A Face To Die For (29 page)

'My real concern is the erosion. I've taken a routine smear but I'd also like to do a biopsy. We'll probably need to arrange that soon. All right?' He attempted a half-smile.

Erosion? Biopsy? What the hell could all this mean? Does he suspect cancer? Please God, no! My 'incompetent' cervix, as he put it, didn't worry me too much, but the possibility of cancer did!

'Yes... how soon?' I mumbled, tears pricking my eyes. I coughed, trying to relieve the tension building up inside me. My heart was pumping to bursting point and I began to feel nauseous and light headed.

'Next week probably; but my secretary will let you know.'

Mr Jacobs then attempted to reassure me that I mustn't worry.

Too damned late now, I thought. By this time I'd gone deaf and my brain was numb. Swallowing, I struggled to breathe normally. Pull yourself together, I told myself. Like he says, it's probably nothing to worry about. Next thing I was vomiting all over my handbag and his consulting room carpet!

CHAPTER 22

They say problems never come singly. How true. As well as my health worries; March was proving to be a hellish month for a number of other reasons too.

Showing a new collection was always a hectic time but it was made much worse by coinciding with the launch of the
Silk Wrappings
beauty care range. For some reason I'd never been altogether sure about this idea; fearing it would be an almighty flop.

Then, to top it all, Lynda, who was by now almost running things for me and doing a good deal of the designing to take the pressure off me, announced her surprise marriage engagement.

Of course, normally I would have been delighted for her, but she and her fiancé were planning to marry rather soon and her mind had suddenly become totally preoccupied with efforts to organise it at short notice. I really needed her full attention and co-operation on things at work, but her thoughts were obviously elsewhere. I was almost tearing my hair out with the accumulation of stress, which seemed all mine, even though Lynda was going through the motions of working for me.

Midst all this turmoil my smear came back from the lab tests. It showed a few 'questionable discrepancies', as Mr Jacobs delicately put it to me over the phone. I'd meant to apologise for my disgusting behaviour in his office before but the news he gave me completely obliterated it from my mind. How questionable can discrepancies actually be?

Dear God, don't say it is the big C? Momentarily, I went numb and everything else left my mind. I'm going to die, I thought, sobbing. But I can't! I haven't done all I want to do yet! What a fool I'd been, imagining everything could always go so well for me! Problems were piling up now and I wasn't sure how to cope.

Suddenly, I wasn't the confident, sophisticated professional Annabel any more. Instead I felt like a terrified child. When I looked at my reflection in the mirror, all I could see was a scared, white-faced creature, with red-rimmed eyes and a trembling jaw. I reckoned I'd aged ten years too.

As much as I longed to, I decided not to confide in Mum. Apart from Kate and Lynda, both of whom I had no option but to tell, Luigi was the only other person I told. As soon as he heard, he flew straight back to England to be with me. The biopsy was in two days time and the tension began to build up to gi-normous proportions within me. Life became unbearable.

However, the day came and went without any of the drama I'd expected. In fact it was all over quite quickly. Once admitted and dressed in virginal white, I was tranquilised and taken down to theatre. My first time ever in hospital, and it didn't turn out to be too bad at all. The worst part had been twelve hours without food or anything to drink.

In the end, thank God, I learnt I wasn't going to die, that the erosion on my cervix was, to my relief, non malignant. However, my womb was apparently in a very unhealthy state and there were severe fibroids present. All of which, I was told again, were legacies from my badly performed abortion.

Mr Jacobs peered at me over his half specs. 'Just as I'd previously thought, my dear, your uterus is totally incompetent, and so, bearing in mind the other complications, I think it's best all round if we do a hysterectomy. The condition of your womb can only exacerbate and cause you further health problems as time goes on. Do you understand? '

I nodded, feeling numb and totally helpless. As this new development finally sank in, I began to experience the strangest reaction. Tears stung my eyes and my heart heaved as a desperate sadness began to overwhelm me. I hadn't got cancer and I wasn't going to die. I was grateful for that, but now this…

In a way this was as bad. Thoughts of the tiny foetus that I had once carried inside me for such a brief spell before I'd had it torn from by body suddenly produced agonizing feelings of grief and loss. A bizarre longing suddenly overcame me, to be able to turn back the clock and decide quite differently. Too late now! I'll never know what it's like to bear and love my own baby. This I saw as my punishment; retribution for killing my unborn child.

Just as before when I'd faced the earlier possibility of cancer, a whooshing sound echoed round and round in my ears, deafening me. I felt nauseous and faint again. Closing tried to absorb the maelstrom of emotions bombarding me. This time I wasn't sick.

Seconds later, Mr Jacobs' distant voice above me, roused me from my state of shock.

'Are you all right, my dear? Here, sip this.' He handed me a glass of water. I took it and began to drink. Slowly the reaction passed off.

He sat down beside me and continued to drone on with details, ‘You are still perhaps a little weak from the biopsy but it will soon pass. Of course I won't need to remove your ovaries. Fortunately, they seem healthy enough. So there'll be no risk of you having an early menopause... '

His last words shook me. No risk of an early menopause! No! I screamed inwardly, I'm only thirty-two. I don't want to become an old woman before my time! My insides knotted and I took another large gulp of water before uttering, 'You're
sure
there's no risk of that?'

'Absolutely. In fact I predict that you'll feel altogether better afterwards. Nonetheless you'll need to allow yourself a month or so to recover. Blood tests show that you've become rather anaemic too, but we can soon rectify that and build you up again. You'll be fine.' He smiled reassuringly.

It was arranged for me to be re-admitted a week later. I left his office still feeling nervous, but with a vague sense of relief that at least my condition wasn't life threatening. However, an aching sadness and depression soon came over me again. It was odd. Even though the state of motherhood had
never, ever,
held the slightest appeal before, the knowledge that from now on it would be physically impossible for me to have a child hurt like hell.

Luigi had to return briefly to Italy for two days but came straight back to be near me while I had the operation. Mum and Philip, and Kate and Oliver, by now aware of my problem, kept in constant touch, all trying to cheer me up as best they could. Everything at work was ticking over in reasonable order. Lynda, who had finally rallied to my cause, assured me things would be well looked after in my absence by her and Daniel, another recently acquired assistant who was proving most talented and quite an asset.

I therefore tried to put business completely out of my mind while I concentrated on the serious matter of getting through the op. For once I was taking my own health seriously. I wanted to be well again more than anything, in order to get on with my life. All this was a damn nuisance.

The operation went well, although it left me sore, weak and still somewhat depressed. But the cheerful flowers and the expressions of concern from everyone, plus Luigi's love and understanding gradually helped to bring me out of the blues. Then as soon as I was allowed, about three weeks later, Luigi arranged a surprise for me. We were to be privately flown to Italy for me to recuperate and enjoy a relaxing time together. Wonderful. What more could I ask for?

*

We landed in Florence and drove through Tuscany to one of his family's many homes; a delightful, rustic paradise of a mansion, hidden deep in the hills of Chianti country.

It was utterly blissful. With Oliver, Kate and the business almost forgotten, in no time we began to renew our infinite pleasure in being together. Once my energy began to return Luigi revelled in the enjoyment of showing me around, this being the first opportunity since our marriage for me to delight in the incredible Italian scenery. I also met more members of his charming family; most of whom had been just names before. Slowly I felt stronger and much happier than I had for ages.

Maria, his youngest sister who was about my age, joined us for a spell, and she and I became firm friends. We chatted endlessly and she taught me a lot about Tuscan food. With her guidance and the aid of the patient kitchen staff, I learnt to cook many dishes including one of my favourites,
zuppa di fagioli
, a famous Tuscan bean soup… also
bistecca fiorentina
, a specially prepared T-bone steak, which Luigi particularly enjoyed.

I ate myself silly; wallowing in the delights of platefuls of pasta in various sauces,
crostini de fegatini -
toasted country bread with chicken livers, out of this world ice creams and a local cheese called
pecorina
. Invariably these would be washed down with jugs of ruby-red Chianti.

'We Italians enjoy our pasta,' laughed Maria, as we prepared a prawn and chilli sauce for another pasta dish.

I laughed, holding my stomach. 'But what about putting on weight?'

Although I hadn't weighed myself, I knew a couple of my more fitted garments had become much too tight around the waist.

'Ah, but the real secret is to combine it with foods that are
not
so fattening ... such as salads, spinach, and other healthy green stuff. So, tonight we eat the pasta with green bean salad.' She gestured towards the bundle of fresh beans on the table. 'I assure you, Annabel, Italians
do
eat very healthily.'

I was persuaded. For now, I would enjoy all the fine Italian food I was offered, convinced by Maria of its healthy benefits - and to hell with my waistline!

During the early evenings, Luigi and I often strolled along the cobbled streets of some of the nearby villages where I glimpsed a leisurely pace of life, which, I suspected, had stayed the same for centuries. Gossiping on their doorsteps, old ladies would turn to murmur
'Buona sera
,' as we passed, while their men, seated at pavement cafes, chattered noisily amongst themselves. I was enchanted.

However the need always for his chauffeur and bodyguard, Georgio, to be walking some distance behind us irritated me, despite my having learned to accept him as almost one of the family.

One morning, when Luigi was away for a few days and Maria and I were enjoying iced coffee on the garden terrace, I questioned the need for such security all the time.

'Is it really necessary, even when Luigi's away?' I queried. 'I know he insists that he needs to be protected, but why here ... at this remote place?' I agitated the ice in my coffee glass.

'I am surprised, Annabel, that Luigi has not told you. We, as a family, constantly risk attack from the gangs that prey on the wealthy here. Did he not tell you about the time I was kidnapped?'

I stopped stirring, and stared at her. 'No. Good heavens! When was that?'

'Some years ago, I had only recently returned from college in America. I had been used to feeling more secure over there I suppose, so I was perhaps not as cautious as I should have been. Anyway, one day I was shopping in Milano, when I was dragged down a side street and bundled into a waiting car.'

Maria's dark eyes had become pained and troubled and I wondered if she should be telling me all this. Luigi had mentioned once that she'd had some psychological problems. Could it have resulted from this horrific experience?

'How terrifying! Where did they take you?'

'I do not know. I was blindfolded and eventually taken to a place in the country somewhere, possibly a farmhouse. There was no traffic noise and I could only hear country sounds around me. I was kept chained to a bed and blindfolded during my captivity and only allowed two visits to the bathroom a day.' She paused, a disturbed, overcast expression on her angular, olive skinned face. I wondered if she should go on.

'Maria...' I touched her hand, to suggest we should finish discussing it, but after giving a huge sigh, she continued...

'It was so cruel, so awful! They never physically did me any real harm or anything like that, but I could not wash or have a bath; no change of clothing and the bed soon stank horribly because I could not always wait for the next trip to the toilet. I suffered from leg cramps also. It was disgusting!' She grimaced. 'They fed me revolting food, mostly stale dry bread and foul smelling
zuppa
. The smell of it lingered in my nostrils for months afterwards.' She then shuddered and gave a forced laugh, 'I can promise you Annabel, it was an insult to call it
zuppa
.’