Chapter 21
It took Amy a long time to get to sleep that night as her mind turned over and over all sorts of thoughts. In particular, she found herself thinking about her mother. She remembered the bitterly sad time at the hospice where her mum had spent her final days, during which Amy had burst into tears more times than she could recall Every day she had got up late and every night she’d gone to bed at nine o’clock, but she had still felt exhausted, drained by her emotions. Her mother’s death had reduced her to a state of near desperation for some time, but now, as the months passed since it had happened, she felt she was finally able to come to terms with the loss and start looking forward, not back. The discovery of her real father – even if she had never seen him – somehow helped. And, to a great extent, this new-found optimism was the best possible gift her father could have given her. It just hurt so bitterly that he had been prevented from ever meeting his daughter.
The news that Adam was alive and well came as a welcome relief, but she couldn’t help mulling over what Danny had said about him and his job. She and Adam were more similar than she had thought and the upshot of this discovery wasn’t heartening. What if she were to give up her job in London and move here to be with Adam, only to find that he insisted on carrying on with what sounded like a very risky occupation? Thinking about it, that was exactly what her mother had done when she had married a soldier. She had presumably entered into that relationship with her eyes open, realising that there was a chance that every time her man went on active service he might not come back. And, of course, that was exactly what had happened. Was she herself prepared to enter into a similar relationship?
Of course this was all pie in the sky for now. She liked Adam and she felt pretty sure he liked her – and certainly his brother appeared to confirm that. But that was as far as it went, at least for now. There was every chance that he would return from Brazil to tell her that he had no intention of settling down with her or any other woman. Maybe there already was another woman, unbeknown to her or even to his brother. The fact was that so much about Adam was still a mystery and she gave herself a mental reality check. She barely knew him and yet here she was hypothesising about a future together when they barely had a present.
Next day she carried on cleaning, looked on as her new washing machine was installed, and then took Max for another walk, her mind still elsewhere. After a salad lunch, banishing thoughts of her mother or Adam, she turned her attention to the man she now knew to be her real father. It occurred to her, not for the first time, that she had no image of him apart from his passport photo, but this was so stern and expressionless that it could have been of anybody. Adam had told her that she had the same colour of eyes as her dad, and various people had told her that he had been a good-looking man, but she really needed a decent photo.
Because of his reputed mistrust of technical things, she knew there was little point looking on the Internet. She had already tried, starting with his publishers, but there had been no photos of him at all, no doubt because they didn’t want the truth of his identity to leak out, seeing as he had been a man writing as a woman. It occurred to her that he might have some photographs hidden away amongst all the papers in his study, so she went upstairs to look. His desk had been moved to one side to allow the plumber and electrician to work and it was still covered with a dust sheet. She pulled this off, sat down in his chair, and started looking through the drawers.
She was there for almost an hour and by the end of it she had found only three photos of him. All of them were of a man in his fifties or sixties, nothing earlier. One was of him in tennis gear receiving a trophy of some sort, one was of him at a formal dance in a dinner jacket, and there was only one of him relatively close up, sitting out on the terrace alongside the house. She sat and studied it carefully, starting with the eyes, which were, as Adam had said, the same grey/blue colour as hers. He had chestnut brown hair, not dissimilar to hers, and he had broad shoulders and strong forearms. He was wearing a plain white shirt and her eye was suddenly drawn to an object lying on the bench beside him. It was, without question, a woman’s handbag. Presumably this meant that the photo had been taken by the owner of the handbag, which implied that at least on one occasion he had had female company here at l’Ospedaletto. Alas, there was no clue as to the identity of his female companion.
She got up and was about to leave the study when her eye was drawn to a slim cardboard folder squeezed in between three or four tall books on the bottom shelf of one of the bookcases. She pulled it out and opened it to find that it contained a couple of dozen photographs. She glanced through them and got a shock. They were photos of her. She sat back down on the chair and sifted through them, quickly finding that they were in chronological order, starting when she must have been seven or eight. The first photos were of her school nativity play and she still remembered how excited she had been when the teacher had chosen her to play the part of Mary holding a doll dressed up as baby Jesus. There were three photos taken at different moments of the performance, presumably with a telescopic lens from some distance as the rows of heads of the audience partially obscured the stage. Her father must have sneaked in at the back, so as not to be seen by her mother.
These photos were followed by others – a couple of her at school prize-giving as a teenager, one of her in black-and-white, clearly taken from the local newspaper when she had received her Duke of Edinburgh’s Award, and the final handful were of her graduation day. Once again, these had been taken from a discreet distance and she could imagine him skulking around, desperate to see his daughter while making sure her mother didn’t spot him. It was tragic and she felt the tears once again on her cheeks. It was a considerable time later that she stirred and went downstairs again, still clutching the three photos of her father. She propped these on the shelf beside the fireplace and stood for a minute or two studying them before letting herself out and heading across the road to see if Max wanted a walk. Needless to say, he did.
As they walked up the hill, she called Lucy to give her the news about the photos and she heard immediate interest and sympathy in her friend’s voice.
‘That’s amazing, Amy. Poor man, having to creep around like a criminal.’ The exasperation in Lucy’s voice was the same as Amy herself had been feeling. If only her mother had realised the hurt she had caused. ‘But at least it means he did see you – even though he never got near you – so he must have had that satisfaction at least.’
‘I suppose that’s something.’
‘So, when does Price Charming arrive back home?’ Amy had called her the previous day on the way home from Danny’s studio to give her the big news about Adam.
‘I’m not sure, but very soon.’
‘Well, don’t you forget what I told you to do. Think rabbits, Amy.’
‘I’ve got enough trouble with snakes in my cellar, thank you.’
‘Is that a metaphor?’
‘Luce, please!’
‘Well, promise me you’ll at least try to wear something appealing.’
Amy knew full well what sort of clothing Lucy had in mind. ‘I’ll wear something nice, I promise, but I don’t intend throwing myself at the poor man.’
‘You’ve only got another week over there. You can’t afford to waste time.’
Next day, Signora Grande told her that she was once more going to see her sister and Amy was delighted to look after Max all day. She bundled him into the car and they spent the morning walking in the woods. While he ran happily about, chasing after the sticks and pine cones she threw for him, she tried looking for mushrooms. After a lot of searching, to her surprise and delight she actually found some. In a little glade among sweet chestnut and oak trees, she came upon a little family of porcini. Daddy porcino was the height of a tumbler with a beautiful brown cap, sponge beneath, and a blemishless cream-coloured base. The other two were carbon copies, just a little smaller. She squeezed them into a plastic bag and returned to the car in triumph.
She spent the afternoon cleaning the house while Max snored on an old rug by the empty fireplace. That evening, after taking him for another walk in the vineyard, Amy was checking her laptop for recipes involving porcini mushrooms and wondering whether it might be prudent to get the view of an expert before possibly poisoning herself, when there was a knock at the door. Max raised his head but clearly couldn’t be bothered to make the effort to get up and see who it was. So much for him as a guard dog. Amy opened the door and got a surprise. It was Domenica, not accompanied by her surly son.
‘Ciao, Domenica. How nice to see you again. Do come in.’
‘Ciao, Amy. I hope I’m not disturbing you.’ She sounded very hesitant and Amy was quick to reassure her.
‘Not in the slightest. Come on in. Would you like a glass of wine, or a cup of tea, coffee?’
Domenica shook her head. ‘I don’t want to take up too much of your time.’
She was still looking and sounding very uncertain so Amy ushered her in and pointed to the sofa. ‘I’ve got bags of time. Come and have a seat.’
Domenica was more casually dressed than the previous night at the restaurant, but still very elegant. There was no doubt about it, she was a very good-looking woman. Had she and her father been an item? Amy’s suspicions deepened. Although, she reminded herself as she hung the coat by the door, it was no business of hers whether her father had had a relationship with any woman. When she returned to the sofa, she saw Domenica stroking Max distractedly with one hand while she stared around in wonder. She looked back at Amy as she took a seat beside her.
‘Wow, you’ve done so much.’ She gave a little smile. ‘And I’m delighted to see you’ve put in radiators. I almost froze to death in here on many an occasion. Martin’s internal thermostat was at a different setting from the rest of us.’
Amy smiled back. ‘I’d already worked that out. This place must have been like a fridge in winter. I’m not sure even Max would have liked it.’ She poked the dog gently with her foot and glanced down at him. ‘Now lie down and leave Domenica alone.’ She was pleasantly surprised to see him do just that. As she returned her attention to her guest, she could see that she had something on her mind.
‘Um, Amy, I’ve been putting off coming to see you but I can’t put it off any longer. We need to talk, you see.’ Amy saw her take a deep breath. ‘It’s about Martin and me…’
Her voice tailed off miserably and for a moment Amy thought she might be about to cry, so she decided to give her a hand. ‘Were you and he close?’
Domenica looked up in surprise. ‘Yes, but how did you know?’
Amy gave her a gentle smile, deciding not to name her sources. ‘I guessed.’
Domenica looked up, straight into Amy’s eyes. ‘I loved him, Amy. I loved him so very dearly.’ And this time she did start crying.
Amy wasn’t sure what to do so she jumped to her feet and went along to the kitchen where she dug out a bottle of Signor Montalcino’s lovely red wine and two glasses. When she returned to the sofa, Domenica was wiping her eyes with a tissue while Max sat to attention at her feet, looking worried. Amy filled two glass and pressed one of them into Domenica’s hand.
‘Here, have a drop of this.’
Domenica took a mouthful as instructed and then gradually resumed her story. As it unfolded, Amy listened in rapt amazement.
‘I met Martin, your father, twenty-four years ago now. I suppose it was love at first sight – at least as far as I was concerned. We became close, very close.’ She paused for another sip of wine. ‘And then I got pregnant. I had a son, Rolando. You met him last night…’ Her voice tailed off again and Amy jumped in to help out.
‘But you and my father didn’t marry?’
Domenica shook her head and blew her nose, but when she replied, it was in a stronger voice. ‘No, Martin didn’t want to.’
‘You were the mother of his child and still he didn’t want to marry you?’ Suddenly Amy’s opinion of Martin Slater took a nosedive. The outrage in her voice must have got through to Domenica, who was quick to explain.
‘It was complicated, Amy. You see, the thing was that he never stopped loving your mother.’ She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand but managed to carry on. ‘Please don’t think too badly of him. It’s not as awful as it sounds. He was completely open and honest with me from the start. He told me he cared for me a lot, but his heart irrevocably belonged to her and to his daughter back in England. I honestly believe it frustrated him as much as it did me, but it was something he was powerless to control.’ She looked up from her hands for a moment. ‘Martin was always very generous. He bought me my house here. He arranged for royalties he got for his books every month to be paid direct to me and this produced more than enough to keep me and Rolando. It still does. I can’t complain about the way he treated me – at least as far as money’s concerned.’ Her eyes met Amy’s and the misery was all too clear to read. ‘The only stipulation was that we couldn’t marry or live together. He told me about the daughter he’d never met but, as he couldn’t be with her, it wasn’t right he should be with Rolando.’
Amy didn’t know what to say. All this time, since learning the truth about her father, she had been putting the blame for their separation on her mother’s inflexibility, but now it sounded as though her father had been equally pig-headed. She rolled her eyes in disbelief. Two people whose lives had been blighted, if not completely ruined, by a refusal to put the past behind them and move on. She was still trying to put her thoughts into words when Domenica continued.
‘Amy, Martin told me he wrote you a letter. Did you find it? He said it would be in the safe and you’d know how to open it.’
Amy nodded. ‘Yes, thanks, I found it. It explained so much but I’m still struggling to understand how two people could be so pig-headed.’
‘Love does funny things to people.’ In spite of the way she had been treated it was only too obvious that Domenica was still in love with this strange and troubled man.
They talked for a good long time and, by the end, Amy felt she knew her enigmatic father a lot better and she was developing a lot of affection – and pity – for this kindly woman who had been dealt just about as poor a hand by her father as her mother had dealt him. It beggared belief. Then, suddenly, something clicked in her brain.
‘Domenica, you’re going to think I’m totally stupid, but I’ve only just realised something now. Your son, Rolando, is my half-brother.’
Domenica nodded and smiled. ‘I wondered how long it would take you to work that out. I’m afraid I gave you a lot to take in.’
Amy sat back and took a couple of deep breaths. All her life she had thought of herself as an only child and now, suddenly, at the age of thirty-one she found she had a brother – all right, not a full brother, but they both shared the same father. Domenica was right. It certainly was a lot to take in.
‘And Rolando, how old is he now?’
‘He’s twenty-one.’ She looked up from her hands. ‘Look, Amy, that’s another thing I have to say to you. I have to apologise for him. You saw how rude he was last night but maybe after what I’ve just told you, you can begin to understand why.’
‘Of course. He sees me as the person who blighted your life and, by extension, his. Oh, Domenica, I’m so sorry. I knew nothing about all this but I feel awful. Do you think you could persuade him to come and talk to me? I’d love to try to clear the air between us and get to know my little brother.’ She shook her head in wonderment. ‘First I discover I have a father I didn’t know I had, and now I find I have a brother.’ She caught Domenica’s eye. ‘It’s taking a bit of getting used to. But, please, do you think you could speak to him? Tell him I’d love to get to know him.’
‘And I’m sure he’ll love you when he gets to know you, but he’s had this immense chip on his shoulder ever since I told him the truth a few years ago. From that day on he refused to speak to Martin. He can be very stubborn.’
‘He can be stubborn? I think we both know who he inherited that from. Would you and he like to come here for dinner one evening? I really would love to patch things up between us. By the way, we can keep this secret between us, if you like. Nobody else needs to be in on it, but I really would like to get to know Rolando.’
She read relief on Domenica’s face. ‘That would be perfect. I’ve never told anybody and I’d definitely prefer it if we keep this to ourselves. Considering how fast news travels here in Sant’Antonio, I’ve been amazed that we managed to keep the secret for so long. As for dinner, that’s very kind of you. I’ll do my best to persuade him to come. None of this is your fault; he has to realise that. The trouble is that Rolando could never understand Martin’s behaviour. I tried time and time again to explain it to him, but to no avail.’
‘I don’t blame him one bit.’ Amy reached across and squeezed Domenica’s arm. ‘I’m not so sure I understand it either.’ Anxious to change to a more cheerful subject, she jumped to her feet. ‘Do you know anything about mushrooms?’
Domenica looked at her in surprise. ‘Not a lot. I can recognise porcini and a couple of others that are good to eat, but I steer clear of any other types just in case.’
‘Terrific.’ Amy dashed to the kitchen and dug out her porcini and brought them back for inspection. Domenica’s eyes lit up.
‘What lovely mushrooms and so early in the season. Yes, these are porcini all right. What are you going to do with them?’
‘I was just trying to work that out when you arrived. Any suggestions?’
‘Is it just you or are you expecting company?’ Seeing Amy hold up a single finger, she continued. ‘Personally I love a starter of raw porcini, sliced and drizzled with lemon juice and olive oil. Follow that by cutting the larger ones into pieces the size of the segments of an orange, dip them in egg and flour, and then lightly fry them.’
‘Super, thanks. I’ll try that tonight.’ Another thought occurred to her and she pointed at the photos of her father on the shelf alongside the fireplace. ‘I’ve been looking for photos of my father but all I’ve found are these three. I don’t suppose you have any I could take a look at or copy, have you?’
Domenica nodded. ‘I have lots. I’ll have a sort through and next time we meet up I’ll bring them with me.’
‘Thank you so much. That’ll be one night next week when you come to dinner, hopefully with Rolando.’
‘I’ll do my very best to get him to come. Let me check with him to see which nights he’s free and I’ll give you a call.’
After exchanging numbers, Domenica headed for the door but stopped before she got there. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, what are you planning on doing? Are you going to move here to Sant’Antonio or are you going back to England?’
Amy shrugged helplessly. ‘I’ve been trying to make up my mind for weeks now. I love this house and the town, but I also love my job. It’s a tough decision.’
‘I can imagine. Is there anybody over there in England that you need to get back to? A partner or husband?’
Amy shook her head. ‘Not now.’
‘And what about over here? A little bird tells me that you might have made a conquest.’
Amy couldn’t help smiling, yet again marvelling at how efficient the bush telegraph was here in Sant’Antonio – although she had a feeling its source was likely to be Pierpaolo, who knew everybody. ‘Your little bird might be a bit premature. I’ve met some very nice people, one man in particular, but I’ve no idea how it’s all going to develop.’ She decided against naming Adam, but she needn’t have worried.
‘We were all very pleased to hear that he’s safe and well. He goes to some terribly dangerous places, doesn’t he?’
All Amy could do was keep smiling.