Chapter 50 Rosie – Day 11
The taxi journey is hell. Rosie’s heart beats against the glossy Polaroid tucked in her dress pocket. Until she’s spoken to Fenna about what the hell they are going to do, she needs to act like everything is fine.
‘Don’t be nervous.’ Theo squeezes her hand tightly.
He has no idea what his mum is hiding. Whenever she looks at Marianne she pictures her hunched over those canvases, paintbrush in hand, trying to capture Dani’s youth.
Of course the famous artist never stopped painting.
She just found a muse she couldn’t admit to publicly.
It’s clear that Marianne will do anything for her family – did Dani fall victim to that?
Rosie forces herself to smile.
‘Hang on . . .’ Theo frowns. ‘I thought we were going to Luigi’s? That’s on the other side of the lake.’
‘Surprise!’ Marianne grins. ‘Evelyn and I have planned a little something at theirs instead. It’s easier for Fenna if Alba has got space to run around instead of being constrained in a highchair in a busy restaurant. You’re going to love their place, Rosie.’
‘Per favore prendi la prossima a sinistra,’ Gerry says to the driver, elongating every word.
The indicators click-click-click.
‘The caterers should be there. We’ve not had enough frutti di mare this holiday, so I’ve gone for a selection of squid and calamari and steamed crab and . . .’ Marianne continues to list seafood items on her fingers.
Rosie’s stomach turns.
Who knows if she’s got a terrible illness? Is that a lie, too? A way to get Rosie to feel sorry for her?
The taxi slows. Two black metal gates automatically open, leading to a wide driveway full of expensive-looking cars.
Richard and Evelyn’s house is a similar enormous size to the Frasers’ farmhouse, but strikingly modern.
Tall sheets of polished glass sit against rendered bricks and double-height windows, all lit with uplighters that cast ominous shadows.
‘Wait until you see their garden. The terrace is so high it’s like you’re in the trees.’ Marianne winks, opening her door and letting in the sound of a lively jazz band.
Gerry settles up the fare, jangling his change in his pocket. ‘You can’t see it from here but the lake is through the trees, at the far end of their garden. Sorry, grounds.’
Marianne takes Rosie by the arm and whisks her away. She has to fight every urge to shake off her grip. She is led up a flight of stairs to the gigantic terrace. A crowd of around fifty or sixty people are chatting and drinking without a care in the world. They must be Richard and Evelyn’s friends.
The whole place twinkles with fairy lights and flaming torches.
A banner saying ‘Theo and Rosie’ with a big love heart hangs between wooden pergola beams. A quartet of musicians plays soulful Italian love songs.
The sun is setting. A band of hazy orange dips around the line of trees.
A sudden rush of tears prick the back of her eyes.
It’s perfect. She swallows the unwanted emotion that this is all for her and Theo.
From the expensive ring on her finger to the smiling friends congratulating, welcoming her, it’s all she’s ever wanted . . . yet none of it is real.
Where have all these people come from? Clearly Richard is connected around here. Evelyn flits about the terrace air kissing her guests. Theo was right. This party is an excuse to show off.
‘Richard, you’re spoiling us,’ Gerry laughs, slapping his friend on the back.
‘Evelyn organised it all.’ Richard dabs a napkin against the sheen on his bald head. The evening air is still heavy with the day’s heat. It needs a thunderstorm to bring some relief.
Rosie cranes her neck to spot Fenna in the crowd but she can’t see her.
Keep acting like everything is fine.
She finds her voice. ‘It’s very kind of you, thank you.’
‘Like I said, this was not up to me,’ Richard replies curtly then walks off.
‘Ignore him, he’s probably working out how much this is going to cost him.’ Gerry gives her a friendly nudge.
‘Maybe,’ Rosie replies, shaking her head as a tray of intricately decorated canapés is offered to her. A waft of fish turns her stomach.
She catches Marianne on the other side of the terrace, smiling for a photo with a woman in a chic, colourful headband, she drags Richard into the selfie.
He doesn’t smile. There is something different about him tonight.
Marianne throws her head back and laughs at a joke the woman said.
Not a care in the world. She tries to raise a smile on Richard’s lips.
Rosie itches to get the snapshot out and look at the unusual stained-glass window in the background of the Polaroid. She definitely hasn’t seen one anywhere at Villa Speranza. Where was it taken?
Luke is standing at a make shift bar further away, with his back to them.
He tips a shot glass of clear liquid into his mouth and pours another.
Fenna is still nowhere to be seen. Rosie doesn’t know how much longer she can act like everything is ok.
Her heart clenches. What will Theo say when it all comes out?
How will she begin to explain what was happening when he was away playing football?
‘I’m sorry I’ve not brought my drone here.’ Gerry’s voice cuts into her thoughts. ‘I could have taken some cracking shots. The skyline is something else.’ He glances over the canopy of trees. ‘There were reports of a resurgence in the numbers of moths to the area . . .’
Rosie takes a mouthful of her drink. The wine is bitter and she struggles to swallow it.
She needs to extract herself from this tedious conversation and properly examine the photograph.
Could that be Marianne’s shadow in the corner of the image?
Rosie surreptitiously pats her pocket as Gerry is talking.
A bolt of unease hits her.
It’s empty.
She asks Gerry to hold her drink whilst she checks her other pocket.
‘Everything ok, Rosie?’ he asks, breathing smoked salmon breath on her.
Her stomach lurches. The photo’s gone. Where the hell is it? It was definitely in her pocket when she left the house. Did she leave it in the taxi? Has it dropped out somewhere? She darts her eyes across the floor.
‘Have you lost something?’ Gerry asks.
She mumbles a response. ‘I think I left something in the taxi.’ A pounding thrum grows at the back of her head.
‘Do you want me to call the taxi company? They’re coming back at midnight to take us home . . .’ He pulls out his phone and scrolls through his contacts. ‘What is it you’ve lost?’
‘A speech I wrote for tonight,’ she thinks quickly.
He talks to someone at the taxi firm in slow, stilted Italian. She wrings her hands together with every second it takes.
‘Nothing’s been handed in,’ Gerry says as he hangs up.
That means someone here must have picked it up. Suddenly an arm tugs her to the side.
‘What haven’t you told me?’ Theo’s voice whispers in her ear.
It’s as if she’s been electrocuted.
‘You didn’t tell me how hot you look in yellow.’ He winks, pressing himself against her. His aftershave settles on her skin.
‘Oh, this. Thanks.’ She flattens her dress under his appreciative gaze. Can he feel her heart pounding?
There’s a tinkle of metal against glass.
‘Speech.’ Someone cries from the crowd. The music is turned down and Rosie is handed a flute of bubbles.
Pairs of eyes stare at her expectantly.
‘And you lost your speech.’ Gerry shakes his head at the unfortunate timing.
‘You wrote a speech?’ Theo asks.
She mumbles about being prepared, willing the heat to subside from her cheeks.
Richard and Evelyn step closer. Phones are raised in the air, ready to record the moment.
Luke hovers at the back of the haphazard semi-circle of partygoers, necking another shot of liquid. She can’t see Fenna amongst the crowd.
Theo clears his throat. ‘I’d like to say a few words on behalf of me and my fiancée . . .’ The guests whoop.
Rosie is getting sweatier by the minute. She needs to find that photograph. She presses her glass against her wrist to try and cool down, praying this will be over soon.
‘From the moment I met Rosie, I knew that she was the one. She’s kind, caring and honest—’
‘When are you going to share this secret you’ve been keeping?’ Luke cries from across the terrace. There’s a stain on his shirt. It looks like red wine.
Rosie’s heart leaps into her throat. What has Fenna told him? She lets out a nervous laugh and tries to remember to breathe. Is this the moment it all comes crashing down?
Theo stiffens beside her. ‘What is he talking about?’
‘I have no idea. He’s drunk,’ she whispers.
‘What, mate?’ Theo calls back. ‘Did you want to say something?’
Luke waves an arm at them. He’s unsteady on his feet. ‘Get to the point. Announce you’re having a baby or whatever—’
‘Is this true?’ Marianne gasps. Tears fill her eyes. ‘That is wonderful news.’
Evelyn squeals with joy and orders the hired photographer to capture the moment.
‘What? No. That’s not true.’ Rosie blusters, blinded by a bright flash.
Hushed whispers break out in the crowd.
Luke frowns. He sways to the side slightly. ‘Sorry, everyone. My bad. Something’s going on though . . .’
Theo groans. ‘You can’t be happy for me, can you?’
‘Me? What about you? Don’t play the caring brother card now. You’ve never been there for me.’ Luke lurches forward and knocks into a table.
‘What? Because I wouldn’t loan you money? It’s not my fault you spent all of Dad’s trust.’ Theo scoffs.
‘That was private, you little shit,’ Luke growls.
‘What? Luke? Is this true?’ Marianne stutters.
Luke stays silent, but he continues to eyeball his little brother as if he wants to punch him.
‘Answer your mother, Luke,’ Gerry demands.
‘Or what?’ Luke says, squaring up to his stepdad.
‘Stop it.’ Marianne screams. ‘There are bigger things to worry about than money. Life is too precious to waste arguing. You need to start looking out for one another. I’m sick of this squabbling. I’m not going to be here to play referee forever, you know.’
Rosie’s never heard her raise her voice like this before. Her face has flushed puce-like in colour. A vein at her temple throbs as she yells.
Luke makes a pfft sound. ‘He started it.’
‘Grow up,’ Theo snaps.
‘Stop. Please stop.’ Marianne shouts. ‘You’re ruining my last ever holiday.’
‘Alright, no need to be dramatic.’ Luke rolls his eyes. ‘You don’t know that it’s your last holiday’
Marianne cries. ‘Yes, I do!’