Lucy Gordon - A Family For Keeps

Tonight she had revelled, siren-like, in her customers' adulation, making him wonder at the different moods that turned her into so many people. Any of them, or none of them, could be the real woman, and all of them were driving him mad.

'You should try harder to free yourself from me,' she said. 'It's just a question of being strong-minded.'

'Maybe I don't want to be strong-minded.'

Snow began to fall, just a few flakes at first, then more and more. Through them she searched his face in the cold light. 'In the end I'll go away and leave you,' she whispered. 'Like everyone else.'

'I know,' he said sadly. 'But who knows when the end will be? Not tonight.'

As he spoke he gathered her into his arms, and she went into them easily, offering her lips to his kiss and returning it with passion.

She knew that very passion was her enemy. It threatened to distract her from her purpose, but she couldn't help it. He brought her back to life, and the feeling was sweet, wild, and frightening.

'No-no-' she whispered, more to herself than him. He drew back to look at her with troubled eyes. 'Do you want me to stop?'

'No,' she said explosively, fastening her mouth on his. She was kissing him with frantic desire, possessed by feelings that were almost too sweet to be borne. It was she who explored his mouth, almost attacking him in her urgency, teasing his lips, his tongue, feeling the deep satisfaction of his response.

'Stay with me tonight,' he murmured against her mouth.

But she shook her head. 'Not now-not tonight-'

' Mio Dio! How much do you think one man can stand?You're not being fair. He ill-used you and you revenge yourself on us all.'

'No, it's not that, I swear it. But I don't feel that I belong anywhere. The past is over and I can't tell about the future.'

'Your daughter is all that matters to you, I know that.' He sighed, resting his forehead against hers. 'But I can be patient and hope for my turn.'

'Even if it never comes?'

'Do you believe that one day you'll get your heart's desire?'

'I have to,' she whispered.

'So do I. Let's leave it there, and hope for better times.'

He slipped his arm about her shoulders, and she leaned contentedly against him as they walked the rest of the way in the falling snow.

At midday on Christmas Eve a cannon was fired from the turrets of the Castel Sant'Angelo in Rome, and Christmas had officially begun.

She and Piero listened to it together on a battery-powered radio she'd bought. The restaurant had closed, Vincenzo had gone off to his family, and she had settled in for Christmas at the palazzo.

They had stocked up with seasonal goodies, including panettone, the traditional rich fruit cake.

'We're supposed to fast for twenty-four hours after the cannon,' Piero explained, 'but I don't believe in slavishly adhering to every tradition.'

'Neither do I,' she said. 'Let's have some cake.'

As they munched she said, 'I remember when I was a child, hanging my stocking up on Christmas Eve.'

'Children don't do that in Italy,' he explained. 'Stockings don't go up until Epiphany, January sixth.'

'I'm not waiting until then to give you your present.'

'You gave me those gloves, and the scarf, two weeks ago,' he reminded her.

'Well, I had to give them to you early before you froze to death. What happened to all that money you were supposed to be spending on yourself?'

'I gambled it away. I used to be notorious for breaking the bank at Monte Carlo.'

'All right, don't tell me. Anyway, here's some boots and warm socks. I had to guess the size.'

The size was perfect. He put them on and paraded splendidly before her. She smiled and applauded, feeling content.

'And this is yours,' he said, pulling out a small object, carefully wrapped in newspaper.

Opening it she found a china Pierrot figure in a black mask and a costume decorated with many colours. Now she knew what had become of his money. She had seen this in a shop and it cost a fortune. 'Pierrot,' she said.

'So that you don't forget me,' he said. '

Do you think I ever could? Buon Natale , Pierrot.'

' Buon Natale .'

Vincenzo's gift to her was a cell phone. He called her halfway through Christmas Day. 'It's a sad Christmas for you,' he said.

'Not really. I have my friends now, and I have hope. Is that your niece I can hear?' Behind him she could make out a little girl's laughter.

'Yes, that's Rosa.'

'It's a lovely sound,' she said wistfully.

'Your time will come. Cling onto that hope.'

'I will. Buon Natale .'

' Buon Natale -Sophie.'

She smiled and hung up without answering.

After the lull of Christmas there was an immediate flurry of business. As they were clearing up on the second night she said, 'Do you mind if I hurry away? I want to get back to Piero.'

'Isn't he all right?' Vincenzo asked quickly.

'He's got a bit of a cold. I'd just like to make a fuss of him.'

'I suppose he caught cold going to San Zaccaria.' Vincenzo groaned. 'I wish he wouldn't do that in this weather.'

'But he doesn't any more. He hasn't been there since-' She fell silent as the truth dawned on her. 'Since that day I went to Murano.'

'And we met your boat,' Vincenzo said. 'And you came ashore and hugged him.'

As Julia reached home she looked up, wondering if Piero would be there, looking out for her as he sometimes did. But there was no face at the window, and for some reason that made her start to run.

He was probably just asleep, but still-

When she entered their room she couldn't see him at first. He was lying stretched out, breathing heavily. She moved quietly, not to awaken him, but then she realised that he was unlikely to have awoken, whatever she did.

His forehead was hot to the touch, and there was an ugly rasping sound to the breath, which seemed to tear his throat.

'Piero,' she said, giving him a little shake. 'Piero!'

He opened his eyes, but only a little way.

'Ciao, cara, ' he croaked.

'Oh, my God,' she breathed. 'This is bad. Listen, I'm going to get help for you.'

'No need,' he gasped, and his feverish hand sought hers. 'Stay here,' he whispered. 'Stay with you-only you.'

'No,' she said fiercely. 'You've got to get well. I'm calling Vincenzo. He'll know what to do.' Then, before she could choke back the idiotic words she heard herself say, 'Don't go away.'

The ghost of hilarity flickered over his gaunt features. 'I won't.'

She found her cell phone and left the room. She didn't want him to hear her call. To her relief Vincenzo answered at once.

'It's Piero,' she said. 'He's very ill. I think it could be pneumonia.'

He made a sharp sound. 'All right, stay with him. I'll call an ambulance and be right there.'

She returned to find Piero sitting up, looking around him anxiously. As soon as he saw her he stretched out an arm.

'I wanted you-you weren't there…'

He held onto her like a child, his eyes fixed on her face.

'I called Vincenzo. He's sending for an ambulance.'

'Don't want-hospital-' came the painful rasping. 'Just you. Hold onto me.'

She settled him back on the sofa, and knelt beside him, one of his hot hands in hers. He kept his eyes on her, as though seeing her was all he asked. Her heart was heavy, for something told her that the end was very near.

He knew it too, she was sure, and wanted to spend his last few moments alone with her.

She heard a noise outside and went quickly to look out of the window. Down below, in the little garden that fronted onto the Grand Canal, she could see Vincenzo, opening the wrought-iron gate, and propping it so that it stayed open.

She returned to Piero, clasping him in her arms, and after a moment Vincenzo joined them.