LUCY GORDON - The Italian’s Miracle Family

He indicated a far corner where several neat rows of small graves lay that were little more than slabs in the earth. The plot was neat and cared-for, but this was clearly the place for those with no relatives to pay for a fine headstone. Alysa wandered over slowly and went along the lines, seeking James. She found him at last at the very far end, near the corner.

‘He looks so lonely out here,’ she said.

‘I know, this place is very sad. We tried to contact his family in England, but he didn’t seem to have one. I believe someone spoke to a young woman who was supposed to have known him well, but she sent back a message that he was nothing to do with her.’

‘She shouldn’t have done that,’ Alysa murmured.

‘Perhaps, but we’ll never know what she might have been suffering. Ah, I see people arriving.’

She hardly noticed him moving away. She was looking at James’s bare little plaque, tucked away in this lonely spot.

‘Where I banished you,’ she whispered.

It had never occurred to her before that James should be pitied, but now she saw him again at his best: young, laughing with the joy of life. She remembered how he’d broken into her austere existence, tempting her to enjoy new delights, teasing her. And his life had been snatched from him just when he had discovered his true joy. For the first time she knew sadness for his tragedy.

Now everyone was arriving for the ceremony, and Alysa stood back among the trees as Drago appeared. He seemed to be with a large family party that consisted not only of Tina and Elena, but several other adults and two children. Alysa watched until they had gone into the church, then she followed them quietly in and sat down at the back.

The family stayed close together. Tina’s hand was in her father’s, and on her other side a boy of about six was patting her shoulder. Glancing around the other families, she saw the same thing repeated in several different ways. These people were here to support each other in their loss. She was the only one isolated.

When the short service was over she slipped out of the door and went to stand among the trees once more. From here she could see the second part of the ceremony as the families walked among the graves and honoured their loved ones.

But for James there was nobody except herself.

‘They’ve shunted you away so that you don’t spoil their picture of the perfect wife and mother,’ she told him sadly, looking down at the little slab that seemed so paltry on the ground. ‘To everyone else but me, you don’t exist.’

A step nearby made her turn to see Drago, looking drawn and tired.

‘I sent the car to the hotel for you,’ he said. ‘You’d gone, but I still hoped to find you here.’

‘I couldn’t keep away. You knew that would happen, didn’t you?’

He nodded.

‘I guess you know me better than I know myself,’ she said.

‘Then it’s the same for both of us,’ he said quietly. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, I’m fine. But you don’t look as though you slept well.’

‘I didn’t sleep at all.’

‘Was last night worse than you thought?’

‘Not really. It was thinking about today that kept me awake. Carlotta’s sister is here, with her husband and children.’

‘And they don’t know the truth either, so you have to do the performance for them too,’ she said sympathetically.

‘Exactly. But they’ll be going tomorrow, so perhaps we could talk again?’

For a moment she hesitated. It would be good to enjoy the consolation of speaking freely, just once more. But it was a dangerous pleasure, one that she might come to enjoy too much.

Drago di Luca disturbed her. He was an impatient, domineering man, implacable in getting his own way, and if she’d met him under other circumstances she might have disliked him. But with her he was defenceless and it touched her heart.

But that was what made her wary. She’d worked so hard at deadening her heart, and now he threatened her peace.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It might not be a good idea.’

Drago glanced down at James’s grave.

‘Because of him?’ he demanded. ‘Why do you still bother with him?’

‘Because he has nobody else.’

‘And who do you have? Forget him and live your life. When Carlotta betrayed me, I did what had to be done and cut her out of my heart.’

‘Hence the showers of red roses?’

‘That’s for Tina’s sake. She needs to believe that I’m grieving.’

‘You’re deluding yourself. You’re feeding your little girl nothing but pretty lies-’

‘For her sake!’

‘Is it? Is it only for her sake?’

He scowled, and she knew he had no answer. After a moment he said, ‘What about you? Are you managing to cope?’

‘Yes, I’m doing fine.’

‘We need to talk again. I’ll call you as soon as I can be rid of them.’

‘No, Drago, it’s better if we don’t. We sorted out a lot of things last night, but there has to come a time when we say no more.’

A faint cry of, ‘Poppa,’ from behind made him look around.

‘Just a moment,’ he told Alysa. ‘I’ll be back. Don’t go, please.’

He hurried off to talk to his daughter. After a brief hesitation Alysa began to back away under the trees. Her eyes were still fixed on him, noticing how, as soon as he joined the family, he seemed to become a different person-smiling, seemingly at ease, just as they expected.

She knew what it was doing to him inside, and part of her longed to respond to his plea for help. But now her sense of self-preservation was telling her to run for safety. When she’d backed away far enough, she turned and slipped out of the cemetery.

She spent the rest of the day strolling around Florence, looking at the sights without really seeing them. After all, it was only sensible to make the most of her brief trip. Then she blamed herself for prolonging the torment by trying to imagine James and Carlotta here in this lovely place, wandering the streets together, kissing in the shadows.

Then she admitted the truth: that she was avoiding Drago di Luca.

Everywhere looked the same, with no one place mattering more than another, no destination luring her.

‘Nowhere to go,’ she murmured wryly. ‘That just about says it all.’

Darkness came early, bringing the lights on in the mediaeval streets. Almost of their own accord her steps turned to the Ponte Vecchio, the magnificent bridge over the River Arno that she had seen at a distance the night before. It was lined with shops on both sides, mostly jewellers and goldsmiths, and she strolled past them until she reached a shop at the end that sold not jewels but padlocks.

The window was full of them, covering shelves and hanging from the ceiling. The costliest jewels in the world couldn’t have been displayed more lovingly. Looking closer, Alysa saw that many of them had tiny pictures etched on the side.

Just like the one she’d seen before, she thought. And there it was, nestling among the others-a padlock with a heart daintily engraved on it, so like the one James had given her and then secretly taken back that it might have been the same.

Alysa stared and blinked, as though hoping that she would see something else next time. But it was the same padlock.

‘I don’t understand,’ she murmured.

She didn’t know she’d spoken aloud, but a middle-aged man standing beside her grinned and spoke cheerily, first in Italian, then, when she looked puzzled, in English.

‘You like my padlocks? They are the best in Florence.’

‘I can see that,’ she said politely. ‘But why so many?’

‘Why, for Cellini, of course.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You’ve never heard of Benvenuto Cellini?’