The Cacciatore family home, situated in a quiet, tree-lined road in an affluent suburb, was breath taking. The substantial gates, flanked by stone orb-topped pillars, opened onto a paved courtyard area, covered in parked cars. Its centrepiece was a beautiful stone fountain, bubbling with crystal clear water.
I looked up at the house in wonder. It was a Regency-style building, painted in white with black shutters. Two huge white stone pots containing geraniums graced the entrance. The heavy front door was a shiny black, at the centre of an imposing semi-circular porch, with sash windows on both sides and a green domed canopy. I counted a further nine windows and another jutting from the centre of the blue-grey slate roof, which sat atop the building.
‘Well, this is home!’ Leo grinned, as we walked up to the door.
‘It’s fabulous,’ I murmured, wide-eyed.
Rosa opened the door and flung her arms wide.
‘Welcome!’ she cried, embracing us both. ‘Che bella bambina!’ She stroked Emily’s velvet cheek. ‘Can I hold her?’
‘Of course.’ I smiled. Leo handed over Emily, who went to her readily but looked a little bewildered.
‘Hello, Emily,’ she cooed. ‘Come and meet Nonno Cacciatore! He’s in the garden with Mamma and the others.’
She disappeared through the oak double doors leading from the back of the hallway.
I looked around and drank in the opulence of our surroundings. Several doors led off the entrance hall to right and left. An enormous vase of lilies stood on a round antique walnut table in the middle of the marble floor. In front of us, the impressive marble staircase, with its scrollwork wrought-iron banister, swept to a galleried landing. I looked up to see a huge chandelier, not unlike the one at Georgian Heights, hanging from the centre of the ceiling.
An excitable Frankie appeared suddenly from a door on our right, and came trotting over. A slightly shorter, stockier version of Leo followed closely behind him. He slapped Leo on the back and Leo gave him a mock punch.
‘Y’all right, bro?’ Turning to me, the man extended a hand, smiling warmly. ‘Hi! You must be Annie. Pleased to meet you.’ His eyes were deep brown, like his mother’s.
‘And I’m assuming you’re Giuseppe?’ I responded with a smile, accepting his hand.
‘Yeah – but everyone calls me Giù. I’ll tell Soph you’re here – she’s been dying to meet you.’
My reputation evidently preceded me. It made me a little uncomfortable. A young, heavily pregnant woman waddled into the hallway, beaming at us. It was Sophie, Giù’s partner.
‘Hi, I’m Sophie,’ she said. ‘And no doubt you’ll soon be meeting the bump,’ she added, pointing with a finger at her gigantic stomach. She was very attractive, with expressive green eyes and glossy chestnut hair. Pregnancy suited her and she positively oozed rude health.
‘It’s good to meet you both,’ I said, taking to her instantly. ‘When are you due?’
She pulled a face. ‘I’ve still got six weeks to go. I shouldn’t complain about the good weather, but the heat’s been killing me.’
‘I know that feeling.’ I nodded in empathy. ‘Swollen feet and ankles are no fun. I could never fit into my shoes by the end of the day!’
We both chuckled.
‘Have you met the rest of the family yet?’ asked Giù.
I shook my head. I felt I could do with a stiff drink first. He must have read my mind.
‘Let’s get you some Prosecco. You can’t be expected to face them all stone-cold sober!’
‘No worries, I’ll get us one,’ Leo replied. ‘Where are they all, anyway?’
‘I think most of them have gone out into the garden. Papà’s a bit overwhelmed.’ He took Sophie by the hand. ‘This one only met most of them today, too. She’s survived!’
‘Yes – and I still am stone-cold sober!’ said Sophie, giving Giù a playful nudge. Everyone laughed.
Leo led me into the vast kitchen where a plump, fraught-looking middle-aged woman was handing a tray of drinks to a boy of about fifteen, who then nervously carried them out of another door to the rear. Leo chased the lad and relieved him of two glasses of Prosecco. He came back grinning and handed me one.
‘Hey, Nora! How are you?’ Leo bent down and kissed the woman on the cheek.
The woman looked up at Leo and smiled briefly. ‘Busy, busy, busy!’ she sighed, raising both hands in the air. ‘Your family are keeping us on our toes!’
Leo laughed. ‘Nothing new there, then! Nora, meet Annie. Annie, this is Nora. She has worked for my parents for as long as I can remember. I don’t know what we’d do without her!’
Nora laughed good-naturedly. ‘Oh, get away with you! Pleased to meet you, Annie. How do you put up with him?’
We were interrupted by wailing from outside.
‘Oh dear, I think that’s Emily!’ I said. ‘Maybe she’s a bit scared with all the people …’
‘Come on, we’ll go and see.’
I knocked back my drink and Leo, raising his eyebrows a fraction, took me by the hand and led me out of the door that the young waiter had gone through into the garden.
There seemed to be chattering, animated people everywhere. The garden had been decorated with bunting, and was filled with tables and chairs. Cloths were spread out over the food, which covered several trestle tables across the width of the immaculate lawn. The weather was perfect, and the atmosphere lively and uplifting. Rosa, at the centre of a group of people, was trying her best to pacify Emily, but to no avail. We made our way through the crowd and I put my arms out to her. As Rosa passed my daughter to me, the crying stopped immediately. Everyone roared with laughter.
‘No need to ask who this is!’ one old gentleman said to Leo. ‘La Mamma!’
There followed a flurry of introductions – aunts, uncles, cousins, family friends – and Leo’s maternal grandmother, who was a sweet little old lady of ninety-one. She clutched my hand and looked at me curiously.
‘You have a bad time, no? But everything good now, yes?’
I was taken aback. ‘Yes, everything is very good now. Thank you.’ I looked at Leo, who winked at me.
‘My nonna’s a bit … fey, I suppose you’d call it,’ he said in a whisper. ‘She picks up on things. It’s nothing I’ve said, believe me.’
It was slightly unnerving, but she seemed a nice old soul and I stood talking to her for a few minutes. She was very taken with Emily. Her English was a little broken and some of what she was telling me was hard to understand, but she spoke of Leo’s sister, Francesca. The tragedy of her loss had obviously hit the family very hard. I wondered whether, being so intuitive, she had ever seen the little girl’s spirit herself, but didn’t dare ask.
‘So sad, so sad.’ She shook her head. ‘So long time ago – but never forget.’
Suddenly, something occurred to me. I excused myself and went to find Leo, who had gone to fetch more drinks.
‘Leo, I’ve just thought – I left your dad’s present in the car,’ I told him. ‘Would you mind fetching it please? I haven’t been over to speak to him yet.’
‘Sure, back in a minute.’ An obliging Leo quickly reappeared carrying the parcel. ‘Come on, I’ll take you over.’
We found his father surrounded by a group of men seated at one of the tables. As we approached, they looked round and the chattering subsided.
‘Annie!’ exclaimed Michele, rising to his feet. ‘How lovely to see you! Thank you for coming.’
He gave me an enormous smile, embracing me. The Prosecco had left me feeling more relaxed and I gave him a hug with my free arm.
‘I’ve already met Emily – doesn’t she look like her mamma!’ He too sounded quite merry.
‘Mr Cacciatore …’ I began.
‘No, no – it’s Michele – please!’
‘Michele.’ I smiled. ‘I just wanted to wish you a very happy birthday. Buon compleanno! – I hope I said that properly. And many more to come!’ I handed him the gift and watched his face as he started to tear through the layers of paper, praying that he would like the picture I had chosen for him.
As he held the painting up before him, there was a collective gasp from the crowd of onlookers. A hush fell over the group of men as Michele let out a sob.
‘What is this?’ he cried, turning sharply to face me. ‘Why have you brought this to me on my birthday?’ There were tears in his eyes.
I was horrified. This was not the reaction I had hoped for. I turned to Leo, open-mouthed, and was shocked to see that he, too, looked stunned.
‘She wasn’t to know, Papà; it’s a mistake, that’s all. Here, let me have it.’ He took the canvas from his father, tucking it beneath his arm, its subject turned towards him. Grabbing me by the hand, he led me back through the gaping crowd into the house. People were staring at me in disgust and whispering. It was horrible.
‘Will someone please tell me what’s going on?’ I asked him. He closed the door behind us as we entered the empty living room. It was most distressing – as though I’d hurled an obscene insult at his father rather than bestowing some gift upon him. I felt like a pariah.
‘That print – what on earth made you choose it?’ asked Leo, his expression earnest.
‘I – I don’t really know. I wanted a scene of somewhere nice in Italy. It just sort of – jumped out at me. I looked at loads – but that was the one I was drawn to.’
Leo sighed, sinking into the armchair. He looked up at me. ‘I’m afraid it’s just a horrible coincidence,’ he said slowly. ‘You weren’t to know – how could you? But that was the bend where my sister was killed. She was playing outside and a car came round the corner too quickly. It mowed her down. The car didn’t stop and the driver was never found. We were on holiday there, near Lake Como, staying with my uncle and his family.’
I felt sick. My well-meaning gesture had caused Leo and his family pain. I wanted the ground to open and swallow me.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I cried. ‘I had no idea. Can you forgive me?’
Leo smiled weakly. ‘It’s not your fault. But I think it’s probably best if we stay in here for a while. Once everyone’s had a few more drinks, it’ll be forgotten. I’ll go and put this back in the car.’ Placing the framed picture on his lap, he looked down at the image before him sadly.
Tears blurring my vision, I stared down at the print. I let out an involuntary cry. My heart lurched as I saw at once that this was not the painting I had chosen. The peasant girls and the drinking fountain were gone; the olive tree was withered and dying. The scenery was undeniably similar, but everything else appeared different and somehow sinister. The once startlingly bright colours were now muted, the sky drab and the sun absent. The dark silhouette of the cypress trees seemed to loom threateningly; the lake was black and uninviting. One solitary child, a little girl with long, light brown hair, stood in the centre of the road, her back to the artist. There was an awful sense of foreboding about the image. It was chilling.
‘Leo – this isn’t the picture I bought!’ I cried. ‘There’s been some awful mistake.’
Leo looked up at me in disbelief. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I ordered the print from an art shop and it was packaged in brown paper when I collected it. I didn’t open it – just covered the parcel in the wrapping paper. I think someone must’ve played a horrible, sick practical joke on me …’
From Leo’s expression I could see that he didn’t believe me. But how could he think that I would have selected such a dour, almost baleful image?
He stood up, not looking at me. His expression was grim, his blue eyes saddened. He walked towards the door and turned back briefly.
‘Wait here. I won’t be long.’ His voice sounded strained.
Left alone in the room with Emily, I began to cry. Of all the prints I had seen, what the hell had drawn me to that particular picture – of that particular place? I had felt compelled to choose it above all the others I had seen. I had to have it. But why? And what had happened that it had become so drastically, horribly altered? I hugged my baby to me, thinking it might be for the best if we left. I felt as though I had ruined the party.
My attention was caught suddenly by some movement at the far end of the room. I had thought we were alone. Trying to compose myself, I looked up to see who was watching me.
A familiar, enveloping coldness had filled the room. It was as if everything were happening in slow motion. A little girl in an old-fashioned dress, with light brown hair tied back with ribbon, rose noiselessly from an armchair by the window. She wore a solemn expression and came towards me, apparently staring at the wall behind where I was standing.
A shiver ran through my very core. I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. I was unable to move. I clutched Emily to me and stood staring at the girl as she moved across the floor. She was so close now that I could see every detail of her dress, her shoes, the colour of her eyes. I knew at once who she was. I would know those eyes anywhere.
But before I could regain the power of speech, she walked straight through me and disappeared into the wall. And as she faded away, one word spoken in the soft tone of a child, was carried on the air:
‘Aiutami.’