Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
CASALTA, 15 APRIL 1985
LUCREZIA
Bianca’s whispers felt like screams to me. The word – murdered – seemed to dance in front of my eyes in shiny, cruel letters.
It couldn’t be.
And yet…
Before I could stop them, my fingers uncurled and couldn’t hold onto the cup. It fell silently, cleanly, in a perfect drop, and shattered on the ground below.
‘Remember how he used to call Mum a witch ?’ Bianca continued, her voice so thin, it almost faltered. ‘Because sometimes she had dreams and what she dreamed came true, and how the men at the vineyards wanted her to be there at the opening of the season because the vines would grow well…’
‘I remember those things she did, but I don’t remember Father calling her a witch.’
‘He did, and he thought you were one too. He thought that when you saw Mum that night, it was because of that, because you’re our mother’s daughter. And that you knew… what really happened.’
Oh, God. How could I not have thought of that? I could see Father would be capable of it; why then why did it not occur to me? Had I shut that possibility away because it was too awful to contemplate?
‘How do you know? How did you find out?’
‘He told me. He seemed proud of it, Lulu! He said Mum had betrayed him, and he punished her. He said he pushed her down the hill. He told me, Lulu.’
How scared our mother must have been! To see her husband’s face as he sent her to her death…
Did she fight? Did she beg for her life? The idea of her accident had been terrible, but it seemed almost painless now compared to the agony of having your life taken away by a loved one.
‘And that if I was to tell anyone, if any of us said anything, we’d end up the same way. I was terrified that if you came back, he’d take you for a walk on the hills, and…’
‘And that he’d do the same to me.’ I finished her sentence for her. ‘Because he knew you wouldn’t dare speak out, but I would.’
‘I’m no coward, Lulu. I’ve never been. I’m the eldest daughter, even if just by a few minutes, and I couldn’t put any of you in harm’s way.’ There was a steely edge to her tone.
‘I know. I know. I don’t blame you for not saying anything. Who knows what would have been the right thing to do, what we could have done to cause the least pain to each of us? You did what you could.’
I felt Bianca exhale beside me, like the burden of the blame I’d laid on her shoulders for so long had been lifted. We took each other’s hands, at the same time. The dawn, clear and pure, lined the hills with pink, and its beauty filled the silence between us.
This sheltered space where Casalta rose seemed so peaceful and safe, and yet, it had been neither peaceful nor safe for Mum. Nor for Bianca, or any of us, really.
Five women annihilated by one man, and all this because we used our strength and courage to endure , instead of use that courage and strength to rise up. I wondered how many daughters and wives, how many women in this ancient house and its thousand years of history, must have gone through the same. I wondered if any of them ever sat on the stairs and held hands, drawing support from each other, or alone in sorrow or hope, watching cold, distant stars.
‘It’s strange, you know. It should be this big revelation that changes everything. And it is a big revelation, and it does change everything. But it doesn’t feel absurd, impossible. It feels like he would have been capable of it.’
Bianca nodded. ‘Our family business hasn’t always been… straightforward. It took me years to twig. Father’s men coming and going, and people treating him like a little emperor. Like the lord of the land. When we were children, I used to think that Father’s men were simply our friends. That we sat in the first pew in church and that everyone treated us with deference because they liked us. But it took me years to understand that… the powerful families they speak of on the news, the men who are above the law, the clans that control pretty much everything in their territory. We’re one of them. Or we were.’
Every word Bianca spoke was another piece of the jigsaw – how obvious the whole picture is, once you’ve put it together. I’d grown up away from Casalta, working and reworking fragmented childhood memories, trying to finish the jigsaw when there were so many missing pieces.
‘Do our sisters know the truth?’
‘I didn’t tell anyone what Father said to me. Mia goes from having no filter whatsoever to being unreadable, so I have no idea whether she knows or not. Nora rejects Mum completely; she refuses to be anything different from a Falconeri born and bred. She always looked for Father’s approval.’
‘Yesterday Mia said she wasn’t sure if Mum was coming back.’
‘I think sometimes she lives in another world. I can’t always make sense of what she says.’
I looked down at the pieces of the broken cup. Pieces of my memories, my assumptions, my mistakes, coming together to tell the story. My mind was still wrapping itself around those pieces. ‘I saw her again in Paris. Mum . The day you called me.’
‘You did ?’
‘She was in the crowd at an event I was doing. Dressed in one of her long skirts… All those years ago they tried to convince me that I was hallucinating. But weirdly enough, Father was right. I hadn’t really seen her. It was my gift. It must have been.’
Silence filled the space between us while I processed what Bianca had said. Father had confessed to Mum’s murder…
‘But if he sent me away in case I’d found out the truth and told anyone… why did he confess to you?’
‘Because he was afraid of you. He wasn’t afraid of me. And he didn’t confess, he boasted .’
‘I know that letter by heart, you know? The one where you told me to stay away.’
Even in the half-light, I could see Bianca’s eyes glimmering.
‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t see another way.’
‘He was wrong about you, you know? He thought I’d be strong, but you wouldn’t. He was wrong.’
Bianca smiled a half-smile, sweet and wistful. ‘I wish I could see her, Lulu. Or hear her talking to me. My gift disappeared when you left, you know? With you and Mum gone… I don’t know. I lost it. Remember the little girl I used to hear, Viola? I pretended she was an imaginary friend for so many years.’
‘Yes, of course I remember.’
‘I haven’t heard her since you left. Sometimes I still catch whispers on the wind, or when I go to see someone we look after, I sense snippets of conversation in their homes. But apart from that, I have no gift. Nora refuses her gift, but I loved mine. I miss it.’
‘Oh, Bianca! Did you not consider that I could help you… That together we could do something? Fight for a better life?’
‘Something like what? Dismantle Father’s domain? At twelve, fourteen, sixteen? We were children, and then teenagers. This wasn’t a book or a film where everything ends in glory, Lulu.’
‘I could have helped you shoulder the burden. We could have carried the situation together !’ Our whispers and our breath mixed, our faces close.
‘I wanted you to be somewhere free of danger, Lulu! And I was going to stay here and look after Nora and Mia. This was the plan. Except you hated me for it. What I wanted, what I needed… having my twin with me… didn’t matter anyway. Practically speaking, I mean. Father would have left you at that school no matter what I said or did.’
‘Bianca… I’m sorry,’ I said, and for once, it wasn’t the hurt, lost child who spoke for me, but the woman I’d become.
‘I’m sorry too! I should have come and looked for you. And spoken to you. But we thought you never wrote, and I thought that meant something… I thought you’d come back, after boarding school, and then we’d be old enough to know what to do. Except you didn’t come back. By then, it was all broken, and I didn’t know how…’ She threw her hands up. ‘You didn’t even tell us you went to Paris…’
‘I wanted to disappear. At least for a while. It sounds cruel, it was cruel, I can see it now. But I felt like nobody wanted me here.’
‘Oh, I wanted you here. I felt like half of a person.’
‘In your letters, you always seemed so happy. It was like you were rubbing my face in it. That you were home, and I’d been exiled. I know you didn’t mean it, but it was hard to read about Casalta. I was terrified, Bianca…’
‘I was nowhere near happy, Lulu. I didn’t want to worry you, and I didn’t want to say anything against Father in case he’d harm you. I should have come to you, told you everything…’
‘We both did our best. And we’re here now,’ I whispered. ‘What I’d like to know is… did he know you’d sent me an invitation to the wedding?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t dare bring it up. But I was still afraid, you know? I wasn’t sure if you’d be safe here. It was Gabriella who insisted, and convinced me.’
‘I see.’
‘Lulu, towards the end… he’d changed. When he met Gabriella, or maybe just before. I let Gabriella convince me because I hoped he’d be harmless, now. And then, well, he died.’
‘Not many will miss him,’ I said coldly, but there was a pang in my heart anyway, because we could have been father and daughter, we could have had each other, and now we never would.
I was desperate to ask about Vanni. How was he, where was he? Were they friends, or even something more? She’d mentioned him in almost all the letters. But then, it was many years ago…
‘Bianca…’
‘Oh, look! That’s Gabriella back,’ she said, and I followed her gaze to a woman in a blue jacket, carrying a small suitcase and making her way through the French doors. ‘You’ll like her, I’m sure. I’m going to make more coffee; it’s going to be a long day,’ she said quickly, and gave me a peck on the cheek.
I shivered in the fresh morning air, and slipped inside to get dressed. I’d have to go retrieve the pieces of the broken cup – the metaphor wasn’t lost on me.
I hadn’t called Claude yet but now Gabriella was here, and I wanted to meet her – we were to get ready for the funeral – there was so much to do… Easily, seamlessly, Claude slipped from my mind again.
I looked at myself in the mirror, in my black dress and black Alice band, and slipped on a pair of earrings. Talking with Bianca had been the sweetest reconciliation, but at the same time I was chilled to the bone: Father boasted about pushing our mum to her death? Could it really be? Could he have done that to her?
I recalled the day my mother died, and my instinctive answer was yes.
He could have.