Not Just a Convenient Marriage. Lucy Gordon
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‘He must be very bright to speak it so well while he’s so young. He’s a lovely child.’
‘Yes, he is. There’s something I want to say to you. Thank you for making him so happy. It means a lot to me to see him laughing and playing as he’s done today.’
‘Doesn’t he do so often?’
‘Sometimes he seems merry, but it never lasts very long. He’s haunted by the feeling that two mothers abandoned him. As I mentioned earlier, his real mother died before he could know her. His stepmother simply left him.’
‘Poor little soul,’ Sally murmured. ‘Does she never contact him at all?’
‘Never. She said that he would be better off if she was completely out of his life. But it was just for her own convenience, not for Pietro’s sake. She never loved him. He has only me.’
‘And he’s everything to you, isn’t he?’
‘Yes. Both for his own sake and because—’ His voice died.
‘Because of his mother?’ she urged gently.
He nodded.
‘Because of Gina,’ he said quietly. ‘We had such a little time together. Pietro was born a month prematurely. It killed Gina and the baby himself nearly didn’t survive. In her last hours Gina was wild with terror, fearing for him. She had no thought for her own danger, only his. I held her in my arms, begging her not to leave me, but I knew it was useless. She was being snatched away by a power beyond her control, and only her baby mattered. So I swore to her that I would care for him and protect him all the rest of my life. Nothing would matter but his happiness.’
Sally had a strange feeling that the world had changed. Even the universe. This city, which was like nowhere else, might be the answer, but she sensed something more. The man sitting close by, talking in a soft voice, had been known to her for only a few hours. Yet he was confiding in her in a way that said she was not a stranger, but someone to whom he felt close, because that was what he wanted to feel.
She tried to tell herself to be sensible, but common sense had gone into hiding.
‘Did your promise comfort her?’ she asked.
‘I thought so. She whispered, “God bless you,” so perhaps it did for a brief moment. Then—she tried to say something else. But she choked and couldn’t speak. In her last few moments she was desperate to tell me something, but she died before she could say the words. Now I’ll wonder all my days what she wanted to say that was so important.’
‘But surely, in your heart you know what it was,’ Sally said. ‘She wanted to say that she loved you. It couldn’t be anything else but that.’
He raised his head and she saw in his eyes a smile that made her heart turn over. There was a warmth in it that felt as though he was reaching out and touching her, enveloping her in some feeling she’d never known before: a feeling that she wanted to know for ever.
‘I think,’ he said softly, ‘that you must be the kindest person in the world.’
‘No,’ she said, suddenly self-conscious at the strength of her own feelings.
‘Don’t tell me that you’re not kind. I wouldn’t believe it.’
‘You don’t really know me.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do. I knew you as soon as we met in the Piazza San Marco.’
The air was singing about her ears and she was at a loss for an answer. Part of her had the same feeling, that she knew him as though they had been acquainted for ever. But another part said exactly the opposite: that here was a man of mystery and contradictions; that she might know him all her life, yet never understand the first thing about him.
Somewhere in the back of her mind a voice was whispering that it might be intriguing to follow that path, seeking the man he really was, perhaps finding him, and then—
Abruptly she closed off the thought, wondering what possessed her to give it even a moment. Soon they would say goodbye and he would cease to exist. Which would surely be a good thing.
Her next words seemed to come of their own accord, without any conscious decision.
‘You think you know me,’ she said, ‘but I don’t even know myself. I often believe I do, but then I discover I was wrong.’
He smiled.
‘Most of us could say the same. I’m convinced you’ve come to the right place. I promised Pietro that you would visit us again, which was rather impolite of me without asking you first—’
‘I forgive you,’ she said with a smile. ‘You couldn’t have asked me first, in front of him.’
‘Thank you. You’re a lady of great understanding. So when you come for your next visit we’ll spend a little time together and—who knows? I may manage to introduce you to yourself.’
There was a hint of teasing in his voice, but also a hint of temptation, leaving her free to choose which one to follow.
But it was an impossible choice; one she didn’t feel ready to make.
Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of bells from the clock tower in St Mark’s.
‘Goodness, is that the time?’ she said, checking her watch. ‘I had no idea it was so late.’
‘Yes, time can slip past when you’re thinking of other things,’ Damiano agreed quietly.
Suddenly there was a noise overhead. They both tensed with surprise, and looked up to find Pietro looking down at them from an upstairs window.
‘Hello,’ he said.
‘You should be in bed,’ Damiano told him in an unsteady voice.
‘I wanted to see Sally,’ he said cheekily. ‘Are you all right, Sally? Is Papa looking after you properly?’
‘He’s doing his best,’ she said in a voice that was also a little unsteady. ‘But it’s time I was going home.’
‘I’ll call my driver,’ Damiano said. ‘We’ll take you back to your hotel.’ He took out his cell phone and said a few words in Italian.
‘He’ll be here in a couple of minutes,’ he said when he’d hung up.
Sally raised her head, meaning to say goodbye to Pietro, but to her surprise he’d vanished and his window was closed.
They collected Charlie and the three of them headed for the door, where a surprise awaited them. Pietro stood there, fully dressed.
So that was why he’d backed away from his window so quickly, Sally thought.
‘What are you doing here?’ Damiano demanded. ‘You’re supposed to be in bed.’
‘But we’re going to take Sally home,’ Pietro said. ‘We’re her friends. We should all go with her.’
‘Very well,’ Damiano conceded, opening the door. As Sally passed him he murmured, ‘At least my son has manners. He likes you so much he wants to be the perfect host.’
‘Oh, come on,’ she chuckled. ‘When you were his age, didn’t you seize any chance to stay up late?’
‘Yes, I suppose that’s it. All right, let’s get going.’
He helped her into the motor boat. Charlie and Pietro got in, and they began the journey down the narrow waterway into the Grand Canal. At this time of night it was still brilliantly lit, and music floated towards them from a distance. It felt like drifting through another world.
Part of her regretted leaving at this moment. Part of her was glad. It had been a relief to avoid facing the question that was teasing her. Damiano had spoken of introducing her to her real self. If she’d had to answer him—what