Christmas at Claridge's (47 page)

‘Hi.’ She smiled, slipping her arm through Tom’s and standing on tiptoe to kiss him on the temple. She faltered as she noticed Clem’s closed expression, the turgid body
language between the two siblings.

‘What’s—?’ she began, but Tom shook his head and she lapsed into silence.

Clem turned away from them and looked out to sea, watching the white horses beginning to dance in the bay, her body hunched over the football in her arms as she struggled to keep down the anger,
the panic, the overwhelming dismay that threatened to subsume her every single moment of the night and day. A cheer erupted behind them as the photographer got his shots, and she startled at the
roar, as if it was the crack of a shotgun, dropping the ball by Tom’s feet.

Chiara reached out to her. ‘Clem, you are shaking.’

But Clem pulled back, out of reach. ‘No. I’m not.’

‘Clem—’

‘Leave it! All right? Just leave it!’ Clem shouted, her hands held up as she edged away from Chiara and Tom’s concern. ‘Just back off!’

They watched her, open-mouthed, as she walked backwards, away from them, her slitted eyes on them as if they were holding knives. Then she turned and ran, past the guests all mingling and
chatting, some of them taking in her tears as she darted past, her dress gathered in her hand. She saw Rafa’s head jerk up, his eyes trained upon her as if she was a target, but she
didn’t stop; his contempt was the last thing she needed.

She was at breaking point, she couldn’t take any more – of the lies, the false smiles, the pretending . . . She ran past the church and beyond it, through the cemetery behind, where
marble monuments of fat-cheeked angels and beatific saints towered over urns filled with silk flowers, her flip-flops scattering stones on the neat gravel paths.

At the back she came to a gate and she passed through it into a narrow, high-walled nook with another gate that led back out to the peninsula paths. It was locked, but she was out of the wind
here, and she leant against the wall, her eyes raised to heaven, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. She would lie and protest and stare the truth down until the last breath left her body,
but Tom had been right: she did look at Luca and see what she’d given up. His every smile wounded her even as it healed her at the same moment; he undid her and put her back together again
all in the whip of his hair or the devilish flash of his eyes. He was everything she had given up, but she couldn’t undo the past. What was done was done and wholly irreversible.

Beneath the whistle of the wind, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching and she tensed, pushing herself back so that the walls crowded round her on three sides. No! She didn’t want
to talk.

Rafa rounded the corner, stopping abruptly as he took in her distress, his eyes covering her face as if she was a map that he alone could read. And then in the next instant he was moving towards
her, his expression telling her he didn’t want to talk either.

Clem watched, seated, as the bride and groom danced the tarantella, their first dance. She knew he was looking again. She could feel his stare all the way across the room; she
could still feel his touch on her skin, his breath on her cheek. She brought her hand to her neck, still tingling from where he’d kissed it, her eyes sliding over to him once more. She knew
she shouldn’t, that it had been a massive mistake and just about the most dangerous thing she could have done, but she couldn’t stop herself. He was her opium.

He didn’t move, not a muscle betrayed her effect on him. His expression was as inscrutable as ever; anyone looking between them would think he was wholly unmoved by her, but she knew
differently. The anger was still there – it had still been there even as he’d cried her name – but now she knew that wasn’t
all
that was there.

Beside him, his girlfriend was constantly touching him – stroking his hand on the table, fiddling with the tuft of hair at the nape of his neck, stroking the lapel on his narrow black suit
– but he was completely still, as immobile as if he’d been painted into the scene, his eyes never leaving Clem.

His girlfriend turned his face towards her, saying something – probably lewd, judging by her body language – before kissing him with an open mouth, one hand disappearing under the
table.

Clem looked away, her heart pounding erratically as jealousy stampeded through her. She turned back to the table, forcing herself to pursue a grammatically incorrect conversation with one of
Chiara’s elderly uncles, while all around them couples flooded the dance floor, the formalities over.

The chair to her left was empty. Gabriel still hadn’t arrived, in spite of his promise, but Clem was grateful for his absence now. After the post-ceremony cocktails, everyone had moved
onto wine and now liqueurs, becoming steadily more uninhibited, and she would be able to leave shortly without appearing rude. She needed to get away from here. She needed to regroup – remind
herself of all the very valid reasons why nothing had actually changed . . .

‘Dance with me.’

It wasn’t a request. Rafa was standing in front of her, his hand held out, and she took it wordlessly, her resolve eviscerated, just like that. She walked into his arms until his mouth was
by her ear again, his hand closed around hers. Her back was bare and she felt his fingers splay across her skin, his cheek brushing her hair lightly as they covered the floor, each step perfect
thanks to his strong lead, completely in rhythm, not a word spoken by either of them; just the sound of their breathing between them.

She felt his lips by her ear and her skin responded first, with goosebumps that ran over her skin in shivers. ‘Don’t leave.’

The words were more like a wish carried to her by the beat of angels’ wings, the summer’s hostilities burned out; this afternoon’s lust sated, for now, and all the passions
that had clamoured between them like an entourage, pacified. She looked up at him and saw in his eyes what had been there over a decade earlier, what had been hidden there all along – she
wasn’t the only one good at keeping secrets. She had to tell him.

‘Clem—’

But it wasn’t his voice she heard. She turned. Gabriel was standing beside them, hands in his pockets and a dangerous dance in his eyes. ‘You didn’t hear me?’

She shook her head, mute, her arms falling away from Rafa, although he kept his hand on the small of her back: a possessive gesture that Gabriel didn’t miss. He stared at Rafa with a
heart-stopping coldness. There was war in his demeanour and Clem felt Rafa’s arm stiffen behind her. He wasn’t going to back down.

Time became elastic as neither man flinched. She watched Gabriel’s eyes travel over them both, taking in the truth that none of them had dared speak, but that he had sensed running beneath
their feet like a spring. Then Gabriel moved towards them, a trace of a smile on his face growing as he came closer. He stopped, inches from them both, and Clem felt Rafa’s fingers curl
tighter around her waist. He wouldn’t let her go. Not again.

Except it wasn’t Rafa that Gabriel was looking at now; it was Clem. He leaned down, so close Clem thought he was going to kiss her and gently, he picked up her left hand, holding it before
the three of them so that they could see the ring glistening there. He brought it to his lips, victory in his eyes.

Clem’s mouth formed a shocked ‘o’.

‘Clem, you make me the happiest man.’

‘Gabriel, I—’

She looked up at Rafa, wanting to explain, to tell him everything, all of it,
why.
But it was already too late. Neither man had said a single word to the other, but Gabriel had won.
Rafa turned on his heel, walking straight back to the table where his friends were starting to get rowdy. His girlfriend – a quizzical expression on her pretty face – draped herself
around him, one hand languidly stroking his tie as he picked up a shot of limoncello and downed it.

Clem didn’t dare watch, and not just because Gabriel was watching
her.
She looked at the ground, trembling at how close she’d come to giving up and letting go at last of the
secret that so completely defined her. His arm around her had undone all that. But she was out in the cold again, away from his touch, and reality was reasserting itself: no matter what, the lie
had to go on.

‘You were punishing me for being so late,’ Gabriel murmured, stroking her cheek with his finger. ‘I understand.’

She glanced at him. He didn’t really believe she’d been flirting to spite him, did he?

‘Come, I want to show you off,’ Gabriel murmured, taking her hands in his and leading her into the crowd again. She trailed after him, her body unresponsive to his touch for the first
time as he held her close, leading her round the dance floor with finesse, but never positioning her so that she could see Rafa’s table.

The songs segued from one to the next, but Gabriel kept her dancing, his fingers stroking the ring as though it was lucky as he held her hand. Clem didn’t notice. She didn’t feel
anything. She’d thought she’d found refuge in their passion this summer, but it was nothing compared to the intimacy between her and Rafa as he’d pushed her up against the wall,
and she couldn’t pretend otherwise. Not any more. As much as Gabriel really was everything – the perfect man in every way – the one thing he couldn’t be was
Raja.

‘Clem?’

She looked down blankly to find Luca staring up at her.

‘H-hey, Luca? Are you having fun?’ She took in his wan pallor. ‘You look tired. Are you OK?’

‘I know it’s not true.’

‘What’s not?’ She frowned, crouching down so that she could hear him better over the music. Gabriel wouldn’t let go of her other hand.

‘That you’re leaving.’ He blinked at her, his face pale and stony.

‘What? Who told you that?’

Luca pointed back to Rafa, who was standing talking with a group, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other gripping a beer bottle that he was swigging quickly. As though sensing their scrutiny,
he turned his face to theirs, his expression black and sour. Clem could see he was drunk.

She looked back at Gabriel. He was still oblivious to her newest change in plans. She’d been planning to tell him tonight, hoping a few drinks would sugar-coat the pill (as he would see
it, especially now).

‘Of course she’s leaving,’ Gabriel said brusquely, answering for her. ‘Summer’s over and we’ll be back in London by next weekend.’

Clem glared at him. Gabriel might not have the full facts, but to be so tactless to a little boy . . .

Luca took a step back, his eyes wide, his ball tucked under his arm as always, as much a comforter to him as the silk envelope was to her.

‘Hey, hey, Luca . . .’ Clem soothed him, trying to reach his hand. But he was too fast for her, darting away through the crowded floor and out of sight. ‘Luca!’ she
called, trying to run after him, but Gabriel held on firmly to her hand.

‘Ignore him. He just wants attention,’ Gabriel said, pulling her back up to standing.

‘What would you know about it?’ she demanded, pulling away from him angrily, just as Tom came over, a wild look in his eyes and raking his hands through his hair. ‘Oh Christ,
what’s happened?’ she asked. She knew that look too well.

Tom groaned as he looked around the room, clearly searching for someone. ‘I’ve completely cocked up.’ He grimaced.

‘How?’ she asked distractedly, her eyes scanning the crowd for Luca. She wasn’t especially interested in hearing about Tom offending some maiden aunt right now.

‘Luca overheard me telling Chad about Chiara moving to London.’

‘What?’

‘I know! I’m a bloody idiot, but I just didn’t see him standing there. There were so many people and—’

‘Does Chiara know?’

Tom nodded. ‘She’s looking for him, too, she’s in an awful state. We really need to explain things to him properly. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him
recently?’

‘Yes! He was . . . he was . . .’ Clem whispered, her eyes growing wide with apprehension as Luca’s words echoed in her head.

‘He was just here,’ Gabriel said, stepping forward and pointing in the direction he had run.

Chiara appeared around one of the pillars, breathless, fear rising like a moon in her face. ‘I can’t find him,’ she panted. ‘Maria Cantara said she thought she saw him
going outside but . . . but the storm.’ Her eyes travelled to the windows, and the sight of a cypress tree being bent low by the wind. ‘No. No! He knows better than to go out alone in
these weathers.’

Rafa stormed over. ‘What is going on? Why do you look like that?’ he demanded of Chiara.

‘We can’t find Luca,’ she replied in a timid voice.

‘Why does he need finding? It is a wedding. He will be play—’

Tom cleared his throat; their burgeoning friendship had been firmly grounded by the revelation of his and Chiara’s affair. ‘He found out Chiara’s leaving.’

‘Che?’
Rafa paled, his eyes sliding towards Clem as he suddenly understood why the boy had come over asking questions, wanting reassurances that couldn’t be given and
receiving answers fuelled by jealousy, anger and drink. ‘Who saw him last?’

‘We did,’ Clem said, Gabriel’s hand on her shoulder. ‘Just a few minutes ago.’

‘Where did he go?’ Chiara asked, her voice high with panic.

Clem pointed and they all looked at the dance floor behind them and then beyond it, to the tall double doors.

‘He’s probably under a table or in the loos,’ Tom said firmly, as outside the wind howled wolfishly, the cypress tapping against the window as if it wanted to be allowed in,
rain flying past the glass like poison darts. No one would willingly step out into that.

Surely?

The men took charge, organizing a search party and heading out into the storm in groups, as Chiara sat down and wrote a list of the places he liked to play, the names of his
best friends . . . Clem sat, silent and wretched, already knowing most of the answers and knowing they wouldn’t help. So he liked to kick his ball against the wall opposite the fishing boats,
so what? So he played hide and seek in the top levels of the park around the castle walls, so what? So he often went exploring up the back track, playing near the huge water tank with its rusted,
half-collapsed roof, so bloody what? He wasn’t going to be found in any of those places. She could feel it.