A Taste Of Italy: Midwife, Mother...Italian's Wife. Fiona McArthur
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even know that. She’d been pregnant, fifteen, with belly quietly bulging under the bulky clothes she’d worn. Her grandmother had panicked and her father had arrived. Thank goodness for the love of Misty and her dad. She was fairly sure Vincente was working himself up from a petty gangster and she would have been in the thick of it.
‘I guess his mother knew I was pregnant because she worked for my grandmother, but whether or not she knew who the father was, I’m not sure. The whole world knew when I left.’
‘So perhaps they could know?’
What was he getting at, digging through this old history? That horrible black trepidation was creeping over her again and she hated the feeling. Mistrusted it more than ever after yesterday.
She felt cold and she rubbed the goose flesh on her arms. It wasn’t a cool night. ‘This has nothing to do with the fact your son was kidnapped and mine was taken as well. Don’t try and blame this on me. Our life was normal before you came.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He thrust his fingers deep through his hair. ‘You’re right. Unless he was Italian there can be no connection.’
Tammy’s breath jammed in her throat and she hoped Leon didn’t hear it stick. Another shiver ran through her as her heart slowed and then sped up twice as fast. She could feel her blood trickling coldly in her chest as she tossed that idea around like a hard lump of ice. No way.
Leon crossed to her. Her face gave away the turmoil he’d caused. He was a fool and a thoughtless one. ‘Forget I asked. Please, Tamara, forgive me.’ And he could do little else but gently draw her into his arms and kiss her.
She was so soft beneath him. Her cheek like satin against his face, her hair fluid under his fingers in that way he would never forget. How could he cause her more distress? He stroked her arm. ‘Come lie down with me. Just to hold you. Nothing else. Let me keep you warm.’
She wanted to. So badly. It was a great theory to just hug and wrap themselves around each other and drift off to sleep but she doubted it would end that way.
She shivered again. ‘I am cold.’
Was it wrong to want to lie with this man? To experience the immersion in another human being, to feel the power of her inner woman that she’d only just discovered because he’d shown her? She wanted to lose herself in him, or perhaps truly find herself, and in doing so maybe gain some peace. Why did this man, a man leaving tomorrow, have to be the one who had shown her that? The only man she’d ever sought peace from. Why was that? Why did everything go so wrong?
She wrapped her arms across her chest and attempted humour. ‘If you took me to bed I don’t know if I could keep my hands off you.’
The worried crease across his brow jumped and the tiniest twinkle lit his eyes. ‘Perhaps I could sacrifice myself to your needs. If that should happen I would forgive you. Medicinal purposes, of course.’
No. They couldn’t. There was the chance of the boys wandering in. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘I could stay on top of the bedclothes.’
‘And how would you warm me, then?’ Perhaps that would work. She was so tired and cold and miserable and the thought of leaving her troubles for him to mind while she rested was beyond tempting.
‘I’ll be out in a minute.’ She dived into the bedroom and shut the door. She imagined his face when he saw her in her too-big, dark blue striped, flannelette pyjamas.
But when she returned he didn’t comment. Just took her hand and led her to the bed. She doubted he wanted to risk her changing her mind and making him sleep in the den. When she stood before him he took both her hands and kissed them.
‘Tonight will look after itself.’
Sometime in the night she awoke, her pyjamas strangling her. Her arm had little movement where she lay on the ungiving fabric and she felt trapped. Trapped and claustrophobic by the material and ripped off by the thought that tomorrow Leon would be gone. The bare skin of her feet had wormed between his legs and soaked in his heat and his hand had slipped between the buttons of her shirt and rested like a brand to cup her breast.
She lifted her free hand up to move his fingers but instead she stroked the back of his hand. He kissed her neck.
So he was awake also. ‘Stai bene?’ Then, ‘Are you okay?’
She almost said sì. ‘I’m a little uncomfortable.’
‘Your pyjamas?’ She could hear the laughter in his voice and the sound was more precious than she expected.
‘Yep.’
‘I have a solution.’
‘I’m sure you do.’ The solution was delightful.
The next morning dawned clear and bright. Unlike her head. Tammy still felt fogged with the twists and turns of the past few days, let alone the disaster of sleeping with Leon again. Her face flamed in the privacy of the bathroom. Goodness knows how she was going to face the boys. At least Leon had been up and dressed before either boy had appeared.
Today they left for Italy. She was still telling herself his leaving was a good thing.
Emma and Gianni returned to Brisbane today from their honeymoon and Montana was also driving up with Dawn, taking Grace to meet up with her mother and new step-father, before they all flew out.
Leon had taken the boys to the shop while she showered, to buy bread rolls and cold meats for brunch, a last-minute attempt to create some normalcy from Paulo’s trip to Australia. A family picnic by the lake before they left.
She’d told Jack they weren’t seeing them off at the airport. It was the last thing Tammy wanted—a long, drawn-out goodbye in front of strangers or even to sit opposite Leon at a small café table and make small talk in front of their sons. The picnic would be hard enough but at least it was private.
Tammy was meeting them back in the kitchen in half an hour to make the hamper. When they’d gone she slipped next door in search of her father.
Ben was painting the bottom of his old rowboat down the long yard that backed onto the lake. No trip to the beach this weekend. The ghost gum towered into the sky and shaded the grassy knoll above the water where he worked. The boatshed was where her father came when he was stressed.
She’d spent months of lazy summer afternoons with Ben and Misty here, watching swans and ducks when Jack was a baby. She realised time, peaceful and trouble-free time, so different to now, had drifted by like the floating leaves from the overhanging trees.
‘Hello, there, Tam.’ Her father looked up with a smile and his piercing blue eyes narrowed at the strain in her face.
He wiped the excess paint off the paintbrush and balanced it carefully across the top of the open paint tin before he stood. ‘How are you? How’s Jack? What’s happened was huge. Bigger than anything we’ve had to cope with before.’ He came closer. ‘You okay, honey?’
She watched one large drip of red paint slide down the end of the brush and fall onto the grass like a drop of blood. A spectre of foreboding. But she didn’t have premonitions—that was Misty’s way. She shivered. She was here for a reason. ‘I’ll be fine when Leon’s gone and Jack’s safe.’ As if to convince herself?
Her father’s dark brows, so like her own, raised in question. He slid an arm around her shoulders and drew her to sit beside him on the circular iron stool that ringed the trunk of the biggest gum.
‘You think the two go together, do you? Leon and trouble?’
‘Of course.’ So quickly she could say that but still there was that tiny seed of doubt planted last night, an illogical but still possible seed that maybe the trouble had come from her.
She wasn’t sure how to broach a subject every-one in her family had left alone for more than eight years.
‘Do you remember when