Shadows of the Past (7 page)

‘Was that why we split up? I mean because I was depressed when I lost the baby?’

He studied her, seeming to peel away all the layers she had built up to protect herself from revealing her feelings. She wanted to claw at the black veil that was keeping things from her. Luca did not want to go on, she saw that and she wondered why that could be. She knew she had fallen down the stairs, which had caused her baby to die moments after his birth.

Alfredo had told her that she had gone through a long and terrible labour, that he had wanted her to have a caesarean section but she had not wanted it, fearing that might make it more dangerous for her baby. He lived for a moment, Alfredo had told her and she had seen his tiny little body but then he was gone and nothing they did could revive him.

‘How did you feel?’ She asked Luca. ‘When you heard that your son died, brought into life too soon because I was stupid enough to fall down the stairs!’

She saw his complexion pale, his lips thin. ‘I was there, Alva. I was there all the time. You see, then I didn’t know how bad it had been. I only found that out a day later.’

‘Found out what?’ she demanded. ‘Luca, you have to tell me everything. It’s so unfair that I’m living my life in this blackness. I need to know
everything
; surely you have to understand that?’

‘Alva,’ he murmured. ‘You should really wait until you are stronger.’

‘Well, that’s going to do me good, knowing there is something that I am too weak to understand! You have to tell me now, Luca, please, don’t make me beg.’

‘Beg. Do you think I want that? I just wanted you to have a safe haven until you regained your memory. That’s all. I did not want to drag you through it all again.’

‘Luca,’ she warned. ‘Please do not prevaricate.’

‘I’m sorry — I’m sorry I have to say it now and I am sorry that I am going to make you suffer. Believe me, Alva I don’t want to do this. You did not fall down the stairs, Alva, you threw yourself down.’

*

He did not believe her and she was making herself even angrier by demanding that he did. No, she cried, no definitely no! She could not do something like that. Not only was it a despicable thing to do, she would be too afraid to do such a thing. Only yesterday she had been terrified by what could have happened when she had fallen down the stairs. She would never have done it deliberately.

‘Why won’t you believe me?’

‘Because you were not alone, Alva, someone saw you do it.’

‘No! Who was it?’

He stared at her, his eyes revealing nothing of his feelings. ‘Was it Renata? Renata and you believed her, even though you knew she hated me.’

‘Hated you? She might have disliked you but she was a girl and hate is too strong a word.’

‘Oh yes, it would be. You always took her side against me, I can see it all now; that’s why I was depressed and unhappy, it had nothing to be with how I felt physically.’

‘Alva, you can remember nothing so you can’t know that. And,’ he paused, ‘it was not Renata.’

That came as a blow for she could not imagine anyone else who would want to lie. Not any of the servants. She had been at the palazzo only days but she knew the servants liked her. There was no one on the staff who had an interest in telling lies about her, unless — ‘Who was it?’

‘Antonio.’

‘Antonio? But you said he was my friend, or you implied as much.’

‘He was someone you used to talk to, quite a lot actually but I would hardly call him your friend.’

‘And he said he saw me throw myself down the stairs,
deliberately
?’

‘He tried to catch you.’

‘I’m sure he did,’ she murmured. How could she know she did not do that? She tried to scale the blank walls in her mind. It was instinct that guided her and instinct she believed more than her husband. Oh, maybe he had been told what she had done — but that did not make it the truth. There was nothing in her that told her she could do that — cowardice? No, far more than that, a sense of morality. She could not have killed her own child, no matter how depressed or unhappy she was. She could not.

‘The baby was a boy. I called him Alessandro, for my father, and he is buried here. Close to the summerhouse.’

She felt it inside herself now, the rush of feeling, the reason she had been lured to the spot. Some foggy memory, some need to be there.

‘What did I do?’

‘You never came home again. You left.’

‘From?’

‘You were in the hospital on the mainland. You stayed there about three months.’

‘Oh yes? Incarcerated, was I?’

‘That is rather dramatic, Alva.’

‘Was I being treated for a mental condition or not?’

He sighed. ‘You were treated for depression.’

‘How fortunate I was not imprisoned.’

‘Why would you be imprisoned?’

‘I murdered my son.’

‘Alva … ’

‘That’s what you believe, that’s what I’m accused of!’

‘Alva, you wanted to harm yourself as well.’

‘Oh sure I did. I’m sorry, Luca, you should never have asked me here. I don’t think I want to stay with someone who supposedly loved me then can coolly accuse me of doing such a thing.’

‘Alva, you were not yourself.’

‘No, I wasn’t. Excuse me, I don’t want any lunch.’

He did not protest but let her walk out of the room. She did not go to her bedroom but out into the grounds, running now towards the summerhouse. The little grave was to the side of the summerhouse, in a plot of gaily coloured tiny flowers, a small headstone a name, Alessandro. She translated the other words easily enough. At least he had included her, if only by her title Contessa Mazareeze.

Falling to her knees, she ran a finger around the carved name. She was six months pregnant; the baby was old enough perhaps to have lived had he been born as a premature baby, instead of one who had been damaged by her supposed action. Had it hurt him, her body bouncing down those marble stairs? Please let him not have felt pain, she pleaded, her tears now watering the tiny flowers.

I am so sorry, Alessandro, something terrible happened to you but I know it was not because I wanted it to. One day I will remember, I have to remember and then, well then we shall see.

She lay, curled up on the small plot, unconscious of time until Luca came to find her. She let him help her to her feet, one of her feet had cramp and she had to stamp her foot to bring the blood tingling back.

‘You have to eat a little,’ he murmured. ‘It is turning chilly, you are cold.’

‘I’m OK, I can manage now,’ she shrugged out of his arm.

They walked back to the house side by side, the clock in the hall told her it was turned two, so she must to have been with Alessandro for two hours.

She took a little cream of chicken soup and a slice of bread but refused the pasta. It took all her time to swallow the soup but she knew she had to keep up her strength. There were things that needed to be done.

When she had finished, she finally looked at Luca. He had eaten little and was staring absently into space. ‘When I asked if you loved me, you said the sex was good. I thought you meant to hurt me, Luca, only now I see you were telling the truth. You couldn’t have loved me otherwise you would have known that I would never have done such a thing.’

‘Alva … ’

She held up her hand for his silence. ‘Let me finish, then I won’t bring it up again. I must have been a real pain, droning on about how I felt; I can imagine how irritating that must have been. You were probably so happy that I was pregnant, you were happy about it weren’t you?’

He nodded.

‘Italians love children, I know that. Not from what I remember but something that I instinctively know. We should have enjoyed it all together, but my body, I suppose, wouldn’t let me enjoy it. Well, it happens. But I know, Luca, that no matter what I was going through, I would never have done that. I couldn’t have done it. I don’t know why this man lied to you but lie he did. I don’t blame you; if you had really loved me you would have believed
me
.’

She folded her hands in her lap, withdrawing them from his view because they trembled. Her voice was coming out loud and clear but inside she was a trembling mass of insecurity, yet she could not show him that. She had to be strong and not crumble. If only he realized how much she longed for him to hold her, to tell her that he believed her, that he would do anything in his power to discover the truth, but he would not do that. The people that he had around him were trusted. His daughter, this man Antonio, it was she, his young wife, who had been the cuckoo in the nest.

‘I don’t imagine I am Miss Perfect. I don’t know what I am really but I know I am not a baby killer, Luca … ’

‘No one would suggest you were,’ Luca was haughty once more, his expression stem, his feelings, if he had any, hidden away just as were hers. ‘You were depressed, Alva, very depressed; you did not wish to kill the baby, you wished to kill yourself.’

She almost smiled, but it was not really an attempt at a smile, her lips had a bitter twist. ‘Sounds like a good story. You know what, Luca? In the hospital in London, after the accident, I could have died, I was on the very brink of death, but I fought back. They said I was such a fighter, I amazed them all by how much I wanted to survive. That doesn’t sound to me like someone who would commit suicide and — let’s not mince words, be a baby murderer too. No matter how depressed I was I would still have that will to survive. And if I hadn’t, well don’t you think I would have made a better job of it. I mean Luca, throwing myself down the stairs — how dramatic is that and how dangerous? I could have ended up in a wheel chair for the rest of my life — paralysed, brain dead,
whatever
!’ She stood, pushing her chair back against the table, grasping the carved top to give her strength. ‘No, Luca that is not my way of doing things. I’m sorry you thought so little of me that you could think that, but there you go,’ it was her turn to shrug. ‘Without love there is nothing.’

‘I did love you,’ he said quietly, ‘I said it was all sex to hurt you, just as you thought. I was crazy about you, Alva.’

‘But not enough, Luca. Not when it came to taking my word for something. But you know what, I’m going to find out the truth, Luca — somehow, some way and then, then I can go away, and then I will find some peace.’

CHAPTER THREE

They ate dinner together and managed to make polite conversation on several evenings. Alva was interested in learning from Luca what she had done with her life. Luca explained that she helped him by visiting the sick, helping people with problems when they preferred to speak to the contessa rather than the conte. She was also his hostess when he entertained and when he had to travel, she accompanied him. Her life had been quite full.

‘If I can help in anyway while I am here, then please let me,’ she said. He told her there would be a dinner party in three weeks. Some very important guests would attend and if she would be his hostess he would be pleased. Of course she agreed, only by going out and meeting people might there be a chance of regaining at least some of her memory. Skulking indoors would do her no good at all.

She arranged to go to the mainland; she would need the launch and asked Luca to arrange it for her.

Guido waited with her in the car at the port and eventually the launch came into view. ‘Here is Antonio,’ Guido advised her.

She hid her smile. It was the perfect arrangement — it was what she had hoped for; she could measure the man who had lied about her, and she was curious, too, as to what he could benefit by doing such a thing. Supposedly, they had been friends. Was it even more than friendship? Had she cheated on Luca with one of his employees. She felt it would be improbable but was it impossible?

His appearance surprised her; he was her height and very slim. His hair was fair and his eyes were blue. His features were very attractive and, like the way he dressed, neat. Small nose, thin but perfectly shaped lips. There was something about him that was a little feminine. Instinctively, she knew she had not found herself attracted to him. He was not her type at all. She knew that as surely as she knew her eyes were green. Being fair herself, she always found herself attracted to dark men. When Antonio was compared with Luca, well there was no competition. No, whatever anyone said, she would not have been with this man in any capacity other than perhaps friendship. If she had been lonely, then she would have been glad to have someone to talk to.

Antonio greeted her politely, even taking her hand as he helped her board the launch. Although driving the launch his clothing was very neat. His chinos were well pressed, a white cotton polo shirt was enlivened by a cherry red sweater which was draped over his shoulders, the sleeves fastened across his chest. He wore aviator sunglasses on top of his head. Almost she thought him a caricature for a holiday brochure or a coffee advertisement.

‘
Grazie
, Antonio,’ she murmured as she boarded, going to sit on the seat closest to the wheel.

‘I hope you are feeling better, Contessa?’ he asked politely. He did have an easy-on-the ear voice, musical and rich.

‘Yes, I’m fine now,’ she murmured.

He turned, his complexion paled somewhat, there was a question in his eye. He is wondering if I have remembered things, she thought, and decided not to enlighten him.

‘You are completely well?’ he asked smoothly, turning the boat in a wide arc.

‘Almost there — in fact, being here has made me recall all kinds of things.’

He gave her a studied look. ‘But the conte said you could not remember anything.’

Had Luca really discussed her with this man? The haughty conte telling his woes to one of his employees? It seemed highly unlikely. Alva guessed that Antonio was speculating and that he really knew nothing at all.

‘It’s a daily thing,’ she murmured, ‘it is rather as though I am reading a long novel, each day a page is opened in mind. I can’t read very fast but there is always a paragraph or two that I can manage.’ Stupid metaphor she thought to herself, but it was enough to cause Antonio’s body to tense and for his hand to tighten on the wheel.

Eventually he said sternly. ‘The conte said I should stay with you in town, Contessa. He was not sure that you would cope well on your own.’

‘Antonio, you know how the conte worries. I am perfectly all right, I do assure you. And I intend to do a lot of shopping. That would surely bore you.’

‘Not at all, I like shopping.’

‘Really, how unusual for a man.’

‘Not for an Italian, Contessa!’

‘Yes, I forgot. But really I shall be perfectly all right. I shall be happier on my own. I am only going to Primo and maybe a couple of designer shops.’

‘Still … ’ He was going to insist.

‘If you are doubtful I will telephone my husband. I have my mobile.’ She slid a hand into her commodious tan leather handbag.

‘Oh, that is not necessary, Contessa, I do take your word for it.’

So, perhaps Luca had not said any such thing and that intrigued her. Why should he not wish her to be alone? However, she said no more, and stared out at the far shore as the town grew closer. It troubled her that Luca had implied that she spent a lot of time with this man. Alva felt it hardly credible — there was nothing about him that attracted her. Even had she been lonely he was hardly a wonderful conversationalist. Since their last words he had not spoken to her at all, and had they been friends at one time, there would have had to have been things that he knew she liked to talk about. Something was not right and it was so frustrating to know that the truth of the matter was locked behind the high walls of memory loss.

The town, she found, was a delight. When she left the launch she turned, thinking she would have to concentrate to convince Antonio that she knew where she was going, yet incredibly her feet did seem to remember the way to go.

Turning right, she crossed the cobbled road, took the first street, which was narrow and cobbled, climbed three wide steps and took an immediate left, passing between two tall yellow-painted buildings, and there was the main square open before her. Right across the square was a large sign denoting ‘Primo’. Around the square were other fashionable shops, selling leather goods and luxury foods as well as two which displayed very upmarket clothing. It was Claudia who had told her the name of the department store. ‘You like it there, Contessa, and will go for coffee and lovely little cakes.’ So it had been easy to remember the name of her favourite store when she had been talking to Antonio.

The square was pedestrianized; the sun was out and already people were sitting at the pavement cafés. She did not linger here but went across to Primo and swung through the swing doors with a confidence she did not really feel. Just inside the door was a display of chocolate and a very attractive girl was giving out samples. Alva took one, popping it into her mouth and marvelling at the exquisite taste.

*

Her browsing done, she knew she had just over two hours to kill before she was to meet Antonio and go back. She chose one of the pavement cafés for lunch and at once a table was found for her. The sun was wonderfully warm but not intense, and although the brightly patterned umbrella shaded her head, she could feel the heat on her bare legs. The mobile phone in her bag rang out its gay little tune just as she ordered a slice of pizza and a salad.

It was Luca. His voice caused her heart to leap, melting warmth invaded her. There was something so wonderful about the way he used words. He had a caressing tone, which was even more devastating over the telephone. That was the thing she remembered about him, his voice. He had said the same thing about her. Their very first communication had been over the telephone and it was over the telephone that the spark had first ignited.

In the moments that she spoke to him it did not occur to her that she had remembered something important. She was too intent on what he was saying.

‘Buy something stunning,’ he murmured. ‘To wear at the dinner party. You like Paola’s. Where are you?’

‘The café Rosa,’ she murmured.

‘Then it is across the square and to the right. I will call her and tell her to expect you, what time would you like to go?’

‘Well I don’t know, Luca, surely I have dresses.’

‘They might not fit. It is very important that you dress well, Alva. Let me call Paola, what time?’

‘Well, if you insist.’ She checked the slim gold watch at her wrist. ‘Will she be there at two?’

‘If you are going to be there, she will be.’

‘OK, that will give her time to have lunch.’

‘She is a wraith. I think she never eats. I will see you later.’

‘Yes, and thank you, Luca.’

‘
Prego
.’ And then he was gone.

After she had eaten she crossed the square leisurely. She took the right as instructed and sure enough there was a shop. There was one dress in the window. The whole shop front screamed ‘expensive’. The gold lettering on the window announcing the name Paola was beautifully done. She stood for a moment or two seeking the confidence to go inside and then it came to her. What she had remembered. Turning from the shop she went back into the square, there was a bench and she went to sit on it, oblivious to the passers-by.

Go back, she counselled herself, to the first time that you heard Luca speak. On the telephone, she remembered that. He was calling to speak to her boss but he was not there. Luca asked to leave a message — he did not call himself Count Mazareeze, he just called himself Luca Mazareeze. He said in a warm and friendly way, ‘Do you wish me to spell it for you?’ And she had laughed and spelt it out for him. ‘
Parla ltaliano, signorina
?’

‘A little,’ she murmured. She spoke more than a little but felt shy about using the language to this man with the intriguing voice.

Alva sat for some time on the bench, just staring at the square without seeing anything. She remembered everything that they had said and how she had felt, that lovely gushing feeling that was overwhelming, the flutter of her heart, the breathlessness. But that was all; she could remember nothing on either side of that conversation. Yet it was something, it was momentous to her!

The clock struck the half hour, Paola was waiting for her, she could not spare any more time to sit and dream. Standing, she made her way back to the shop, and when she arrived she went straight in, pushing open the door with more confidence than she actually felt.

Paola was thin — she saw that Luca had not exaggerated — and she was older than Alva had imagined her to be. Her black hair was obviously dyed and there was a pinched look about her eyes, yet when she smiled the woman exuded warmth and enthusiasm.

‘My favourite client,’ she murmured, ‘has returned. Welcome, Contessa.’

It occurred to Alva that the woman probably said the same thing to every one of her customers yet she did not care. The warmth the woman exuded boosted her self-esteem and she willingly gave herself over to her.

There was only one dress really and they both agreed on it. Others were tried but Alva and Paola came back to the first one. Midnight blue — a bustier top, falling away to a full skirt. The dark colour was set off by her creamy skin, the bustier emphasized the smallness of her waist and the skirt swirled elegantly around her hips. ‘Midnight blue is your colour. Of course blondes look wonderful in black but this is so flattering for you, Contessa.’

Buoyed up by the woman’s obvious honesty, she purchased the dress, and then checked her watch before making her way to where the launch had dropped her.

The sun was sinking over the horizon in a bright orange ball. The burning streaks across the sky were reflected on the blue sea, making it look as if it was on fire. Alva paused for a moment to drink in the view. Across the bay, the island could be seen rising out of the water in a blaze of golden light; it was a spectacular sight.

She saw the boat; someone was standing on the quay alongside it. Someone taller than Antonio. She crossed the road to the quayside and only as she drew near did she realize it was not a stranger. The man standing by the boat was her husband, Count Mazareeze himself.

He had to have heard her heels striking the pavement, for he turned. He smiled a greeting. Even in the wine-coloured cashmere shirt, he looked elegant, cream chinos had never looked as good as they did on him. He did not need the posing accessory of a sweater tied around him, or aviator sunglasses on his head, he just looked good in anything. He possessed an effortless elegance that, she knew, would always steal her breath.

‘This is a surprise.’

‘I had something else for Antonio to do; besides I had someone to see in town. Come aboard.’

He held out his hand and she took it, stepping on to the deck with as much elegance as she could muster. He took her bag from her. Like Paola’s windows, the bag was stylish, black and shiny, tiny gold name in the top comer. There was nothing garish about Paola’s marketing.

‘I won’t peek.’

‘You’d better not. You have to trust both our judgements.’

‘I do,’ he smiled down at her. It seemed a long time since she had seen him smile like that. It had not been while she had been in Italy; remarkably she knew she remembered it from before. There were little breaks of light in the darkness but she said nothing to him about them. It was too soon and she did not want either of them to feel optimistic. There had to be brighter chinks of light before she shared them with him.

He went to the wheel and started the boat’s engine. She did not follow him but sat just outside the cabin admiring the play of scarlet ribbons across the turquoise water. Halfway across the stretch of water, she turned back and looked at the town. The sun was casting red streaks of light over the honey-coloured buildings, dancing across the terracotta roofs.