Lucy Gordon - The Italian's Christmas Miracle

‘Hadn’t she suspected anything?’

‘She’d thought Carlotta was on a legal course. To stop her getting suspicious, Carlotta called her every night, using her mobile phone, and talked for a long time.’

So Carlotta had been clever at deception, Alysa thought. She hadn’t only been able to think up a lie, she’d been able to elaborate it night after night, a feat which had taken some concentration. The first hints had been there years ago. In his happiness Drago hadn’t understood. She wondered if he understood now.

He’d turned his back on her to stare out of the window into the darkness.

Images were beginning to flicker through Alysa’s brain. She could see the honeymooners, gloriously isolated in their mountain retreat. There was Drago as he must have been then: younger, shining with love, missing all the danger signals.

Suddenly he turned back and made a swift movement to his desk, unlocking one of the drawers and hauling out a large book, which he thrust almost violently towards her. Then he resumed his stance at the window.

It was a photo album, filled with large coloured pictures, showing a wedding at a tiny church. There was the young bride and groom, emerging from the porch hand in hand, laughing with joy because they had secured their happiness for ever.

Carlotta was dazzling. Alysa could easily believe that Drago had fallen for her in the first moment. And James? Had he too been lost in the first moment?

She closed the book and clasped it to her, arms crossed, rocking back and forth, trying to quell the storm within. She’d coped with this—defeated it, survived it. There was no way she would let it beat her now.

She felt Drago’s hands on her shoulders.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said heavily. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’

‘Why not?’ she said, raising her head. ‘I’m over it all now.’

‘You don’t get over it,’ he said softly. She turned away, but he shook her gently. ‘Look at me.’

Reluctantly she did so, and he brushed his fingertips over her cheeks.

‘It was thoughtless of me to show you this and make you cry.’

‘I’m not crying,’ she said firmly. ‘I never cry.’

‘You say that as if you were proud of it.’

‘Why not? I’m getting on with my life, not living in the past. It’s different for you because you have Tina, and the home you shared with your wife. You can’t escape the past, but I can. And I have.’

He moved away from her.

‘Maybe you have,’ he agreed. ‘But are you sure you took the best route out of it?’

‘What the devil do you mean?’

‘“Devil” is right,’ he said with grim humour. ‘I think it must have been the devil who told you to survive by pretending that you weren’t a woman at all.’

‘ What? ’

‘You crop your hair close, dress like a man—’ She sprang to her feet and confronted him.

‘And you call Elena nineteenth-century! You may not have heard of it, but women have been wearing trousers for years.’

‘Sure, but you’re not trying to assert your independence, you’re trying to turn yourself into a neutered creature without a woman’s heart or a woman’s feelings.’

‘How dare you?’ She began to pace the room, back and forth, clenching her fists.

‘Maybe it’s the only way you can cope,’ Drago said. ‘We all have to find our own way. But have you ever wondered if you’re damaging yourself inside?’

‘You couldn’t be more wrong. I cope by self-control, because that’s what works for me. Without it I might have cracked up, and I wouldn’t let that happen. So I don’t cry. So what? Do you cry?’

‘Not as much as I used to,’ he said quietly.

The answer stopped her in her tracks. It was the last thing she’d expected him to say.

‘The emotions and urges are there for men as well as women,’ he added.

‘Maybe you can afford to give in to them,’ she snapped. ‘I can’t. This is how I manage, and it works fine. I’m over it, it’s finished, past, done with.’

‘Do you know how often you say that?’ he demanded, becoming angry in his turn. ‘Just a little too often.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning that I think you’re trying to convince yourself—say it enough and you might start to believe it.’

‘I say it because it’s true.’

‘Then what were you doing at the waterfall today? Don’t try to fool me as you fool yourself. If it was really finished, you’d never have come here.’

‘All right, I wanted to tie up a few loose ends. Maybe I needed to find out the last details, just to close the book finally. It troubles me a little, but it doesn’t dominate me, and it hasn’t destroyed me because I won’t let it .’

But she heard the shrill edge to her own voice, and knew that she was merely confirming his suspicion. He was actually regarding her with pity, and that was intolerable.

‘Stop pacing like that,’ he said, taking hold of her with surprisingly gentle hands. ‘You’ll fall over something and hurt yourself.’

She stood, breathing hard, trying to regain her self-control. She wanted to push him away, but the strength seemed to have drained out of her. Besides, there was something comforting about the hands that held her: big, powerful hands that could lift a stone or console a child.

‘Sit down,’ he said quietly, urging her back to the chair. ‘You’re shaking.’

After a few deep breaths she said, ‘Aren’t we forgetting why I’m here? You wanted me to fill in the gaps in your knowledge, and I’ll do it, but my feelings are none of your business. Off-limits. Do you understand?’

He nodded. ‘Of course.’ He managed a faint smile. ‘I told you that Elena thinks I’m a mannerless oaf, without subtlety or finesse, going through life like a steamroller. I dare say by now you agree with her.’

She shrugged. ‘Not really. You said yourself, we all find our own way of coping. Yours is different to mine, but to hell with me! To hell with the rest of the world. If it works for you…’

‘My way no more works for me than yours works for you,’ he said quietly. ‘But with your help I might find a little peace of mind. I’m afraid my manners deserted me earlier today.’

‘You’re referring to the way you kidnapped me?’

‘I wouldn’t exactly say— Yes, I suppose I did. I apologise.’

‘Now that I’m here,’ she said wryly.

‘Yes, it’s easy to apologise when I’ve got my own way,’ he agreed with a touch of ruefulness. ‘That’s how I am. Too late to change now. And if you can tell me anything…’

‘Are you sure you want to know? Learning the details doesn’t make it any easier. If anything it hurts more.’

He nodded as if he’d already thought of this.

‘Even so, I’ve got to pursue it,’ he said. ‘You of all people should understand that.’

‘You really know nothing about James?’

‘Carlotta rented a small apartment in Florence, but it was in her name with no mention of him on the paperwork. I went over there and found enough to tell me that her lover was called James Franklin, but that was all.’

‘No other address?’

‘One in London, in Dalkirk Street, but he’d left it shortly before.’

‘Yes, that was where he lived when I knew him. Did you discover when the Florence apartment was rented?’

‘September.’

‘So soon after they met,’ she murmured.

‘That was my thought too. Their affair must have started almost at once, and the first thing she did was hunt for a love nest. I found it looking oddly bare—very little personal stuff, almost like a hotel room. I suppose they spent all their time in bed.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed huskily. ‘I suppose so. But surely he must have brought some things with him from England?’