RICO was practically climbing the walls by the time she emerged, a good twenty minutes later, glassy-eyed, a touch pink around the cheeks, but relatively composed.
‘What the hell took so long?’
‘He wanted to examine me, take some blood—that type of thing.’
‘You went for a pregnancy test, not a roadworthy test. Bloody doctors. Why can’t they just do what you ask?’
‘He did do as I asked.’ She tried to summon more words, tried to carry on the conversation, but she simply couldn’t do it.
‘Well?’
‘If you snap your fingers, Rico,’ Catherine warned him, ‘I swear I’ll…’ Her eyes lifted to his, the answer blazing there for all to see, and she saw his mouth open as he registered her hesitant face. She braced herself for some scathing response, waited for his scorn, but it never came.
‘You’re definitely pregnant?’
‘I’m sorry if this isn’t the news you wanted, Rico. Sorry—’
‘Never, ever be sorry,’ Rico broke in. ‘Catherine, this is wonderful…’
‘Is it?’ She stared up at him, utterly bemused at his reaction. ‘It’s too much, Rico, too soon. You think you’re happy now, but one day you’ll throw it back at me, say that I—’
‘Forget the past, Catherine,’ he demanded, and how she wanted to—how she wanted to put it all behind her. But it simply wasn’t that easy. Too much had been said for instant resolution. ‘Whatever your motives, whatever the reason…’
‘My motives?’ An incredulous laugh shot out of her lips. ‘Two minutes into this pregnancy, Rico, and you already throw it back at me…’
‘What I’m trying to say…’ He was silenced as a nurse walked past, and he shook his head proudly. ‘This is not the place.’
He took her to a restaurant, one of those tiny dark buildings people wandered past unwittingly, a hidden gem in the middle of the city, and once inside led her to an alcove, waiting till she was seated before speaking.
‘What I was trying to say—’ Rico resumed the conversation as if they had only just left it ‘—is that this is not a conventional marriage.’ His words were without malice, and Catherine nodded, glad they could acknowledge that truth at last, glad they were finally talking. ‘Whatever has gone on in the past, surely now is the time to put it aside, to start afresh? We are having a baby, Catherine. Something good, something positive has come from our loss—why can’t we just move forward?’
‘Without even glancing back at the past?’ Catherine questioned. ‘I’m not like you, Rico. I can’t just move ahead without a backward glance. You won’t discuss your past; you won’t even discuss what happened to Marco with the doctor…’
‘Cannot today be just about us?’ he asked. ‘I know this marriage is for Lily, but surely…’ He picked up her left hand, played with the heavy gold band for a moment before continuing. ‘Can we make a fresh start, Catherine? Start this marriage over again?’
‘For the baby’s sake?’
Rico shook his head. ‘For all our sakes. Catherine, I want you to be happy. I want us all to be happy. With commitment on both sides surely we can make it work? We have to make it work,’ he finished, more urgently.
‘I know we do, Rico,’ Catherine agreed. ‘Which is why I want to go back to work.’ She watched his shoulders stiffen, but chose to ignore it. ‘I’m struggling, Rico. Struggling to find my place in a world that’s so unfamiliar. I need something more, need my friends around me now more than ever—and, yes, I admit that maybe I do somehow want to prove that I’m not totally dependent on you, but it isn’t just about that. My work is important to me,’ Catherine insisted softly.
‘My mother hated working.’ His admission startled her—not his words so much, but the fact he was for the first time volunteering information, and about his mother, no less. ‘No one knew that. Even my father assumed she adored it, and I guess for a while she did. She started the family business,’ Rico added proudly. ‘One of only a handful of women who made it in the property business, at least in those days. She barely spoke English when she first came here.’
‘She must have been very clever.’
‘She had an amazing eye.’ Rico shrugged. ‘I have inherited it. I see an old property and it is as if I know how it should be. I don’t have to consult books. It is as if my mind’s eye can see it in its former glory. When we first arrived in Australia my parents scraped together enough money to buy an old townhouse in Carlton. My father was a labourer and under my mother’s guidance they rebuilt it, and then they sold it. That was just the start. Soon my mother was hiring people, buying pockets of land for next to nothing. They are now worth millions. I think my first words were “bayside views”. He gave a low laugh. ‘That is a lie. I spoke only Italian till I was five.’
Catherine found herself smiling. ‘What about Marco?’
‘He was born here.’ Rico shrugged. ‘He was always an Aussie. I spoke to him in English, so by the time he went to school he could speak both.’
‘So things were easier for him?’
Rico shook his head. ‘I love my first language, Catherine; hell at school was a small price to pay. I can still remember being picked up from kindergarten and driving along the beach road looking for properties. They were good times.’
‘She took you with her?’ He heard the question in her voice.
‘Antonia no doubt tells a different story,’ he responded, ignoring her furious blush. ‘But, yes, she took me with her—and later, when the business was bigger, when I was at school and my mother was working the same ridiculous hours I do now, she still came home every night; she still kissed us goodbye each morning.’
‘So what went wrong?’ Catherine pushed gently, seeing the wistful look in his eyes, and slamming her fingers between the shutters she just knew were about to come down.
‘One day it became a job—not a labour of love, not a passion. Just a job. She had obligations—houses, cars, boats—and as you can imagine Antonia didn’t come cheap.’
‘Antonia?’
‘My father was having an affair. He had barely worked a day in his life. It was my mother who provided for us and he got bored. That was my father’s excuse anyway. The night before my mother died she had a headache. She was more tired than I’ve ever seen a person, and yet she still had to make calls, had to go and check out a property. I found her crying in the study. That was when I discovered she knew about my father’s affair. She said she was tired, that she just wanted to lie down and sleep, that after the Christmas break she would sort things out…She died the next day. A stroke, the doctors said. It could have happened at any time. But I know different. If she hadn’t been working—hadn’t been pushing herself—’
‘You don’t know that, Rico,’ Catherine broke in, but she knew her words fell on deaf ears—knew there was no room for manoeuvre. But just when she thought it was over, just when she thought the conversation was closed, again Rico surprised her.
‘Part-time, Catherine. You can work part-time if that’s what you want.’ His eyes implored her to listen. ‘And the day it gets too much—the day you feel you shouldn’t be there…’
‘I’ll stop.’
‘You have nothing to prove to me, Catherine, but if this is something you feel you have to do…’
‘It is.’
And now that he had given a little—now that he had allowed her to glimpse a tiny piece of him—perhaps for the first time since the police had arrived at her door Catherine allowed herself to relax, allowed herself to just sit back and take in the world around her.
Rico was amazingly good company. When he wasn’t being superior, when he actually let up, he had a wicked sense of humour, and as the dessert plates were cleared away Catherine was amazed to hear that the laughter filling the tiny restaurant was coming from her.
‘You should laugh more often,’ Rico said, taking her hand. ‘It suits you.’
‘It feels good,’ Catherine admitted.
‘I want you to be happy, Catherine; I want us to be happy. You, me and Lily.’
‘I want that too.’
On Rico’s instructions the driver had long since gone, and they walked hand in hand along the Yarra River, following its majestic curves. The warm, still night air was filled with hope, and for a while they blended in—and Catherine had never been more happy to do so, never been more happy to seem two young lovers on the threshold of their future.
‘Thank you.’ She turned her gaze to his. ‘For understanding.’
‘Marriage is supposed to be about give and take,’ Rico said lightly, but there was an edge to his voice. ‘Hopefully I do a better job than my father.’
‘Don’t be too hard on him, Rico.’ In the moonlight they stood, her eyes searching his, imploring him to listen. ‘It must have been hard on him too. He was an immigrant, a labourer; I bet he was a proud, hard-working man.’
‘He was,’ Rico admitted, albeit reluctantly. ‘Mind you, once my mother started making money he was only too happy to give up and reap the benefits of her hard work.’
‘Are you sure he was happy?’ There was a long silence, and Rico made to walk away, but Catherine pulled on his sleeve and after a slight hesitation he turned back, ready to listen to what she had to say. ‘Normally it’s the other way around—isn’t it, Rico? Especially in Sicilian families. Normally the husband is the breadwinner; look at how opposed you are to me working.’ He opened his mouth to argue, but Catherine was too quick for him. ‘The man is supposed to be the provider while the wife stays at home?’
‘Then why didn’t he work? Why didn’t he join her in the business, take over the books, do something to ease her load?’ Rico countered, and Catherine hesitated before answering. Her answer was not one she was sure Rico was ready to hear.
‘Your father can’t read, Rico.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Rico’s laugh was derisive, the superior scathing man back now, but Catherine refused to be intimidated.
‘I’m sure of it, Rico.’
‘He’s a clever man…’
‘I’m sure he is,’ Catherine responded. ‘And a proud one too. Can you imagine how hard it must be for him, Rico? How hard not to be able to read his bills, the snappy little letters you send him? The small world he must live in when he can’t even look at a newspaper?’
‘You’re sure?’
‘I’m sure.’ Catherine nodded. ‘Please, Rico, try not to view him so harshly, try and understand your father’s side too.’ He gave a small nod which, however tentative, Catherine took as a sign of encouragement. ‘Maybe it wasn’t so easy for your dad to sit back and do nothing. However much I don’t condone it, maybe in some way having an affair made him feel a man again. Who knows what goes on in people’s lives, Rico? Only your mother and father know the full story.’
‘And Antonia,’ Rico added bitterly.
‘Antonia knows your father’s version,’ Catherine said thoughtfully. ‘And, however much you might loathe her, your father clearly loves her. Surely that must count for something?’
He didn’t respond—Catherine had never really expected him to—but this time when he walked away he reached for her hand and took her with him, walking in pensive silence along the river. And despite the lack of conversation, despite the endless problems that lay between them, never had Catherine felt closer to him.