The Italian Girl (57 page)

‘Now you see why I haven’t been in contact?’ she sighed.

Rosanna took in the baby’s olive skin, dark hair and eyes.

‘I think I need to sit down.’

Ten minutes later, they were perched amongst the boxes in the sitting room drinking tea.

‘We were only together once, I swear, Rosanna. It was Luca’s last night in England and we both threw caution to the wind. And yes, it was an enormous shock to find myself pregnant, but I’ve wondered since if, subconsciously, I wanted it to happen. If I couldn’t have Luca, at least I’d have part of him forever.’ Abi stroked her baby’s downy head as she bounced her on her knee.

‘And you’ve never tried to contact Luca, to tell him he has a daughter? What’s her name, by the way?’

‘Phoebe. I named her after the heroine in my first book,’ she grinned. ‘No, Rosanna. I don’t want him to know. He has written to me from wherever he is out in the bush in Africa, but I haven’t responded. To be honest, I don’t trust myself not to say anything,’ she sighed. ‘It would put him in a dreadful position and could ruin his future if he’s still intending to become a priest. His beloved church preaches forgiveness of sins, but they don’t seem to apply that very freely to their own clergy. So, that’s why I’ve stayed away from you as well. I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner. Are you horrified?’

‘No, Abi.’ Rosanna shook her head wearily. ‘I’m simply hurt that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me. You know I would have been there for you.’

‘I think that maybe I was ashamed,’ Abi admitted. ‘After all, I knew when it happened there was no future for us. And it was me who instigated it, not Luca.’

‘Goodness, Abi, after what’s happened in my life, I hardly think I have any right to be narrow-minded,’ Rosanna chided her. ‘I’m also sorry that I was so wrapped up in my own world, that I didn’t take the time to notice what was happening between you and Luca.’

‘Well, Luca and I were never as dramatic as you and Roberto, but, in our own quiet way, we loved each other as much. He made me a better person,’ she said sadly. ‘Anyway’ – Abi took a sip of her tea – ‘I’m so glad you know, Rosanna.’

‘And Luca must know one day, too.’

‘Maybe,’ shrugged Abi. ‘Only time will tell.’

After they’d arrived home and Rosanna had put Nico to bed that evening, she paced up and down the kitchen. She looked out onto the terrace and remembered Abi and Luca together that summer. The private jokes they shared, the way they would talk for hours, long after everyone else was in bed . . . She remembered Stephen had once remarked that he thought they were in love.

Could it be that Luca had spent his life searching for something that had been staring him in the face for all these years?

By the following morning, Rosanna had reached a decision. She’d asked Abi yesterday for Luca’s forwarding address in Zambia. And now, it was
her
turn to play God. She would find him and bring him home.

The flight from Lusaka landed on time. Rosanna stood nervously, scanning the faces as they came through the sliding doors into the arrivals hall.

Finally Luca emerged, thinner than she remembered, a deep suntan etched on his handsome face. Rosanna went to greet him and flung her arms around him. ‘Luca, it is so good to see you.’

‘Rosanna.’ He returned her hug, then pulled back and studied her carefully. ‘You look very well for someone who’s supposed to be in the middle of a crisis. I’m glad you said in your letter that it was nothing to do with Nico or I’d have been worried sick. How is he, by the way?’

‘He’s gorgeous.’ Rosanna smiled.

‘Then what is it that has dragged me all the way back from Africa?’

‘I’ll tell you as we drive,’ she said, taking his arm. ‘Do you know, it must have taken two weeks for you to get my letter? I was beginning to despair of a reply,’ she said as she steered him towards the car park. ‘I thought maybe you didn’t want to ever speak to me again.’

‘Rosanna, I only get into the town to pick up my mail once a week or so. I promise that I telephoned you as soon as I received it. I’ve missed you,
piccolina
, so very much.’

‘And I you. The main thing is that you’re here now. Hop in.’ Rosanna unlocked her Volvo and Luca got into the passenger seat.

‘You’ve passed your driving test at last?’ he commented.

‘Yes. Living out in the country with a young child, it became rather essential. Anyway, you must tell me all about Africa. It looks as if you haven’t eaten for weeks, Luca.’ Rosanna started the car and reversed it out of the space.

‘That’s an exaggeration, but you’re right. I admit I’ve begun to dream about pizza recently.’

‘Has it helped you, though, being so far away?’

‘You mean, made up my mind whether I still wished to become a priest?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, now I can tell you what happened. You see, I’d seen Carlotta suffer so, and there were other things too that confused me at the time. Then, when I arrived out in Africa, I witnessed such poverty and sickness that I had a complete change of heart about the priesthood. I realised that God had a different plan for me. To help those in need, yes, but not by conducting Mass, taking confession and dealing with Church bureaucracy. I wrote to my bishop and told him of my feelings, and I gave up my official position with the Church soon after.’

‘Well, that’s wonderful that you were finally able to make a decision, Luca. But why then did you not come back home?’

‘Where was my home, Rosanna? I felt I didn’t have one any longer. I received no reply from Abi when I forwarded her my address originally and I knew I’d upset you terribly. So I decided to stay on in Zambia and joined a British charity working over there. For the first time in my life, I really began to feel I was of use, practically as well as spiritually.’ Luca stared out of the window. ‘I can’t begin to tell you what it’s like there. The people and the landscape are so extraordinary, but the hardship, the deprivation, I . . .’ He looked at her suddenly. ‘Are you disappointed in me, Rosanna?’

‘Of course not. I know only too well how much courage it takes to admit you were wrong,’ she replied, desperate not to reveal her relief at Luca’s news.

‘But please, enough of me. Tell me what it is that has brought me back here?’

‘I will. It’s nothing bad, I promise,’ comforted Rosanna. ‘But first, let me tell you about Roberto.’

Luca sat in stunned silence as Rosanna explained the circumstances of their separation of two years ago. When she’d finished, he exhaled slowly. ‘Rosanna, I never believed you would leave him. If I had known this at the time, well, many things might have been different.’ Luca stared out of the window as he remembered. ‘You must know,
piccolina
, that I desperately regret the argument we had. I should not have interfered. I might not have liked Roberto, but I should have respected what you felt for him.’

‘No, Luca, you were right to say what you did. It forced me to make a decision. Thanks to you, I’m much happier now, though occasionally a little lonely,’ she admitted.

‘Loneliness is sometimes the price we pay, Rosanna,’ he said sadly. ‘Who is looking after Nico while you collect me?’

‘A close friend,’ she replied lightly. ‘So tell me more about Africa . . .’

Abi heard the car on the gravel. She picked up Phoebe with one arm, held Nico’s hand with the other and went out to greet Rosanna.

‘Mamma, Mamma!’ Nico let go of Abi’s hand and ran towards Rosanna as she climbed out of the car.

Abi watched the passenger door open and a familiar slim figure emerge. He turned and saw her, and they gazed at each other, both rooted to the spot in shock.

‘Luca,’ Rosanna prompted softly. ‘Go and say hello to Abi. And your baby daughter.’

‘My daughter? I . . .’

‘
She
is the reason you had to come home, Luca. I promise you, Phoebe needs your love and protection more than anyone else.’

‘Abi too,’ Luca choked out. And finally, he began to walk hesitantly towards them.

‘Oh God, Luca, oh God,’ whispered Abi, her eyes glittering with tears as he reached her side.

Rosanna hugged Nico tightly to her, her own eyes streaming, as Luca stretched out his arms and embraced his family.

The Metropolitan Opera House, New York

I took a chance, Nico, a big chance, but it was the right thing to do. And maybe I felt as though I had finally repaid Luca for all he had done for me by reuniting him with Abi and their baby. After that, Luca never did return to Africa, but instead took a position in the London office of the charity, fundraising as though his life depended on it. They were a joy to be with, all those years of pain and searching finally washed away. Abi, between novels, produced another two children and they all lived in ordered chaos in the house in Notting Hill.

But what of me, Nico? What of your mamma?

When you were six years old, you started at the small private school Ella had attended. The teachers there were wonderful, taking your disability into account but ensuring that you took part fully in all the school’s activities. I’m sure you will remember how much you loved it there and how many friends you made. But for me it was difficult. I was used to being with you all the time, and the hours while you were at school dragged by interminably.

So, to fill the silence, I began to play my old recordings and found myself singing along to them. Much to my amazement, my voice had not vanished. If anything, it had mellowed, matured. I was, after all, only thirty-one years old. And the passion I had once been driven by began to build inside me again.

I found a lovely young woman in the village who looked after you while I attended twice-weekly sessions with a singing coach in London, and after four months of hard work and a great deal of practice, I picked up the telephone and called Chris Hughes, my old agent.

I started tentatively, singing at small recitals to build up my confidence. I had to prove my talent all over again, not just to a new audience, but to myself. And the offers slowly began to come back in. The only stipulations I made were that I would never again sing with Roberto and that my schedule was not so taxing as to take me away from you for long periods.

But when Paolo de Vito offered me Mimi in
La Bohème
at the beginning of La Scala’s new season, as you can imagine, I couldn’t say no. You went to stay with your beloved Uncle Luca and Aunt Abi and I flew off to Milan. There were no recriminations from Paolo; he welcomed me back with open arms. And, ten years later than scheduled, I sang Mimi on the stage of La Scala. I blush to say it, but I was a sensation. Even your grandfather was in the audience, with Signora Barezi, his wife, hearing his daughter sing live for the first time since Luigi Vincenzi’s soirée.

In retrospect, the best thing I could have done was to have the break I did when you were small. When I returned to opera, I was far more mature and able to cope with the fame and the attention that surrounded me. And my experience has meant I have been able to guide Ella through some of the pitfalls that befell me. You know how well she is doing at Covent Garden, her roles growing along with her confidence, but then again, she has not yet fallen in love . . .

I’ve now had eight years of being back at the top of my profession. The life I lived with Roberto seems a universe away. I won’t say I didn’t think about your papa, for that would be a lie. I never tried to stop myself, for I knew he was as much a part of me as my arms or my legs, and nothing could ever change that.

And then, two weeks ago, I got a telephone call. It was from a doctor in Corsica. Roberto had suffered another heart attack. His condition was very serious and he was asking to see me . . .

54

Corsica, June 1996

Rosanna arrived at the nurses’ station and smiled with trepidation at the nurse on duty.

‘I’m here to see Roberto Rossini,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m his wife.’

‘I’m glad you’re here, Mrs Rossini. He’s been asking for you. But I must warn you, he had another attack last night and has been slipping in and out of consciousness ever since.’

‘Oh God.’ Rosanna gulped down a sob. ‘Is he . . . ? Is it . . . ?’ She could not voice the words, but the expression on the nurse’s face told her everything she needed to know.

‘I’ll take you to see him. Please, try to prepare yourself, Mrs Rossini. And say what you would like to if he regains consciousness. I’m sorry to tell you, but there isn’t much time.’

Desperately trying to prepare herself and gather strength, Rosanna followed the woman along the corridor and into a private room. A collection of monitors and tubes were bleeping and pumping. Amongst all the mechanical paraphernalia lay Roberto. His eyes were closed, his skin grey.

The nurse smiled sympathetically at Rosanna, then left her alone.

She walked over to the bed and stared down at him. She reached for his hand, took it in hers and stroked it. ‘Roberto, Roberto, I’m here,’ she said softly.

Eventually, he stirred and opened his eyes. The sun shone out of them as he looked at her.

‘Rosanna, my
principessa
. . . I . . .’ His eyes filled with tears. His trembling fingers moved towards her cheek. ‘Let me touch you, make sure you are real. Oh my love, my love.’

They stared at each other for a long time, drinking each other in.

‘I’ve heard you sing many times since your comeback. You are wonderful, wonderful. Your gift was always exceptional, but now you sing with such maturity and integrity.’

‘I learnt that thanks to you, Roberto.’

‘Did you?’ His eyes brightened.

‘Oh yes. I was still a little girl when I met you. I’ve grown up in the past few years.’

‘Are you happy, my Rosanna? I want you to be happy.’

‘Not in the same way as when we were together, but I’m content, yes.’