Chapter 32 #2
‘Are you all right, Otto?’ she asked. ‘You look a bit peaky.’
‘I’m a bit under the weather. No big deal, I promise you.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re sure?’
He nodded. ‘More to the point, how are you?’
She rubbed her head. ‘A bit sore. Seen anything of Stanley Lucas?’
After they’d found out that Stanley Lucas had been released without further charge – despite the evidence of fraud and even more rumours of him living off immoral earnings – the man had seemed to disappear.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘I’m just wondering if he could be behind the man who threatened me,’ she said.
‘Maybe. Did you let the police know?’
She shook her head. ‘No, but I’m leaving Strait Street. The thing is I haven’t heard from Bobby and I’m thinking of going to England. I’ve had enough of dancing. I need a new start.’
‘Look,’ he said, seeming hesitant and dismayed at the same time. ‘I’ve been wondering what to do about this.’ He delved into his jacket pocket and drew out a newspaper cutting. ‘I didn’t know if you’d already seen it. Or what you might know. But from what you’ve said … well. You’d better read it.’
He unfolded it and then passed it to her.
She read the small item cut from an English newspaper and her heart almost stopped.
Sir Robert Beresford, Baronet, to marry blonde Texan oil heiress Joanna Walton in May 1930.
The waiter arrived with their customary high tea, but Otto waved him away.
Riva’s eyes stung, blurring with unshed tears.
She rose to her feet and crashed her way out of the Hotel’s tea rooms and into the street.
It couldn’t be true. She was carrying his child.
He couldn’t be doing this, not after their four years together.
His eyes full of sincerity, he had told her he would always love her.
She had believed him. He was her life. Had become her life.
She became aware of Otto steering her by the elbow.
‘Let’s get away from here – is there anywhere you’d like to go?’
She nodded. ‘Mdina. Can you take me there?’
He ushered her away from the crowds to where his car was parked. Numbly she got into the vehicle.
‘Shall we stop to get your things?’
She shook her head. She just wanted to get away from Valletta, from Kalkara too, as quickly as she could before anyone could see her breaking down.
After that he drove in silence. When they arrived at Mdina a little later, she said, ‘Could you tell Gianni I won’t be coming back to the club.
He knows I’m planning on leaving anyway. Tell him I’m sorry.’
Otto opened the car door for her and she stumbled out.
‘Can I do anything?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
He got back in and as she unlocked the huge front door, she knew she was going to be sick. She raced up the stairs to their apartment. His apartment. Then reached the bathroom just in time.
After she had splashed her face, she glanced in the mirror expecting the desolation to show.
It didn’t. She wandered into the bedroom and there on the bedside table was an envelope.
She ripped it open and read four words. I am so sorry.
That was all, followed by his name. She shredded the paper into tiny pieces and went out onto the terrace where she let them float away in the breeze.
So, he’d had time to come here and leave that pointless note.
What a fool she’d been. He could never have married someone like her, a cabaret dancer for God’s sake.
But it hurt so much to know she would never be good enough.
She’d given herself to him, trusted him, and he hadn’t even had the grace to tell her himself.
She remembered all the nights they’d spent in this apartment and now she wouldn’t be able to come here again.
He would come here with his wife. His wife.
It was unbearable. Worse than unbearable.
Had she been wrong about what he’d felt?
It had seemed so real, so true, the love they’d had.
The ways they understood each other. All the little things.
The newspaper must be mistaken, because if it were true, how could he not have told her himself?
As the sitting room became saturated with evening sunshine, she opened a bottle of wine and drank it all. Then she opened another and howled and howled while her heart broke over and over.
She wanted to hide in the apartment, in their bed, but eventually fell asleep on the sofa.
That night she felt the first wrenching pains in her tummy.
She ran to the bathroom and felt warm liquid trickle down between her thighs.
In the brightly lit bathroom she saw the blood, touched it with her fingertips, and tried to wipe it away.
But she couldn’t. Too fast, it kept on coming.
She wrapped her arms around her belly, panicking now, her heart galloping.
No. Please no. The baby, their baby, was all that she had left of Bobby.
She hadn’t even known if she wanted it, but now?
Yes. Yes. Now she wanted it with all her heart.
Lying on the bathroom floor with a towel under her head, she drew her knees up to her chest as the cramps grew worse.
It went on and on. Then later, as well as blood, she saw the first thick clots and she knew it was far too late.
Everything was coming out of her, and she could do nothing to stop it.
She wept, shocked, terrified, and feeling more alone than she had ever been before.
In the morning she felt hollowed out. She cleared up the blood, filled a bath, made a cup of tea, and then wrapped herself up in bed where she slept all day and most of the next night, where the shock, grief and loss could not reach her.
Except that in her dreams they did. She didn’t dream of the broken child who had so briefly been inside her and who hadn’t even had a chance of life.
Instead, she saw a little boy playing with a ball and a golden retriever puppy in the garden of a house.
In England, she thought. A little boy who called her Maman.
A little boy with blonde hair who looked just like Bobby.
With tears drying on her cheeks, she woke to the sound of the apartment door opening and went through. He was back.
‘Bobby,’ she called out and tried to stand but then fell onto the sofa as Addison entered the sitting room.
‘I have coffee,’ Addison said and scrutinised her. ‘Heavens you are looking pale.’
‘I …’
‘No need to speak. Try to drink some coffee. I have aspirin too.’
‘My head,’ she muttered feebly. She couldn’t tell him about the miscarriage, nor the pain in her belly, nor the awful mix of emotions that coursed through her in its aftermath. She felt numb, angry, sad, confused, all of those and all at once.
‘No need to speak,’ he said.
She sipped the coffee and Addison opened the terrace doors to let in some fresh air. She turned away from the bright light.
‘You knew?’ she eventually managed to say.
‘No, but I saw the announcement in the newspaper. I was going to come and find you today. I wasn’t sure if you knew.’
She shook her head.
‘He didn’t tell you?’
‘Not a word.’
‘It’s a bad business. My nephew is a good man, and I’ve always loved him, but I’m afraid he can be something of a moral coward. Mark my words, this will be his damn mother’s doing.’
‘How so?’
‘Already overspending, she then lost heavily in the Wall Street Crash. Needs Bobby to marry well to restore the family fortunes.’
‘And he always does what she wants?’ she muttered bitterly.
He shrugged.
‘Are you affected by the crash too?’
He shook his head. ‘Not me.’
She leant her head against the back of the sofa and felt as if she were falling into a deep hole. Despite the daylight her mind was thick with dark thoughts.
‘Sit up,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you to pass out.’
‘I’ve left my job and my house. I don’t know where to go.’
‘You can stay here as long as you want.’
‘What about Bobby and this woman? What if they come?’
‘I’ve already written and told Bobby that he’s to stay away. Anyway, I have another idea that might interest you. We can talk about it when you’re feeling a bit stronger. Do you think a spot of lunch later might help?’
She pulled a face.
‘Well let’s see. Just knock on my door if you need anything.’
‘Thank you.’
He nodded slowly. ‘You’re a good girl, Riva. As I said, this is a bad business. You deserve better.’
Settling into a chair after he’d gone, she felt too numb to cry any more.
She wanted their baby. She wanted Bobby.
She wanted anything but being alone like this, she needed him to hold her and yet, if he tried right now, she’d probably kill him.
Her thoughts roamed endlessly, snagged, roamed again, as she tried to figure out if she’d made a mistake without knowing it.
How had it ended like this? Without her even realising it was coming.
Should she have tried to control her temper?
Had she missed the clues? Not guessed how much the crash would have affected him or his mother.
He’d spoken of his mother’s growing money worries, but it had never sounded serious, and she hadn’t probed.
Hadn’t wanted to know. Perhaps if she’d asked him about it.
And yet, although she tried to find ways to blame herself, it came to nothing.
Bobby was marrying a rich girl because his mother needed him to.
Perhaps this is what would have happened all along.
Crash or no crash. He had never introduced her to his mother.
Not once. That should have told her all she needed to know.
And in this place of endless silence another doubt took hold, making her feel hot and panicky. What if Bobby actually loved this American girl? What if he’d never seriously been in love with Riva? She cried again, keening with a depth of sorrow she had never experienced before.
Consumed by memories of him she mourned the loss of their time together and the loss of their child.
The days passed. Somehow. And then the weeks.
Three of them. The longest and loneliest three weeks of her life.
She thought about her parents, even worried about them, wondering what had happened after she left Paris.
She felt sad about it all now, the way she’d left.
But the truth was she felt sad about everything now.
The narrative of her life had seemed so certain after she’d met Bobby.
It had felt significant with a shape to it she understood.
Now there was only turbulence and uncertainty.
Gradually anger took over from sorrow. She stormed around the apartment, thumped cushions, glared at her own reflection.
How dare he dismiss her like this, set her aside, like an old unwanted pair of shoes?
Well, she’d show him. She’d show them all.
But inside the anger, a little voice was whispering. What on earth are you going to do now?
I don’t know. I just don’t know.