– 29 –
Madeleine Deacon’s murder was still a mystery to the world at large. The police had never released more than the bare facts of what had happened that night in the mountains, and as a result conjecture was rife. It was said that both Paul O’Connell and Sergio Rambaldi had been arrested, and that both had been charged with murder, though which of them had killed Olivia Hastings and which Madeleine Deacon, was still not clear. In the public outcry attending Madeleine’s murder, the discovery of Olivia Hastings’ body in a shallow grave at the back of the bottega had gone almost unnoticed, at least in Italy; in the States the discovery was followed by arrests and the shocking revelation of Olivia’s criminal activities before she disappeared. But in Italy all anyone cared about was who exactly had killed whom up there in the hills. In the end, Inspector Vezzani, the policeman in charge of the case, issued a statement confirming that at the present time Sergio Rambaldi and Paul O’Connell were were being questioned about the murder of Madeleine Deacon, but that the police were satisfied that Paul O’Connell had played no part in the death of Olivia Hastings.
It was known that Marian Deacon had been present when Madeleine’s murder took place, that she had been rushed to a hospital in Florence straight afterwards, and from there had been taken to the Tarallo villa in Tuscany where she had remained ever since. A virtual army of policemen and bodyguards now surrounded the villa to keep the press at bay, and only once had anyone managed to capture a photograph of Marian as she played with Tarallo’s sons in the villa gardens. Apart from the police, those leaving or entering the villa did so in fast-moving limousines whose tinted windows defied both the photographic lens and the human eye. For lack of anything else to write, some newspapers hinted at a romance between Enrico and Marian, but with nothing to substantiate it, the rumour quickly died.
Then one journalist got a break from Sergio Rambaldi’s lawyer. Sergio Rambaldi, the lawyer declared, was not responsible for Madeleine’s death; it was Paul O’Connell who had administered the lethal dose of drugs which killed her. As this was the first mention there had been of drugs, the press had a field day, and elaborated the story with a presumed love affair between Madeleine and Sergio. However, when the expected response from O’Connell’s lawyer failed to materialize they started badgering the police again. Under pressure, Inspector Vezzani would say only that until such time as Marian Deacon was well enough to corroborate or deny the statements given by Rambaldi and O’Connell, he was unable to comment. The truth was that Marian, Sylvestra and Enrico had talked endlessly with the police since the night of Madeleine’s murder, and that Inspector Vezzani and his superior officers now knew everything that had happened right down to the last detail; however, the Tarallo family had asked that, until such time as it became impossible to withhold the full facts of the case any longer, only the minimum of information should be given out – and after discussion, the police had agreed to comply with their request.
Sergio Rambaldi’s lawyer, too, had spent a great deal of time at the Tarallo villa, questioning Sylvestra and Enrico, going over and over the details of Sergio’s life and trying to find enough evidence to declare his client unfit to plead. But as soon as Sergio discovered what his lawyer was about, he had dispensed with his services – he had every intention of standing trial for the murder of Olivia Hastings.
However, Paul O’Connell had no such intention with regard to Madeleine. At first, of course, he had willingly confessed to her murder – but that was before he knew that Madeleine was actually dead, that Sergio Rambaldi had been arrested, and that Enrico Tarallo knew all there was to know about his plans for Madeleine’s kidnap. In the end, after a great deal of consultation between doctors, the highest ranking police officers and the Tarallo family, both Sergio and Paul had been charged with the murder.
Now, Paul knew, his only hope of walking from San Vittore prison a free man lay with Marian. She had seen him carry Madeleine into the bottega, she must have witnessed all that had happened afterwards, so surely she must know that Madeleine had still been alive when the knife went into her chest. But unless Marian came forward and said so, there was only his word to say that he had felt Madeleine’s breath on his cheek when he’d kissed her.
Marian was well aware of what Paul was thinking – the police kept her informed almost daily. She knew also that as soon as she said the word, the charge of murder would be dropped against him. But she wanted him to suffer, she wanted him to tear himself apart with the fear that she might never speak in his defence; she wanted him to know what it was like to be helpless, as Madeleine had been helpless the night he took her to the bottega.
‘I understand how you feel,’ Enrico said, as they strolled arm in arm through the villa gardens one morning. ‘None of us wishes to see him set free, but there is always the chance that he will not be. After all, whether he killed Madeleine or not, he has still committed a crime.’
‘You mean, kidnap?’ Marian said.
‘Yes. Or maybe even attempted murder. With Sergio, of course, there is no doubt – he will be tried for murder.’
Marian felt the chill of those words run through her body, and as she gazed out at the undulating hills that surrounded the Tarallo villa, she felt the nightmare of that night closing in around her again. She could see Madeleine’s face as she lay on the slab, so soft, so peaceful, so unaware . . . Then the knife ripping into her lovely skin, and the rich, proud colour of her blood as it poured from her chest, while the silver blade dug deep into the delicate flesh of her lips. It was horrible, so horrible that Marian still recoiled from the reality of it, desperately twisting her head this way and that to push the appalling image from her mind.
She sighed, and drew herself closer to Enrico. Overhead the sky was serene, with not a cloud in sight, and though the air was bitingly cold, the spring sunshine added a brilliance to the flowers that were just starting to bloom and a richness to the green, tangled mass of trees that spread across the distant mountains. Again she shivered; though she had roamed those hills many times since that night, had allowed Enrico to show her their beauty, she knew that if she lived to be a hundred, she would never be able to look at them without remembering. She had gone back to them deliberately, to try and force herself to accept the reality of what had happened, to stop herself shutting it out as though it were nothing more than a gruesome nightmare. To accept it, to try to understand it, was the only way she knew of coming to terms with it.
Eventually Marian turned and looked into Enrico’s face, her eyes moving slowly over the smooth olive skin, the large nose, the kind, generous mouth and gentle eyes. ‘I don’t know how I would have coped with all this without you,’ she said.
His face was suffused with sadness and guilt as he looked away. She knew he blamed himself; he believed that if he and Sylvestra had spoken earlier, none of this would have happened. She hugged his arm in an effort to return some of the comfort he had given her these past months, and as she gazed up at him, a slow, affectionate smile came into his eyes.
‘The police have been very patient,’ he said, as they turned to walk on, ‘but they cannot continue like this much longer. Inspector Vezzani has wanted for some time that you see Paul and speak with him.’
‘I know. I just wish the Inspector could tell Paul himself; that I didn’t have to see him, ever again.’
‘If that is what you want, then he will do so, you know that. No one is forcing you to see Paul.’
‘But if I don’t, it will all have been for nothing.’
They stopped at a bench that was set against the wall separating the gardens from the tiers of olive groves behind, and as she sat down, Enrico watched her, marvelling, as he had done many times before, at the truly remarkable woman she was. For all she had suffered, all the grief she had known, she had still managed to bring laughter into the lives of his sons, had touched his own heart with a warmth he had never thought to feel again, and had shown the kind of courage that might put any man to shame.
‘I’ll see him,’ she said finally. ‘I’ll see him alone, if that’s what he wants, but only if we do things the way Inspector Vezzani said. I want you to be in the next room, I want you to listen, and in the end I want him to know that you’ve been listening.’
‘It will be as you wish.’
‘Where will it happen?’
‘At the prison.’
Marian closed her eyes and let her head fall back against his arm. ‘Oh, Paul O’Connell,’ she murmured, ‘if only I’d known what hell you were going to bring into our lives. If only you knew the nights I’ve lain awake thinking about you, planning for you the vilest, most degrading death I could imagine. And now I’m going to do as you ask. Why? Why should I do it?’
‘You know why, cara,’ Enrico answered softly. ‘You and I both know that you have no choice.’
She turned to look at him, a grim smile on her lips – lips that were so close to his, he very nearly gave in to the temptation to kiss her. ‘Because the drugs didn’t kill her,’ she said, ‘and because Inspector Vezzani can’t hide that fact any longer.’ She leaned forward then, resting her hands on either side of her knees as if to propel herself to her feet. Enrico had come to know this restlessness in her, and he put a soothing hand on the back of her neck. ‘If only that was all Inspector Vezzani wanted us to reveal, this would be so much easier, Enrico. So very much easier.’
They looked up as they heard someone cough, and saw Sylvestra emerge from the blossom-covered path which led to the house. As always, her slight figure was clad in black, and her face was shrouded in a heavy veil. ‘I thought to find you here,’ she said, as Enrico offered her his arm and led her to the bench. ‘You have spoken, you have made the decision, sì?’
‘Yes,’ Marian answered.
‘Then we must call Inspector Vezzani and have him make the arrangements.’ Her gnarled fingers covered Marian’s and she said, ‘You are very brave, child, and you must continue to be brave, for all our sakes. Then will come the time for you to continue with your life.’ She paused, and despite the veil Marian could feel the warmth and compassion in her eyes. ‘You understand why I say this, no?’
Marian nodded. ‘Matthew.’
‘Sì. He call again, a few moments ago. I speak with him and tell him you cannot come to the phone, but he is very worried about you, Marian. I tell him that you are all right, that we have come to love you and we are happy to take care of you, but he needs to see you. He is deeply hurt that you have turned away from him since this happen to Madeleine, but he understand why. We all understand, cara.’
Marian’s heart was churning as she pictured Matthew’s face, but somehow she managed a smile as she said, ‘I’ll call him, I promise. As soon as I’ve seen Paul, I’ll ring him.’
It was just after six in the morning, the sun barely breaking the horizon, when the two cars set off on the long drive to Milan. Marian had been surprised to find the chauffeured limousine waiting for them in the villa forecourt as well as the police car – she thought Enrico was going to drive her in his own car. Then she saw Sylvestra already sitting in the back of the limousine, and giving Enrico a curious look, she got in beside her. Sylvestra hadn’t said she intended to come with them, and Marian wasn’t sure that she should; she rarely left the villa these days, she was old, and the ordeal of the past months had taken its toll on her perhaps more than anyone. But as the trembling fingers reached out for hers Marian smiled and lifted them to her cheek; she understood Sylvestra’s need to be here – she had the right to be here.
The journey was a long one. None of them talked much, all sunk in their own thoughts. Sylvestra slept for a while, her head resting on Marian’s shoulder and the black lace of her veil fluttering gently as she breathed. In the car behind them sat Inspector Vezzani and three other policemen Marian had come to know over the past four months, but only the Inspector would come into the prison with them.
At last, just after midday, the two cars turned from the road and came to a stop in front of a barrier. Enrico got out, as did Vezzani, and Marian listened as they talked to a uniformed guard. Though she understood little of what they were saying, she knew that Vezzani’s superiors had contacted the prison governor about their visit. Then Enrico got back into the car and the guard told the driver which of the sombre, grey-stone buildings they were looking for, slapping a notice on the windscreen to indicate that they not only had clearance, but were guests of the governor.
Some ten minutes later they entered the prison, and then began one of the longest journeys of Marian’s life as they were led through a warren of cold, drab, sinister corridors and stairways, stopping every twenty yards for a gate to be unlocked, then locked again once they had passed through it. They saw no one, apart from prison guards and a few men in white coats whom Marian assumed to be doctors. There were none of the sounds of life being lived, nor any sign of prisoners – it was like walking through a derelict building one knew to be haunted. Marian didn’t know how she was feeling inside, it was as if she had drawn apart from herself in an effort to numb the sensation of dread that had been with her ever since she had made the decision to come. She was aware of nothing now but the hand on her arm which she covered with her own, and the comforting presence of Enrico and Vezzani as they walked behind her.
Finally the guard who was escorting them, who had not uttered a word since they arrived, stopped at a blue door which he opened without using a key. Enrico and Vezzani stood aside for Sylvestra and Marian to walk in ahead of them, and Marian found herself in a small, stark room containing nothing more than a table and half a dozen metal chairs. She walked over to the window, but it was barred, and the glass was thick and frosted so that she was unable to see out. She turned round as she heard the door close, and found that the prison officer had gone. She looked at Enrico.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, pulling a chair forward for her to sit down.
She took a deep breath, trying to relax the nervous tension that had suddenly tightened her stomach. ‘I think so,’ she answered, smiling weakly. ‘Where are you going to be?’
‘Through here,’ Vezzani answered, pointing to a door she hadn’t noticed before. ‘It is so close that we do not need the radios to hear, we shall leave the door open a little way.’ He glanced at his watch, then his keen eyes moved back to Marian’s. ‘Now, you understand what you are to do? If we have the confession about his parents, then he will stand trial for murder; if we do not, the charge will be only one of accessory to murder – but if his lawyers are very clever there is a possibility that the accessory charge may be dropped, which means he will be set free.’
‘I understand,’ Marian answered. They had gone over and over this the day before. She could tell Paul as many lies as she liked, threaten and cajole as much as she needed, but in the end she was to tell him the truth – that he was not guilty of Madeleine’s murder.
They all turned as the door opened and a prison officer came in. After exchanging formal greetings, he led the others through to the small room beyond, leaving Marian alone to cope with her nerves.
It seemed an eternity before the door opened again, and immediately Marian closed her eyes, willing herself to remain calm. She listened to the footsteps, to the guard telling her he would be outside; then, as the door closed again, she lifted her head and opened her eyes. He was sitting behind the table, his blond head tilted to one side and his dark eyes, as they looked back at her, seemed tired and bewildered. His handsome face was grey and haggard, and the lines round his eyes cut deep into the skin. Although the sleeves of his jacket hardly reached his wrists and the buttons strained across his chest, she could see he had lost weight, but as she looked at that powerful body it was as though the whole, horrible nightmare was with her again, and she turned away, not wanting him to see her revulsion.
‘Thank you for coming,’ Paul said quietly. ‘I thought for a while that you weren’t going to. It’s so difficult to know what’s going on when you’re in here, even my lawyers aren’t finding it easy to get straight answers from the police.’
As she turned back to look at him, her grey eyes were steely, and she knew now that she could handle this – that he would be unable to rouse any sympathy or sorrow in her because her hatred was so solid that there was no room for anything else. ‘Are you expecting sympathy?’ she said coldly.
‘Of course not.’ He looked back at her, his gaunt face torn with anguish, then taking a deep breath, he let his head fall forward. ‘Oh Marian,’ he groaned, ‘please, don’t be like that. I understand how difficult this is for you, but I didn’t kill her. You know I didn’t. Please say you believe me. Please say that you knew she was alive when I left.’
‘But I didn’t, not then. She did not regain consciousness before the knife hit her, so how could I have known?’
‘But you know now?’ he said, and his expression was so pathetic that for a moment her resolve wavered.
Quickly she pulled herself together, and with her hands clutched tightly round her bag she said, ‘The police tell me that you’ve never expressed any remorse for Madeleine’s death – that all you’ve ever sought to do is clear yourself. And yet, if you hadn’t taken her there . . .’
‘Marian! How can I express regret when I don’t feel it? How can I tell them I’m sorry he killed her when all the time I knew he would? I wanted him to, I wanted to be rid of her. Surely you of all people understand that.’
‘Understand?’ she gasped, her head suddenly spinning with confusion. ‘How can I understand that, when you always said you loved her?’
For a moment Paul too seemed bemused, and shook his head as if trying to clear it. ‘But I never loved her, Marian. I only ever loved you. I did it all for you . . .’
‘No!’ she cried, pushing herself back in her chair. ‘No, you’re lying!’
His eyes were filled with tenderness as he reached out for her hand, but when she ignored him he only smiled. ‘I had to do it, Marian, it was the only way I could see to get her out of our lives. She pestered me when we were in Bristol, she never stopped begging me to leave you, she would never allow herself to believe that I could love you more than I did her. But I despised her. She was just an empty shell. She didn’t understand your worth, she ridiculed you and taunted me with your virginity, saying I was a failure as a man. But you and I both know it wasn’t like that. For us it was special, there was something beyond sex, beyond anything she could ever comprehend, and in the end the only way to show her how worthless she was was to do what I did. I got her away from you. I did it in such a way that later you would recognise her treachery, see her for what she really was . . . I was always going to come back to you, Marian, always. I will now, it’s all I want in the world, to be with you again. To give you everything I have, to share my life and my love with you. That’s why you’ve got to tell them that I didn’t kill her, so that we can be together. Please, Marian, try to understand the sacrifices I have made for us. I know you still love me, I see it in your eyes every time you look at me, and God knows how it’s torn me apart not being able to hold you and kiss you the way I want to. Please, Marian, don’t let all this be for nothing. Even if you didn’t know she was still alive when I left, you can say that she was – no one will know. Do it for us, Marian. Do it so that we can be together again.’
Throughout the entire speech Marian sat motionless in her chair, at first too stunned to interrupt, and in the end so appalled that she wanted only to get up and run as far from him as possible. He had filled her with such shame that she could not even begin to break free of it, and even now, as she gazed back at him, her face was still paralysed by the shock of all he had said.
‘I love you, Marian,’ he said, and his voice was imbued with such feeling that at last something inside her snapped and she spoke.
‘You are a truly despicable man, Paul O’Connell. How could you think I would believe even a single word of the filthy lies that have poured from your mouth? I only realize now how truly fortunate I was to lose you when I did. You are beyond any feeling of pity I might have had for you. Some things I might just have been able to excuse: your sickening lack of integrity, the way you have tried to shift the blame for Madeleine’s death onto me. But what really disgusts me, what I’ll never be able to forgive, is what you’ve just said about Madeleine: the way you accused her of being all the things you are yourself. I will say nothing that will in any way contribute to your release. As far as I’m concerned, if they were to incarcerate you in the darkest, deepest bowels of hell you still wouldn’t be suffering half what you deserve to suffer. You are going to stand trial for murder, Paul O’Connell, and the whole world is going to know what . . .’
‘Marian, listen to me. I know this has come as a shock, I understand your anger. I’d forgotten how much you’ve changed, I shouldn’t have broken it to you like that. Let’s start again, let’s go back to the beginning and forget . . .’
‘I can never forget, Paul. Never! And you’re going to pay for what you’ve done to Madeleine, you’re going . . .’
‘Revenge, Marian? Is that what you want? After all this time, are you really still so bitter?’
‘This has got nothing to do with us, Paul, all that’s in the past. I stopped caring a long time ago.’
‘Then why did you come?’
Her mind was reeling, and as she stared at him she knew her silence was only confirming his belief that she still loved him. Yet how could she tell him the reason why she was here? How could she say she wanted him to confess that he was a murderer?
His eyes were overflowing with emotion as he leaned towards her and said, ‘Haven’t you understood anything I’ve been saying, my darling? Do you still really believe that I cared for Madeleine? How could I, when from the first time I saw you I have only ever loved you? You must put her out of your mind now, Marian, you must forget all that has happened, or there can be no future for us. You have to let go of your bitterness because there’s no need for revenge. I want you. I’ve always wanted you.’
‘Stop it!’ she cried. ‘Don’t you understand that I know what you’re trying to do? Can’t you see that you disgust me with your insidious lies? You’re incapable of feeling, Paul, it’s beyond you; you proved that the day you left me, and you’ve proved it over and over again with Madeleine. You’re sick, Paul, you need help before you destroy any more lives.’
‘Yet you’re prepared to destroy ours?’
‘We don’t have a life to destroy, Paul. Can’t you see that I despise you? I despise you for what you are, for all that you’re saying, but most of all I despise you for what you’ve done to Madeleine. I loathe your foul deceit, the arrogance that makes you believe you’re going to wriggle your way out of here and back into my life. It’ll never happen, Paul, never! I detest the very sight of you, and I have done ever since the day I saw you walk through that door in Holland Park and back into Madeleine’s life. It was as if I was seeing you for the first time that day, and I knew then that there was something about you, Paul, that was not only corrupt, but evil.’
All the time she was speaking his expression was changing, and she could see that at last she was getting through to him. Yet she had no idea what was going through his mind as he watched her, his hands bunched loosely on the table in front of him and the corner of his mouth drawn in a smile.
Finally he sat back in his chair and peered at her through arrogantly lowered lids. ‘Quite a speech,’ he remarked. ‘Coherent, too. You are getting better. So if that really is the way you feel about me, what are you doing here? What do you want?’
Since he had first come into the room he had been in control of the situation; everything he wanted to say had been said, and he had given her no opportunity to steer him in the direction she wanted. It was almost as if he knew what she was after – though that could hardly be possible. Now she was angry with herself for having allowed him to affect her so powerfully; she had lost sight of her purpose, and for a moment, now, she was at a loss as to how to begin again.
When she looked back at him he was studying the floor, as if he had become bored with her presence, and suddenly she knew that the only way to deal with Paul was to tell him the truth. To shock him, to catch him off his guard. But he was clever, cleverer than her, and she knew it wouldn’t be easy.
‘I came,’ she began steadily, ‘because I know that you killed your mother and father.’
His head snapped up as if she had struck him, and his face turned such a deathly white that for a moment she thought he would attack her. Then suddenly he laughed, a deep, scornful snarl. ‘Oh, do you?’ he said. ‘Just how do you know that?’
‘It doesn’t matter how I know, I just do.’
His eyes were watching her closely, but the ugly smile was still on his lips. She waited as he pushed the hair back from his face, then scratched his chin thoughtfully. It was some time before he spoke, and her heart was beating rapidly. In the end his smile widened, and she winced at the venom in his voice as he said, ‘You silly, pathetic little bitch. I can see it all now. You’ve let them persuade you into coming here to try and get a confession out of me, haven’t you? Well, of course, what that tells me is that I didn’t kill Madeleine and everyone knows it. But you want me locked away, don’t you, Marian? You want your revenge so badly that it doesn’t matter whether I killed your cousin or not, you just want to see me suffer for what I did to you.’
‘You did nothing to me, Paul, you did it all to Madeleine.’
‘Who deserved all she got.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t try your amateur psychology on me, Marian, it won’t wash.’
‘Did you ever love her?’
‘I’m incapable of feeling, remember?’
‘But did you?’
‘I thought I did, for a while. There’s a certain satisfaction in bringing a doll to life.’
‘Was the doll your mother?’
He snorted. ‘Spare me, Marian. I told you, it won’t wash. It’ll take a brain far superior to yours, you know, to trip me up. Still, if you want to play the game, be my guest. I just hope you’re a good loser.’
‘I wasn’t really looking upon it as a game. More as a bid for the truth.’
‘Same thing. Look,’ he said, leaning forward and folding his arms across the desk, ‘why don’t you get whoever it is who’s listening in the next room to send in the grown-ups? Maybe then they’ll get what they want.’
‘I get the impression you’d enjoy that,’ she said, skilfully disguising her surprise.
‘I would. A battle of intellectual wits, why not? I feel rather insulted that they thought someone like you could do it.’
Ignoring the barb, she said, ‘You’d get plenty of intellectual come-back if you confessed.’
‘Ah, but then the joy of the hunt would be gone.’
‘It was during a hunt that you shot them, wasn’t it?’
He gave a shout of laughter. ‘Very quick, Marian, very quick indeed.’
‘That was almost an admission.’
‘Almost, but not quite.’ He laughed again. ‘You’re cool, Marian. I didn’t think you had it in you. But I can see the sweat standing on your forehead, I can see the white knuckles, the twitch of the jaw. You’re so near, Marian, aren’t you – yet still so far. Because I’ve denied you your revenge now, your victory and your family. Madeleine’s dead – she’s better off dead because she’d have been nothing without me – and I can languish in a cell, happy in the knowledge that no one can have her now, no one can take her away from me. And you, Marian, can fester with your bitterness, because there’s no one left for you to love.’
‘Not quite no one.’
They both turned at the sound of the voice as the veiled figure entered the room. But as the slim white hands lifted the veil, Marian turned back to Paul and watched as his eyes began to bulge with hatred, disbelief and repugnance at the hideously scarred face that looked back at him.
‘You see, she’s got me,’ Madeleine lisped.
Suddenly Paul’s mouth started to twitch and his nostrils flared in grotesque, uncontrollable spasms. ‘You bitch!’ he hissed. ‘You lying, cheating little bitch!’
Marian was on her feet, but as she turned towards Madeleine her blood suddenly ran cold as Paul screamed. He lifted his arms and wrapped them about his head, and still he screamed; his body was racked with convulsions of anger and pain, and still he screamed. Marian looked at Madeleine, but she seemed impervious to his cries; she stood quietly watching him from behind the veil she had now dropped back over her disfigured face. Then Marian noticed how she was shaking, how her poor hunched shoulders were beginning to fall, and as she reached out to catch her, Enrico was there, folding her into his arms and carrying her from the room.
For a moment the silence seemed to breathe around them, and Marian knew that Paul was remembering everything he had said, the way he had declared his love for her, Marian, the way he had scorned and ridiculed Madeleine; and as his eyes clouded with shock she realised that somewhere, so deep down inside that he barely knew it himself, he had loved Madeleine; and if that love had not been so utterly destructive, then even here and now, after all he had done, she might have felt sorry for him.
Inspector Vezzani came into the room and put his hand on her arm. ‘It’s over,’ he said. ‘Come along.’
Marian was still staring at Paul, and shaking her head she pulled her arm away. ‘Paul,’ she said, trying to gain his attention. She waited until at last he turned to look at her, but it was only then that she realised she had nothing left to say – Madeleine had said it all.
That night, after everyone had gone to bed, Marian crept along the landing to the room Madeleine had been using since her return to the Tarallo villa the week before. She and Enrico had driven to Switzerland to collect her from the clinic where she had been taken after her initial operation at the hospital in Florence. That operation had saved her life, though her lung had collapsed twice since, and on both occasions they had thought she would die. But finally the doctors had pronounced her out of danger and had allowed her to come to the villa for a while before they began the arduous and lengthy task of repairing the damage to her face.
‘Is that you, Marian?’ Madeleine whispered, as Marian pushed the door open.
‘Yes,’ she answered as Madeleine reached out to switch on the bedside light. ‘I wondered if you were awake. How are you feeling now?’
‘OK, I think. Still a bit shaky, but it was a long journey.’
‘Yes, a very long journey,’ Marian said, not without irony. She walked across the room and perched on the edge of the bed, tucking the sheets around Madeleine’s chin. She was careful, as always, not to avoid looking at her face, even though every time she saw it she wanted to cry. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ she said.
‘I don’t think so. Maybe one day, but not now. Inspector Vezzani said he’s going to make the announcement to the press tomorrow.’ She chuckled. ‘It seems funny to think that everyone believed I was dead.’
‘You almost were. How do you feel about being resurrected?’
Madeleine shrugged, and as she tried to smile her poor, twisted mouth seemed to pucker with pain. ‘I know people couldn’t go on covering for me for ever. I expect they’ll all be much happier now that they can tell the truth.’ She frowned, and lifting her hands from beneath the covers, she reached for Marian’s.
Marian took a deep breath as she gazed down at their joined hands. ‘I should have told you what he was like as soon as I suspected it. Oh God, if only I had.’
‘I wouldn’t have listened, I would have forced myself not to. I knew he had faults, I knew it from the start, but I refused to see them, I can’t explain why. Now I don’t care, just as long as he’s out of our lives, that’s all that matters. But I suppose, after what we did to you, we’ve both got what we deserve . . .’
‘No, Maddy, you must never say that. You didn’t deserve to end up like this, you couldn’t have known then what he was really like – neither of us could. Now we just have to thank God that you’ve come out of it alive.’
They sat quietly then, listening to the sound of the wind in the trees, and as the memories stirred in them both they looked at one another and smiled.
‘You needn’t have done that today, you know,’ Marian said, as she remembered the look on Paul’s face when Madeleine lifted her veil. ‘I would have told him you were still alive.’
‘I know, but he was so cruel to you. I wanted to shock him, I wanted him to see what Sergio had done to me.’
‘Does it hurt very much?’
‘Not any more. It did, until today, but now I just feel numb. No, that’s not true. I feel like a different person, Marian. I feel calmer and – well, you know how I was never any good with words, but I just get the feeling that everything’s going to be all right for us now. That we’ve come through a lot and . . . Well, I’ve thought about this, and I’ve come up with something that will make you smile, I know it will. But for us I think it’s like . . .’ she paused and Marian could see that she was embarrassed, but nevertheless she pressed on ‘. . . you know, with me taking all your money and Paul and everything, well, this is my philosophical conclusion for us . . .’
‘Go on,’ Marian prompted.
‘It’s like . . . it’s like stolen beginnings but happy endings. Do you like that?’
‘Oh yes,’ Marian laughed, tears stinging her eyes, ‘I like it very much indeed.’
It was when Marian was leaving Madeleine’s room, much later, that Sylvestra’s door opened and Sylvestra herself came out onto he dimly lit landing, wearing her nightgown.
‘How is Madeleine?’ she asked softly.
‘She seems all right,’ Marian answered, ‘but I think she’s hiding what she really feels. It must have been awful for her when she saw Paul recoil like that.’
‘Sì, but she will get over it. We all get over these things in time, and soon, very soon, she will have a lovely face once again. For now it is you who give me concern.’
‘Me?’ Marian said, peering through the shadows to catch a glimpse of Sylvestra’s face.
‘Yes, you, Marian. You have been through a great deal these past months, and it is not over for you yet. Tomorrow, I know, will be a difficult day for you. I will not ask you if you still love him, that is your own business, but I want to tell you that whatever happens, whatever you decide, you will always have a home here with us.’
‘I know.’ Marian choked as she gulped back the tears. ‘I know, and I don’t know how to begin to thank you.’
Sylvestra’s thin hand was on her cheek, smoothing away the tears. ‘I have said all I wanted to,’ she whispered, ‘and I think you understand, so now I will wish you a good night, my child, and may God go with you.’
The following afternoon Marian was sipping a capuccino and absently watching the tourists as they milled about her. She was thinking about the last time she had sat outside this café, with Bronwen – they’d been waiting for Sergio Rambaldi. Maybe it hadn’t been wise of her, choosing this particular place to meet Matthew in; the memories were still too disturbing; but it had been the first place to spring to mind when she had spoken to him on the phone – and it was easy to find on the south corner of the Ponte Vecchio.
It was ten minutes later when his shadow fell over her, and as she raised her eyes, she was already steeling herself against the surge of emotion that was threatening to engulf her. But when she saw him, his dark, serious eyes, the black unruly hair, the face she had loved so much, her heart twisted so painfully that for one awful moment she thought she was going to cry.
‘Hello,’ Matthew said.
‘Hello.’ Then, as she swallowed the lump in her throat, she somehow managed to smile. ‘Thank you for coming all this way. I would have come to London, but . . .’
‘I understand,’ he said, sitting down and facing her across the table.
For a while she couldn’t bring herself to look at him again, but just the sense of his presence was making it hard to stave off the longing to touch him. She still had no idea what he was going to say, what had been going through his mind all these months, but after she had talked to Madeleine the night before, then lain awake until the sun started to rise, she had finally come to understand what she must do. It would be the hardest thing she had ever done in her life, but in her heart she knew she must do it.
‘How’s Madeleine?’ he asked.
‘Quite well, considering. But I’m not sure we should have let her come with us yesterday. She says she’s all right, but she collapsed straight after . . . It was horrible for her.’
‘How did Paul take it?’
She gave a dry laugh. ‘Difficult to say. He screamed when he saw her. I’ve never heard a man scream like that.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Oh Matthew, if you could have seen his face when he saw her, he looked so disgusted, so nauseated, I don’t know how she stood it. It would have been bad enough for anyone, but you know how Madeleine felt about her looks. He’s being flown to London some time next week, I believe, but I don’t really want anyone to tell us anything about him now. I know it’s a dreadful thing to say, but I wish he was dead.’
Matthew looked up as the waiter asked him what he would like, but he shook his head. ‘Shall we walk?’ he said, turning back to Marian.
‘That would be nice.’
Matthew paid the waiter for her capuccino, then arm in arm they strolled onto the Ponte Vecchio. For once it was clear of street traders, and the shops were closed for the siesta.
‘Poor Maddy,’ Marian sighed, ‘she keeps remembering little signs, things that he did or said. It’s horrible for her.’
‘Thank God for Enrico, eh?’
‘Yes. Indeed.’
‘Have things developed between them?’
Marian laughed. ‘If anything’s going to develop anywhere, it’ll be with his brother, Arsenio.’
‘You mean the one who . . .?’
‘Yes, that’s him. He came home a few weeks before Madeleine did. He goes to her room at night, she tells me, and they talk. I don’t know if they ever mention the bottega and what happened to them there, that’s between the two of them. All that matters is that they’re helping one another to recover.
Matthew smiled. ‘I’m glad, but I have to say that before all this happened I thought Enrico was beginning to fall for her.’
‘You have to remember that it’s barely six months since his wife died. I’m not sure how he’s feeling now, he hides his grief well, but I can see it in his eyes sometimes – I know when he’s thinking about her.’
Matthew guided her through to one of the arches, and they leaned on the wall, gazing down at the river. Despite the brilliant sun the air was crisp and cold, and few tourists had ventured forth, so for a while they had the alcove to themselves.
‘Have you read in the papers about all the arrests going on in New York?’ Matthew asked, changing the subject.
Marian nodded. ‘It’s causing quite a sensation, I believe.’
‘It certainly is,’ he said, following the graceful journey of a gull as it skimmed across the water, then soared into the sky. ‘When I last spoke to Frank he told me that he and Grace don’t want the sculpture destroyed. Has either of them mentioned it to you?’
‘Grace did when she telephoned. She said she feels that destroying it would be like killing Olivia all over again – that she would have died for nothing. The experts who’ve been studying it have declared it a masterpiece, you know.’
‘Yes, I heard. But where the hell can they exhibit something like that?’
Marian shrugged. ‘A decision for the police, I suppose. After all, they own it now.’
Matthew shook his head solemnly. ‘They want us to finish the film.’
‘Are you going to?’
‘Yes. And what about you? Will you be joining us again?’
At last she turned to face him, and her breath caught in her throat as she looked into those wondrously lambent eyes. But they weren’t teasing now, they were grave and hopeful, and there was something else in them that she wasn’t quite sure she understood. She smiled. ‘No,’ she answered, shaking her head. ‘I won’t be joining you.’
‘I’d like you to. We all would.’
‘Thank you for that.’
He looked at her profile as she turned back to watch the sunlight dance across the water. She had changed. He had noticed it the moment he saw her sitting outside the café. There was something about her, something he couldn’t quite fathom. And then suddenly it hit him. The shy, diffident, ugly little duckling had become a truly beautiful swan. ‘I cared, Marian,’ he said softly. ‘I cared a great deal. I want you to know that.’
‘I do,’ she said, then turned her head to look again into the face that a part of her would always love. She smiled. ‘I hear you’ve been skiing with your daughter.’
He nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘I’m glad.’ She paused as a couple came up beside them, then, sensing that they were intruding, walked on again. ‘That was what it was all about really, wasn’t it, Matthew?’ she said. ‘Your daughter.’
‘At first, yes.’
‘You felt guilty. I was the same age, and you tried to give me the care and the love she wouldn’t let you give her.’
‘Something like that.’
‘But it doesn’t explain New York.’
‘No, but things had changed by then. I . . .’ He reached up to touch her face, and his dark, searching eyes looked at her with such sorrow that she felt tears spring to her own. ‘I’m sorry, Marian,’ he whispered. ‘I’m sorry . . .’
She put her fingers over his lips. ‘Please, don’t say that. Please don’t be sorry; I’m glad you were the first man to make love to me. I always will be.’
He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. ‘You’re a very special person, Marian,’ he said. ‘I’m going to miss you.’
‘I’ll miss you too. But I hope you and Stephanie will be happy together, Matthew.’
‘Oh Marian,’ he murmured, folding her into his arms, ‘and I hope that one day you’ll find the man who’s worthy of you.’ Then, lowering his mouth to hers, he kissed her more tenderly than he had ever kissed her before.
‘So do I,’ she said quietly, as she watched him walk away; and after he had disappeared into the crowd she turned back to look at the river. One year, just one short year, and her life had changed so completely that she couldn’t even begin to comprehend the fate that had brought her such love and such pain, such horror and such joy. And such courage – the courage to let him go.