Lucy Gordon - A Family For Keeps

'Forgotten me, you mean?'

'I think he set himself to drive you out of her memory, yes.'

'And he succeeded.'

'It's been five years,' he said urgently. 'The child believes what she's been taught to believe. Think what the truth would do to her now. Don't force any more burdens onto her.'

'You're saying I'm a burden to her?' she demanded, aghast.

'You would be at this moment. I beg you to leave it until we've both had time to think.'

'Time for you to spirit her away where I can't find her,' she flashed.

He didn't reply in words, but the white-faced look he gave her was so full of shock that she backed off.

'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that.'

'No, you shouldn't,' he said harshly. 'Is that the sort of man you think I am?'

'How do I know? Once I thought Bruce was wonderful. When people are fighting over a child they do things that you wouldn't have dreamed-'

'Are we fighting? Have we ever fought? I think I've deserved better from you than that kind of accusation. But since you lump me in with all the others, here'

He pulled a small notebook from his pocket, scribbled something and tore off the page with a gesture that was almost violent.

'That's where I live now,' he snapped. 'Come any time and you'll find her there. But think very carefully about what you're going to say to her.'

Without giving her a chance to answer he stormed off in the direction of the woman and child. Julia sat, frozen with dismay, shocked at herself for having said such a thing to him, appalled at the discovery that had made them almost enemies.

She watched the little scene in the distance. The woman had drawn the steps up to the wall of plaques,climbing them, then taking out the flowers. She descended and indicated for the child to climb up, with the fresh flowers she was holding. She mounted and began to place flowers in the urns, first her father's, then Bianca's.

She was coming down now, sitting on the steps in exactly the same spot where Julia had sat only a few moments ago. She wasn't weeping, merely crouching there with the stillness of despair. The woman tried to comfort her, but to Julia it was hard to tell if the child even noticed.

She felt as though a band were tightening about her heart. How well she knew that feeling of desolation, so deep that the slightest movement didn't seem worth the effort.

Then it swept over her in a tide of anguish. This child was grieving for the loss of her parents, of her mother.

Her mother! Not Julia. Not the woman who'd yearned over her through heartbroken days and agonised nights. Someone else!

Then the little girl looked up, saw Vincenzo and, with a glad cry, began to run towards him. He opened his arms and she hurled herself into them, babbling in Italian. Julia could just hear the words.

'I looked for you-'

'I'm here now,' he soothed her. 'But what are you doing here?'

'You said you were coming to the funeral of your friend, so I asked Gemma to bring me to see Mamma and Papa. I knew you'd come to see them too.'

Julia began to move forward very slowly, staying close to the wall, making no disturbance, but getting close enough to see better. Then the little girl raised her head from Vincenzo's shoulder, and Julia gasped at the sight of her. If she'd had any doubts before, they were settled now, for it was her own mother's face that she saw. This was the child she had last seen years ago, at the start of the nightmare.

Vincenzo looked back and for a terrible moment Julia thought he would ignore her. Instead he said gently, 'Rosa, I have a friend for you to meet.'

The child looked straight at her. Julia held her breath, waiting for the burst of joyful recognition.

But it did not come.

Rosa regarded her mother politely but without recognition.

' Buongiorno ,' she said.

' Buongiorno ,' Julia replied mechanically. 'I am-'

She fell silent. No words would come. She could hear her own heart pounding.

'This is Signora Julia Baxter,' Vincenzo said.

' Buongiorno , signora. Sono Rosa. '

She offered her hand. Hardly knowing what she did, Julia took it. For a moment it lay in hers. Her daughter had shaken her hand like a stranger.

Vincenzo was introducing the nanny, who had a kind face. Julia greeted her mechanically. She was functioning on automatic while her brain struggled to cope.

'Julia came with me to Piero's funeral,' Vincenzo explained. 'He was a friend we were very fond of.'

'I promised Carlo he could come to see Mamma and Papa this time,' Rosa said. 'He was too young before.'

'Carlo?' Julia asked blankly.

She knew that she sounded vague, but that was because her mind was rejecting the monstrous idea that was growing. Surely it was impossible?

But nothing was impossible.

'He's my little brother,' Rosa said, indicating the sleeping child in the pushchair. 'He's only two.'

She reached out eagerly to Vincenzo. 'Come with me.'

He took her hand and they went up the steps together. Julia heard her say, 'I didn't do the flowers properly.'

And Vincenzo's tender reply, 'Let's do them together.'

He helped her to arrange the leaves. When they had finished the child stood a moment looking at the pictures. Slowly she passed her fingertips over them as though seeking comfort from the cold marble, then leaned forward and kissed them, first her father, then her stepmother. Julia bent her head, unable to watch. But in the next moment she looked up again, unable not to watch.

She waited for her daughter to cry, but, as before, Rosa's face was blank. Whatever she was feeling was being kept bolted down and hidden from the world.

'Just like me,' Julia thought, appalled. 'I know exactly what's happening to her inside. But no child should feel like that, or have such a look of frozen misery. Dear God, what's happened to her?'

After a moment the little girl came down and went to the pushchair, gently shaking the toddler. He awoke with a gurgle, instantly smiling.

Like Bruce, Julia thought. He's got his face and his charm.

The nanny started to help but Rosa shook her head, polite but determined as she undid the straps and helped him out. Hand in hand they climbed the steps together.

'Look,' Julia heard her say. 'That's Papa and that's Mamma.'

He beamed and stretched out his hands to the faces of his parents, but when they encountered only cold marble he flinched back. Puzzled, he looked at his sister, and reached out again.

'Mamma,' he said. 'Mamma, Mamma!'

He began to sob, pounding the marble with his fists and screaming out his disillusion.

At once Rosa gathered the child into her arms, murmuring soothing words.

'It's all right, little one. It's all right. We'll go home now.'

She helped him down to the ground, put him back into the pushchair and kissed him gently, stroking him until he stopped crying.

'It would have been better to wait until he was a little older,' Vincenzo told her.

Rosa nodded sadly. 'I'm sorry, Uncle Vincenzo. I just didn't want him to forget them. But I should have remembered he's only a baby.'

She turned politely to Julia.

'Buongiorno, signora,' she said, as politely as a little old lady. 'I'm afraid I must be going now. I hope that we will meet again.'

'So do I,' she said with an effort.

She watched as the little party walked away, the baby's hand extended to clutch Rosa's, as though there he could find safety.

'I didn't know they were coming here,' Vincenzo said. 'Rosa just spoke of the next few days.'

'That little boy-is he-?'

'Yes, he's Bianca's son, and James'. I wish it hadn't been sprung on you like that.'

'I suppose I should have thought of it.'

Suddenly the wind that blew down the corridor of flowers was bleak and desolate. She shivered.