Chapter Thirty-Three
By the time the exhibition tour started, Emerald had regained her equilibrium and was more positive in her mind about her career. Now that Marco was definitely out of the equation, she could embrace the art world and focus on herself.
She zipped herself into a cream linen dress with short sleeves and a sweetheart neckline and slipped on some navy wedges. The dress was modest but suited her hair colouring and emphasized the deepening tan she’d acquired while sitting in the traffic-free piazzas, sketching the street vendors and the locals.
She glanced in the mirror and was surprised, as she often was these days, to see the reflection of a tall, willowy woman with high cheekbones and full lips. She liked what she saw and hoped that another corner had been turned as a new assertive Emerald emerged. Slicking on some pink lip gloss, she set off for the exhibition, tucking her invitation to Retrospection and Introversion into her bag even though she was now well known enough not to need to show an invitation.
The exhibition she was visiting that day was a relaxed affair, giving Emerald time to stroll around to look at the other paintings when there was a quiet moment. She turned in to an alcove by a large door, which she’d missed earlier, to find a cluster of pictures lining the walls. She guessed this was the “introversion” part of the exhibition where serene pastels, watercolours and gentle charcoal portraits were intended to calm the mind.
One wall was full of charcoals and she moved towards it to get a better look at the style of the artist. They were tastefully framed charcoals, quite small but perfectly executed. As she grew closer, her eyes widened in disbelief. Her hand flew to her mouth as she stifled a cry. Where the hell had they come from?
She reached out and touched one, tracing the contours of the face she knew so well, shaking her head, unable to believe that her love for this man had been laid bare for everyone to see. Each portrait showed Marco Cavarelli at his most vulnerable: a close-up of him asleep on a sofa, his eyelashes fanning his cheek, his jaw jutting pleasingly as the light hit it from the window of an aeroplane. His expression was serious as he worked over his laptop.
There was even the very first one she’d drawn of him, with steam coming out of his ears and horns on his head. That was framed in red and drew the eye straight to it.
‘These are excellent, aren’t they?’ Anna sidled up to Emerald and studied the pictures. ‘It was fortunate that we could include them in the exhibition. They lend just the right tone, promoting what we are trying to achieve — not just trying to sell art for profit, you know?’
‘Where . . . where did you get them?’ Emerald stammered, thrown by the images on display when she’d thought they were safely tucked away somewhere.
‘Why, Marco Cavarelli loaned them to us. He is the patron of the exhibition and it was wonderful that he could add these.’ Anna peered at them. ‘They’re not signed, but the artist must be someone who knows him well. The medium of art is a wonderful way to express one’s emotions, and these positively vibrate with love, don’t you think?’ Anna smiled gently. Emerald looked at her and knew that Anna knew.
‘They’re not for sale,’ she exclaimed as angry tears blurred her vision.
Anna patted Emerald on the shoulder. ‘Oh, no, I don’t believe Mr Cavarelli would sell anything as precious as these.’
Emerald unclenched her fists, determined to regain control. It wasn’t her fault that her soul had been exposed for all to see. Blinking back tears, she gave Anna a watery smile, trying her utmost to pretend nothing had changed, but inside she was seething. How dare Marco do this to her? How dare he steal her work and bare her emotions to the art world while simultaneously rejecting her? It was too much.
She walked quickly out of the exhibition, flagged down a cab and instructed the driver to go straight to Marco’s hotel. She didn’t care if he was there or not — she would bloody well wait all night if she had to.
She marched across the marble floor and up the staircase, her anger driving her on, until she stopped outside Marco’s door. She took a deep, steadying breath which made no difference whatsoever and rapped on the door, almost crying with fury.
Marco opened the door and she launched herself through it, stumbling in her haste. ‘Emerald, what a lovely surprise!’ He tried to kiss her cheek but she lashed out at him.
‘Get away from me. I don’t want you to touch me!’ Her eyes blazed.
‘So it seems.’ He raised his hands and stepped away from her.
She squared her shoulders and glared at him. ‘You.’ She stabbed a finger in the air. ‘You do nothing but betray me.’ She pushed his shoulder as he stepped forward, swiping at her eyes. ‘I hate you.’
‘Then why are you here?’
‘To tell you how much I hate you.’
He inclined his head as if it was a satisfactory explanation. ‘Please calm down.’ He planted himself in front of her and tried to pull her into his arms. He reached out to stroke her hair, making soothing noises, but she pushed his chest as hard as she could, to free herself from his grip.
‘Get off me.’
‘Emerald, what is going on?’
‘You stole my portraits, my pictures, my soul .’
Marco sighed, his shoulders sagging perceptibly. ‘It’s not all about you, you know, I was helping out the organizers of the exhibition.’
His blasé attitude incensed Emerald, who stood with clenched fists, breathing so heavily she could barely speak, her jaw aching with the tension.
Marco simply glanced at her, inclined his head and said, ‘Come through.’ He led her into the sitting room, leaned against a table, folded his arms and studied her.
‘Please don’t think I want to be here. I had no intention of ever seeing you again,’ she said through gritted teeth, taking in the open laptop with a mug of coffee cooling next to it.
‘And yet . . .’ He motioned with his hand, pointing out the obvious.
‘I know, here I am again, but . . .’ The white-hot anger that had carried her through the streets of Florence as she railed against him, dissipated as she finally took in his face, his body, his everything — every single thing that she loved. She felt her lips tremble and bit her lower lip determined not to cry as she stared at him, loving him, wanting him. He looked cool and composed in a perfectly fitting crisp, blue linen shirt rolled up to the elbows, his dark eyes confused as he listened to her ranting at him. She hated him for it.
Yes, she hated him so much. How could he treat her in such a way? ‘Do you know what? I’m done here with you. Take my pictures, take my mind, my heart . . .’
‘Emerald. All I did was display your very fine charcoals at the exhibition—’
‘You showed everyone!’ She fell into a chair, uninvited, as her legs gave way.
‘I showed everyone what?’
‘You bared my soul and it was not yours to show. How dare you?’ She rubbed at her eyes, smearing mascara across her cheeks.
‘But there was nothing to tell — you told me that. You assured me, if I remember rightly, that there was nothing between us — that it was just a fling.’
Emerald clenched and unclenched her fists. She really thought she might break down into full-on sobbing, if she stayed much longer. ‘I hate you.’
‘So you said.’
She glared at him, wanting him, just for once, to shout back, or admit that he was in the wrong. Was he even capable of emotion? ‘Bloody man,’ she hissed.
Marco lifted an eyebrow but made no comment.
She shook her head and ran a hand across her forehead, utterly deflated. There was nothing left that he could do to her, now. She gathered herself, intending at least to leave with a shred of dignity. ‘If you could make sure my drawings come back to me, please.’
He studied her. ‘Why did you draw my face so many times?’
‘What?’
‘If you hate me so much, why did you draw me so many times?’
‘Because . . .’
‘I’ll tell you what, why don’t we have a glass of champagne, while you think about the answer? I was just about to open a bottle.’
‘I don’t want a glass of champagne.’
But Marco ignored her and she heard the quiet pop as the cork was pulled. He nudged a glass into her hand and she held it awkwardly, grudgingly, but she could hardly drop it on the floor, much as she was tempted.
‘Let’s sit on the balcony, shall we?’ Again, he didn’t wait for her answer but picked up the bottle and his glass and took them outside. She followed, watching him surreptitiously. His own jaw was clenched and his back was rigid. He wasn’t quite as relaxed as he was trying to appear, and was probably keeping hold of his own temper, she decided. She wished he would fight back — she needed him to fight back, so she could feel vindicated.
‘Bloody man,’ she hissed under her breath again, reluctantly joining him on the rattan sofa, once more. She sipped her champagne, the bubbles making her tongue tingle. She didn’t even notice the taste of it, although she imagined it was a great vintage. She set her still-full glass down. He wasn’t going to appease her that easily.
Marco turned his head towards Emerald, watching her with measured eyes, taking his time to evaluate her, and it annoyed her. She picked up her glass again under his intense scrutiny and drained it in one go.
He drew in a breath. ‘ Bene ! Let’s talk, now you have calmed down a little.’
She narrowed her eyes. Was there no way to fluster him?
He continued. ‘I was prepared to believe that you didn’t want to see me again, but—’
‘Just tell me why you sent me a text asking me to clear my desk,’ she interrupted him. ‘I think the answer to that will pretty much sum up your true character. What you did to me was . . .’ She choked out the words, the remembered pain hitting her with a thump, straight to her heart. She met his eyes. ‘It was unforgiveable, Marco.’
‘Drink more champagne, Emms,’ Marco instructed, pressing his forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his nose, an action she’d noticed he did when under duress.
She glared at him for calling her Emms as he refilled her glass.
‘I want to show you something.’ Marco stood up and pointed into the distance. ‘Look over the hills to where the sky meets the greenery. Just there, you can see the glint of a lake if you look really hard.’
She squinted at the horizon and found a long flat roof amid a field of green, beside a lake that looked like a drop of rain it was so far away.
‘What about it?’
‘Next to the lake is my house. I started building it five years ago. It was to be my family home, but my wife left me for a flashier version of myself, before it was completed. She took off in my E-Type Jag — which, incidentally, I never saw again. I, unsurprisingly, didn’t have the enthusiasm to finish the interior of the house and pretty much moved in here.’ He leaned over the balcony railings as he gazed over the hills, his mind seemingly elsewhere. Finally, he turned around to face her.
She gulped at her champagne and stared at him. ‘And?’
‘Until I met you.’ His statement was flat, without emotion and Emerald was once again left confused.
‘When I left you in England, it was to instruct the builders to restart my home .’ He emphasised the word home but he sounded weary.
Emerald was puzzled as to the relevance of his story. ‘Good for you.’
Marco’s voice became wistful. ‘My house in the mountains is wonderful. You can see for miles on a clear day and night time, well, all the stars in the universe gather to show off.
‘But, back to our conversation . . .’
‘I asked you to clear your desk so that you would find the tickets for you and I to visit Florence. I had removed the barrier stopping me from declaring my intentions, as it were,’ he said, talking over the top of her. ‘Unfortunately, things didn’t go quite to plan. As bad luck would have it, Charlotte went into labour before printing off the tickets and putting them in the envelope on your desk for you to find. I returned to England not even a week later by which time you’d already disappeared — and blocked my number.’ He put his hand over his heart.
‘So, your turn. Back to your drawings and why you chose to draw someone you hated so much, so very many times, and why you thought I had taken your soul when I borrowed your portraits.’ He sat back down next to her and his eyes levelled with hers.
His nearness was intoxicating and she felt slightly dizzy. She really shouldn’t have knocked back that glass of champagne.
‘Well . . . you just shouldn’t have taken them and used them without my permission.’
‘The folder was in your drawer at work.’
‘You had no right to look through my private things.’
‘You left them behind and they were on my property.’ Marco raised his hands in appeal. ‘I’m sorry, that’s a weak excuse, okay? But I would like to know why you are so upset about me showing them to the art world.’
Emerald took another slug of her champagne. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’
‘It mattered fifteen minutes ago — why not now?’
She looked for an answer in her wine glass and when it wasn’t forthcoming she looked at Marco instead, her eyes no longer full of hostility.
He stared her out with eyes that sparked humour and interest, mixed with a flash of exasperation. In return she brazened it out, glaring right back at him until their eyes locked.
A heartbeat passed and she waited for Marco to speak as a small smile flickered on his face and his eyes softened. ‘Might it be because your love for me shone out of those drawings? I might be wrong, of course.’ He raised his glass to his lips and gazed at her from over the rim.
She stared back, remembering the lips that she had sketched on paper so many times and how much she enjoyed being kissed by them, while snuggled in their owner’s arms. She slid her gaze away. As if she’d confess to loving him after he’d said it was all over.
But unexpectedly he took the glass from out of her hand and trailed his fingers along her arm and upward to caress her neck, a whisper of his skin touching hers.
She shivered involuntarily. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She was supposed to be angry with him. ‘Marco, why are you touching me?’
‘Because I like the softness of your skin and it’s been too long since I held you.’
‘Oh.’ She swallowed and tried not to lean in to his caress as he drew closer. His lips hovered near her shoulder, his breath warm and inviting.
‘You were about to leave, weren’t you? Finish your drink first,’ he whispered into her skin, which sizzled at his touch, her body heating with longing.
‘I would, but it’s kind of hard to pick up my glass right now . . .’
He was definitely far too close to ignore. She hovered between indecision and action, feeling confused and awkward. Should she tell him to back off or draw him closer?
He smoothed her cheek with his palm and turned her face towards his. ‘I left England so that we could do this thing the right way. I did not want you to be just another rumour on the society circuit and when that journalist published the photos of us, in St Martin’s, for the first time ever I felt violated — for you as well as me. Normally I just smile and shrug it off.’ He shrugged now. ‘And, being the old-school type, I also wanted to tell my father of my plans.’
‘Oh!’ The breath left her body in a rush at his words. ‘I didn’t know. Your plans?’
‘I had thought we could marry eventually and you could live over here, in my beautiful house that is now complete, but I realize now that it was presumptuous of me to make such a huge decision on your behalf. I was taught to look after my women, but I guess it’s far too outdated an idea nowadays to be considered chivalrous.’
Emerald could only stare wide-eyed at him as he continued. ‘When I left you behind in England, it was to finalize my divorce. I had a newfound sense of urgency that in hindsight was probably misplaced, but it felt real at the time.’ He glanced at Emerald and she thought his expression was one of someone who didn’t much like what he saw.
‘When we travelled to Florence together — using the tickets that never materialised — I was going to show you my house, and then we were to travel to a lovely hotel in Bora Bora for a proper holiday — where you categorically would not have needed your welly boots or a hat — and privacy is taken very seriously. That was why I asked you to clear your desk — in the disastrous text message I sent you.’
Emerald pulled away from Marco’s touch. This conversation was too important for distraction. She thought for a minute before speaking. ‘I spent half of my life being told what to do, before realising that no one actually cared what I did as long as it didn’t interfere with their plans.’ She clasped his hand in both of hers and went on. ‘I’m sorry that it’s made me what I am, but I don’t think I’m past redemption, if — you know — you wanted to take another chance on me.’
‘You don’t have the monopoly on betrayal, you know. I’ve been hurt too,’ Marco said. ‘Not many people end their days unscathed by love. But to be loved you need to give love. The same with trust. I am prepared to trust you and it’s a given that I love you.’
‘A given, is it?’ She smiled. ‘Not the most romantic way for someone to say I love you. ’ A flicker of a smile crossed her face. She finally understood how hard it was for him to lay his feelings out, but everyone has a story that shapes their emotions. Nodding in understanding, she said, ‘I would like there to be an us again.’
‘So, we will work at our relationship.’
‘Are you asking me, or telling me?’
‘I’m hoping that you’ll say what I want to hear.’
‘I love you?’
He smiled. ‘That’s the one.’ He took her hand. ‘So, can we work through this, together, given your — err change in circumstances?’ Marco was silent for a moment, before saying, ‘By that, I mean that I’m hoping the art studio I’ve set up for you will be enough to entice you to my villa in the mountains. Or maybe the paddock for your horse, or maybe the infinity pool will swing it — whatever floats your boat.’
‘That sounds like the purest form of bribery.’ Emerald laughed, crinkling her nose as if she was thinking about his offer.
‘It works for me.’ Marco shrugged, grinning. Another beat passed before he leaned towards her and cupped her cheek with his hand. ‘I love you and want to do right by you, just tell me what that is.’ He lowered his lips to hers, delivering the softest kiss, holding infinite tenderness and love. Emerald sighed with relief. He drew away, saying, ‘You have no idea how much I’ve missed your kiss. Stay with me, Emms, tonight.’
‘And we are in it for real, this time?’
‘I always was.’
Emerald smiled, forgiving him instantly. ‘I’ll have to phone Anna to say I won’t be returning with the team.’
‘I already did.’
‘What? When?’
‘When she called to tell me you were on your way to see me. I wasn’t going to let you go this time.’
Emerald shook her head. ‘And you said you’d changed!’
‘Do you want me to change more?’
‘No.’ She smiled. ‘I love you just the way you are.’
‘ Bene .’ He stood and held out his hand and angled his head towards the bedroom.
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Are you suggesting that we go to bed, Mr Cav.’
‘We could—’ he raised an eyebrow ‘— reacquaint ourselves with each other.’
‘Not the subtlest offer I’ve received, but—’
‘Let’s just run with it, eh?’ He grinned as she took his hand.
Emerald looked out into the distance at the sun, sending orange shards of light through the clouds, burnishing the sky and lighting up the horizon. It reminded her of a picture that hung over the chapel at St Teresa’s convent. God coming down to Earth in all His Glory , she seemed to recall. She sucked in a breath, her gaze switching to Marco and back to the incredible sunset behind his head. Her fingers twitched in her urge to paint it.
Marco swivelled around, taking in the view. He turned back to face Emerald, his eyes wide with incredulity. ‘Really?’
Her expression was rueful. ‘Sorry, but . . .’
Marco’s face fell.
She grinned, took his outstretched hand and said, ‘There will always be another sunset,’ and followed him into the bedroom.
THE END