Lucy Gordon - The Italian's Passionate Revenge

‘I’d like to go to sleep now,’ she said. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight.’ He hesitated. ‘Thank you for everything.’

He kissed her cheek and was gone.

Elise lay down, trying to clear her mind of the smiling images of Angelo that she’d seen that day. But he pursued her even in sleep, and she awoke to find herself crying aloud.

‘Hush,’ said Vincente’s voice close by in the darkness. ‘It’s all right.’

She found that she was sobbing and could barely speak. ‘What happened?’

‘You were calling out in your sleep. I heard you and I thought I’d better come in. You might have called his name aloud.’

So he’d known who was in her dreams, she thought.

‘Does he trouble you very much?’ Vincente asked quietly.

‘I feel guilty about him all the time.’

He said nothing. Her answer didn’t tell him what he really wanted to know. Did she dream of Angelo with longing? Was he, after all that had happened, still her one true love?

He waited for her to say more, but after a while he felt her head grow heavy against his shoulder and her breathing become slower. She had fallen asleep again.

He kissed the top of her head.

‘It’s all right,’ he said again, tightening his arms. ‘I’m here.’

After a while he laid her gently down and pulled the sheet up over her. Taking care not to awaken her, he left the room noiselessly, returned to his own room and took out his cellphone.

‘Razzini?’ he said softly. ‘Yes, I know it’s late. Wake up, man.’

Razzini’s voice rasped down the line. ‘Signore Farnese? I never expected to hear from you again. The last time we met you were ready to kill me.’

‘I still might, but first I have a job for you. And it’s urgent, so drop everything else.’

‘That won’t be easy-’

‘Yes, it will, for the price I’ll pay. I want your undivided attention. You’ll work on this, day and night, until you can tell me what I want to know.’

‘Sounds important.’

‘It is important,’ Vincente said sombrely. ‘It’s a matter of life and death.’

Paradoxically, as she grew larger Elise also felt stronger. As Christmas neared and Vincente embarked on a spate of business entertaining, she flowered, taking a full part in the preparations.

After one particularly lively evening he called at her room to say goodnight.

‘My friends admire you very much,’ he said. ‘You couldn’t have done better. Are you all right?’

‘Yes, just a little tired.’ She patted her stomach. ‘I shall be glad when this is over. He’s very lively.’

‘Or she.’

‘No, definitely a he. From the way he’s kicking, this is a footballer.’

‘Perhaps I should stay in case something happens.’

‘Nothing will happen for another two months. I’m fine.’

‘Babies have been known to come early,’ he persisted.

She laughed. ‘If those men out there could see you now! They’re all afraid of you.’

‘And I’d like them to go on being afraid of me.’

‘Then I won’t tell them what a fusspot you can be.’

‘They wouldn’t believe you,’ he said simply. ‘Nobody but you has ever seen me like this. Nobody else ever will.’

‘Silence, I swear it. Look, here’s the buzzer you gave me. If anything happens I’ll press it and wake you.’

‘Be sure you do.’

As she bid him goodnight her smile held a touch of fondness. These days a blessed peace had crept over her, so that it was possible to relax and detach herself from sadness, even to feel content with him. She knew he sometimes slipped into her room at night to hold her when the bad dreams came, but he didn’t stay long, and they never spoke of it by day.

It was February when the birth began. Vincente took her to the hospital and stood back, waiting as they settled Elise in the side ward. She turned her head, needing to keep him in sight all the time. A pain went through her.

‘The contractions are coming fast,’ somebody said. ‘This won’t take long.’

The pain was sharp, which had the strange effect of sharpening her mind. Through a brilliant light she seemed to see him standing there, just like before, when she’d first come to this hospital and nearly lost their child. She’d known then that he wouldn’t come to her unless she asked, and nothing would have made her ask.

But it was different now. Her hand went out to him, seeking, inviting, imploring. He was there at once, his grip giving her the message she longed for.

‘Don’t leave me,’ she begged.

‘Never,’ he whispered.

In the same moment the pain came again, making her tighten her fingers on his so that he actually winced.

‘Sorry,’ she gasped.

‘It’s fine if it makes you feel better. Can’t I take some of it away from you?’

She was about to tell him that pain didn’t work like that but, mysteriously, it did, for there was comfort to be found in his supporting clasp, and even more in his eyes, watching her with fond anxiety.

The contractions came again and again, growing more frequent as the moment neared. Even so, Vincente demanded frantically of the doctor, ‘Can’t you hurry it up?’ which made everyone laugh, including Elise.

‘I think you should leave this to me,’ she suggested.

‘No, we’re in it together,’ he said seriously.

‘Then get ready,’ she screamed suddenly. And the next moment the baby was there.

‘It’s a girl,’ said the doctor.

‘Is she all right?’ Elise asked urgently.

His reply was drowned out by a furious yell from the mite in his hands.

‘Fit and healthy,’ he said, raising his voice in order to be heard.

They cleaned the baby and wrapped her in a shawl, but it was Vincente who took her and carried her to the bed, to lay her in her mother’s arms. Elise held her in silence, awed that this tiny scrap had drawn its life from the two of them, months ago when they had known the beginning of love, before it had been beaten down, almost to nothing.

Almost.

A nurse wheeled in a cot and settled her in it. Vincente went to look down at the baby.

‘Would you have preferred a son?’ she asked.

He shook his head, not taking his eyes from the child. ‘No, this is better,’ he said. A sudden smile breaking over his face, he looked down at his daughter. ‘She smiled at me.’

‘That’s impossible; she’s only a few minutes old. They don’t smile for weeks.’

‘My daughter isn’t like other children,’ he said firmly. ‘She can do anything.’

Elise watched him tenderly, loving him for what she could tell was happening. Already she could see how this birth could help to heal old wounds.

Yet the ghost was still there. She’d sensed it when Vincente had said, ‘This is better.’ He’d meant it was better not to have a son since Mamma had set her heart on calling him Angelo. And Elise had understood him at once.

While that was true there would never be the true peace between them that both of them wanted.

She gave a soft sigh as weariness closed in. It wouldn’t have surprised her if, absorbed in the miracle in the cot, Vincente had failed to hear her. But he was beside her at once, laying his lips gently on her forehead.

‘Thank you,’ he murmured as she slid into sleep. ‘Thank you for everything-my love.’

ELISE stepped under the shower and stood, relishing the water that splashed over her, enjoying the thought of what was to come.

In a few days’ time her three-month-old daughter would be christened in the same church where she herself had been married, but this was going to be a big occasion, with the church packed to the rafters.

It was Mamma who had insisted on calling the baby Olivia, which was Elise’s second name. The child had fulfilled everybody’s hopes, bringing new life to Mamma and a new softening to Vincente. He adored his daughter and spent every possible moment in her company, with the result that his best hopes had been realised and her first smile had been his.