Summer at the Lake (50 page)

Minutes passed while they ate in companionable silence until Marco put down his knife and fork. ‘I hope you never doubted my love for you, Esme,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘I truly did love you. Perhaps you think that it was such a long time ago and how could I possibly remember how I felt, but I never forgot that summer we shared. It has stayed with me all these many years.’

When she didn’t say anything, he went on: ‘I have always wanted to apologise to you for what I allowed to happen between us, knowing, as I did, that it could go no further. But now, finally, I have the chance to say sorry. Can you forgive me after all this time?’

‘Is it that important to you? Did you not confess your sin to God and receive his forgiveness?’

He flinched at her comment. ‘Do you ask that with cynicism?’

‘Not at all. I couldn’t be less cynical. I’m assuming that it was very much a minor sin in the eyes of a red-blooded Italian, so I merely assume you would have found yourself forgiven in an instant.’

‘You believe I made a habit of such behaviour, do you?’

‘If you did or did not it’s really none of my business.’

Again he flinched, his brows drawn. He looked far from happy. ‘Then let me assure you, once I entered the priesthood I took my vows of celibacy most seriously.’

The severity of his words jolted her and shocked that she was being so transparently rude, she murmured a chastened apology. ‘I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention to accuse you of anything.’

Wasn’t it? she thought. Hadn’t she, in the darkest moments of her grief, often imagined such a scene between them when she could hold him accountable for the pain she had endured? Hadn’t there been many a time when she thought the sorrow of losing their child would never leave her, instilling in her a violent need to lash out at the man who was the cause of that anguish? The man who had simply carried on with his life blissfully ignorant of the wreckage he’d helped to create.

‘No,’ he said more gently, his voice low and halting her rapidly spiralling thoughts, ‘it is I who should apologise. You are perfectly entitled to question my sincerity; after all, I gave you every reason to think badly of me.’

She could think of nothing to say in response, and as if by tacit agreement, they each concentrated on eating.

When they’d finished, Esme said, ‘You asked me if I’d ever married, but did you? Did you marry when you left the priesthood?’ She had a sudden mental picture of a wife waiting for him at home.

He shook his head with a smile. ‘I became that terrible cliché an academic bachelor who spent all his time with his books and his students. There was no woman who would put up with me.’

‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘Now it is you who resorts to flattery. But it is true. No relationship ever lasted very long with me. I am too set in my ways. But tell me,
cara
, what brought you to Italy? And who is the young man I spoke with on the telephone?’

While their waiter reappeared and removed their empty plates and carefully repositioned things just so, Esme explained about the wedding to which Floriana had been invited and how it had led to Esme reminiscing about the summer she had spent at the lake with her father.

‘So this Floriana and Adam, they are like children to you? You have taken them under your loving wing?’

She laughed. ‘More like they have taken
me
under their wing. They’re extraordinarily protective of me. Floriana particularly so. She was concerned I shouldn’t be upset in any way by meeting you.’

‘Upset?’ he repeated, his expression one of puzzlement. ‘Is there a danger that you will be upset by having lunch with me?’

Having unwittingly opened up a line of conversation she hadn’t intended to touch on, she said airily, ‘Oh, you know how it is, trips down memory lane are not always the positive experience one hopes they’ll be.’

‘I agree. But for us, surely it can only be a good thing that we have met again after more than sixty years? For me, this is certainly the case.’

His easy tone rankled. Yet at the same time she knew it wasn’t his fault. He was ignorant of one key fact.

The sight of their attentive waiter coming towards them with their main course filled her with relief; further explanation could now be avoided. The waiter’s performance complete, and after their drinks had been replenished, she took charge of the conversation.

‘Maybe later, before my friends and I leave, you would like to meet them? I know they’re curious to meet you.’

He nodded. ‘Yes, I would. For if it were not for them, we would not be here together. I should like to thank them for that.’ Then more seriously, he said, ‘How much do they know about me?’

More than you’d like them to know, she thought. ‘That you were my first love,’ she said, meeting his gaze with bold directness.

He hesitated. Then: ‘When do you leave?’

‘This evening Adam will drive us back to the lake. Tomorrow we fly home to England.’

He looked crestfallen. ‘That is such a great shame. I wish you could stay longer.’

‘You’re sure you’ll be all right?’

‘Of course we’ll be OK. You’re not to worry about us; I’ll sort out everything here. Esme and I will take the train back to the lake, just as I told you.’

‘But the hire car?’

Floriana shook her head at him. ‘Adam, stop it. I can deal with the car hire firm. What’s important is that you get home as fast as you can.’ She hugged him. ‘Let me know how you get on. And please try to stay positive; there’s every chance your father will pull through and he’ll be just fine.’

Adam hugged Floriana tightly. He could have stayed there indefinitely, letting her certainty wash over him. But knowing he had to, he reluctantly tore himself away and stepped down into the private water taxi. The concierge at the hotel had said it was the fastest way to get to the airport; the
vaporetto
was cheaper but it would take twice as long. And time was against him. If he didn’t get to the airport in the next fifty minutes he’d miss the flight Floriana had managed to book for him.

He looked back one last time to Floriana as she waved goodbye, then called his brother to say he was on his way. He tried not to think of the day twelve years ago when Dad had phoned him to say he’d better get to the hospital fast, that Mum wouldn’t make it through the night. She hadn’t. And he’d arrived ten minutes too late.

Floriana stayed watching the water taxi until it steered away from the lagoon and disappeared from view. Even then she remained rooted to the spot.

Her heart went out to Adam. She hoped to God that she never received a phone call like the one he’d had earlier from his brother with the news their father was in intensive care having suffered a massive heart attack.

She had never seen Adam anything other than coolly in control of any situation; he was the most capable and decisive person she knew; the kind of person to whom people would naturally turn in a crisis. But the news of his father had knocked him sideways and she’d found herself having to take control and make decisions for him; namely getting him on the first available flight home. She knew that he feared the worst, that he wouldn’t make it in time.

Eventually she dragged herself away from the pontoon to make her way back to the hotel. Her first task was to ask the concierge to help her arrange the necessary train tickets for Como and then she needed to ring the car hire firm. Then she had to wait for Esme to return after her lunch with Marco.

And heaven only knew what was going on with her sister! How many more shocks lay in wait for them?

It had been a long and tiring day and Esme was more than ready for bed when they finally made it back to Villa Sofia. She was too old for running around Italy like this.

The train journey from Venice – reminiscent of the same trip Esme had made with her father more than sixty years ago – had involved a tiresome one-hour wait at Milan for the train to Como which had stopped at almost every small town and village along the way, and from there they had taken a taxi for the last forty-five minutes.

Their taxi driver very kindly helped carry their luggage up to the villa, which was in darkness. Inside it was airless and stiflingly hot – the windows were all shut, but the shutters had been left open. Floriana called out to Seb.

‘It’s quite late,’ Esme said, noting Floriana’s concerned expression when there was no reply from him, ‘he’s probably in bed asleep.’ During the journey back to the lake, Floriana had mentioned several times how odd it was that there’d been no word from Seb since yesterday and odder still that he hadn’t responded to the text messages she had sent him today.

In contrast to Seb’s lack of communication, Adam had been in touch to say he was at the hospital where his father was still in intensive care.

Switching on lights, Floriana called out again to Seb. Still not getting a response, she ran lightly up the stairs. Seconds later, she was down in the kitchen again, her expression doubly concerned now. ‘He’s not here,’ she said. ‘All his stuff’s gone as well. I knew something was wrong. I just knew it!’

It was then they spotted what looked like a letter on the kitchen table: it was addressed to Floriana.

‘I’ll make us a cup of tea,’ Esme said, giving herself something useful to do while Floriana read the letter, which she could see ran to several pages.

The kettle hadn’t yet boiled when Floriana gasped. ‘I don’t believe it, why does he always have to—’

To Esme’s dismay, Floriana’s face crumpled and she began to cry. Dreading what Seb had done now, Esme stopped what she was doing and put her arms around Floriana. ‘Oh, my dear girl, what on earth has he said to upset you so much?’

‘You can read it for yourself,’ Floriana said when she had calmed down. ‘I’ll make the tea.’

Finding her spectacles, Esme sat at the table.

Dear Florrie
,

I’ve given this a lot of thought and there’s only one thing I can do to make things right.

I owe many people an apology but I owe you the biggest apology of all. You’ve been the best friend anyone could have and there’s no way in the world I could ever kid myself that I deserved your friendship. I was horrible to you when I met Imogen – maybe it was because deep down I knew you were right, that she was wrong for me. But you know how stubborn I am, how could I possibly admit I was making a mistake?

I’ll always regret that we lost two years of our friendship, but it meant everything to me that, in the end, you agreed to be there at my farce of a wedding. It says a lot about the strength of your character that you were there. Even if it was ultimately only to witness me hit the self-destruct button.

So what can I say? Other than the obvious. I’m a mess, Florrie, I’ve screwed up big time, and now there’s only one thing I can do that feels right – I must leave you before I mess anything else up, especially for you.

But before that, I’m going to give you some advice – forget I ever said it should have been you I was marrying. Wipe that from your memory, I was wrong; I’d only bring you trouble. You’d be better off with someone like Adam, somebody decent and steady who will put you first. You know as well as I do, I’m selfish, I always put myself first.

What I’m trying to say is, don’t let Adam go, he’ll make you far happier than I ever could. And if it doesn’t work out, so what? You’ll have tried and that’s what counts. But one thing you have to accept, the whole you-and-Adam thing won’t work with me hanging about. That wouldn’t be fair to him.

As for me, #cantfacethemusic would be an appropriate hashtag to this letter, so I’m going to do everyone a massive favour and perform a vanishing act. Cowardly, I know, but it’s the best I can do in the circumstances.

Remember how we always used to dream of travelling together? That’s what I have in mind to do, and then, who knows, I might become a hairy old hermit living in a cave somewhere. How does that sound?

But for now, I want you to know that despite the uphill struggle, you always managed to bring out the best in me. Such as it was. Being the smart-arse that you are, you’ll know who said this, something about ‘We think caged birds sing, when indeed they cry’. That just about sums me up. And you, Florrie, you always got that about me.

Take care,

Seb.

P.S. I’m trusting Adam to be the decent bloke I believe him to be, but if he messes you about, pass the message on that I’ll be sure to come and find him. He’s been warned!

P.P.S. Hold out your hand. Yes, see that line there, it’s just as I thought, it says you must stop procrastinating about Adam and put him out of his misery. He’s clearly got it bad for you.

Esme took off her spectacles and cleared her throat. ‘A very insightful and eloquently written letter,’ she said, looking up at Floriana. ‘He’s right, of course. You know that, don’t you?’

Passing her one of the mugs of tea, her eyes still glistening with tears, Floriana nodded and sat opposite Esme. She took a deep breath. ‘I thought it was a suicide note. I thought he was leaving me for ever. I . . . I couldn’t bear that.’ Fresh tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. ‘I nearly lost him once before, I never want to go through that again.’

‘You won’t have to,’ Esme said soothingly. ‘He knows what he means to you, that’s why he’s doing what he is, he doesn’t want to do anything that will upset or hurt you. I admire him enormously for that, for recognising the sacrifice he needs to make for the sake of your happiness. That takes a special kind of love.’

‘But he could have told me this face to face. Or failing that, why not leave me some clue as to where he’s going? I hate not knowing where he is.’

‘I would imagine he’s returned to London to organise his finances and resign from his job, if he really is going to go travelling.’

‘It’s so typically and unnecessarily overly dramatic of him!’ Floriana said with exasperation. She pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes and sighed deeply. When she looked up, she said, ‘You didn’t like him very much, did you?’

It was a characteristically direct question from her young friend. ‘In fairness I didn’t know the young man,’ Esme replied. ‘Now I wish I had been able to spend more time with him. But any antipathy I displayed was down to my worry that he’d upset the apple cart with you and Adam. Which he did, didn’t he? He unsettled Adam terribly.’