Lucy Gordon - A Family For Keeps

'On your own?'

'Yes, but don't worry about me. If they're not there I won't fling myself melodramatically into the lagoon. I'll just keep trying until they are. I'll go as soon as Piero's funeral is over.'

It was Vincenzo who had paid for the funeral, arranging for Piero to lie beside Elena on the island of San Michele.

When the day came they both boarded the black motor boat that would take them across the lagoon. They made the journey standing up behind the black-draped coffin. Inside, Piero lay wearing the gloves, scarf and boots she had given him.

Soon the island came in sight, the outer rim of cypresses encased by a terracotta wall, and a few minutes later they reached the landing stage. Pallbearers appeared and carried the coffin onto dry land.

At the inner gate they were met by an official who checked the details with Vincenzo.

They were the only mourners. During the service she kept her eyes fixed on the coffin, topped by flowers from herself and Vincenzo. She had known Piero only a few weeks, yet she felt she had lost a very dear friend.

It was time to take the coffin to its final resting place. As they moved out of the chapel she could see that some of the cemetery was conventional, with burials in the ground, and headstones.

But this place had been created for economy of space, and most coffins were placed in narrow vaults, piled on top of one another, as many as ten high. At the outer end was a marble plaque giving the details of who lay there, with a picture. As there was also a holder for flowers a whole wall of these plaques was an impressive sight. Where two flowered walls faced each other the effect was of an enchanted bower.

Elena was on the fourth tier, her picture easily visible. She bore a marked resemblance to her father, having his sharp features and brilliant smile.

Slowly Piero's coffin was slid into the space beside her, and the end fitted into place.

'Goodbye,' she whispered. 'And thank you for everything.'

'I'd like to put some fresh flowers in my sister's urn,' Vincenzo said.

They walked along the long walls of flowers until Vincenzo stopped, pointing up at something above his head.

'That's Bianca,' he said. 'And the one beside her is her husband.'

Julia tilted her head back, but was unable to see the pictures clearly.

'How do you get up so high to change the flowers?' she wanted to know.

'There are some steps somewhere.'

He went searching around the corner and reappeared wheeling a set of steps high enough to reach the upper levels. Julia studied his sister's face and even from this distance she could see the family resemblance between them. There was a gentleness about Bianca that was instantly appealing.

'I didn't like him,' Vincenzo said, 'but she loved him. They only had four years together before they died.'

'Why didn't you like him?'

'He was too smooth a character. You can see it there in his face.'

She glanced up again, trying to get a better view of the man, whose face was partly obscured by flowers.

Suddenly she felt as though the very air about her had shuddered. She clutched the steps to avoid falling.

'What is it?' Vincenzo asked, concerned.

'I want to climb up.'

'Why? What's the matter?'

'I need to see more closely.'

Feeling as though she were moving through a nightmare, she began to climb the steps, her gaze fixed on the man's face as it grew closer. She took a deep breath, expecting it to change before her eyes. This must all be a terrifying mistake.

But there was no mistake. The face engraved in the marble was that of her husband.

She could hear Vincenzo's voice calling her from a great distance. Gradually the world stopped spinning and she realised that she was sitting on the steps, shivering violently.

'For God's sake, what's the matter?' he demanded, aghast. 'You nearly fainted up there.'

'It's him,' she said through chattering teeth.

'What do you mean?'

'My husband, Bruce. That's him up there.'

'Julia, you're overwrought.'

'I tell you, that's him.'

She forced herself to her feet. 'Let me see him again.'

'All right, and you'll find that it's just a chance resemblance.'

She climbed back to the top step and fixed her eyes on the man, almost hoping to find that it had been a mistake. But there was no doubt. It was the face she hated. Silently she went down and sat on the steps again, feeling as though she were turning to ice.

'That is Bruce,' she said slowly. 'How does he come to be here?'

'Julia, I think you're wrong. You haven't seen him for years and your memories are distorted by hatred.'

'I know what he looked like,' she said angrily. 'Oh, why was I stupid enough to lose his pictures overboard? If I still had them you could see for yourself. That's him.'

Vincenzo drew a sharp breath. If she was right the implications were so monstrous that for the moment he couldn't accept them.

'I can't get my head around this,' he said slowly. 'I know him as James Cardew. He came here five years ago.'

'Was he alone?'

'Julia-'

She clutched his hand painfully. 'Was anyone with him? Tell me.'

'He had a little girl with him,' he said slowly.

'How old?'

'About three.'

'Blue eyes? Fair hair, slightly ginger?'

'Yes.'

'That's my daughter. Where is she?'

'Mio Dio!' he whispered, appalled. 'How can this have happened?'

'Where is she?'

'Since they died she lives with me.'

'I must see her.'

'Wait!' She'd half risen and he seized her arms. 'It isn't as simple as that.'

'She is my daughter. I am her mother. What could be simpler?'

'But you can't just go up to her and tell her who you are. She thinks you're dead.'

She shook her head wildly. 'No, I don't believe you.'

'James told us that he was a widower. The child believed it. She's had years to get used to the idea. For her it's reality. Julia, please try to understand. You can't simply burst on her out of the blue.'

She leaned hopelessly against the side of the steps.

'I didn't believe I could hate him any more than I did,' she said. 'But he had one last trick up his sleeve.'

Other mourners were coming towards them along the tunnel of flowers. He helped her to her feet.

'Let's find somewhere else.'

They found a seat in the cloisters at the far end and sat quietly for a few minutes, both stunned by what had happened.

At last a harsh sound, part laugh, part sob, burst from her.

'I've dreamed of this for so long. It was going to be the happiest moment of my life. Now I feel as if I've been punched in the stomach. You've got to admit that's funny. Oh, heavens, isn't it hilarious?'

She began to laugh softly, trying to smother the sound with her hands.

'Don't,' Vincenzo begged, slipping his arm around her.

'What shall I do? Cry?'

When he didn't answer she looked up and saw that he was looking back the way they had come, to where a middle-aged woman and a little girl had appeared before the plaques of Bianca and her husband. The woman was controlling a pushchair in which a child slept.

'Who are they?' she asked in a shaking voice.

'The woman is Gemma. I employ her as a nanny.'

'And the little girl?'

The world seemed to stop. He was looking at her with an expression of terrible sadness.

'Oh, my God,' she whispered. 'That's-?'

'Yes.' He was gripping her tightly now.

'Let go of me.'

'No. Julia, stop and think. She doesn't know you. She's grieving for the death of her parents.'

'They weren't her parents. Your sister wasn't her mother.'

'But she loved her as though she was. I'm sorry, I know this is painful for you, but for Rosa's sake you must listen.'

'Rosa? Her name is Natalie.'

'Not any longer. He told us her name was Rosa. She's forgotten Natalie.'