The Italian Girl (50 page)

Even though she was still furious with him, Rosanna rolled over and let him kiss her.

‘Please try to think of others occasionally, Roberto.’

‘I will.
Ti amo
, Rosanna.’

And then, as always, the last vestiges of her anger disappeared as he began to make love to her.

‘Stephen?’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s Luca. How are you?’

Stephen paused before he answered. ‘I’m . . . okay. How is your sister?’

Luca hesitated for a moment before answering quietly: ‘She died two weeks ago. Did Rosanna not tell you?’

‘No. I . . . I’ve been busy recently and haven’t seen her. I’m very sorry for your loss, Luca.’

‘In many ways it was for the best. At the end, she was in so much pain. And now Carlotta has been laid to rest, I must begin to get on with life and make some decisions of my own. Stephen, now you’ve visited New York, have you any further details on the drawing?’

‘Yes, I have, as a matter of fact. I’ve been waiting for you to call me. We need to talk, Luca, but not on the telephone. Will you be coming over to England soon?’

‘Yes. I want to see Ella, but I have a few things to organise here in Naples for Carlotta before I fly over.’

‘Then give me a ring when you know when you’re arriving.’

‘I shall see you at Rosanna’s, surely?’

‘I’m afraid quite a few things have changed since we last spoke,’ replied Stephen brusquely. ‘So no, you won’t. But I’ll leave Rosanna to tell you all about that. Goodbye, Luca.’

Donatella opened the door to Roberto’s apartment. She picked up the pile of mail that lay on the doormat and took it over to the table.

She marched through the sitting room into Roberto’s bedroom and flung open the wardrobes. Her first instinct was to get a knife from the kitchen and slash every item of his clothing that hung inside. But that was childish, and too ineffectual. He deserved far, far worse.

She pulled out several of her suits, skirts and cocktail dresses and threw them onto the bed. She emptied out two drawers of lingerie: the black suspenders Roberto had liked her to wear, the silk stockings that his hands had caressed as they made love . . . Donatella swallowed hard. She would not shed a tear. Oh no. She would take her emotion and turn it into anger, just as her therapist had suggested.

‘I hate you, I hate you,’ she muttered under her breath as she pulled a large suitcase out from the top shelf of a cupboard and began throwing her clothes inside it. ‘I will punish you, I will punish you,’ she repeated as she closed the suitcase and left the room.

It took her barely fifteen minutes to collect the few things she had in Roberto’s apartment. Then she sat down at the table and took a pen from her handbag.

Should she leave him a note? What could she say to him? Was there
anything
that might frighten him? Shake the unbearable arrogance from him just for a few seconds?

When Roberto had not returned from the concert in Geneva, and she’d heard nothing from him, she had called Chris Hughes. He’d told her that Roberto was in England, but that he had no idea where he was staying or how long he’d be there. Donatella had screamed at Chris, telling him that she could guess exactly where Roberto was staying. Chris had not denied it. She’d slammed the telephone down and, later, she’d gone out to a cocktail party and got very, very drunk.

The following morning, she’d woken up hung-over and reflected that there was every chance Roberto would turn up in the future, brazen it out and expect her to accept the situation. She’d made herself a Bloody Mary and asked herself whether she
was
prepared to accept this too.

It had taken a long time to come to the conclusion that she wasn’t. He’d used her for almost ten years, treating her like a piece of rubbish that he could throw away whenever the mood took him. She’d kidded herself for years that he would one day forget Rosanna and marry her instead. Donatella knew now this had been a fantasy.

She’d packed her Louis Vuitton bags and spent Christmas with some old friends in Barbados. Every night when she was alone in bed, her resolution had become stronger and stronger. And, slowly, the love began to turn to burning hatred.

Donatella bit her lip. It was hard to keep that feeling going, sitting amongst Roberto’s things, in an apartment where they’d shared so much. Had she meant anything to him?
No
, she answered herself brutally, and knew it was the truth.

She wanted to punish him, make him hurt, as
she’d
hurt so many times; make him feel the true pain of loving and losing.

She’d wracked her brains over the past month to try to think of some way she could teach him a lesson he’d never forget. But the man was seemingly invincible. She could go and sell her story to the newspapers, but that would only give him the attention he relished, as well as demeaning herself. There seemed to be no skeletons in his closet that he hadn’t already revealed.

Donatella tapped her pen on top of the table and picked up one of the envelopes from the pile of post to write her farewell message on. It was a bank statement. On impulse, she opened it, looked at the amount at the bottom and saw he had over two hundred thousand dollars in his current account. Disinterestedly, she tossed the piece of paper aside. It wasn’t financially she wanted him to suffer.

She pulled the pile of post towards her and began to work through it methodically. She opened bills, party invitations and several Christmas cards from females she’d never heard of, discarding them on the floor after a cursory glance. Then she came to a bulky envelope of thick cream vellum. The postmark was Italian. It was marked ‘Private and Confidential’ in the left-hand corner and had been forwarded from the Metropolitan Opera House. Donatella tore it open. Inside was a letter and another envelope. She began to read.

Castellone Solicitors

Via Foria

Naples

Dear Signor Rossini,

I enclose a letter to you from my client, Signora Carlotta Lottini. She instructed me to send this letter to you on her death. Sadly, Signora Lottini died on 31 December 1982. I would ask you to confirm you have received it. If you need my assistance, do not hesitate to contact me.

I look forward to hearing from you,

Marcello Dinelli

Lawyer

Donatella picked up the second envelope, addressed to Roberto in spidery writing. Without further hesitation, she ripped it open and began to read.

Several minutes later, after she had reread the letter twice, Donatella began to laugh. She laughed so much that her stomach muscles began to hurt.

Eventually, wiping her eyes, she stood and looked above her.

‘Thank you, Lord, thank you.’

46

‘Did you ask Abi,
principessa
?’

‘Yes, Roberto. She says she’s too busy editing her book to come here for the weekend.’

‘But I
must
see you. Can’t you leave Nico with Ella for two nights? You know how he adores her.’

‘No, Roberto. I know she’s almost sixteen, but it isn’t fair to give her that level of responsibility. Besides, I wouldn’t like to leave Ella alone yet either. She’s still grieving, remember.’

‘I am so lonely here,
cara
. I have this big hotel suite with a large bed. I need you with me,’ he moaned.

‘Don’t do this to me, Roberto, please.’ Rosanna was on the verge of tears.

‘I think you love your son and niece more than you love your husband. Well, I shall go and leave you to them.’

‘Roberto, that is so unfair. I—’ Rosanna heard the click of the receiver being replaced. ‘Damn you!’ She slammed the telephone down hard and slumped into a chair at the kitchen table.

‘What is it, Rosanna?’ Ella asked from the doorway.

‘Oh, nothing,’ sighed Rosanna. ‘Just my impossible husband. Take no notice. Would you like a cup of tea? You look half frozen. How was school?’

‘Fine, and yes, please, I’d love a cup of tea, I’m getting quite a taste for it! It’s very cold indeed out there. It may snow.’ Ella took off her coat, her school hat and gloves. ‘Roberto wishes you to go to Vienna, yes?’

‘Yes.’ Rosanna miserably threw two teabags into the pot. ‘I thought my friend Abi might come up for two nights and take care of you and Nico, but she’s too busy.’

‘Rosanna, you know I can take care of Nico. If you wish to go to Vienna, we’ll be fine.’

‘No, Ella.’ She added water to the pot and stirred it disconsolately. ‘I couldn’t ask you to do that. It wouldn’t be fair.’

‘But for two nights? We would be okay, really.’

‘You’re nearly sixteen, Ella, and—’

‘Yes, old enough to be a mother myself,’ she countered. ‘I was often left alone for the night when I babysat in Naples. It would cheer you up to see Roberto, wouldn’t it?’ Ella continued.

Rosanna poured the tea into two mugs, added milk and sat down at the table. ‘When he came back, I understood that we’d be separated, but I’d forgotten how hard it was. It’s the same nightmare as the old days all over again. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be telling you my problems.’

‘You’ve listened to mine many times. You’ve been a friend as well as an aunt. I hope I can be your friend too.’

‘You are, Ella, and I’m very glad you are here. Honestly, I would have gone mad without you.’

Ella smiled. ‘I’m happy you feel that way. You’ve helped me, Rosanna, so please let me help you. Telephone Roberto and say you’ll go to him in Vienna this weekend. I’ll at least feel I’m repaying some of your kindness.’

‘Thank you for offering, Ella. I appreciate it and I promise I’ll think about it. Now, I must go and wake Nico.’

Rosanna stood up and left the kitchen. As she walked upstairs, she thought about what Ella had said. She was so tempted. Roberto’s absence had put her yet again on an emotional roller coaster. She picked Nico out of the cot as the telephone rang. Ella must have answered it, for the sound ceased after two rings.

‘How would you like to be a cosmopolitan little boy and travel round the world with me and your papa?’ she asked Nico as she laid him on his mat and changed his nappy.

Carrying Nico back downstairs, Ella smiled at her. ‘That was Roberto. He called to apologise.’

‘Oh, did he now?’

‘So I told him that you’ve changed your mind and are flying to see him this weekend. He was very pleased. He said you should let him know what time you would be arriving in Vienna.’

‘But Ella, I—’

‘It is all arranged. And you cannot let him down now, can you?’

Rosanna looked at her niece in an agony of indecision, then smiled gratefully. ‘Thank you, Ella, thank you
.’

On Saturday morning, Rosanna was awake at six o’clock. She showered and dressed, then went down to the kitchen and prepared some vegetables. She fried them with some minced beef and garlic, then added herbs and chopped tomatoes to make a bolognese sauce. She wanted Ella and Nico to have something tasty to eat that evening. While the mixture was simmering, she sat at the table and wrote down a lengthy set of instructions for Ella, starting from breakfast in the morning, right through to bedtime.

Feeling silly because, after all, Ella was involved in Nico’s routine every day, she set them by the telephone, then added the Imperial Hotel’s number in Vienna, along with those of the local doctor and Abi’s flat in London. That done, she took the pan of sauce off the stove, put a lid on it and left it on the worktop to cool. She checked her watch and went upstairs to finish packing.

Rosanna touched one of Nico’s cheeks. ‘He feels a little hot,’ she said, frowning.

‘He’s fine, aren’t you?’ Ella cuddled Nico to her as they stood together in the hall an hour later. ‘He’s been running around a lot this morning, that’s all. Now go, Rosanna, or you’ll miss your flight.’

‘Bye-bye,
angeletto
.’ She kissed Nico again, then picked up her overnight bag. ‘Any problems, please ring me at the Imperial, or call Abi or—’

‘I will! Go now, Rosanna. Please!’ Ella laughed.

Rosanna sat in the back of the taxi and waved until the car turned out of the drive and she could see them no longer. What if Nico was sickening for something? He had felt hot, she was sure of it. She comforted herself that it was probably a tooth coming through, which always made his cheeks red. It was only her guilt making her paranoid. Besides, what was the point of going to Vienna if she was going to worry about Nico all weekend?

With an effort, Rosanna turned her thoughts from her child and concentrated instead on the pleasure of seeing her husband in a few hours’ time.

‘Stephen, it’s Luca. I’ll be flying into London tomorrow morning.’

‘Ah, right. What time?’

‘My flight gets in to Heathrow at ten o’clock. I’ll catch a train to Cheltenham and I should be at Rosanna’s sometime after lunch. Could you come over tomorrow evening?’

‘Best that I don’t.’ Stephen was amazed that Luca still seemed unaware of Roberto’s return and his own subsequent departure from Rosanna’s life. ‘Look, I’m in London tonight. I’ll pick you up from Heathrow tomorrow morning and give you a lift up to Gloucestershire. We can discuss the situation on the way.’

‘That’s most kind of you, Stephen. I’ll call Rosanna and tell her what time I’ll be arriving.’

‘Right you are. Goodbye.’

Luca put down the receiver and picked it up to call Rosanna. The line rang and rang. He put it down and decided he would try later.

Ella heard the telephone ring, but Nico was having a rare screaming fit, banging his small knuckles into the floor and refusing to turn over so she could change his nappy. By the time she reached the telephone in Rosanna’s bedroom, it had stopped ringing.

Nico had at last quietened in her arms. She felt his forehead. He did feel warm. Ella carried him downstairs to feed him some junior paracetamol as Rosanna had instructed.

‘
Principessa
! You are here, you’re really here!’