Lucy Gordon - The Rinuccis - Carlo, Ruggiero & Francesco

‘I’ve got brains,’ he said, offended.

‘Not according to your exam results,’ she reminded him.

‘I’ve told you, there was a mistake.’

‘Then go back to college and take your exams again,’ Carlo urged.

Sol made a face.

Renato, one of Carlo’s colleagues, happened to pass at that moment, and greeted Della cheerfully. Leaning over to talk to him, she turned her back on the other two, giving Carlo the chance to say quietly to Sol, ‘Then think of something else. But think of it quickly before you feel my boot in your rear. Your life is not going to be one long holiday at your mother’s expense. Is that clear?’

Sol glared, but said no more. Seeing that he was thinking the situation through, Carlo left him to it.

Renato sat down to chat, and the conversation became general. Then he touched on some mysterious point relating to the dig, and within seconds he and Carlo had their heads together.

Sol took the chance to say to his mother, ‘I suppose I could always go back to college.’

‘I wish you would,’ she said eagerly.

‘What about the cost?’

‘Hang the cost, if it helps your future.’

‘Then perhaps I’ll go home and get it organised. I think I’ve gone off Naples.’

Della adored her son, but the thought of a little more time alone with Carlo was more than she could resist.

‘That’s a good idea, darling.’

‘What’s a good idea?’ Carlo asked, seeming to become aware of them again.

‘Sol’s going back to college for another year.’

‘That’s great.’

Sol flashed a brief glance at Carlo. Della saw it, also the bland expression that Carlo returned, and some part of the truth came to her.

‘Did I imagine that?’ she demanded of him as they returned to the dig, walking a few feet behind the other two.

‘Imagine what?’

‘You know what,’ she said suspiciously. ‘Don’t you give me that innocent expression when I know you’re as tricky as a sackful of monkeys.’

‘Well, you know me better than anyone else.’

‘You fixed it, didn’t you?’ she accused. ‘You’ve been pulling strings all day. First of all you bored him to death—’

‘Then I made him do some hard work. Are you mad at me?’

She opened her mouth to tell him that he had no right to interfere between her and Sol, but then a new thought occurred to her.

‘No,’ she conceded thoughtfully. ‘I ought to be, but I’ve been trying to get him to return to college ever since his results came through.’

‘You’ve been trying? But I thought you’d bought his line about looking around?’

‘I pretend to believe a lot of the nonsense Sol talks because I have no choice. What did you do that I can’t?’

‘Scared him with the alternative,’ Carlo said, grinning. ‘He’s a grown man. It’s time he did something decisive instead of always running to Mamma. He’ll be better for it, I promise you.’

‘I know.’

‘Come on, let’s get back to town and make the arrangements before he changes his mind.’

That evening they treated Sol to the best dinner in Naples, and drove him to the airport early next day. On the drive back, Carlo said casually, ‘Now we’ll clear your things out of the hotel and take them home.’

‘Home?’

‘Our home.’

‘I haven’t said I’m moving in with you.’

‘I’m saying it, so quit arguing.’

‘And this man calls himself a hen-pecked mouse,’ she observed, to no one in particular.

‘I promise when we lock that door behind us I’ll be as docile as you like.’

‘Once you’ve got your own way, huh?’

‘That’s about the size of it,’ he said outrageously.

His home was a compact bachelor apartment, three storeys up in a condominium. On two sides were large windows, looking out onto the sea and the volcano. While she was rejoicing in the view Carlo took gentle hold of her from behind.

‘It seems ages since I made love to you,’ he murmured.

‘Shouldn’t we be getting to work?’

‘Everything in good time …’

After their lovemaking she assuaged her conscience about neglecting business by spending an hour sending e-mails and making calls. Then she mapped out some more plans for the series, and when Carlo awoke they worked together for an hour. It was fascinating to see him don a new personality—serious, dedicated, knowledgeable. She’d briefly glimpsed this ‘professor’ before, but the change was so startling that it was almost like meeting a different man each time.

But then he would catch her eye, and she’d realise that the other Carlo hadn’t gone away. He was merely biding his time. As was she.

In the afternoon they drove out to Pompeii and strolled through together, discussing camera angles and working out a script. Inevitably they ended in the museum where, after looking around for a while, Della returned to her favourite figures, the lovers curled up in each other’s arms. Carlo stood close by, watching her intently, as though he could read something in her manner.

‘It’s such total love,’ she murmured. ‘Completely yielding, reducing everything else to nothing.’

He nodded.

‘You wonder how they could really ignore the lava closing in on them,’ he said. ‘But of course they could—as long as they had each other.’

‘“How do I love thee?”‘ Della murmured. ‘“Let me count the ways.”‘

‘What was that?’ He looked at her intently.

‘It’s a poem, one of my favourites, written by a woman. She lists all the different ways that she loves her husband, and finishes, “If God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.” Elizabeth Barrett Browning lived nearly two thousand years after this couple, but she knew the same thing that they knew.’

‘What all lovers know,’ Carlo said. ‘When you meet the woman you want to marry—that you know you must marry—then it’s to death and beyond. If it’s not like that, it isn’t real.’

He was watching her in a way that suddenly made her heart pound, waiting for an answer she couldn’t give.

‘But this is real,’ he persisted. ‘I’ve known that from the start. Tell me that you’ve known, too. Tell me that you love me.’

It was a plea, not an order.

‘You know that I love you,’ she said.

He took her hand, turning it over to kiss the palm.

‘How do you love me?’ he asked with a touch of humour. ‘Can you count the ways?’

‘I’d better not,’ she said tenderly. ‘You’re quite conceited enough already.’

But he shook his head.

‘Not where you’re concerned. You do as you like with me, but that’s all right, as long as you love me.’

‘I could never begin to tell you how much I love you.’

He contrived to put both arms around her, leaning his head down so that his forehead rested against hers.

‘I think you might try,’ he murmured. ‘It’s the only thing I want from you—no, not the only thing. There is something else—but you know that. We can talk about it later.’

‘Yes, later,’ she said.

He was drawing her closer to the decision she dreaded facing.

‘Any time will do,’ he replied softly. ‘Because I know you won’t refuse me the thing I want most on earth. It’s what you want, too, isn’t it? You’ve made me wait for your answer, but—’

‘Darling—’

‘I know, I know. I said I wouldn’t hurry you, and that’s what I’m doing. I’ll try not to.’

‘But you can’t help it,’ she said, trying to tease him out of the dangerous mood. ‘You’re much too used to having your own way.’

‘That’s true,’ he said, his eyes glinting. ‘I like to have what I want, and what I want is—’