Lose Yourself (The Desires Unlocked Trilogy Part Two) (16 page)

I will not let Felix discard me, Maria vows, as she spins around Christopher, her mind in a tumult. It is in this moment of distraction that she makes a mistake. It is a tiny one, yet it unbalances them both. She is too far away for him to lift her up, and she takes a clumsy step forward. Now she is too close. Christopher lifts her anyway, but he is forced to grab her from above her waist. She is bottom heavy, and she can feel him straining to maintain their balance. She looks out desperately into the audience, imagining Felix out there, the camera rolling, and knowing she is about to fall, knowing that her humiliation will be irredeemable.

She wakes Antonella as soon as it is light
.

Her friend is confused at first, her head still groggy with alcohol. ‘Where are we?’ she asks.

‘Shush . . .’ Valentina puts her finger to her lips. ‘I’ll tell you on the way back. I’ve called a taxi.’

‘But where is Aunty Isabella?’

‘I don’t know,’ Valentina says, truthfully. ‘Back at her house?’

She doesn’t go into the bedroom to say goodbye to Francesco. All she wants to do is get out of his flat. As soon as she woke, she had wanted to leave. Francesco was still fast asleep, his breath deep and melodic, his back to her in the bed. She looked at his figure, innocent in slumber, and honestly wondered how she could have been in love with him before. Despite their lovemaking last night, in the cold light of a sober morning, she feels nothing for him. All that has happened is that she feels even more distraught about Theo. She wants him back even more now. She knows she is a hypocrite. She has just fallen back into the arms of an old lover, and not with much persuasion. There had been a little part of her that needed to do this, she knows. It was unfinished business; now it is over. She feels it deep down inside herself. She has no idea how Francesco feels, but she has no intention of seeing him again.

They ride in the taxi through the deserted streets of London, enveloped within a thick mist. This muffled white world makes her feel outside of her body, as if she is in one of her psychedelic dreams.

Antonella cuddles next to her on the back seat. ‘
Mio dio
, what happened last night? I can’t remember anything,’ she says, yawning.

‘That’s what tequila does to you,’ Valentina says, dryly.

‘What happened to Aunty Isabella? And, more to the point, what about Francesco? Did you sleep with him?’ She gives Valentina an inquiring look.

Valentina nods and Antonella looks puzzled.

‘So what are you doing racing home in a taxi with me, rather than staying in bed for a day of sex with Francesco?’

Valentina looks out the car window at the impenetrable mist, a completely white world with no beginning or end to it. She feels as if they are driving towards oblivion.

‘Maybe he is the one, Valentina? He was, after all, your first love,’ Antonella says.

But Valentina shakes her head. ‘No. It’s too late to go back. He broke my heart once. I won’t give it to him again.’ She dare not tell Antonella her feelings about Theo.

Her friend pats her hand. ‘OK,’ she says, knowing when not to push her. ‘So, what happened to my aunty?’

Valentina doesn’t speak for a moment. She knows how scandalised Antonella will be to hear all about Isabella’s antics with Peter and Rupert, but something stops her from telling her. That is between Isabella and Antonella, especially since Antonella seemed to have her eye on Peter, before she passed out.

‘I don’t know,’ she tells Antonella. ‘Isabella must have gone home earlier.’

The thick London fog chills her right down to the bones, making her shiver as they walk away from the taxi. Valentina glances at her watch. It is six thirty, and few are venturing on to the streets of South Kensington quite yet. Antonella is ahead of her, opening the ironwork gate and trailing up the path to the front door of her aunt’s grand house. Valentina feels her back prickling. Instinctively, she knows someone is watching them. She turns, hoping to see Theo behind her, but knows deep down that it isn’t him. She only has one stalker. Sure enough, there, on the other side of the street, is Glen, standing out in all the white in his long black coat and dark glasses. She is too tired to bother with him now, and she doesn’t want to worry Antonella, so she just ignores him and walks with determination up to the front door, slamming it hard behind her.

Isabella is already up, looking immaculate in a tailored skirt-suit, her long hair pulled into a tight, shiny bun, her face fresh, not a dark shadow in sight. She is sitting at the breakfast bar, sipping a small cup of black coffee and going through her iPhone.

‘Good morning, ladies,’ she says, smiling sweetly. ‘I wasn’t expecting you home so early.’

‘Where did you go, Aunty?’ Antonella flops on to the couch. ‘You just disappeared.’

‘It was you who disappeared, darling. I believe you went to bed . . . on your own!’

Antonella begins to bite her nails, looking out of the window. ‘It is a funny thing,’ she says. ‘I thought something was going to happen with that guy, Peter, when we were dancing, but then I started to think about Mikhail.’

‘Your Russian lover?’ Isabella asks.

‘Yes. I think I miss him.’

Isabella smiles knowingly. ‘Darling, I think you more than miss him. What is your theory, Valentina?’

Valentina takes a mug out of the cupboard and pours herself a coffee. She wants to take a shower; underneath her dress, her skin is sticky with caked-on ice cream. She wonders if either of the women can smell the vanilla on her.

‘I think Antonella is a romantic, although she tries her best to suppress it,’ Valentina says.

‘What do you mean?’ Antonella asks, sitting up, defensively crossing her arms over her chest.

‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of, darling,’ Isabella says. ‘It is very sweet, really.’

‘I think that, underneath your very adventurous exterior, deep down, you believe in the fairy tale . . .’ Valentina says, sitting down next to her friend on the couch and offering her a sip of her coffee.

‘What fairy tale?’ Antonella says, taking the mug.

‘That one day your prince will come,’ Isabella says.

‘Oh, that’s not true . . . I think that is crap.’

‘Do you really? You know most women, secretly, deep down, dream about it . . .’ Isabella taps her fingers on the counter top. ‘It is nothing to be ashamed of. It shows great optimism. I’m afraid, my dear, I am a realist, as I suspect is Valentina.’

Isabella raises her eyebrows in a question and Valentina looks into her eyes. She wonders if Isabella knows that she saw her with those two young men. This woman obviously lives a secret double life.

‘Well, my darlings,’ Isabella says, gathering up her handbag and keys, ‘I have to get to work. I will see you tonight at Valentina’s opening. Ciao!’

The friends agree to sleep for a few hours. Antonella disappears into her aunty’s bedroom, leaving the other room to Valentina.

Before she gets into bed, Valentina showers. She turns the temperature of the water up as high as she can stand. Steam billows around her and the water pressure is so strong, its jet stings her skin. She is washing away the ice cream, Francesco’s scent and the memory of last night. She is washing away her past. She closes her eyes and pushes her face under the shower head. It is gone, the loss of Francesco – that first heartache she had nursed for years. Yet, frustratingly, she never realised she was free of it until she had lost Theo.

Can she and Theo ever manage a proper relationship together? It would never be normal. Not like the Hollywood-movie perfect couples the world pretends to believe in. The truth is that most couples are imperfect. And perhaps the happiest are those who are honest with each other, and have open relationships, like Leonardo and Raquel. Maybe Theo might like that kind of relationship, as well. She thinks back to last autumn and the erotic adventures she experienced in Leonardo’s club. All of those experiences, and her seemingly promiscuous behaviour, had actually been devised by Theo himself. He had no issue with her sleeping with other people . . . In fact, he had been a part of it himself. In Venice, when she had asked him why he had done it, he claimed that he wanted to show her that he loved her so much that he didn’t want to change who she was. He understood she was a free spirit. What Theo was trying to say was that it is possible to be liberated and in a relationship, as long as you trust each other. Trust: it all hangs on this one word. That’s what Theo had demanded of her the day before yesterday. If she can show him that she trusts him she will have proven her love for him. But how can she do that?

Valentina slips under the cool sheets, her naked body still hot and silky from the shower. She is exhausted, her whole being sinking into the mattress, and yet, once she tries to, she can’t sleep. She knows she must. It will be a long night and she needs to be at her best. It is the opening of the show, and Theo and Anita will be there. She will have to be strong to face them together.

She turns on her side and clutches the sheets. She feels raw panic. The idea of Theo and Anita together torments her. She sits up in bed, the sheets falling from her naked breasts. She needs to talk to someone. There is no point waking Antonella up, she is prejudiced against Theo. Who loves them equally? Who will be unbiased?

As soon as she hears Leonardo’s voice, she feels better. As if she has drunk a mug of rich hot chocolate, his voice comforts her.

‘Hello, darling; how is London?’

‘Confusing.’

She tells Leonardo everything; things she would tell no other soul. She tells him she can’t stand the idea of seeing Theo with his new, beautiful girlfriend at the opening tonight. She tells him about going to see her dad yesterday, and her expedition being aborted by the appearance of Glen.

Leonardo seems rather perturbed by Glen’s threats. ‘Did you tell Theo?’ he keeps repeating.

‘No; I haven’t seen him. I didn’t want to call him because I don’t want him to think I am chasing him.’

‘Valentina, you need to tell Theo about Glen. Maybe you should even call the police.’

‘He is just a bully; don’t worry. What use am I to him, if I am not with Theo?’ she says bravely.

‘OK,’ her friend says, reluctantly. ‘Just promise me, if you see him again, you’ll do something about it.’

‘OK, but, Leonardo, I haven’t told you what happened last night. This is more important than creepy Glen hanging around.’

Valentina tells him about meeting Francesco and their re-enactment of her first time. When she has finished, he says nothing for a few seconds. She hears the empty line buzzing. She wonders if he has hung up, although why would he? Leonardo would never ever judge her.

‘Leo, am I bad? Tell me, why did I sleep with Francesco?’

‘I think you were saying goodbye to a part of yourself,’ Leonardo says, softly. ‘Or maybe you were trying to retrieve the girl you once were.’

‘But
why
did I do it?’

‘Because you are frightened of your feelings; you’re trying to convince yourself that you don’t want Theo, so you plunged headlong into bed with the nearest available male,’ her friend says, matter-of-factly.

It strikes Valentina that Leonardo sounds subdued – not his usual buoyant self.

‘Is everything OK, Leo? You sound different.’

‘Everything is fine,’ he says, tightly.

‘I can tell that something is wrong. What is it? Leonardo, answer me,’ she commands him.

‘If you must know, Raquel and I broke up.’

Valentina can’t hide the astonishment in her voice. ‘But you had the perfect relationship. What happened?’

‘It’s complicated. I’m sorry, Valentina. I don’t want to talk to you about it over the phone.’

She feels a little hurt. Here she is opening up completely to Leonardo and yet he doesn’t want to confide in her. Still, she has to respect his wishes. ‘OK; well, I’ll be back in a couple of days. We’ll talk then.’

‘Maybe you won’t come back to Milan, Valentina.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Theo.’

There is a strange tone in his voice and Valentina wonders what it is.

‘But he has a new girlfriend. I don’t think I will win him back now. She is so sexy – a real femme fatale.’ She sighs.

‘Come on, Valentina,’ Leonardo encourages her. ‘I told you that you might have to fight for him. You can’t give up.’

‘But what should I do, Leo? How do I show him that I love him so much, I would do anything for him?’

‘Well, you must find that “anything” and do it,’ Leonardo says simply.

‘If I could just be near him again . . . touch him,’ Valentina says. ‘He would know how I felt if we slept together . . .’

‘So seduce him!’

‘I can’t . . . It would be a really terrible thing to do to Anita. I don’t want to be that kind of bitch.’

‘You could never be a bitch, Valentina.’

The faith of her friend touches her. ‘Leonardo, I’m really sorry about you and Raquel,’ Valentina says. ‘I wish you were here and I could give you a hug.’

Valentina is not the hugging type, and yet she means what she says.

At last, she sleeps. She dreams she is sitting on an empty Tube train, hurtling through the dark tunnels. She is naked and alone. The train pulls into a station. She looks out of the window, but the name of the station is flashing by too fast. Is it Gloucester Road? It looks like it, with its ochre brick walls and modern art panels. The doors slide open and a woman gets on at the other end of the carriage, carrying a suitcase. She has short, blond bobbed hair, in a similar style to Valentina’s own hair, and is wearing an old-fashioned silk skirt and top, with a long scarf wrapped around her neck. Valentina gets up. Maybe the woman has some clothes in her case that she can borrow. Yet, as she approaches her, the woman spins around, pinning her with eyes like her mother’s. Valentina realises that the woman looks just like Tina Rosselli, apart from the blond hair. She says nothing, just offers Valentina the suitcase. Valentina clicks it open, but the case is empty. She has nothing to cover herself with.