in a club. They stay open very late in New York and it was his last night in town.’ Chris steered the car off the motorway and headed into the darkness of a country road.

‘But Roberto knew I was having the baby early. He came straight to the hospital. Someone must have contacted him, known exactly where he was before he got on his flight. Was it you?’

Chris fell silent again. In that silence, Rosanna found her answer.

‘Look, Rosanna, it really doesn’t matter. Whatever happened in New York is in the past. I know how much Roberto loves you, how he’s put his career on hold for the past six months to be with you and the baby. I’ve never seen him so happy.’

‘Please, Chris, don’t patronise me. I don’t wish to discuss it anymore. It’s between me and Roberto.’

‘But Rosanna—’

‘
Please!
’

Chris drove on in embarrassed silence, finally turning the car into the drive and pulling up in front of The Manor House. He turned off the engine and looked at Rosanna. Her face was impassive.

‘Shall I come in with you? We can talk this through. It really isn’t as bad as it seems.’

‘No, Chris. If you don’t mind, I wish to be by myself. Thank you for bringing me home.’ Rosanna opened the car door and got out. She shut the door behind her and walked across the gravel.

Chris watched the front door close behind her, swore until the air around him was blue, then started the engine and pulled out of the drive.

Rosanna sat on the window seat in the nursery staring up at the full moon. Nico was fast asleep, the odd gentle snore floating from the cot to reassure her.

She was past caring. Her first thought had been to run away, to take her baby and disappear. But she knew the pain would only follow her and, besides, this was
her
life right here. Roberto could take his and go and live it somewhere else.

He had
sworn
to her it would never happen. He had broken his promise and, although it might kill her to do it, Rosanna was going to keep hers.

She stood up and moved towards the bedroom she had shared with her husband. She had a lot to do before he arrived home.

It was gone two when the Jaguar purred up the drive. Rosanna stood waiting by the front door.

She knew as soon as she saw him that he’d been drinking. He could have killed himself on the way home . . . Rosanna brushed the thought from her mind. It didn’t –
couldn’t
– matter anymore.

‘
Cara
, you are still awake.’ Roberto came towards her, arms outstretched.

‘There is enough in there for the present,’ she said, pointing to the two suitcases standing by the door. ‘I’ll have everything else packed and sent on to the London house.’

Roberto looked bemused. ‘I’m sorry,
cara
, I thought we had agreed I would commute for the next few weeks, and anyway to pack at this time of night . . .’

‘You’re leaving, Roberto. Now.’ Rosanna’s voice was icy cold.

‘But why? Has someone died?’

‘No, nothing has died, except my love for you.’

‘What is it? What have I done?’

‘You made me a promise, Roberto. And you have betrayed me. I never want to see you again.’

‘I . . .’ Roberto shook his head in bewilderment. ‘What promise? How have I betrayed you?’

‘If you cannot remember the night you spent in Donatella Bianchi’s warm bed as your wife was in labour, then it’s not for me to remind you. I hate you. Please leave.’

He looked at her, horrified. If Rosanna hadn’t totally believed what Francesca had told her, she did now. The guilt was written across his face.

‘But I . . . how?’ Roberto sank to his knees in the doorway.

‘It doesn’t matter how I know. Only that I do.’

He burst into tears.

‘
Mamma mia
, if only you knew how I have punished myself, Rosanna. Donatella and I . . . it was nothing –
nothing
– can’t you see?’

‘And how many married men do you think have tried that excuse on their wives? No, I can’t see anything at all. I told you when you asked me to marry you that I would leave you if you were unfaithful. You had an affair, but it’s not me who is leaving, it’s you.’

‘Please, please, Rosanna, let me tell you, talk to you about how it was. I can explain,
please
, I beg you. I love you,
amore mio
, I love you.’ Roberto covered his face with his hands.

‘No. I thought you did, but you do not. You sleep with another woman, you lie to me. How can you call that
love
? You aren’t fit to be a father to your child!’ Rosanna was shaking. ‘Roberto, I wish you to leave immediately.’

He looked up at his wife, her pale face bathed in moonlight. She looked like some ghostly child-spirit and Roberto knew that the expression on her face would haunt him as long as he lived. He also knew she meant what she said. He hauled himself to his feet.

‘Rosanna, whatever you think of me, whatever bad things I have done, I love you, I love you. There is no one else for me; there never will be.’

‘I wish you to leave,’ she repeated again.

He looked at her, self-pity beginning to replace his shock and remorse. ‘Rosanna, if you make me go without giving me a chance to explain, I will never come back again.’

‘Then I’m glad you understand what I want.’ She motioned towards the two suitcases. ‘Goodbye, Roberto.’

Slowly he bent down and picked up the cases. ‘You will regret this, Rosanna. It is simple. We cannot live without each other.’ Then he turned and walked away.

Rosanna watched as he unlocked the car, threw his suitcases into the boot and slammed it shut. He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The car hummed, reversed and then disappeared down the drive.

Rosanna closed the front door, turned and walked up the stairs to the one thing she still had left that was worth living for.

The Metropolitan Opera House, New York

So, darling, that is how you came to spend your early childhood without your father in our house. But that night I also made a vow that I would never try to prejudice you against him. He had been nothing but a loving, caring papa to you during the first months of your life. I felt guilty about depriving you of his company, so I decided that if he called and said he wished to see you then I would allow him to do so.

The month after he left was the hardest. Even though my resolve was strong, every time the telephone rang I would rush to it, part of me desperate to hear his voice yet dreading the sound at the same time. The disappointment when it was not him was matched by relief, and then disbelief that he could carry out his threat and cut himself off from us so completely.