The Rinuccis: Carlo, Ruggiero & Francesco: The Italian's Wife by Sunset. Lucy Gordon

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СКАЧАТЬ began to kiss her everywhere, murmuring softly as he did so. Bittersweet pleasure and happiness warred within her. It was the last time, but the joy of the moment was there, hot and fierce, driving out any other thought. She would love him now, and afterwards she would survive somehow.

      His lovemaking was like never before, yet still the culmination of all the other times. He drew on everything he’d learned about her to increase her pleasure, calling up a storm of memories with each movement, prolonging the moments while her tension rose and she wanted to cry out for her release. But he made her wait, reminding her of how she loved this, how long the years ahead would be without the warmth of his love, asking whether she could live without it.

      The answer terrified her. But she had made her decision, and she wouldn’t let him suspect that her heart was already breaking.

      ‘Don’t go,’ he whispered. ‘Stay with me.’

      Before she could answer he entered her, moving against her with passion and tenderness until she wanted to weep. As her climax came she clung to him, looking up into his face, filled with love and fear.

      Their parting was a kind of death, and brutal reality was still there, waiting, remorseless.

      ‘Stay with me,’ he whispered again. But even as he said the words he saw the desperation in her face, not what he was searching for.

      ‘It’s changed nothing, has it?’ he asked bleakly.

      ‘Nothing. I’m sorry.’

      He rose and left the room without looking at her. After that there was nothing to do but get dressed and prepare to leave.

      ‘I’ll take you to the airport,’ he said when she joined him.

      ‘There’s no need. I’ll take a taxi.’

      ‘I’ll take you to the airport,’ he repeated obstinately.

      The journey was a surreal experience. They travelled mostly in silence, and when they spoke it was about mundane matters—her ticket, her luggage.

      At Naples Airport he came inside with her, watching as she checked in her luggage.

      ‘I’m a bit late for the plane,’ she said, looking anxiously at the board. ‘I should go.’

      ‘Yes, you’ll have to hurry. By the way—about the series—of course I can’t be in it.’

      ‘I suppose not.’

      ‘But you’ll find another frontman,’ he said coolly. ‘They’re ten a penny.’

      Then, without warning, he broke.

      ‘I can’t stay angry with you,’ he whispered. ‘Della, for pity’s sake, forget everything—forget what I’ve said—what you’ve said. None of it matters. Let’s put all this behind us and love each other as we did before.’

      She shook her head violently.

      ‘I’ll always love you,’ she said. ‘But it was only a dream—’

      ‘And you can let it go just like that? Did it mean so little to you?’

      ‘Don’t,’ she said, closing her eyes. ‘You’ll never know what it meant to me. But we can’t build a life on it, and one day you’ll know I was right.’

      He grasped her hand so hard that it hurt.

      ‘But you’re not right. You’re taking us to disaster and you can’t see it. Della, I’ll beg you one last time—don’t do this to us both.’

       ‘This is the final call …’

      ‘No,’ he said fiercely, taking hold of her. ‘I won’t let you go. You’re staying with me.’

      She didn’t answer in words, just shook her head in dumb misery, and at last he released her with a gesture of despair. She walked through the gate, meaning to go on without looking back. But at the last minute she had to know if he was still there, and turned slowly.

      The crowd was building up, other faces passing in front of his. But she could just make him out, watching her until the very last moment, motionless, like a man whose life was ebbing away, until the crowd moved again and she could no longer see him.

      CHAPTER NINE

      DELLA took off from Naples in sunshine and landed in England in pouring rain. The perfect comment on her situation, she thought, if you were of a dramatic turn of mind.

      Sol was at the airport, relieved that she had arrived to sort out his problems.

      ‘Good to have you back, Mum,’ he said, hugging her.

      They’d had this conversation before, and her next line was, It’s lovely to be back, darling.

      But this time the words wouldn’t come, and she was glad to hurry to the waiting taxi.

      As they reached the houseboat Sol said, ‘I’ve done some cleaning up, so that it’s perfect for you.’

      ‘You’ve done some cleaning up?’ she queried.

      ‘Jackie helped me a bit,’ he conceded.

      ‘Hmm!’

      The place was spotless, which convinced her that this was mostly her secretary’s work, but she let the subject drop. Sol was on his best behaviour—carrying her bags into the bedroom, telling her to sit down, making her coffee.

      ‘The situation must be pretty bad to make you such a perfect gentleman,’ she said, slightly amused despite her unhappiness.

      ‘I just don’t know what to think. What am I going to do with a baby?’

      ‘I thought the idea was for me to arrange everything?’

      ‘You’re wonderful.’ He kissed her cheek.

      ‘Sure I am,’ she said wryly.

      With such domestic diversions she was able to fend off reality for a while. Even when she went to bed and lay thinking of Carlo she fell mercifully asleep within a few minutes. She began to think she might be let off lightly.

      She discovered otherwise the following morning, when she awoke at dawn and went on deck to watch the sun come up over the river. It was a mistake. She found herself reliving the day they’d met when she’d told Carlo about this scene.

      ‘You have to catch the moment because it vanishes so quickly.’

      She’d said that, meaning the magic of dawn on the water, not knowing how perfectly the words would apply to their brief time together. The moment had come and gone, vanishing for ever, uncaught.

      Now the memory would always be there, waiting for her with every dawn.

      She went quickly back inside.

      Nobody in the Rinucci family thought it strange СКАЧАТЬ