The Rinuccis: Carlo, Ruggiero & Francesco

‘I guess I wouldn’t mind helping out,’ he said, and found a trowel in his hand before the words were finished.

Carlo put his arm around Della’s shoulder.

‘You and I should go and consider the rest. We need to have serious business discussions.’

As he drew her away Della couldn’t resist one glance over her shoulder.

‘No,’ Carlo said firmly, tightening his arm. ‘He’s all right.’

‘He’ll get fed up in ten minutes.’

‘You do Lea an injustice. An hour at least. Forget him. From now on you belong to me.’

There was only one proper answer to this chauvinistic statement: to point out that as a modern, liberated woman she belonged to no man, and he must respect that. It must have been a moment of weakness that made her rub her cheek against the back of his hand on her shoulder, and say, ‘That sounds lovely.’

They had no chance to spend the morning alone. First Carlo had to talk with the colleague who had asked him to be there early. Then he had to take the reins back into his own hands, and she listened with interest as he gave his instructions, contriving not to make them seem like orders, and generally had everything his own way by the exercise of charm.

It was an impressive performance, and it inspired her to map out this segment of the series.

They had lunch with Sol, who was hot and bothered, and not in the best of tempers.

‘A strong lad like you,’ she teased him.

‘It’s not that,’ he said. ‘It’s just that it’s boring.’

‘Surely not?’ Carlo said. ‘My friends are very pleased with you. In fact, if you want a job they’d be glad to—’

‘I don’t think that’s quite me,’ Sol said hastily. ‘I don’t see myself as an archaeologist.’

‘No, it takes brains,’ Della teased.

‘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—’

‘Hush!’ She laid her fingertips over his mouth. ‘Not here. Not now.’

‘As my lady pleases.’

The entrance of a party of schoolchildren made them pull apart and hurry away.

For the rest of the day he was relaxed and happy, content simply to be with her. Sometimes she would look up to find him smiling, at peace with the world.

And yet it was that which made her uneasy. Clearly he had no worries—like a man completely sure of her answer. The doubts that tormented her seemed not to trouble him. She wished that she could dismiss those doubts so easily.

Soon she must have a sensible talk with him, beginning, I’m far too old for you—

But that wouldn’t be the end, she reassured herself. Marriage was impossible, but they could stay together while they made the series—perhaps for a year. By then he would realise that she was too old for him, and things would come to a natural conclusion.

It was bliss to live with Carlo, to wake up with him, to be with him every moment and go to sleep in his arms, without having to wait for his arrival, bid him goodbye or worry about anyone else.

The only awkward note came one night when they dined at the villa. Luke and Primo had returned home, but Francesco was still there, also Ruggiero, who had brought Myra.

‘It was Mamma’s idea,’ he murmured to Della.

‘So I would have supposed,’ she murmured back, amused by Hope’s none-too-subtle way of reminding her that the trail led back from Myra to her grown son.

Not a word was said. Hope was too clever to press the point, and her manner to Della could not be faulted. She treated her as a guest of honour, and let it be known in a thousand little ways that if this was her darling son’s choice she was prepared to accept her.

Everyone except Myra was relieved when the evening was over. Della returned Hope’s implacable smile with one that she hoped was equally resolute, and sagged as soon as she got into the car.

‘Even I find them a bit overwhelming,’ Carlo said sympathetically.

They didn’t discuss the matter again until they were ready for bed, when she breathed out, saying, ‘Your mother doesn’t like me, and she’s never going to.’

‘It’s just a passing phase because she knows you’re the one and only. Nobody else has mattered like you. Wait until Sol finds his one and only.’ Carlo chuckled at the thought. ‘You’ll be exactly the same.’

‘Thank goodness he’s too young for that. The college has agreed to take him back, so I’m washing my hands of him.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Or I would be if I believed it.’

Later she was to remember those remarks with irony. For now she was glad to let everything float away as she snuggled down in bed with him.

They made love sleepily, enjoying taking their time. The languorous pleasure seemed to hold her captive, making everything part of the same dream, a dream in which the world was simple.

‘Say yes,’ Carlo whispered. ‘Say you’ll marry me—it’s so easy.’

He was right. It was so easy. The word hovered on the tip of her tongue. In another moment it would be said and the decision made. So easy—

Her phone rang, breaking the spell.

‘If that’s Sol I’ll wring his neck,’ Carlo growled.

And it was Sol, sounding desperate.

‘Mum, is that you?’

‘Yes, it’s me. Sol, whatever is the matter?’

‘Gina just came to see me.’

‘Gina? Oh, yes—she was the one before Sally, wasn’t she? How is she?’

‘Mum, she’s pregnant.’

Della sat up in bed. ‘She’s what?’

‘She’s pregnant. She’s going to have a baby. She says it’s mine.’

‘Do you think it is?’

‘Well—yes, probably. We were very intense for a while, and I don’t think she’d have had much chance to—you know—’

‘I get the picture.’

‘Mum, what can I do? She says she wants to have it.’

‘Good for her.’

‘It’s not. It’s a disaster.’ His voice rose to a wail. ‘I’m gonna be a daddy.’

‘Sol, for heaven’s sake calm down.’

‘How can I calm down? It’s terrible.’

‘We’ll manage something.’

‘Will you come and talk some sense into her?’

‘Not the way you mean. I’ll come and offer her my help and support.’

‘Oh, yeah? So that she can make you a granny? Is that what you want?’

‘What does it matter what I—? What did you say?’

‘I said she’s going to make you a grandmother. Are you going to support her in that? Mum? Mum, are you still there?’

‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m here. Sol, I’ll call you back.’

‘When are you coming home?’

‘Soon. Goodbye, darling. I can’t talk now.’

She hung up and sat there, not moving, sensing the world shift on its axis. Just a few words, yet nothing was the same. Nothing would ever be the same again.

She was going to be a grandmother.

‘What is it, cara?’ Carlo asked, startled by the sight of her face.

A grandmother.

‘Della, whatever’s the matter? What did Sol have to say?’

She remembered her own grandmother, a grey-haired elderly lady.

‘Cara, you’re scaring me. Tell me what’s happened.’

She was going to be a grandmother.

‘Della, for pity’s sake—are you laughing?’

‘Yes, I think I am,’ she gasped. ‘Oh, dear, I must have been mad. Well, I came down to earth in time.’ She was shaking with bitter laughter.

‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.’ He tried to speak lightly, but there was a nameless dread growing inside him.

‘I’m not sure I really know myself,’ she said, forcing herself to quieten down before she was overtaken by hysterics. ‘I’ve been living in fantasy land—it’s been like a kind of madness, and I didn’t want it to end. But it had to. Now it has.’

She began to laugh again, a kind of gasping moan that drove him half wild.

‘Stop it,’ he said, seizing her shoulders and dropping down beside her. When she didn’t stop he gave her a little shake. ‘Stop that!’ he said, in a voice that sounded suddenly afraid.

‘It’s all right,’ she said, ceasing abruptly. ‘My head’s clear again now.’

‘For the love of heaven, will you tell me what’s happened? Is Sol in some sort of trouble?’

‘Yes. I’ve got to go back to England and help him.’

‘Then we must get married first. I don’t want you going back until you’re wearing my ring. Don’t shake your head. You were about to say yes—you know you were.’

‘Yes, I was. Because I was mad. But now I’m sane again. My darling, I can’t marry you. Not now or ever.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

FOR a moment Carlo didn’t speak, refusing to allow her words to alarm him.

‘You still haven’t told me what’s happened,’ he pointed out. ‘What did Sol tell you?’

‘He’s got a girl pregnant. I’m going to be a grandmother in a few months. What’s so funny?’

A roar of laughter had burst from him, but he controlled it quickly, his eyes on her face.

‘I’m sorry, cara, I can’t help it. If there’s one young man in the world I’d have thought would land in that kind of trouble, it’s Sol. Don’t tell me you’re surprised. I suppose he called you to sort it out for him?’

‘Carlo, did you hear what I said? I’m going to be a grandmother.’

‘But why make such a tragedy of it? What are you saying? That you’re going to go grey-haired and wrinkled in the next five minutes? Or are you planning to get a walking stick?’

‘Don’t laugh at me.’

‘But it is laughable the way you make a fuss about trifles.’

‘I’m going to be a granny.’

‘So what? You haven’t changed. You’re still you—the same person you were five minutes ago. You haven’t suddenly become eighty just because of this.’

‘I’ve moved up a generation,’ she said stubbornly.

‘Then I’m coming with you,’ he said cheerfully. ‘We’ll buy two walking sticks and hobble along together. Now, come back to bed. The night isn’t over, and Sol’s problem has given me some interesting ideas.’

He tried to draw her down between the sheets again, but she resisted.

‘Will you try to be sensible?’

‘What for? What did being sensible ever do for anyone?’

She loved him in this mood, but this time she couldn’t yield to him. It was too serious.

‘I wish you’d listen,’ she said. As she spoke she fended him off, which made him stop and stare at her, puzzled.

‘I’ve said that you’re still you,’ he said. ‘The woman I love, and will love all my days. None of this makes any difference.’

But she shook her head helplessly.

‘It does.’

‘But why? You haven’t aged by so much as a second.’

‘Haven’t I? I’ve suddenly seen myself aging.’

‘Because of a word? Because that’s all “grandmother” is—a word.’ He tried again to take her into his arms. ‘Cara, don’t give in to fancies. None of this matters to us.’

He didn’t understand, she realised. His words were logical, but they had no effect on the chill of fear in her heart.

‘No, it’s more than a word.’ She sighed. ‘It’s a thought with a picture attached. You saw that picture yourself—grey-haired, wrinkled, walking stick. And it’s made me face up to something that in my heart I’ve always known.’

She took his face between her hands, trying to find the courage for what had to come next.

‘I fooled myself that it could work between us,’ she said at last. ‘What we have is lovely, and I didn’t want to spoil it. I still don’t. We can have everything we want—except marriage.’

He frowned, and the light died from his eyes.

‘What kind of everything do you have in mind?’

‘It’ll take months to make the programme, and we can have that time together. Afterwards—we’ll see what happens.’

There was a silence before he said, in a strange voice she’d never heard before, ‘Afterwards you think I’ll act like a spoilt brat who’s had his fun, dumps the woman, and goes onto the next thing? That’s your opinion of me? Do you even realise that you’ve insulted me?’

‘I don’t intend to insult you. I just think we should take life as it comes and not make too many demands on the future.’

He pulled away from her and got to his feet.

‘No,’ he said harshly. ‘What you think is that I’m not sufficiently adult to make a commitment. That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? Behind all this “too old” talk, what you’re really saying is that I’m too young—not up to standard? Why can’t you be honest about it, Della?’

‘Because that’s not what I mean,’ she cried passionately.

‘Isn’t it? Della, I’m thirty-one, not twenty-one. A man of thirty-one is usually reckoned mature enough to make his own decisions, and you’d see that too if you didn’t have this fixation about being older. I may look like a kid to you, but nobody else would say so.’

‘A man of thirty-one is still young, but I’m on the verge of middle age,’ she said fiercely. ‘You may not want to face it, but I have to.’

‘That’s a damned fool argument and you know it. Perhaps it’s just a cover for something uglier?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I think you decided you needed me just so long and no longer.’

Both his eyes and his voice were cold.

‘Have you been stringing me along? Making a fool of me just to get material for your programme?’ he demanded.

‘That’s nonsense. If all I wanted was research, I’ve got people to do it for me.’

‘But not as we’ve done. Living it. Feeling it. And why not have a nice little vacation at the same time? He looks promising, so let’s pick him up and try him out. If he succeeds as a toy-boy he may even succeed as a presenter—’

‘Don’t you dare say such a thing,’ she flashed. ‘There was nothing even remotely like that in my mind.’

‘From where I’m standing, that’s what it looks like.’

‘I never thought of you as a toy-boy—’

‘You thought of me as someone to be used—someone you could treat as a kid. I should have learned my lesson that first day, when you didn’t tell me the truth about why you were in Naples. I thought I’d met the woman of my dreams, and all the time you were sizing me up, assessing whether I fitted the slot. I had my warning, but like an idiot I ignored it because—well, never mind.’

He turned and moved away from her, as though he needed to put space between them.

‘You were going to keep me around for just so long, then end it when it suited you,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘It was nothing but a game to you.’

‘I thought it was only a game to you,’ she said wretchedly. ‘It ought to have been.’

‘“Ought to have been”?’ he echoed, aghast. ‘What the hell does that mean?’

‘In the beginning—’ She stopped, for emotion was making it hard for her to speak.

‘Yes?’ he said remorselessly.

‘At the start I thought it was just a fling, for both of us. It had to be for me, and honestly I thought you were just passing the time. Carlo, be honest. Women have come and gone in your life, haven’t they?’

‘Yes,’ he said bleakly. ‘Too many. But none of them meant anything compared to you. You’ve always been different. I tried to make you understand that, but obviously I didn’t do a very good job.’

‘I thought I’d be just another of them. What we had was lovely, but I knew it couldn’t last. I thought, Why shouldn’t we enjoy ourselves for a while? I truly believed you’d be the one to end it. I didn’t think your feelings would get that much involved.’

‘You treated me as something that had no feelings at all,’ he said harshly. ‘But I didn’t stick to the script, did I? I fell deeply in love with you and wanted to marry you.’

Suddenly he began to laugh, but not with amusement. It had a bitter sound. ‘Oh, boy! What a joke! How you must have loved that one!’

‘I swear you’re wrong. Carlo, listen to me. I love you more than I ever thought I could love any man, and I’ve tried to believe it’s possible for things to work out for us. Now I know they can’t.’

‘I’ve told you I don’t give a damn about your age. It doesn’t matter.’

‘But it’ll matter later. That seven years is going to stretch. I’ll be forty-five while you’re still in your thirties. Then fifty. Fifty is a big milestone, and I’ll pass it years before you do. You’ll be in your prime and I’ll be having face-lifts and injections.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ he said at once. ‘I want you as you are.’

‘Darling, when I’m fifty we won’t be together—’

‘Stop that talk. In a hundred years we’ll still be together.’

One minute they were quarrelling, the next he was laying out their future as though nothing had happened. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. His refusal to see the barrier between them made her love him more, but the effort of making him understand tore her apart.